By June Mathews
Walking through my old high school for the last time before major renovations begin next month to turn it into an elementary school, I was struck anew how lucky I’d been to go there. It was at the original Hewitt-Trussville High School that I experienced some of my most memorable moments ever, made a host of lifelong friends and studied under some of the best teachers ever to preside over a classroom.
I have to admit, though, I haven’t always been so thankful. But that was back when I was younger, a bit more shallow-minded and a bit less prone to see the value of age and antiquity.
The building was nearly 40 years old when I first darkened its doors as a student in the fall of 1971, and compared to the newer, shinier Birmingham City school I would have attended had we not moved to Trussville when I was in fifth grade, it was a bit ragged around the edges.
The furnishings were a hodgepodge of old wood and comparatively new (but obviously well-used) Formica, and everywhere one looked were signs of the wear and tear that naturally occurs in any place daily teeming with teens. By the time we were a month or so into the school year, the shine of the floors so thoroughly cleaned and waxed before school began had dimmed, and a crust of dirt was beginning to re-form on the rubber treads of the stairwells.
The gathering grime, which usually remained until another thorough cleaning took place during the Christmas holidays, added to the overall dinginess of the place and heightened the impression that our aging school was rather, well, grubby.
In the meantime, I imagined that my former Birmingham City compadres were sitting in matching desks, moving in an orderly fashion down sparkling clean hallways, and overall enjoying a pristine high school experience. I now imagine I was wrong. Again, there’s nothing pristine about a building full of kids bulldozing their way toward adulthood.
But whereas the building in which I would have attended high school rather quickly fell victim to the ravages of changing demographics and in recent years was torn down, the school I went to stands as a piece of history worth preserving. The centerpiece of a neighborhood built during the Roosevelt era, my “dear Hewitt-Trussville,” as our school song says, is about to become an ultra-modern, state-of-the-art facility for our city’s youngest students.
Behind the old façade, I doubt there will be much its alumni recognize about the new elementary school, but as we drive past, we’ll still see the place where many of our dreams were formed, and the resources to make them come true were made available to us. No, we didn’t always take advantage of those resources to the fullest; after all, some of us were too busy having fun. But rare was the student who left those protective walls totally unprepared to meet the world.
So as far as I’m concerned, a huge note of thanks is due to our current school leadership, a group of community-minded individuals who heard and heeded the cry to save our school – or at least a part of it. With the transformation of the old Cahaba Project structure, we’ll have the best of both worlds: a living memorial to our past, yet a brand spanking-new facility that will continue to meet local children’s educational needs far into the future.
I’m proud to be part of a community that so ably honors its history while moving forward. I’m also proud to be a graduate of the original “finest high school in our noble land,” and if the crowd at the walk-through Sunday is any indication, a whole lot of other people feel the same way I do.
Email June Mathews at jmathews120@charter.net.