JimBlackBooks.com
FINAL THOUGHTS
My own memories are of wearing football ribbons on Fridays with sayings like, “Clobber the Cubs” and “Pound the Greyhounds”. Pep rallies. Junior and Senior plays. Student Council. Spanish Class. Typing Class. Running laps in the old gym. Sitting in study hall in the library dreading football practice. The aquarium in the science lab. Fire drills. Tornado drills. Lunch at Ruby’s Grocery. Car washes and scrap metal drives to earn money for our senior trip. Getting licks from Neil Henderson for fighting with Tim Robison. (Tim thought my hopping forward was funny until it was his turn.)
Like most, my schooling left indelible positive tracks on my life. Oh, there were bullies. And the occasional mean-spiritedness of others. But they were mostly good times. Friends. And loves. The deepest tracks, however, were left by my teachers. Ruth Wallace. Chloe Byers. Dean Fisher. Rachel McWhorter. Neil Henderson. Harry Gardiner, Helen Fall. Colleen Wood. Linda Gray. Coaches Mike Wood, Eddie Morris, Bobby Ray and Toby Wood.
Bobby Blackburn taught me how to behave. The science lab had countertops with holes in them, on which Gary Beesinger, Charles Luig, Myrle Metcalf, and I played many a game of golf using golf balls fashioned out of chewing gum. Eventually though, Bobby won out, and we straightened up and flew right. At least in biology class.
Mary Lee Crowley Hawkins taught me how to write. Well enough that I’ve managed a few moderately successful books and plays.
And finally, Judd Gray and I had some humdinger conversations/discussions/arguments in algebra class. You see, I just never could grasp the concept of infinite numbers. Surely five divided by three has an answer you can put on a single sheet of paper, even if you have to use both sides. And if numbers can go on forever, why not some of the things in life that really matter? I still wrestle with that today, but came away from there with something invaluable. More than anything, Judd Gray taught me to care.
And that, more than anything, is what I remember most about my days in the old, red brick building. And is what I am most grateful for.
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This undertaking began as a book project. My goal was to place a keepsake in readers’ hands that could be cherished for years to come. There is, after all, something special in holding a book and turning its pages, especially these days. But in the end, it just wasn’t to be. I simply did not receive enough submissions. Also, I was hoping for a good cross-section of remembrances spanning the decades but only heard from nine people representing the past forty-five years (1970 – 2015). The majority of stories came from those who graduated in the 1950s and 60s.
In closing, I'd like to share one last, special memory. It's from Mark Mueller - Class of 1975
Boy, have I been getting ghost-bit lately! I’ve been inside the old high school building these last four days just before it’s to be torn down, and at many times I’m the only one there. Tomorrow will be last day the public can be inside. After Sunday, a fence will be going around the location. There are so many strange sounds coming from this building, it’s like it has a soul of its own. It knows the end is near, but where do old buildings go when they die? I realize it’s only a building containing mold, asbestos, and lead paint, but also the spirits of persons who have returned to the place where they were their happiest. Ghost-bit for sure.
I, too, visited the school after it had been gutted just prior to demolition. I was accompanied by a reporter and a cameraman from KFDX TV who were doing a story on the subject. The reporter sounded like she was a thousand miles away. My mind was elsewhere. So was my heart. Mark has perfectly captured what I was thinking and feeling at the time.
My sincere thanks to all who had a part in making this sentimental journey possible.
Jim 11/20/2020
