21 January, 2014
Houston
One beautiful Spring day many years ago, I was driving along Gentilly Boulevard near the aging New Orleans neighborhood I grew up in. I was in no particular hurry that day, so I decided to go for a drive down Memory Lane. I left the Fair Grounds, passed the malfunction-junction that used to be the St. Bernard/DeSaix Circle, traversed Paris Avenue, and went under the Southern Railway underpass. The Gentilly Boulevard that I walked every day to school was lined with the familiar crepe myrtle trees I so vividly recall, and they were all in bloom. My window was rolled down, and there were sweet fragrances in the air.
It was then that I looked to my right and saw my old school, Ferncrest, or at least the place where it once stood. Ferncrest had long ago moved out East, but I had hoped to catch a glimpse of the old building anyway, for old time's sake. Instead of that familiar pink stucco mansion-turned-schoolhouse, only a great pile of rubble met my eyes as I passed.
Shocked, I turned right around and headed back; I just had to see if my eyes were deceiving me.
It was partly out of disbelief, partly out of curiosity, and partly out of respect that I stopped, and stepped out of the car to have one long, last look. It was true: there in front of me were boards, broken glass, and shards of concrete, and débris of all kinds strewn everywhere helter-skelter - sad proof that this institution of education no longer existed. I walked (where I once used to run) - over to the little cement patio in the back courtyard - could it really have been so small? It seemed so BIG back then!!
But something was different this time: the huge, old oak tree that had shaded it (and US) for so long, was now cut up in large segments, languishing in the yard, awaiting removal. All this was being done in the name of "progress"... or so they say... It wasn't enough just to raze the structure; it seems that progress could not abide this magnificent arbor any longer. It, too, had to go. The world apparently had no further need of such natural beauty.
As the daylight illuminated this somber scene, I closed my eyes and in my mind I traveled back into time. I could hear the familiar banter and laughter of a hundred children - running, shouting, laughing, talking, scribbling last-minute lines of overdue homework, jostling each other to line up. There was teasing, games of "jail freeze," and teachers keeping constant vigil.
Then the scene changed to night, as I recalled square dances, and the "heel-and-toe and heel-and-toe and slide, slide, slide being called out to Mitch Miller's "Yellow Rose of Texas." (Not really a square dance tune, but it worked, and it was fun!)
For what seemed to be an hour I stayed there recalling - remembering. It was probably in reality only five or ten minutes, but it seemed much longer. I had at long last paid homage to my Alma Mater, something that was long overdue. But it was not the sight of the school that met my opening eyes: There was a large pile of lumber aflame in the yard. I instantly thought of a little song we used to sing so very long ago:"Mine eyes have seen the glory of the burning of the school!"
It was funny back then - it wasn't funny today.
Instead of a smile that I once thought would adorn my face at this sight, there was a lump in my throat. I stared at the burning embers, thinking of all the kids like me who went from pre-teens to adolescence, all here in this little area before me. All the learning we did about reading, writing, arithmetic - and about life, all the tests and studying helped make us into the adults we had now all become.
It was such a SMALL place after all - but I, well I remember it in my mind ever so much bigger.
Isn't that the way it always is?
I breathed deeply and sighed. It was time to go. It occurred to me for an instant to take a small souvenir before leaving: a brick... a nail, perhaps. Instead, I decided to take nothing; I left empty-handed. I realized that what I needed from the school I already carried within me, and that was more than enough. The last time I left this place, I didn't look back. Now there was nothing to look back upon but ruins.
The conquest of Spain long ago was led by Tariq Bin Ziyad, one of the greatest of Muslim commanders. Tariq marched toward a mountain by the seashore, which in turn after was referred to as Jabal Tariq (جبل الطارق - Mountain of Tariq) which became present-day Gibraltar. Tariq and his brave warriors disembarked into the darkness of the night, then he did the incredible: he set fire to his entire fleet! He then told his brave warriors: “I have now burnt the ships, and now there is no return for us and here we will conquer or die fighting.”
Like Tariq at his mountain, my ship had been burned, and lay smoldering behind me... and so there was nowhere to go... but forward!
"Grant us the faith we need, to carry forth the light
Set burning in these halls, that we love best!
Confirm the hope we hold, that we shall carry on
The lessons we have learned... here at Ferncrest!" --- alma mater
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