San Benito High School Class of 1964

In 1957, Disney had never hired a Black animator. They didn't announce when they finally did—they just quietly let him prove everyone wrong.
Burbank, California. Floyd Norman walked through the gates of Walt Disney Studios with a sketchbook and a dream. He was 21 years old, fresh out of art school, and acutely aware that he was about to become the first Black person to work as an animator at the most famous animation studio in the world.
There was no press release. No diversity initiative. No public acknowledgment that Disney was breaking its own color barrier.
Just one animator who saw Floyd's portfolio and thought: "This kid can draw."
So Floyd drew.
He animated woodland creatures for Sleeping Beauty—delicate movements, precise timing, characters that felt alive. He brought mischief and charm to The Sword in the Stone. He helped craft the jungle adventures and unforgettable characters of The Jungle Book.
And Walt Disney himself noticed.
Walt pulled Floyd from animation into story development—a rare honor reserved for those who understood not just how to draw characters, but how to make them matter. Floyd had that gift. He could see a story's heart, find its humor, make audiences care.
But here's what's remarkable: Floyd Norman did all of this in a studio where he was the only Black face in the room. In an industry that barely acknowledged Black people existed except as stereotypes. In an America still wrestling with segregation.
He never made a speech about it. He just showed up every day and did extraordinary work.
By the late 1960s, Floyd left Disney—not because he failed, but because he wanted to build something of his own. He co-founded Vignette Films with animator Leo Sullivan and spent the next decade creating educational films featuring Black characters at a time when Hollywood still thought "diversity" was a radical concept.
He was telling stories about Black kids being heroes, scientists, adventurers—stories the mainstream wouldn't touch for another 20 years.
Then Disney called him back.
Then Pixar.
Then Disney again.
Floyd's pen flowed through decades: The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Mulan, Toy Story 2, Monsters, Inc.—films that defined childhoods for millions.
The industry transformed around him. Hand-drawn animation gave way to computers. Studios merged, technologies evolved, entire generations of animators came and went.
Floyd Norman never stopped drawing.
In 2000, when Disney tried to "retire" him at 65, Floyd refused. He called himself "re-fired" instead of retired and kept showing up. Not because he needed the money. Not because he had anything left to prove.
Because he loved the work.
Today, Floyd Norman is 90 years old. And he still walks into Disney and Pixar studios with the energy of someone decades younger, sketching ideas, crafting gags, mentoring artists who weren't even born when he started.
He's worked on films across seven decades. He's collaborated with Walt Disney himself and with directors who grew up watching the films Floyd helped create.
Think about that span: from Sleeping Beauty in 1959 to active work in 2024. That's 65 years of continuously making magic.
But here's what Floyd Norman's legacy really is:
It's not just the films—though those matter. It's not just being the first—though that matters too.
It's the artists who followed him. The doors that stayed open because he walked through them first and proved that talent has no color. The generations of Black animators who can point to Floyd Norman and say: "He showed us it was possible."
Floyd never demanded a spotlight. He never wore his barrier-breaking as a badge. He just drew brilliantly, told stories beautifully, and kept showing up—decade after decade after decade.
When asked about his longevity and impact, Floyd shrugs it off with characteristic humor: "I just kept my head down and drew funny pictures."
But that humility is deceptive. Because "just drawing funny pictures" meant being excellent in a room that wasn't built for you. It meant opening doors for others by refusing to let anyone close them on you. It meant six decades of proving that imagination belongs to everyone.
In 2016, a documentary about Floyd's life asked him if he ever felt bitter about the obstacles he faced, the recognition that came late, the barriers he had to break that shouldn't have existed.
Floyd smiled. "I was too busy having fun to be bitter."
That might be the most revolutionary thing about Floyd Norman: he refused to let injustice steal his joy.
He loved animation. So he animated.
The industry told him there was no place for him. So he made one.
And when they tried to push him out at 65, he just kept drawing.
From Walt Disney's personal story team to Pixar's computer animation revolution, from hand-drawn cels to digital tablets, from the only Black face in the room to a mentor for generations—Floyd Norman drew himself into history.
One frame at a time.
One character at a time.
One brilliant, joyful, "funny picture" at a time.
He's 90 years old now. Still "re-fired." Still drawing.
Still proving that the best way to break down barriers isn't always to fight them head-on.
Sometimes it's to be so undeniably excellent that the doors swing open whether they wanted to or not.
Floyd Norman walked into Disney in 1957 as the first Black animator.
He's still there—not as a symbol, not as a statement, but as an artist who never stopped doing what he loves.
That's not just a career. That's a revolution drawn one sketch at a time.

