When memories no longer have structures to house them

Last week I got an email from my Dad with some downright depressing pictures.  Turns out they are tearing down my old elementary school and building a new one.  There was this huge open space behind the original building, and apparently that's where the new one is going.  All signs are pointing to it being open in time for the new school year this fall.

I attended Frances Lacy Elementary in Raleigh, NC from first through third grade, before they did some redistricting and sent the kids on my block to another school in town. Lacy was about a mile and a half up the street from our house; a true neighborhood school in inner-beltline Raleigh.  It sat at a main intersection in the area, which meant in addition to spending my weekdays there as a young'un, we'd pass it by frequently as we made our way around town - to the grocery store, the bank, the gas station.  It was a fixture in our neighborhood and a fixture in my life.  Back in my day it looked something like this (with a little more landscaping):

I have mixed feelings about them tearing down my school.  I know it's probably for the best - no telling how out-of-date the original facility was.  And given the way Raleigh continues to grow I'm sure enrollment had outgrown the building long ago.  But still - there's something about tearing down your school that just doesn't seem right, you know?  So what if it's a better use of space?  So what if the new playground will be state-of-the-art?  I rather liked the creaky old tire contraption that notoriously trapped kids and required a teacher's assistance to be extracted from its clutches.  I dug the metal monkey bars that wouldn't have a chance of meeting building code today.  I was all over the sandy, dusty kickball diamond (and really, is there any sport that screams "elementary school" more than kickball??) where we'd use leftover paper lunch bags for bases.  The incoming class will have brand-new stuff, but it won't have near the character of the old. 

The sad thing is that there will be no more trips down memory lane for me at the intersection of Ridge Road and Lake Boone Trail.  There's no outside structure to house the memories embedded deep within.  Instead I'll have to resurrect them on my own:

• First grade class in the north wing (far left in the picture above) and looking forward every day to story time because my teacher really knew how to read 'em.

• The lunchroom and the standard lunchroom aroma that, for some reason, always smelled like sloppy joes no matter what they were serving.

• One time in the lunchroom line, one of the cafeteria ladies motioning me over to very discreetly inform me that I needed to zip up my pants.  Oops.

• Having the lead in the first grade production of "The Little Gingerbread Boy."  I had lines memorized and everything.  My costume was made out of some brown fabric that kind of itched.  The media center was packed the night we put the show on.

• Cheating on a math quiz in third grade using a slide calculator I got out of a Trix cereal box.  True story.  You can read the whole thing here, if you want.  After that I learned my lesson and stopped eating sugary cereals.

• Walking down the long sidewalk from the car drop-off line to the main entrance every morning.  It looked just like the picture to the left - without the "Vote" signs, of course.

• Going to school for a few days with a patch over one of my eyes because I'd gotten some tiny piece of metal in it and had to keep it away from light.  Some kids took to calling me a pirate, which I understood to be a compliment.

• The stairs that ran down from the main lobby and classrooms to the lunchroom and out to the playground and open areas.  Nothing special about them, I just remember they were there.  Emphasis on "were."

• Years later in high school, our show choir's whirlwind day tour every December to a few area elementary schools to perform our standard set of Christmas songs. It was always like coming home when we'd go to Lacy.

I'm sure there are other things I'd remember if I thought hard about it.  The main thing is that I have memories of a place that doesn't exist anymore, and that's just weird.  There's something melancholy about that, even though I haven't been in the building in over 30 years, even though I don't live in the area or send my kids there.  There's something very strange knowing that a piece of my past has been bulldozed to the ground and hauled off to the landfill in large trucks.

I'm sure the new school (pictured below, with the old structure not yet torn down at the top left) will be absolutely gorgeous and wonderful, effectively educating a new generation of kids for life in the 21st century.  But it won't be the old school, and that's a shame.  I'm telling you, those kids are missing out.

Comments

[Nancy McCarthy]

Thank you for this beautifully written tribute to Lacy. I was an assistant at Lacy from 1975-1982 and served as the summer librarian in 1980 and 1981. Were you there then? Who were your teachers? Several of the teachers and staff have remained close through the years. We try to meet for dinner once a month but it has become difficult as our number has decreased due to moves and, unfortunately, deaths. We will be getting together on August 21 to celebrate the Lacy we all remember and love. Just thought you'd like to know that you are not alone in you sadness at the passing of "our Lacy."

Nancy McCarthy

[Steve]

Nancy, I'm trying to think.....it would've been somewhere around 1974-77; somewhere in there. I hate to say that I really don't remember many of my teachers for some reason (although I'm sure my parents would). I imagine we were there at the same time!

[Nancy McCarthy]

We had our celebration last night and it was wonderful to be together and share our memories. When you're in Raleigh again, if the school is ready, go by and check out the brick walkway that will be created. Our group, The Lacy Ladies, has purchased several bricks. Maybe some of the names will jog your memory. Thank you again for the beautiful memory.
Nancy McCarthy