#clayschool

Fifteenth Street in East Wheeling, near Clay School, will be closed from 7 a.m. to 3:30 p.m., April 14–17 to accommodate demolition work. Residents are encouraged to use McCollough Street as an alternate route. Signs will be posted. Read the full article

Written by Patty Ciripompa To a tiny five-year-old girl walking up the Fifteenth Street hill from McColloch Street, right hand firmly gripped by her mother, heading toward school for the first time in her life felt like an adventure. Cigarette smoke curling all around them through the crisp September morning air, she must have entertained at least a smidgen of a wish that they were headed downtown for that experience instead of walking toward the great unknown. Undoubtedly, the butterflies she felt began to flitter more chaotically in her stomach as the massive yellow-white building came into sight. Bathed in early morning sunlight, the sprawling three-story giant must have seemed like one of those New York City skyscrapers she’d seen on TV. Her five-year-old thoughts most likely did not make note that this glorious creature of a building would play such a pivotal role in shaping the woman she would become.  The enormous school building will be demolished sometime this spring after City Council approved the expenditure last week. Clay School, the sunlit building that welcomed her on that first day, was conceived in a time of disorder and scarcity and born when a war was raging, and boys from the neighborhood were heading overseas in droves. For over fifty years, the Grande Dame of Fifteenth Street, with her sprawling girth that took up a city block, unpretentiously assumed the role of matriarch of East Wheeling. Her checkerboard-tile floors of burgundy and black welcomed the pounding of small feet from the moment her doors swung open and throughout her reign as a hub where hundreds of children from working-class families could come to learn and grow. Until her final bell rang, and her doors were opened for the last time, Clay School served as a loving steward for East Wheeling students.  Like ample arms spread wide, her honey-yellow block walls held wooden lockers that didn’t look like wood, their contents always a mishmash of forgotten lunches, crumpled papers, and hand-me-down books scrawled with every name who had held them throughout the years. Absorbing every voice over the decade, these same walls held secrets that may have been whispered or wished, making her a keeper of the sacred passage of youth.  Folks who have taken tours of the structure have seen the classrooms that were left like the teachers and students would be back the next day. Her students were the children of her former students, who were often the children of students who came even before them. And her teachers stayed for years and became either worshiped or vilified, depending on who was asked. In the early 1950’s, when the nation began to open minds and hearts to integration, she welcomed students of all races from all ethnic backgrounds. It was during those years that young students were introduced to and became fast friends with other children whose skin color was different than their own. As five- and six-year-olds, they were blissfully unaware of any differences, enjoying instead the camaraderie of learning and playing together. In hindsight, those friendships that lasted beyond grade school shaped many students’ views of the world, instilling within them the capacity to accept, embrace, and learn about others who may appear, but aren’t, any different.  Clay School’s playground was Fifteenth Street, the entire block barricaded with wooden horses at either end. Students enjoyed an entire city street where they could play without worrying about getting run over.  Every day, when the lunch bell rang, students headed to the spacious cafeteria, the cold-lunch room or, for some in junior high, down the street to Joe’s, where French Fries eaten directly from a greasy brown paper bag tasted like heaven. The cold-lunch room, located at the bottom of the first set of stairs off the entrance to the elementary grades smelled like bologna. Directly across from this room was the teachers’ lounge, so that when both doors were opened at the same time, the stairwell and hall smelled oddly like bologna smoking a cigarette. Despite the expected complaints and whines of children who rolled their eyes at what was served in the cafeteria on any given day, the hot lunches eaten there may have been the only warm meal of the day for some of the students. No child was turned away from eating in the cafeteria. Free and paid lunches were the same and no one knew the difference.  The construction company that's hired to raze the former Clay School will need to retain the back wall because of what it supports above it. Most teachers who were attracted to jobs at Clay came with an authenticity and sincere desire to mentor and make a difference in the lives of the children they taught. Students may not remember all the math, or science, or geography, but they have fond memories of many teachers, and how they made everyone feel seen, appreciated, capable, brave, valued and hopeful. These are the gifts students took into high school and beyond.   More than a building, Clay School served as the protector of East Wheeling, a sentinel watching over the neighborhood for over half a century. Her strong bones held the essence of all the students who graced her halls, and her bricks bore the invisible imprints of all the hands that touched them. For some, she was a welcome respite from chaos and for others, inspiration and opportunity for connection. More than a school, she served as teacher, friend, loving parent, and confidante.  https://ledenews.com/trapped-in-the-trunk-memories-of-the-glen-dale-drive-in/ Read the full article

