In those black-and-white days, so long ago, my high school classmates Cindy Smith, Cheryl Gordon and Jan Schwartz were popover girls, circulating through the General Glover House Restaurant dining room with a basket of hot, light and buttery rolls. So was Susan Harris, whose younger brother — another classmate, Dougie Harris — was a busboy. Jeff Lunt, a year ahead of us, marinated the mushrooms, steamed the corn and prepared the garlic bread. Sometimes on late nights, the town police would drive him home.
