A Drive by the Old Elementary School – Ed Iannuccilli

by Ed Iannuccilli, contributing writer

I was driving by my elementary school on Academy Avenue in Providence last week, slowed, glanced sideways and had the urge to slam the brakes. When I realized I was on a main thoroughfare, I swerved a hard right to Keplar Street, the dead-end across the way. Well, not quite a dead-end walk, for that was our entrance to the sandbanks and games like Capture the Flag.

I sat in the car, engine running, looked in the mirror at stuff that was at first unfamiliar. But in a moment, everything was familiar. I turned the key and quieted the engine. I was back in time; I played on that street.

The radio was playing something from the forties on a Sirius station to which I was compelled. I quieted the radio and sat. I fondled the handle and finally opened the door. I had to.

I crossed the street where I was the passing guard who calmly and proudly flipped the flag from red to green, to green to red, to save kids from oncoming cars. I stopped.

What was once the school is now an apartment building. Or so it seemed. I drifted to those years ago and gazed at the sky, transfixed.

Hidden from the street, Academy was bunkered by a high, dark, deep cranberry-colored stone wall along its front. Atop the wall was a black, wrought iron fence.

One side of the school, separated by more walls and iron, was bordered by homes, and another stretched along hilly Cambridge Avenue. Its rear, one of the top three stickball yards in the neighborhood, was sheltered in its well by the same massive wall and fence. Like a friendly bunker, the school was safe, secure, and comforting.

I climbed the granite steps and there I was, again, in the schoolyard where I made my first friends, had many a recess, played tag and pitched cards or pennies to the wall alongside the outdoor staircase. I played tag. I huddled with friends to watch the girls play Dodgeball.

Inside the behemoth, I flinched at the Schick test for diphtheria and groaned at the dentist (yep, he had an inner sanctum in the school).

It was the site of my singing debut in the Christmas pageant.

Did Someone pass me? Was it an old friend? Yes. It was the girl who gave me a pencil. It was the guy who asked for a nickel for protection. It was the principal.

It was my favorite teacher. Did I love her more than the librarian?

For the moment I was convinced, or I wanted to be, that the 50s were back, that it was safe, that I could go home for lunch, that I could play chestnuts, get my yoyo autographed by the Duncan man, that I could play the pinball machine in the variety store across the street, that I could have a revival in the Christmas play. I was a king after all.

Simpler times.

Simone Signoret authored a book, “Nostalgia Isn’t What It Used To Be.”

I say, “Nah.”

Some criticize me for living in a world of nostalgia. I thank them.

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Ed Iannuccilli – edwrites.net