A slice of ’70s ASL: Tracy (Havens) Katoski ’76 shares reflections on teen years in London

As ASL prepares to celebrate its 75th anniversary in 2026, and we look back on 75 years of outstanding education and life-changing experiences in London, we are honored to share alumna Tracy (Havens) Katoski’s personal history of her Grade 7 through Grade 9 years at ASL. Tracy is an author, with her recent mystery novel, A Death in Normandy, now available for online purchase. Read on for a slice of ASL and London life in the early ’70s!

In early June 1970, my family and I arrived in London. Having just left the humid tropical heat of New Delhi, where temperatures could reach up to 115°F in the shade, we faced a climate that constantly changed throughout the day…rain, sunshine, cool temperatures, clouds, and more rain all in the same day…it took us some time to adjust. London was eclectic and exciting, and there was always something to do. I felt like a kid in a huge candy store. I wanted to experience it all. It was like that scene in the Wizard of Oz when Judy Garland opens the door of her house, which has just crashed down onto the wicked witch of the East, and everything is in color. My senses were on overload; in the early ’70s, London was an incredible place to be. In Tehran and New Delhi, we lived behind walls, but in London, the walls came tumbling down.
 
Of course, from a teenager’s perspective—an American teenager at that—London looked perfect, but in reality, it was not. In 1970, Edward Heath was UK prime minister, promising a “quiet revolution;” however, the revolution turned out to be anything but quiet. There were transportation strikes, two miners’ strikes, dustmen strikes, the IRA, and an energy crisis. A three-day workweek was introduced in February 1972 to conserve electricity during the second miners’ strike. Politically and economically, the ’70s were challenging years for Britain.
 
My sister and I attended ASL, an excellent and innovative school. I enjoyed some amazing field trips: to Salisbury Plain, where I stood in the shadows of the impressive monoliths of Stonehenge. Back then, you could walk right up to the stones and touch them. We visited the Royal Observatory Greenwich, where I crossed the Meridian line, which marks the world’s prime meridian—longitudinal zero. Every location on Earth is measured in degrees east or west of this line. Frequent trips to the British Museum, which houses more than eight million artifacts and tells the story of human culture from its beginnings, were never dull.

The School was intentionally designed without walls separating classrooms. For a chatterbox like me, it was a dream come true. It was challenging to stay focused, and I spent my Grade 7 year stumbling around trying to figure out where I belonged. I was 12 years old and going through pre-teen and teenage angst. I spent a lot of Grade 7 catching up on what I had missed out on in the 1960s. And getting check marks from my teachers, indicating that I needed to practice self-control.
 
The first thing I discovered was the astounding array of music. When we lived in New Delhi, there was no television and no radio. I missed the entire British invasion of pop and rock music. The Beatles had come and gone before I even knew who they were. Up to that point, the music I was exposed to was my parents’ music—easy listening, folk, classical and jazz. I am grateful for that exposure because today, I enjoy all kinds of music; however, the music I heard in London was different—the beat, the rhythm—the bands were singing my song and telling my story. It felt like standing under a waterfall, with music cascading over me. I absorbed it with every fiber of my being: The Beatles; The Who; The Rolling Stones; Queen; America; Emerson, Lake & Palmer; Pink Floyd; Led Zeppelin; The Kinks; T-Rex; Rod Stewart; Simon and Garfunkel; The Jackson 5; David Cassidy; Bobby Sherman; The Osmonds; Elton John (more on him later); The Sweet; David Bowie—oh my gosh, the list goes on. Once I was exposed to the music, there was no turning back. Top of the Pops was must-see TV! My soul rejoiced and blossomed, soaking up the rhythm, the variety, and the sound of so much fantastic music.

By Grade 8, I hit my stride. London was a cosmopolitan city, home to fashion and music trends, and I absorbed it all. I wore hot pants, miniskirts, maxi skirts by Laura Ashley, platform shoes, lace-up boots, tight-legged flared jeans that dragged on the ground (I once wore a pair so tight someone asked if I had painted them on), fringed coats, and bodysuits. I wore makeup by Mary Quant, who, besides designing the miniskirt, also had a makeup line that was as loud and flashy as the 70s themselves. I formed friendships that have lasted more than 50 years. I drank in pubs and smoked cigarettes. I took a double-decker bus to and from school every day, in the rain, in the fog, in the rain, and in the rain. My gym class usually involved a bus trip to Regent’s Park to play field hockey while the mountain goats that called the London Zoo home watched us. On BBC TV, I discovered Star Trek and Hawaii Five-O. I was planning to move to Hawaii and marry Jack Lord! It was a time when I believed anything was possible.
 
In 1973, my time in London was coming to an end. My family and I would be leaving in July; however, there was still time to be thrilled, dazzled and amazed.
 
In 1973, Elton John was popular in the US but less so in England. Elton John had just released Don’t Shoot Me, I’m Only the Piano Player. The album was displayed in record shop windows all over London. In March 1973, he gave a concert for ASL students. He stepped onto a temporary stage, dressed in boas, oversized glasses and towering platform shoes. He sat behind the Steinway concert grand piano, and then the magic happened. The crowd of about 1,500 students went wild, and we danced all night. It was incredible—a true rock star among us. To this day, I still remember that concert and it still gives me chills.
 
In May 1973, I attended prom with a charming classmate. We had been friends and lab partners for most of the year. Handsomely dressed in a suit topped with a velvet blazer, he arrived at my house in a white Rolls-Royce, and it felt like riding on a cloud. The night was pure magic. It is an incredible memory I carry with me always.
 
The closest I came to the Beatles was meeting Paul McCartney at St. John’s Wood tube station. His band, Wings, was preparing to go on tour, and Linda dropped into the Mary Quant shop in the tube station to buy some makeup. Also, the most famous crosswalk that straddles one of the world’s most iconic roads is just a couple of blocks from ASL: Abbey Road. I made regular pilgrimages there—doing everything I could to try to absorb some of the magic of the Fab Four that seemed to linger in the air.
 
I wanted to write this memory to try to capture how London left such an indelible mark on me. The Beatles said it best, “There are places I’ll remember…all my life.”