The Old Schoolhouse
I had received word that it was happening: the old one-room grade school where I had spent so many hours, days, months and years was being torn down. The old clapboard school building and school yard, no longer in use; had been purchased. Now in disrepair, it was considered an eyesore. Better use could be made of the property.
An era had ended. Students were being shuttled by bus to larger schools. Only a few of the one or two-room schoolhouses would be spared; repaired and renovated to become community houses or centers and still serve a useful purpose.The little village where I was born and raised had no club or organization to come forward and ask that the old schoolhouse be spared.
The wind, sleet and snow of winter, violent storms of springtime, the hot dehydrating sun of summertime and the long years had taken their toll on the old building. Its paint; once gleaming white, was now a dull grey. Nails had rusted, the weatherboarding had fallen off in places and the tin roof was rusted and full of holes. Many of the windowpanes had been broken out by vandals wielding slingshots or BB guns.
It was a two-story building. In the earlier part of the century when timber was king and big loads of logs were being hauled out of the virgin forests nearby, the upper story had been used as a club and meeting place for the Modern Woodmen. The only use the school ever made of the upper story was a storage place for the stage used in the school's annual Christmas program. During the summer school vacation the building was used for Sunday School and church services. Sometime during the summer it would be filled to overflowing for a two or three week evangelistic meeting. It was at one of those meetings that I made the most important decision of my life: receiving the Lord Jesus Christ into my heart and life. This made the old school building all the more special to me.
As I strolled up the then unpaved road of the little village, these thoughts were running through my mind. I stopped in front of the old edifice of learning, and saw that it indeed; was true. The old schoolhouse was being torn down piece by piece, board by board. I lingered only a little while; wondering if the men hard at work felt any of the emotions I was experiencing. It was like a dear old friend who has contributed so much in earlier years -- now come to the end of usefulness; finally succumbing to the ravages of time.
Everything changes -- nothing remains the same forever in this life. A pretty little church would be built on one section of the school yard and a modern dwelling where the old schoolhouse stood. The next time I went by the site where the old schoolhouse had stood, only a dark brown spot remained. The workers had no difficulty in tearing down the old schoolhouse, but as long as there is life in me a part of it will always remain: the primary basis of my education, memories both happy and sad, love of God and country and an instilled sense of values and code of conduct that even the ravages of time cannot erase.
By Roy L. Spinks
{To visit Roy Spink's website, just click on the name.}
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