memories #13    

                                                                                                                                                                                 


                                      DURANGO HIGH SCHOOL’S DUNGEON 

                                                                                                                                        

      After the new Durango high school was built, the old school became the administration  building.  Classrooms became storage areas for excess chairs, building materials, records etc.  I went back to the old school for a visit .  Little bits of forgotten events came rushing back to me.  Oh, I said to myself, I remember that room or teacher or event.  Looking at the gym floor reminded me of the noon sock hops that were held there during the winter months.  I also recall taking a volleyball, running to the basket and completing a successful dunk.  The old floor was very springy.  I failed to do that in any other gym.  

     On the first floor of the three story building were a variety of classes and teachers. One of my favorite teachers was Mrs. Short.  Mrs. Short taught algebra and geometry and her name was a perfect fit to her height.  I doubt she was 5 foot tall.  If she wanted the classes attention, she stood on one of the desks and addressed the class.  I wasn’t very good at either math course but she made it fun.  Mr. Brown was in classroom next to her and taught history.

     On the second floor was the principal’s office, Mr. Buckley’s domain.  I think Mrs. Hawley was on that floor too.  She was a popular English teacher.  Her husband was a preacher at St. Mark’s Church.  That was the church I attended and  Mrs. Holly directed the choir and played the organ on Sundays.  I never had Mrs. Hawley as a teacher.  Perhaps she had enough of me in church.

     On the third floor the only two teachers I remember were Mr. Cobb and Mr. Funk.  Mr. Funk taught psychology and was maybe, as tall as Mrs. Short.    His students tortured him every day.  Mr. Funk grew plants and kept them at the back of the room on the window sill to get the best sunlight.  Someone from chemistry class poured acid in the plants.  The plants died almost immediately!  Mr. Funk had a little bell on his desk he rang to get the classes attention and he rang it as loud as he could.  Red faced, he informed us he was leaving and would be right back.  We never saw him for two weeks.  Looking back, I can’t believe we were so mean.  Mr. Cobb taught history.   He handed out assignments and after we started to work on them, he went to his desk and slept until the and of the class.

     The stairs on the inside of the old building were unique.  The stairs, starting at the first floor, had two  outside stairways that met as one half way to the next floor.    They became a single stairway to the second floor.  They repeated in the same fashion to the third floor.

     My next revisiting adventure took me to the coaches observation booth that overlooked the swimming pool.  Everything was boarded up and access to the pool was denied.  Student entry was on the outside of the building. The boys were on one side and the girls on the other.

     This outside entry began at ground level and descending down some concrete stairs to a door.  Once opened one would take a few more steps of concrete into a dressing room illuminated by one light bulb.  If Durango wanted a dungeon, this would be the perfect place.  Every thing was damp, dark and moldy.  Concrete benches were there to sit and change clothes.  Yuck!

    

Ladies on the left, boys on the right

Once dressed, we went from the dressing room through the shower room and again only one light bulb and the same moldy, damp ambience.  Once past the shower room we turned right and ascended, on concrete stairs only wide enough for two at a time, to the pool area.  One can walk around the pool on a narrow 3 foot wide path.  The diving board was located at one end in front of the windowed observation booth.  Lighting for this area was provided by several single light bulbs protected by a metal cone shaped hood.  Free swimming or diving or a game of tag were offering as activities.  The rectangular shape of the pool made one end deep and gradually decrease in depth to around 4 foot at the other end.

     Playing tag had little rules.  To avoid getting tagged , one could exit the pool to the narrow path, but couldn’t move left or right.  To avoid the tag, the only other option was to dive back to the water.  

     Mike Canatsey was in the same physical education class with me.  He and I had participated in a life saving course during the summer.  Mike didn’t complete the course due to absences for personal reasons.  He was, however, a good swimmer.  Mike was “it” and started toward me.  I swam to the other side and exited the water.  As he reached out to tag me, I dove into the water.  You got it!  4 feet deep!  Dah!  I hit my head on the bottom of the pool and went blank.  Mike swam over to help me to the side.  The non-certified life guard saves the certified life guard.  Thanks Mike.

     My mother was notified that I was being taken to the hospital for observation.  Mom arrived after lunch with the doctor.  I had suffered a slight concussion.

     I had one more concussion in that dungeon the next year.  We had volleyballs to throw at one another in some sort of simulated game of dodge ball.  An errant ball hit one of the metal hoods  protecting the lights and down it came.  I was walking along that narrow path when the metal hood  hit me on the head.  My mother was notified and she asked if I was okay.  Assured I was, Mom said she would visit me later in the day.  Ouch!

    Although the old high school no longer houses students, the building now acts as a catalyst reminding us of who we were and the friends we made.  The building isn’t a memory but a place to remember. After all, we made the memories.