Remember the David Crockett School!

I was again in my hometown Dallas this December. With time to kill, I decided to detour and drive through my old neighborhood--the same streets I must have pounded a thousand times by foot and bike. This was the inner-city Dallas of my youth before I moved to the suburbs in the 7th grade. If I had stayed here, I would have gone to the Spence Jr. High "stockade" and then on to high school glory at Woodrow Wilson, instead of BA, as it turned out to be.
I really, though, wanted to drive by my dear old elementary school, as we all have the inclination to do when we are home for a weekend or the holidays. That affinity for our first schools comes from feeling that's where we sort of "got our start"--our fundamentals and foundational experience for entering the teenage years. The historic David Crockett School with its almost Alamoesque building front and low walls was mine. Despite the heroic masculine name, I wanted to see how the old "girl" looked after my near 46-year absence.
I knew it had been closed as a school by DISD since 1989 when they opened a new elementary school just across the street that gobbled up half of Buckner Park, where I played a many day. My sister stopped by a number of years ago. The school's classrooms had been converted into district administration offices. She said the kind people let her walk around and down the long empty hallway, which used to be filled with the usual kid's shuffling and chatter; even peek into the darker basement floor "dungeon" area (as we kids called it), where the boys and girls bathrooms were. Also, where the ever mysterious boiler room was that you didn't dare enter for fear of your life!
I drove up busy Carroll Street in front first as slow as I could go, wearing my old cap and waving my arm out the window like a impatient Jewish taxi driver for the backup cars to come around in the upcoming traffic, but no daredevils. I finally got to the end of the long block (at the relief of the others) and turned down the side bordering the large school ground and gravel football field we used to play on, then around back of the school and behind the building where the lower cafeteria exit doors seemed barred. Above stood the large stately wooden auditorium and library windows, still as they were. High overhead,  the name in old letters proclaimed proudly the original name: "Davy Crockett School." The external gym and deserted teacher parking lot remained to the building side as I continued to the end of the street. 
I went around again to make sure I was believing the changes I was seeing. Large trees had grown up where the baseball fields had been and a newer sidewalk bisected the grounds with a few benches. They looked occupied by down-on-their-luck or hopeless individuals and others standing around probably playing hooky from their responsibilities. The old school building itself appeared abandoned, partly boarded up, chain-link fenced, and padlocked on the ground floor to keep any vandals out and the rats in. Gone is the side slick fire escape slide we all took a turn on. The cheap window A/C units hanging out of the converted classroom windows distracted from the original architecture. I remember the boys helping the teachers to raise the large wooden windows, which had iron anchors inside.   
My heart sank to see David Crockett School in such state--so forlorn and forgotten. Was this deserving of an institution that had served the community and surrounding neighborhood for over a hundred years? Records would never reveal the number of kids educated here, who passed through her hallowed halls and on to fulfill their adult destinies. It was here I learned about the environment; stamp collecting, penmanship, map-making, an appreciation for classical and modern music, respect for country and the flag, learned to obey rules of conduct and safety, made lots of friends, started a bank savings account, played my first game of four-square in the blacktop outside, attempted tackle football and dribbled a basketball on the school team, kissed a girl on a dare, did paper drives, and first learned of President Kennedy's assassination.
All past now with the winds of time and change...and if somewhat sad, such are the sweet memories of our childhood schools.  
    
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SLIrUJD5wMs