The ladies gathered around a white box on the table and leaned toward it as if a string pulled them by the chest.

Once one of them ripped the box open, the golden brown swirls of doughy rolls sprinkled with nuts satisfied their curiosity.

For 60 years, they’ve searched for the nostalgic treat across Baltimore and shared wherever they have gathered.

“They look like our sticky buns,” said Joyce L. Gillard, reflecting on a time when going to school was the most convenient way to get one.

Gillard, Denise Chappell, Fredricka Williams and Marsha “Bubbles” Logan are part of a larger group of about 15 Forest Park High School classmates who’ve remained friends since graduating in 1965. They’ve nurtured a space where they can be their true selves as the city of their youth and the rest of the world change around them.

The group of septuagenarians has come a long way since spending most of a few nickels and dimes of their lunch money on sticky buns in the high school cafeteria. The treat is such a fan favorite among Baltimore school-goers of the past that the localized recipe is shared across the internet.

They’ve spent decades in careers at universities, building their own businesses and families, retiring and even moving across the states to plant new roots. Among them, they have raised dozens of children and doted on more than 20 grandkids and several great-grandchildren.

In April, some of them went to an Irish pub in Ellicott City after making plans in one of their group chats called The Foresters, a nod to their school mascot, who resembles a lumberjack. Though not everyone showed, there were at least eight Foresters.

Whenever they get together, it doesn’t take long to turn the pages back to recall the good old days. They had “squad goals” way before hashtags or Taylor Swift made it trendy and cool.

“It’s crazy because we tell the same stories over and over again and we laugh each time,” said Williams, who’s been married to her high school sweetheart, Jesse, for 57 years.

The group remembers who went with whom to the junior and senior proms, who crushed on whom, who lived in which neighborhood, and the library on West North Avenue where they often saw their Black classmates.

Their friendships were also forged during the biggest events of our time, including the day in November 1963 when they heard the president had been shot while walking to class.

Williams recalled mistakenly thinking they were referring to the president of the student body — and not the assassination of President John F. Kennedy.

“And we still let her be our friend,” Chappell joked.

At the Irish pub this spring, memories and laughter seemed to fill them more than the plates of french fries and cheeseburgers and pours of Harvey Wallbangers, a vodka and orange juice mixed drink.

“We do have each other’s back, even if I don’t like them,” joked Emory Woods, known either as “the mouth” or Bernard, depending on when you got to know him.

His friend Paul King quickly chimed in.

“I have been trying to protect Bernard,” King explained before reversing himself, saying, “We are gonna have to start beating him up. I’d bet on my cane before your cane.”

All jokes aside, they each cherish a time during their enduring friendships that carried them through a crisis or tragedy.

For Williams, it was when her son, Jesse, was murdered in 2001. Gillard turned to the group for support during her knee replacement. For Woods, it was his near-fatal heart attack. For Chappell, when her husband died in a motorcycle accident.

In addition to their personal challenges, they remember how they collectively survived seismic changes in the world around them: their grief when Baltimore was riven by riots after the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr.; their joy when Barack Obama became the first Black president. And their anger when the Colts silently left Baltimore in the dead of night.

Alex Samets, a Baltimore-based psychoanalyst, said the longevity of this friend group is remarkable.

It’s worth noting, Samets said, that “there is something about what is possible in a relationship when you’ve known someone since they were a child.” There’s a chance for deep compassion, knowledge and understanding, she added.

Samets said the factors that contribute to a long, consistent friend group like the Foresters are “important to understand so we can consider how they function in our lives.”

Chappell and Williams trace their best friendship back to middle school.

“She was the sister that I chose,” Chappell said about Williams, followed by a long pause, and then a crack. “And, if you notice, she makes no response so I don’t know why we’re friends.”

Not all the shared memories are crystal clear.

Few remember Logan was on the varsity badminton team. And if Woods, they say, actually owned a turquoise 1964½ Mustang, how come some of them had to pile on the bus or pay another classmate for a lift and never got a ride.

Woods insists people knew he had the Mustang, especially because a few classmates wrote entries in his high school yearbook about it.

“Well, where are they?” Logan asked. “Because we’re still here.”

On June 22, this group of friends will join dozens of their other classmates to celebrate 60 years since their last high school bell rang. They’ll wear bedazzled shirts in their school colors and reminisce about the smell of sticky buns in the cafeteria.

Many won’t look the same as they did in the yearbook, but these friends aren’t concerned about the marriage of change and time.

“My friends keep me from changing as to not be unrecognizable,” Woods said.