Written by Patty Ciripompa To a tiny five-year-old girl walking up the Fifteenth Street hill from McColloch Street, right hand firmly gripped by her mother, heading toward school for the first time in her life felt like an adventure. Cigarette smoke curling all around them through the crisp September morning air, she must have entertained at least a smidgen of a wish that they were headed downtown for that experience instead of walking toward the great unknown. Undoubtedly, the butterflies she felt began to flitter more chaotically in her stomach as the massive yellow-white building came into sight. Bathed in early morning sunlight, the sprawling three-story giant must have seemed like one of those New York City skyscrapers she’d seen on TV. Her five-year-old thoughts most likely did not make note that this glorious creature of a building would play such a pivotal role in shaping the woman she would become.  The enormous school building will be demolished sometime this spring after City Council approved the expenditure last week. Clay School, the sunlit building that welcomed her on that first day, was conceived in a time of disorder and scarcity and born when a war was raging, and boys from the neighborhood were heading overseas in droves. For over fifty years, the Grande Dame of Fifteenth Street, with her sprawling girth that took up a city block, unpretentiously assumed the role of matriarch of East Wheeling. Her checkerboard-tile floors of burgundy and black welcomed the pounding of small feet from the moment her doors swung open and throughout her reign as a hub where hundreds of children from working-class families could come to learn and grow. Until her final bell rang, and her doors were opened for the last time, Clay School served as a loving steward for East Wheeling students.  Like ample arms spread wide, her honey-yellow block walls held wooden lockers that didn’t look like wood, their contents always a mishmash of forgotten lunches, crumpled papers, and hand-me-down books scrawled with every name who had held them throughout the years. Absorbing every voice over the decade, these same walls held secrets that may have been whispered or wished, making her a keeper of the sacred passage of youth.  Folks who have taken tours of the structure have seen the classrooms that were left like the teachers and students would be back the next day. Her students were the children of her former students, who were often the children of students who came even before them. And her teachers stayed for years and became either worshiped or vilified, depending on who was asked. In the early 1950’s, when the nation began to open minds and hearts to integration, she welcomed students of all races from all ethnic backgrounds. It was during those years that young students were introduced to and became fast friends with other children whose skin color was different than their own. As five- and six-year-olds, they were blissfully unaware of any differences, enjoying instead the camaraderie of learning and playing together. In hindsight, those friendships that lasted beyond grade school shaped many students’ views of the world, instilling within them the capacity to accept, embrace, and learn about others who may appear, but aren’t, any different.  Clay School’s playground was Fifteenth Street, the entire block barricaded with wooden horses at either end. Students enjoyed an entire city street where they could play without worrying about getting run over.  Every day, when the lunch bell rang, students headed to the spacious cafeteria, the cold-lunch room or, for some in junior high, down the street to Joe’s, where French Fries eaten directly from a greasy brown paper bag tasted like heaven. The cold-lunch room, located at the bottom of the first set of stairs off the entrance to the elementary grades smelled like bologna. Directly across from this room was the teachers’ lounge, so that when both doors were opened at the same time, the stairwell and hall smelled oddly like bologna smoking a cigarette. Despite the expected complaints and whines of children who rolled their eyes at what was served in the cafeteria on any given day, the hot lunches eaten there may have been the only warm meal of the day for some of the students. No child was turned away from eating in the cafeteria. Free and paid lunches were the same and no one knew the difference.  