A Great Tresure Almost Lost

If someone blindfolded me, led me to the center of the site where I went to school for twelve years and told me to listen, I doubt if I would be able to tell them where I was even if I sat there all day. But if the same thing had happened before all the old buildings were torn down, and the old playground was bulldozed, and the train which chugged by each day stopped running, and the buildings across the street went out of business, I think I would know immediately where I was. It wouldn’t take long to remember the sounds and smells of my old school.  

If my math is correct I started my schooling in 1954. The first through the third grads were located in what was called the Little Building. It had just been built around the time I started. Grades 4 through 12 were in what became known as the Big Building. As a first grader I thought that building was huge, and it was a large building. When our class was taken over to the big building for a band concert or one of the old Southern Assembly programs my little classmates and I were in awe of the grandeur of what we saw inside. Long dark hardwood hallways seemed to run forever. They shined from an oily base that covered them I suppose to cut down on the dust that might appear. From those hardwood floors came a unique odor I will never forget.

Should I have been given a blinded tour of my old school I would have known where I was in no time. Just running my hands along the east side of the building to the side entrance would probably have been enough. Three or four steps led  up to the doorway, and those curved concrete side board like structures, which I believe are called horses, on each side of the steps would be a great clue to my location. I imagine every student who attended Lewisburg school sat or played there, and probably just about every teacher sat on one of those concrete horses.

I think the most revealing clue would be the sounds coming from the old playground. It wasn’t fancy or as safe as today’s school playgrounds. By today’s standards it would be considered very crude, and today's parents would not have wanted their children playing there. There were two or three large A framed, strong metal structures which held the swings. The swing seats were made of thick wooden pieces. They were attached with what some might call small log chains. The horizontal steel bar that connected to the two A framed supports was probably about 10 feet high. The older students, usually boys, would stand in their swing and soar like eagles as they reached heights where they were almost horizontal to the ground. But the giveaway in my blindfold state with the swings would be the sound they made. Those rusty chains rubbing against their metal braces rang out across the school ground . That noise could be heard from the farthest reaches of the inside of the big building and even way down the street to where I went to church. Add in two giant metal sliding boards and one crude twirling apparatus and you have the totality of our playground equipment.

We made do with what we had. Some of us brought our toy guns to school occasionally and we played cowboys and Indians. Sometimes without any thing but maybe some sticks we imagined we were knights protecting our castles from make believe dragons or foreign invaders. We played tag, Red Rover, hide and go seek or we simply ran  and jumped or played with some kind of a ball. We always figured out a way to have fun. Did we get hurt? Yes! Skinned knees and elbows, busted lips, blisters, knots on our heads, sometimes a wasp sting and the occasional broken arm happened on our playground. And you know what, as far as I know there were no lawsuits

I miss those days. It would be a dream to go back and explore some hidden place and find that little building or the big building both fully intact. That would be like finding an Indiana Jones treasure. Perhaps a find like that would bring back the trust people had for one another, the desire to attend church and serve, the morals and the innocence once cherished by our society, and the recognition that good is good and bad is bad. Yes there was something about those old buildings that held all of those things as well as an appreciation for authority, the value of hard work and dedication, and the honor that can only be received from doing what is right. I thank God for the minority who continue to hold on to these virtues.