Anna Sewell was fourteen when the rainstorm changed everything. She fell. Her ankle shattered. In 1834, there was no surgery that could fix it. For the next 44 years of her life, she would barely be able to walk.
But she could still drive a horse-drawn carriage.
And on those drives through Victorian England, she began to see what most people ignored.
Horses whipped bloody when they stumbled on cobblestones. Bearing reins—fashionable leather straps that yanked their heads unnaturally high—causing constant agony just so carriages looked elegant. Exhausted animals worked sixteen-hour days until they collapsed in the street.
Anna couldn't march. She couldn't protest. Her body had betrayed her.
But her mind had not.
In 1871, at age fifty-one, she began writing a novel unlike anything attempted before. She would tell a story entirely from a horse's perspective—not as a cute fable, but as a searing testimony of suffering and survival.
Her health was already failing. Some days she couldn't hold a pen. She dictated passages to her mother between waves of pain. On better days, she scribbled fragments on scraps of paper that her mother carefully transcribed.
For six brutal years, she fought her own dying body to finish her "little book."
In November 1877, a small Norwich publisher bought the manuscript. They paid her £40—about $5,000 in today's money. It was the only money Anna Sewell would ever receive for her work.
She was fifty-seven years old. She knew she was dying.
Five months later, she was gone.
She never saw what happened next.
"Black Beauty" exploded across England, then America. Within two years, over one million copies circulated in the United States alone. The RSPCA printed thousands of copies and handed them directly to carriage drivers and stable workers. Lawmakers read it. Reformers quoted it in Parliament.
And then—the law changed.
The bearing rein was abolished in Victorian England. New animal cruelty laws swept across Britain and America. A single novel, written by a bedridden woman who couldn't cross a room without assistance, had ignited a movement that would protect millions of animals.
Anna Sewell never married. Never had children. Never wrote another book. Never lived to see her words transform society.
But 150 years later, "Black Beauty" has sold over 50 million copies worldwide. It's been adapted into films, television series, and stage productions across generations. Scholars call it "the most influential animal welfare novel ever written."
One woman. One book. One chance to speak.
She spent it giving a voice to creatures who had none.
And the world listened.

Hello friends! Here's a memory from our marvelous senior year! Enjoy!

Doo Wah Diddy Manfred Mann TRUE STEREO HiQ Hybrid JARichardsFilm HiQ Hybrid = Live Video Performance PLUS Studio Quality Sound.For other Music Videos - do a YOUTUBE SEARCH for - JARichardsFilm HiQ FULL PLAYLIST or SEARCH...

Hello, fellow classmates! Been a while since I posted on this page. Not sure what happened but I couldn't access it. Not sure what I did differently, but I was able to find it. Let's wish our March born classmates a happy birthday!
64 - Celebration time! Please join the Class of 1964 in wishing our March born classmates a very Happy Birthday on their special day!
Thomas Falcon - March 01
Ruben Huerta – March 03
Gilbert Guerra - March 05
Rose Ann Rodriguez Acosta – March - 05
Sylvia Gonzales Falcon – March 10
Dennis Deyo – March 11
Linda Ysaguirre Corona – March 11
Joseph Paul Milton – March 18
Nancy Phillips Davila – March 19
Joe Gonzales – March 21
Guadalupe “Lupe” Martinez – March 22

Hello, Classmates!
Hoping all had a blessed Thanksgiving!

Hello fellow classmates! Today, I saw my dentist, Dr. Blanchard, whose grandmother was originally from Harlingen. Dr. Blanchard is pretty familiar with the RGV and San Benito. He was telling me that he had just bought an album recorded by a young man from SB. He couldn't remember the name. So of course I mentioned Freddy Fenders. He says, "No, I knew Baldemar personally. I also once met Narciso Martinez and a grandson at the airport." Well neither of us could recall the name of the artist who sings about growing up in San Benito. But I've been wrecking my little brain and finally remembered ...Charley Crockett! We have so many greats that were either born, lived or walked our streets! There's Bobby Morrow, Freddy Fender, Narciso Martinez, Dr. James Dobson, Charley Crocket, Carlos Conde, Elfego Esparza and, of course, Sir Leo Rodriguez! We sure have plenty to be proud of. 💜💛💜💛

Class of 1964, lets come together in wishing our July born classmates a very Happy Birthday on their special day and may they be blessed with many more to come!
Susan Fox – July 4 (if I remember correctly, she's the youngest of our classmates!)
Betty Miller Garland – July 14
Dorothy Drake Cox – July 17 – Happy Heavenly Birthday
Terry Hatchett – July 22
George David Fleming – July 26
Rosie Cantu Garza - July 26
Ramiro Burnias – July 28
Andrea Weaver – July 29

The Class of 1964 is wishing our June born classmates a very Happy Birthday! We look forward to celebrating with you for many, many more years!

Fred Barg – June 17
Betty Terrell Green – June 19
Mary Frances Canas Leal - June 23
Amy Marie Wente Murphy – June 28

Covid-19 hit close to home! Jimmy was a dear friend. We met when he was hired as an Advisor at College of the Mainland. At that time I was the Staff Advisor for a student organization called Amigos. Jimmy was always willing and ready to support the students and my efforts to expand the college experiences of many first generation college students. He will be missed by many. Rest in Peace my dear, dear friend. Play that guitar & trumpet with the Angels. I'm sure God will allow you to sing a few Vicente Fernandez songs & belt out your famous gritos!

Houston area musician and educator dies from COVID-19 Not only did he play the trumpet, he was also a teacher at a catholic school.

Remember when we danced while they played? Good times. Sweet memories.

Please join me in wishing a most Happy Birthday to our October-born classmates!

Dora Sanchez Avila – Oct 7

Elain “Storm” Echols Allison – Oct. 8

Ginger Newberry Lee – Oct 10

Margarito Claudio, Jr – Oct 21

Robert Cortez – Oct 23

Concepcion Co**ha Galvan – Oct 23

Reynaldo G. Ramirez – Oct 26