The construction company that's hired to raze the former Clay School will need to retain the back wall because of what it supports above it. Most teachers who were attracted to jobs at Clay came with an authenticity and sincere desire to mentor and make a difference in the lives of the children they taught. Students may not remember all the math, or science, or geography, but they have fond memories of many teachers, and how they made everyone feel seen, appreciated, capable, brave, valued and hopeful. These are the gifts students took into high school and beyond.   More than a building, Clay School served as the protector of East Wheeling, a sentinel watching over the neighborhood for over half a century. Her strong bones held the essence of all the students who graced her halls, and her bricks bore the invisible imprints of all the hands that touched them. For some, she was a welcome respite from chaos and for others, inspiration and opportunity for connection. More than a school, she served as teacher, friend, loving parent, and confidante.  https://ledenews.com/trapped-in-the-trunk-memories-of-the-glen-dale-drive-in/ Read the full article

Written by Patty Ciripompa To a tiny five-year-old girl walking up the Fifteenth Street hill from McColloch Street, right hand firmly gripped by her mother, heading toward school for the first time in her life felt like an adventure. Cigarette smoke curling all around them through the crisp September morning air, she must have entertained at least a smidgen of a wish that they were headed downtown for that experience instead of walking toward the great unknown. Undoubtedly, the butterflies she felt began to flitter more chaotically in her stomach as the massive yellow-white building came into sight. Bathed in early morning sunlight, the sprawling three-story giant must have seemed like one of those New York City skyscrapers she’d seen on TV. Her five-year-old thoughts most likely did not make note that this glorious creature of a building would play such a pivotal role in shaping the woman she would become.  The enormous school building will be demolished sometime this spring after City Council approved the expenditure last week. Clay School, the sunlit building that welcomed her on that first day, was conceived in a time of disorder and scarcity and born when a war was raging, and boys from the neighborhood were heading overseas in droves. For over fifty years, the Grande Dame of Fifteenth Street, with her sprawling girth that took up a city block, unpretentiously assumed the role of matriarch of East Wheeling. Her checkerboard-tile floors of burgundy and black welcomed the pounding of small feet from the moment her doors swung open and throughout her reign as a hub where hundreds of children from working-class families could come to learn and grow. Until her final bell rang, and her doors were opened for the last time, Clay School served as a loving steward for East Wheeling students.  Like ample arms spread wide, her honey-yellow block walls held wooden lockers that didn’t look like wood, their contents always a mishmash of forgotten lunches, crumpled papers, and hand-me-down books scrawled with every name who had held them throughout the years. Absorbing every voice over the decade, these same walls held secrets that may have been whispered or wished, making her a keeper of the sacred passage of youth.  Folks who have taken tours of the structure have seen the classrooms that were left like the teachers and students would be back the next day. Her students were the children of her former students, who were often the children of students who came even before them. And her teachers stayed for years and became either worshiped or vilified, depending on who was asked. In the early 1950’s, when the nation began to open minds and hearts to integration, she welcomed students of all races from all ethnic backgrounds. It was during those years that young students were introduced to and became fast friends with other children whose skin color was different than their own. As five- and six-year-olds, they were blissfully unaware of any differences, enjoying instead the camaraderie of learning and playing together. In hindsight, those friendships that lasted beyond grade school shaped many students’ views of the world, instilling within them the capacity to accept, embrace, and learn about others who may appear, but aren’t, any different.  Clay School’s playground was Fifteenth Street, the entire block barricaded with wooden horses at either end. Students enjoyed an entire city street where they could play without worrying about getting run over.  Every day, when the lunch bell rang, students headed to the spacious cafeteria, the cold-lunch room or, for some in junior high, down the street to Joe’s, where French Fries eaten directly from a greasy brown paper bag tasted like heaven. The cold-lunch room, located at the bottom of the first set of stairs off the entrance to the elementary grades smelled like bologna. Directly across from this room was the teachers’ lounge, so that when both doors were opened at the same time, the stairwell and hall smelled oddly like bologna smoking a cigarette. Despite the expected complaints and whines of children who rolled their eyes at what was served in the cafeteria on any given day, the hot lunches eaten there may have been the only warm meal of the day for some of the students. No child was turned away from eating in the cafeteria. Free and paid lunches were the same and no one knew the difference.  