One of my fondest childhood memories is of the May Festival.

As the name implies, it was a celebration of spring, which after those old-time Adirondack winters was something well worth celebrating.

It was a grade school event, but I still remember a lot about it.

One was its opening, which consisted of the stars of the show — the kindergartners. They were dressed in white, lined up in boy-girl pairs, each clutching a basket of flower petals in their hot little hands. Then, upon official command, the tykes skipped out to the playground, gaily strewing petals everywhichway.

Another memory was the featured event – the maypole. It was a pole to which were attached a bunch of crepe paper streamers, in two alternating colors. They hung to the ground and there was one for each kid. The colors alternated for a reason – one color was for boys, the other for girls.

The children took their gender-specific streamer, another command was given, and the pishers danced around the maypole, interweaving the streamers as they went. There was something strangely magical about it than I now only sense, but at the time strongly felt.

In the mid-’50s the May Festival changed dates, and name, and became the June Festival. The reason for the change? It was due to an unfortunate coincidence: The USSR, once our best ally, but then our worst enemy, had their big celebration in May. It was officially called International Workers’ Day but was popularly known as May Day. May Day was a big shmeer to the Russians, but bore as little resemblance to the May Festival as Jerry Lewis does to Jerry Lee Lewis.

While we skipped and strewed around the playground, they goosestepped and clanked their way into Red Square, in a massive show of military might. Miles of troops, tanks, cannons and God knows what else moved past a reviewing stand chock full of all the government bigwigs, while jets roared overhead. It was a shameless display of gonzo militarism designed to distract the Russian people from the fact they were underfed, underclothed, and under-every-damned-thing civilization had to offer. At the same time it was supposed to scare the crap out of the Free World. I’ve no idea how it affected the average Ivan in the street, but it sure had the Free World shaking it its boots.

So the date of the May Festival changed, but the ceremony didn’t, with the maypole still the main attraction. Thus, now that it was in June, there was no way any 100 percent American could associate any leftest leanings or godlessness with the festival, which might’ve happened if it’d stayed in May.

That the May Festival descended from the pagan rites of spring and the maypole was a fertility symbol was clearly lost on its promoters – at least I hope it was.

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Big time with the big kids

The May Festival was a grade school event, but senior high had their own festival. It was called the June Festival, sometimes the Spring Festival It also took place outdoors, but that’s all it had in common with the kiddies’ event.

While the May Festival was all sweetness and light, the June Festival was a grave occasion of state, as its purpose was to showcase and honor the soon-to-be graduates. In its early days, bleachers were set up on the side of the Petrova school where the clock is. Later, it was held on the football field, now the Petrova playground.

There were the usual array of speeches delivered by the usual dignitaries and student orators; the band tooted and squeaked its way through Pomp and Circumstance, the seniors were all decked out in their academic regalia. But the June Festival had one touch unique to academic gatherings – it had a king and queen, complete with capes and crowns.

Although you might think aristocratic trappings would conflict with a gathering that celebrated that most democratic institution, universal free education, no one ever pointed it out, if they noticed it at all. And why would they? Though a king and queen of the graduates might seem silly to us today, back then it was anything but.

In those days, graduating from high school was a huge deal. In 1964, when I graduated, fewer than 10 percent of Americans had college degrees, and almost 30 percent never finished high school. Thus for most students a high school diploma represented their highest academic achievement. It wasn’t something to be taken for granted, so much as something of great pride. Plus, many of the kids’ parents were Depression survivors who’d had to drop out of school, sometimes in junior high. Think about that for a while and you should understand the solemnity, even the enormity, the June Festival provided.

And while they had royalty, it had a democratic bent to it: The king and queen were elected by the seniors themselves.

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Big time with the pee-wees

Oddly, while I have vivid memories of my own May Festival in 1952, I have no memory of the June Festival of 1964. And I’ve no idea why that is.

I assume the festival was held my senior year, since it was held the year before. But of course I could be wrong and 1963 might’ve been the June Festival’s last year. Still, if there was one my senior year, I don’t have a glimmer of a recollection of it.

Then again, if I was part of a June Festival and can’t remember it as well as the May Festival of my kindergarten year, I might know why.

My high school career was at best undistinguished. I was a lousy student. I was no athlete and I couldn’t sing or play a musical instrument. My artistic endeavor consisted of stick figures and pinch pot ashtrays; my major accomplishment in shop was not sawing off a digit or two. So by the time the June Festival rolled around, rather than it being a celebration of my cumulative successes, it was more a sign that any Dope could walk – or crawl – through the system. No chest-puffing pride about that, for sure.

Kindergarten was a whole different scene.

For one thing, my teacher was Mrs. Eldrett, who made everyone feel loved and secure, and was dearly loved in return. So matter how well or poorly any of us did, we all thought we were tiny American success stories.

Beyond that, the May Festival was the year’s highlight for me, because I was a star … or at least I thought so.

I said we all skipped out to the playground as boy-girl couples, right? But what I didn’t say was I was half of the lead couple. I was paired with Peggy Campion and, in all modesty, we were an adorable pair — both of us glamorous, golden blondes with bright blue peepers and radiant smiles.

At the time, I figured we were given that exalted position because we were the hottest little numbers the class had to offer. Much later, I realized the real reason we were the “leaders.” The class had been lined up in height order – the shortest first., which among that mob, Peg and I clearly were … and probably still are.

Looking back, my leadership role in the Broadway School’s May Festival of 1952 might’ve been the highlight of my public school career. And as lame as that is, I’d like to think it’s better than having no highlight at all.