A Rolling Stone Goes Back to Backwater High School

Thirty-eight years is a lifetime and practically no time at all

Last week I walked into my high school for the first time in thirty-eight years.

After my sojourn to the two malls of my youth, I figured it was time to revisit the building I spent the most time in during my days of hormonal overload and scholastic achievement. In my mind, it would take around 90 minutes to drive from Wichita to Towanda, KS, home of Circle High School (and that’s about it). The drive took just under 24 minutes.

This disparity in my memory of the trip and the reality of it was the first sign that nearly four decades and having lived in major cities since had affected my perception.

In 1984, the school was a dome building. The dome was why it was called ‘Circle’ and, yes, this adherence to the literal seems about right in hindsight. As I drove up, the dome was gone. Towanda looked almost if I had never left with the sole exception being the local grocery was gone and replaced by a brick building with no indication what it was for except for a huge sign on the front that stated unambiguously “HEBREW.” I’m sure I’ll swing by and dig into what that means but I had other discoveries to make on this trip.

I pulled into the parking lot. The football field was still to my left, the building (now more complex than the big dome) still to my right.

“Can I help you?” He was leaning a bit to much my way and it occurred to me in the Era of the Mass Shooter his concern was merited.

“Yeah. I’m an alumnus from 1984. Haven’t stepped in the building in four decades and I’ve recently moved back to Kansas to help my family. Where are the students?”

“Columbus Day. We’re in-service today so I guess you’re lucky in your timing. I’m Mr. (I can’t remember). I’m the Principle. Mr. Science Teacher Who Looks Like a Baseball Coach? Could you give this gentlemen a quick tour?”

He printed a badge on a lanyard for me. Mr. Science Teacher was happy to help. He started the tour by showing my the outdoor courtyard that was the center of the dome.

“That’s where the library stood back in my day,” I said with a bizarre tilt of gravity. “Wow.”

“That’s where the library was? I had no idea. My wife graduated from here so maybe you know some of the same people?”

“When did she graduate?”

“2009.”

“Ah. No. I graduated in 1984.”

He looked at me as if I was a dinosaur that had strolled in and could magically speak.

He escorted me to a mosaic on the wall. Approximately 10’x12’, a facsimile of the Thunderbird mascot with emblems for music, art, speech, and drama in the corners. It hung on the wall with a certain reverence as if it were a relic of an ancient civilization. “Do you remember this? They saved it from I guess when the school was pretty new.”

“I remember it because it was my sophomore class that made it. Some of those stones were cemented in it by these hands.”

Again, he looked at me as if I was Benjamin Franklin checking out all the cool new developments in electricity and micro-brewing.

We went to the auditorium and, aside from brand new chairs and some fairly nice lighting equipment, it was exactly the same stage I had performed The Music Man on. Behind the stage was the hallway with both the Vocal Music Room and the Band Room. They were both much smaller than I remembered. I looked down the hallway toward the side exit.

“What’s over there?” Mr. Science Teacher asked.

“Oh. Probably not there anymore but back in the day there was a stash of Playboys and weed I had up above the door in the ceiling.”

“You wanna check?”

“Nah. Don’t want to get anyone—meaning you—in trouble.”

We went by the poster farm of graduating classes. I found 1984 and 1987 (when my sister graduated). I don’t look vastly different from back then but most of that has to do with my ridiculous weight loss fifteen years ago. The faces, though. The fucking faces. People I had completely erased from memory or compartmentalized into a box marked “High School in Bumfuck, KS” were suddenly thrust into my brain. Iimmediately started noticing the many girls I’d slept with from 1982 through 1984. I started to comment that “I fucked her,” but remembered I was in Kansas. Lotta Jesus out here so I never know if my less than sacred language will wildly offend someone.

“Wow. I dated her. I dated her, too. I also dated her.”

“How did you find the time?”

“Well, I mean, I only dated her once in the band room.”

He laughed. I hadn’t offended.

We walked around for an hour. I was gobsmacked. It was surreal to be in those hallways and to see trophies and pictures of these kids I knew so many years ago (including the National Forensics League Debate Championship gavel trophy with a photo of myself and our team). Also, a picture of the ‘top ten’ of our graduating class (including two girls I dated).

It was all a bit like time travel. I’m coming to grips with the dominant feature in myself in that I am a rolling stone and have always been one. I do gather moss but I leave it places I can easily find: Chicago, New York City, Los Angeles, Las Vegas, and, of course, Wichita. I can roll my ass off, skipping across the pond of life like a skipping stone, and when I need a green, mossy blanket, I can top rolling for a while.