The School of No Return

The School of No Return, by Roger Skrypczak

Kevin had an opportunity to return to his hometown, a small village in Northern Wisconsin. He was invited to speak at the town’s annual Fireman’s Fundraiser. The fire department where his father had served as Chief needed to purchase a new water tanker. The department served several rural townships with no fire hydrants, so a dependable water tanker truck was essential to extinguish fires that periodically occurred. Kevin, an accomplished speaker, was a fire safety engineer and instructor at a southern state vocational institute.

 Although Kevin could have flown into Duluth and rented a car for the event, he decided to make the sixteen-hour drive, staying at an Indianapolis hotel about halfway to his destination. He arrived at the village several hours before he was to address the attendees and local volunteer firefighters at the Village Hall, adjacent to the fire hall.

 Since there was no reason to return, thirty-five years had passed since he had been to the town, about the time his folks had moved to a retirement community in South Carolina. His sister was married and living in California. The only member of the family who remained in the area was his twin brother Karl interned at the local cemetery. Karl was killed in a car accident after a graduation party held at a nearby lake.

 Entering the village from the west, Kevin noticed that the old railroad station had been converted into a mini museum. The dilapidated town hall came into view next, and across the street, the windows of the lumberyard were boarded shut with a for sale sign hanging from the door of the main entrance. The main road turned north as he passed a large open space filled with tall weeds which partially hid the foundations of long-razed buildings. The local bank building had been converted into a real estate office building. The red brick exterior made it appear to have two stories when, in fact, it was only one story with a high ceiling. The brick walls on all four sides rose up four feet over the top of the flat roof.

 Making a right turn past the bank, Kevin noticed a stand of poplar trees that filled an open area he remembered as being a field with a variety of wildflowers and noxious weeds. Glancing to his left, he saw the grade school where he, his twin brother Karl, and younger sister, Kathy, attended all eight grades. It also held the classroom where his mother taught third and fourth grades. It had been unoccupied for nearly thirty years when a local cattle dealer and auctioneer purchased the building from the school district. Kevin drove around the back to the parking lot, where he saw that the northwest corner of the roof had caved in. He guessed that the heavy snows of northern Wisconsin caused the under-maintained structure to give way.

Half of the cafeteria windows facing the parking lot were boarded, with the other half broken and open to the elements. Painted on the back entrance door were the words “PRIVATE PROPERTY KEEP OUT.” Kevin doubted it deterred anyone wishing to enter. He was not surprised when he found the door unlocked. The short stairs to the main floor were solid underfoot. To his left were the boys’ and girls’ bathroom doors with a bubbler between them. To the right, near the main entrance, was his mother’s classroom. To the left of the boys' room was the doorless entrance to the cafeteria, which was blocked by three bales of hay stacked one on top of the other.

 Kevin removed the bales, disturbing a family of field mice scurrying in all directions. He could immediately smell fermenting grain coming from the left end of the cafeteria. A makeshift four-foot wall was holding several tons of oats. On the right were scattered tractor and farm equipment parts. Kevin's heart sank, and he was suddenly filled with remorse as he remembered the smell of Mrs. Brown’s hamburger and noodle casserole and homemade baked bread. He stepped back. replaced the hay bales and turned into the hall that led to the gym.

 The school was built in the late 1800s, but the cinder block gym was added on before WWII during the Great Depression. One could enter the stage from the hall, but a short flight of steps led down to the gym. A basketball backboard and rim once hung from the ceiling in front of the stage, and another hung on brackets from the far wall near the outside entrance. A shower and locker room were located under the stage. When it was built, no one considered a need for girls to shower.

 On the way down the hall, Kevin peeked into the first- and second-grade classroom where the beautiful Miss Randell taught. Every boy in her classes had a crush on her, including Kevin. They were all heartbroken when she married a man from Rhinelander and moved away. The room had turned from a gay, brightly colored, and welcoming classroom to a dank, foreboding, empty room with water-stained walls and broken windows. His gloom intensified, nearly bringing tears to his eyes. He had to turn away and start toward the gym.

 Kevin suddenly stopped in the hall, realizing he was alone in a building that could come crashing down upon him at any moment. The building would never again be filled with laughing and excited children. He wondered if the walls could hear them as he could at that moment. Could the walls of the gym hear a single basketball bouncing a few times, then the sound of the ball hitting the rim with a twang? He could. It was the sound of his brother, Karl, spending hours by himself practicing his hook and jump shots. Karl was the better athlete of the twins, and Kevin hated to practice. He almost believed he would see Karl, basketball held on his hip, smiling as if he had just made five consecutive jump shots from above the free throw circle.

 Hesitating a moment before pushing open the large fire door to the gym, Kevin was hoping to see the gym the way it looked when his parents threw him and his new pride a post-wedding party nearly forty years earlier. What he saw made him nauseous. The once beautiful hardwood floor was a dull gray with thousands of splinters rising from the surface. Clumps of hay were strewn throughout the gym, accompanied by bird and rodent droppings. The basketball hoops were gone, and the stage curtain was piled in a heap in front of the stage. It was likely used to cover the hay and protect it from the leaky roof. The scene reminded Kevin of a haymow in the spring before the first crop of hay was bailed and stacked to the ceiling.

 Trying to avert his nausea, Kevin climbed the short flight and into the hall. His mother’s classroom was at the far end. He refused to go in there. His time in that classroom was the worst two years of his life. He and Karl were constantly taunted for being the teacher’s kids.

 Standing at the base of the stairs that led to the second floor, he thought better of making the climb. The top floor held two classrooms: one for the fifth and sixth grades and the other for the seventh and eighth grades. A music room and a makeshift storage room were partitioned off at the end of the hall. The stairs were situated at the corner of the building where the roof had partially caved into the rafters. 

 Looking down at his feet, he noticed that the hardwood flooring was in relatively good condition. Kevin remembered how Otto Gunderson would spend the entire summer refinishing all of the floors. First sanding, scrubbing, then applying the varnish just in time for the new school year.

 In his many years of training firefighters, communities would often burn their old schools for the local fire department to practice. Kevin wondered why the village hadn’t done the same. He decided to suggest the idea in his speech later that evening.

 Checking his watch, he realized he needed to get to the town hall to freshen up and prepare for the fundraiser dinner. According to the brochure he received in the mail, the menu consisted of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, vegetables, and apple pie.

 As Kevin left the old school, he closed the door behind him. A sudden sense of relief overtook him. Not only did he escape the possibility of the building crumbling down on him, but he also thought that he would never have to return.