The construction company that's hired to raze the former Clay School will need to retain the back wall because of what it supports above it. Most teachers who were attracted to jobs at Clay came with an authenticity and sincere desire to mentor and make a difference in the lives of the children they taught. Students may not remember all the math, or science, or geography, but they have fond memories of many teachers, and how they made everyone feel seen, appreciated, capable, brave, valued and hopeful. These are the gifts students took into high school and beyond.   More than a building, Clay School served as the protector of East Wheeling, a sentinel watching over the neighborhood for over half a century. Her strong bones held the essence of all the students who graced her halls, and her bricks bore the invisible imprints of all the hands that touched them. For some, she was a welcome respite from chaos and for others, inspiration and opportunity for connection. More than a school, she served as teacher, friend, loving parent, and confidante.  https://ledenews.com/trapped-in-the-trunk-memories-of-the-glen-dale-drive-in/ Read the full article

More than a building, Clay School served as the protector of East Wheeling, a sentinel watching over the neighborhood for over half a century. Her strong bones held the essence of all the students who graced her halls, and her bricks bore the invisible imprints of all the hands that touched them. For some, she was a welcome respite from chaos and for others, inspiration and opportunity for connection. More than a school, she served as teacher, friend, loving parent, and confidante. 

Written by Patty Ciripompa To a tiny five-year-old girl walking up the Fifteenth Street hill from McColloch Street, right hand firmly gripped by her mother, heading toward school for the first time in her life felt like an adventure. Cigarette smoke curling all around them through the crisp September morning air, she must have entertained at least a smidgen of a wish that they were headed downtown for that experience instead of walking toward the great unknown. Undoubtedly, the butterflies she felt began to flitter more chaotically in her stomach as the massive yellow-white building came into sight. Bathed in early morning sunlight, the sprawling three-story giant must have seemed like one of those New York City skyscrapers she’d seen on TV. Her five-year-old thoughts most likely did not make note that this glorious creature of a building would play such a pivotal role in shaping the woman she would become.  The enormous school building will be demolished sometime this spring after City Council approved the expenditure last week. Clay School, the sunlit building that welcomed her on that first day, was conceived in a time of disorder and scarcity and born when a war was raging, and boys from the neighborhood were heading overseas in droves. For over fifty years, the Grande Dame of Fifteenth Street, with her sprawling girth that took up a city block, unpretentiously assumed the role of matriarch of East Wheeling. Her checkerboard-tile floors of burgundy and black welcomed the pounding of small feet from the moment her doors swung open and throughout her reign as a hub where hundreds of children from working-class families could come to learn and grow. Until her final bell rang, and her doors were opened for the last time, Clay School served as a loving steward for East Wheeling students.  Like ample arms spread wide, her honey-yellow block walls held wooden lockers that didn’t look like wood, their contents always a mishmash of forgotten lunches, crumpled papers, and hand-me-down books scrawled with every name who had held them throughout the years. Absorbing every voice over the decade, these same walls held secrets that may have been whispered or wished, making her a keeper of the sacred passage of youth.  Folks who have taken tours of the structure have seen the classrooms that were left like the teachers and students would be back the next day. Her students were the children of her former students, who were often the children of students who came even before them. And her teachers stayed for years and became either worshiped or vilified, depending on who was asked. In the early 1950’s, when the nation began to open minds and hearts to integration, she welcomed students of all races from all ethnic backgrounds. It was during those years that young students were introduced to and became fast friends with other children whose skin color was different than their own. As five- and six-year-olds, they were blissfully unaware of any differences, enjoying instead the camaraderie of learning and playing together. In hindsight, those friendships that lasted beyond grade school shaped many students’ views of the world, instilling within them the capacity to accept, embrace, and learn about others who may appear, but aren’t, any different.  