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Slumber parties were a cornerstone of teenage life in 1950s middle America—and about much more than staying up late. An invitation confirmed that you still belonged. Being left out felt like exile.

I attended my share of these gatherings and hosted even more, often on New Year’s Eve. Guests arrived carrying sleeping bags, ready for a night of food, gossip, ghost stories and increasingly silly telephone pranks.

One frequent target was a local family named Pancake. We would call and ask about Aunt Jemima, pretending to worry that she had been left in the cupboard. We also phoned stores to ask whether they had Prince Albert tobacco in a can. When someone answered yes, we shouted, “Well, let him out!” before dissolving into laughter.

One girl was especially popular because she could perform a remarkably convincing telephone impression of a woman giving birth.

Once prank calling lost its appeal, the night became an informal fashion show. Everyone changed into stylish baby-doll pajamas that had never been worn before.

Then came the food: piles of potato chips, gallons of Pepsi, and tuna or ham salad sandwiches served on white bread. We ate with the fearless appetites—and forgiving metabolisms—of youth.

Afterward, conversation moved through its usual order: gossip about anyone who was absent, boys and, finally, sex. That last subject rarely lasted long because most of us had little information to offer.

When the lights went out, ghost stories began. Without a campfire, the storyteller created the mood by holding a flashlight beneath her face. The frightening tale always involved someone she did not personally know, but whom a friend of a friend supposedly did.

After midnight, girls gradually surrendered to sleep. Staying awake the longest was a point of pride, and anyone who lasted until 3 a.m. made sure the others heard about it the next day.

Morning brought another ritual. My exhausted father headed to work while my mother visited the bakery for two or three dozen doughnuts. The entire supply disappeared before the guests went home.

Looking back, the evenings seem remarkably innocent. At the time, though, they felt like the height of excitement—and it took surprisingly little to keep us entertained.