Once in my 20’s I stepped back into my Watsontown Elementary School, and I was ushered back to 4th grade in an instant.
💭 Linoleum flooring, tiled walls, chalkboard dust, and the lingering aromas of disinfectant and the cafeteria
💭 Mrs. Seskinsky leading us in the Pledge of Allegiance and The Lord’s Prayer1
💭 Melting into a puddle of laughter at a row of empty “helicopter” swings, wildly pivoting in mid-air thanks to vigourous pushes from Dave Dievert and me
Memories rushed in because of an assault on my honker, the schnoz, the Ole Factory.
When Becky and I booked an Airbnb condo for Roanoke, VA, we weren’t aware it was part of a former school building.
From the street, it was obvious, though.
We were struck by the grounds and exterior: Immaculate. Security was high-tech and easy to manage.
Through the glass doors, the same ones many a knucklehead had run through, we encountered warm furnishings, locally-sourced art, and a brew pub off the lobby.
The tiled walls, the numerous doors, and the expansive, horizontal design, however, betrayed its educational origins.
How did it smell? There were no wafts of pencil shavings, no sour-breath boys jostling for position in the lunch line, and no anxiety-inducing sniffs from the nurses office.
It smelled like…a quality apartment building.
The condo itself was something straight out of Dwell Magazine, modern with hard elements, yet somehow very cozy.
In a declining neighborhood, such as it’s located, this kind of reclamation of solid bones will likely spur further development and home-ownership.
During the Cold War, these schools were built with fallout shelters, for heaven’s sake, so they’re not going anywhere easily or fast. We tend to turn them over to dereliction, poorly-funded community centers, or flea markets.
We can build new schools with cheaper materials and greener schemes, as we ought, but perhaps part of a smart solution is to turn these structures into residences.
Save the towns, save our land, and vice versa.
I like the smell of that.
It was 1969-1970.