At Large in Ballard by Peggy Sturdivant

I am drawn to old school buildings, the closer to being demolished or discarded, the better. Often my relationships with these old buildings are doomed from the beginning, but in the best-case scenarios these old-style schools take on even greater roles in the community, serving as veritable incubators for all ages of learners.

My first year in Seattle was spent on Queen Anne; perhaps no coincidence that former high school was sold and converted to condominiums the same year. I moved to Ballard in 1987 and they promptly demolished the 1910 Adams School at the end of the street. But schools designed and built in Seattle in the early 1900's have never failed to charm me, no matter what their current condition or pending doom. Entering the old Crown Hill Elementary School by way of Small Faces Child Development Center for a community forum earlier in the week, I was reminded of all the Seattle schools that have nurtured me (and my daughter) since I moved here.

My daughter worked her way from crawling across the floor of Room No. 2 at the former Queen Anne Elementary, through the very last days at Whittier, the after-school rooms of the former Crown Hill site, the last days before remodeling at Latona, the interim days of Lincoln all the way to the second round of glory days at former James Monroe Junior High when it became a permanent home to the nomadic classes of Coho and Noms.

I have always loved the classic brick schools that hold the trail of small fingers on their interior walls and lockers. The rain on the skylights, and puddling on the floor, smoothed indents on the stairwell treads where thousands of feet have scuffed their way up and down. Where others saw stained ceiling tiles, I saw classic molding. Where others saw a shabbiness that seemed unsanitary, I always saw charm and untold potential.

My favorite view in Ballard comes from standing by the third floor windows on the south side of the James Monroe building, on NW 65th. They don't put windows like that in schools anymore, but the drama of approaching thunderstorms from downtown is the same as when the doors opened in 1931.

On June 6 Seattle Public Schools declared five properties surplus and set a timeframe of one year to determine the next steps in their fate. As is discussed elsewhere in this paper, each of the properties are being well used by tenants who are not likely to be able to afford the "fair market value" necessary to buy them. The Crown Hill community forum on July 18 invited public officials and the community to participate in a discussion. Small Faces Child Development has been the master tenant since 1998, while acting as landlord to various other groups. I loved my daughter's time at Small Faces. There was a red-haired cook named Richard who made incredible cookies that the kids would sell by the front door, there was often the din of kids playing in the gymnasium on rainy days, the everyday creak of wood floors. The staff was uniformly wonderful and I still don't understand how Director Lynn Wirta can be so naturally enthusiastic and energetic.

To me the old schools are treasure ships, veritable museum repositories of memories. Bead projects, first journals, the solar system hanging from the ceilings, the sign-out sheets and ancient plumbing fixtures... I do understand that it can be too expensive to bring a building up to the code necessary to operate as a school, but it seems brilliant when "obsolete" classrooms open to teach new subjects, providing affordable venues for non-profits and arts groups; meeting places for the community.

The forum, optimistically held outside, was interrupted by rain and most of the attendees ran for the southwest entrance at the announcement of a change of venue. Along the corridor we peeked inside a room where a line of serious-faced women were learning the flamenco with small stomps, passed a white-haired woman who had been watching the proceedings from within the Yoga studio like the ghost of a fourth grade teacher. There was the squeaky sound of sneakers on the gym floor and the thud of a basketball. ARC School of Ballet, the kitchen of The Honey's of "Honey, I'm Home Catering." We made our way to a former classroom that proceeded to steam with the warmth of our wet bodies.

Once again a former school was bursting with activity and opinions. Just as people flow through the Nordic Heritage Museum at the old Webster and attend recitals and luncheons in their auditorium, language classes in their upstairs so do neighbors learn how to do seismic retrofits on their home at the Phinney Neighborhood Center, borrow tools, attend meetings with public officials. Each of these former schools is busy with learners, children and adults. The old schools still in use have new lives, Lincoln High School as temporary home to Latona, Roosevelt, Garfield ... James Monroe Junior home now home to the annual Shakespeare productions of the Salmon Bay fourth/fifth graders, Ultimate Frisbee and the middle school with one of the longest waitlists. It seems that there are other parents and community members who don't mind the effects of "deferred maintenance" or a certain shabby charm.

My days of waiting by the lockers for a child to emerge from a classroom with six-foot high glass windows are over. I miss walking up the stairways at Salmon Bay Elementary - the smell of melted crayons when the radiators are warm. But I can visit whenever I want. At neighborhood centers located in former schools I can sign up for Norwegian or flamenco, yoga or retrofitting - the classrooms in old schools are still open to me with childhood graffiti intact. The community incubators need to stay - I hope we can find the means.

Peggy's email is atlargeinballard@yahoo.com She writes additional pieces for the P.I.'s Ballard Webtown at http://blog.seattlepi.nwsource.com/ballard/