Admiral King High School Open House

It was a strange experience walking around the former Admiral King High School on Sunday afternoon after being away for thirty-five years.

Some of it seemed very familiar, other parts of the tour were kind of foreign.

While I could overhear other alumni dragging their unfortunate families around and saying things like "Here's where I had Spanish class, here's my old locker, etc.," I could barely locate my old homeroom. But I did (below).

I also found the row of lockers that contained mine, but I couldn't tell you my old locker number if my life depended upon it. On the other hand, I still remember my combination: 12-44-6!

I walked all around the school, surprised that I had forgotten how big it was. There were wings of the school offering views that I barely remember at all.

I know I don't remember pic-a-nic tables – I mean – picnic tables out in this courtyard. Going out there used to be strictly verboten.

The cafeteria was as I remembered it, though, although a little more colorful now perhaps.

Being in the cafeteria reminded me that I probably brought peanut butter sandwiches every day for four years. And strangely enough, I still eat peanut butter for lunch at work almost every day.

And I certainly remembered the auditorium – the scene of so many concerts in which I participated  – as well as that memorable musty smell.

I roamed around the building for about an hour, snapping away for no particular reason.

I guess I'd been gone so long that little of the tour had much of an emotional impact on me.

It was only when I made a beeline to the place where I had the most fun in high school – the band room – that a wave of nostalgia washed over me.

Walking down that familiar narrow hall...

Past the practice rooms...

Finally arriving at the band room.

I took my familiar seat in the trombone section and surveyed the view (below).

I also had to check out the view outside the band room. Standing in front of this door probably had more emotional impact on me than anything I saw all afternoon. This was the door I remember going in more than any other, especially if it was Friday night and the band was getting ready to march over to George Daniel Stadium.

I was tempted to bang on the door for entry like in the good old days, but I was afraid I might open some sort of Twilight Zone-like portal and find myself face-to-face with my younger self in 1976. 

Anyway, it was a satisfying visit to the old Alma Mater.