Clay School’s playground was Fifteenth Street, the entire block barricaded with wooden horses at either end. Students enjoyed an entire city street where they could play without worrying about getting run over.  Every day, when the lunch bell rang, students headed to the spacious cafeteria, the cold-lunch room or, for some in junior high, down the street to Joe’s, where French Fries eaten directly from a greasy brown paper bag tasted like heaven. The cold-lunch room, located at the bottom of the first set of stairs off the entrance to the elementary grades smelled like bologna. Directly across from this room was the teachers’ lounge, so that when both doors were opened at the same time, the stairwell and hall smelled oddly like bologna smoking a cigarette. Despite the expected complaints and whines of children who rolled their eyes at what was served in the cafeteria on any given day, the hot lunches eaten there may have been the only warm meal of the day for some of the students. No child was turned away from eating in the cafeteria. Free and paid lunches were the same and no one knew the difference.  The construction company that's hired to raze the former Clay School will need to retain the back wall because of what it supports above it. Most teachers who were attracted to jobs at Clay came with an authenticity and sincere desire to mentor and make a difference in the lives of the children they taught. Students may not remember all the math, or science, or geography, but they have fond memories of many teachers, and how they made everyone feel seen, appreciated, capable, brave, valued and hopeful. These are the gifts students took into high school and beyond.   More than a building, Clay School served as the protector of East Wheeling, a sentinel watching over the neighborhood for over half a century. Her strong bones held the essence of all the students who graced her halls, and her bricks bore the invisible imprints of all the hands that touched them. For some, she was a welcome respite from chaos and for others, inspiration and opportunity for connection. More than a school, she served as teacher, friend, loving parent, and confidante.  Read the full article

Mayor Denny Magruder and Councilors Tony Assaro, Ben Seidler, Connie Cain, Jerry Sklavounakis, Ty Thorngate, and Dave Palmer: Finally, after 20 years of discussion and 10 years of “no-brainer” knowing the former Clay School needed to be demolished, you voted this past Tuesday unanimously to FINALLY tear down the dilapidated eyesore that became a public safety hazard, a target for vandals, and a hideaway for drug dealers during the years since it was shuttered by the district in the mid-1990s. Thank you. Thank you from the parents of the children who practice and play at the J.B. Chambers Recreation Park, and from the motorists who have witnessed the building’s sad decline while traveling up and down W.Va. Route 2. Thank you from the police officers and the sheriff’s deputies who’ve been summoned to the property by a plethora of 911 calls and thank you from Wheeling’s firefighters who feared the worst for the three-story structure. And the nearby neighbors also say Thank You because they’re the ones who have been impacted the most by the rodents, the broken glass, the falling bricks, the criminal activity inside and outside the old school, and by the decline in their property values that such dilapidation delivers to any neighborhood anywhere. There was a dream for Clay, and it was a good dream chased by a good man, but for far too many reasons, his science and community center never did become a reality. Efforts were made by city officials to investigate the public-dollar potential – if any – out of respect to the school’s long history in East Wheeling, but the inevitable demolition now will take place sometime this spring. So, thank you again for finally making the decision no one wanted to make so the property will benefit the neighborhood’s future instead of it being held hostage by the past. Sincerely, Ready for What's Next Read the full article

Stl was home to over 800,000 people at one point. Our city has a sad past in race relations, that has left some parts of north St. Louis in a dismal state... this little field is trying to grow a little hope and fresh veggies for its community. That knowledge weighs heavy on your soul (if you have one) but turning a blind eye or claiming ignorance isn’t an option. This area is proof that equal rights weren’t meant to include minorities. In 1916, St. Louisans voted on a “reform” ordinance that would prevent anyone from buying a home in a neighborhood more than 75 percent occupied by another race. Civic leaders opposed the initiative, but it passed with a two-thirds majority and became the first referendum in the nation to impose racial segregation on housing. After a U.S. Supreme Court decision, Buchanan v. Warley, made the ordinance illegal the following year, some St. Louisans reverted to racial covenants, asking every family on a block or in a subdivision to sign a legal document promising to never sell to an African-American. Charity work / community garden shoot / #clayschool #stlmagazine (at Tower Grove East) https://www.instagram.com/p/CEfWrMMj4F7/?igshid=chv6bbqgz9ui