It’s with mixed emotions that I watch the demolition of the old Denison High School on Main Street. I went there, but it was called McDaniel Junior High School in those days.

I was downright afraid the first day I entered those doors. I’d been at the smaller Terrell Middle School for three years. Terrell only went to eighth grade, so I had to go to McDaniel for ninth grade, as it hadn’t yet been moved to the senior high school. At Terrell, I knew the building, the teachers and the students. McDaniel had three stories, basements and “hidden” rooms I might never get out of. I knew no one except my fellow Terrell classmates. What if those other kids were from Mars? Even worse, the school was across the street from what my parents considered the devil’s playground — a drive-in filled with high school kids. My eternal soul would be in danger just looking at the place while waiting for the school bus!

The first day of school came and I had to brave the wilds. Funny, but I didn’t have any trouble finding my classes. The stairways and building in general fascinated me. I didn’t meet a single Martian. In fact, some of the kids I met that very first day are still my friends. Most of the teachers were pretty cool, too — teachers like Keith McBrayer and Jewel McKnight.

The drive-in? One of my “cool” teachers, Madge Maddox, had a ground level room with ground level windows. When I learned lightning wouldn’t drop me, I and my friend would sneak out those windows (only once in a while) and go over there for a quick visit with whomever was there, usually her brother. I’d walk right through the middle of it every day on my way to Ashburn’s Ice Cream for my lunch. Strange, but my feet never felt any hotter while I stood on the drive-in’s parking lot.

When the wrecking crew took down the school auditorium, that, too, stirred memories. It was on that very stage that I danced and wore a honest to goodness short skirt for the first time. Thanks to Maddox, our choir had cheerleader-like uniforms and did a 1950’s program, complete with the jitterbug. It’s a wonder that the earth didn’t split open and suck me into the depths of Hell, according to my folks. I loved it!

Looking at the building, I can almost hear the clicking of manual typewriter keys and the screeching of tennis shoes on the gym floor. Schools weren’t air conditioned then, and the building’s big, screenless windows were wide open most of the year. At an given time, inside and outside sounds mingled in a pleasant den.

Time moves on and things change. And even though my old school building won’t be there much longer, the memories it gifted me with will last a lifetime.

by Lynette George
Herald Democrat
 

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