H.G. Wells’s 1895 science fiction novel Time Machine has been much scrutinized and talked about over the years. The work suggested a concept of time travel using a device to travel purposely forward or backward through time. Not being a Wells fan or proponent of the notion, I have previously never paid any attention to the eccentric theory.
Then, in a two-hour June 9 time frame, I found myself jettisoned from the present euphoria of the South Williamsport softball team’s Class AA semi-final victory over Williams Valley, sending the team to its second consecutive state championship appearance to the flashback memories of long-ago high school days while attending a historical open house at the school district’s Raymond R. Rommelt building on West Central Avenue.
Built in 1929, the building served as the South Williamsport High School until 1962 and has since served a variety of school district needs. Recently, it has housed fifth and sixth-grade students, who will be moving to other district buildings beginning in the fall.
The open house grew from an idea developed by sixth-grade social studies teacher Andy Brown. Knowing the building was closing, Brown began a search for memorabilia he could share with his students.
“What I discovered were boxes of unorganized items found just thrown around in what used to be a second-floor girl’s locker room. I thought it would be a good idea to get them out, seeing how this is the last year in the building. I wanted to make sure that we save this stuff, so I thought it would be a good hands-on project for the kids.”
Brown’s ideas developed into a labor of love for his students, who enthusiastically pitched in to produce the plethora of memorabilia materials that were on display in the school’s well-known “pit” gymnasium for the public’s perusal.
My time machine journey was instantaneous.
The gym itself was where I played my high school basketball and developed a life-long friendship with coach Bill Byham. If you’ve never been there, put it on your bucket list as a trip into the past. Its nickname was well-earned. The court was small, surrounded by a balcony seating area with the fans looking down at game action. Heaters hung in the four corners of the court, making it impossible to shoot a shot from those areas. Three rows of court-side wooden bleachers sat so close that restraining lines dotted the floor to provide a space for inbound passes to be made.
A stroll through the two-story edifice made me ask myself, ‘Where has all the time gone?’
On the first floor was the former classroom of English teacher Jane Fury, the woman who flamed my budding interest in journalism.
While taking a creative writing class she taught, I received a series of A-grades for sports stories I had written. Following one assignment, she had me stay after class. With a stern look on her face, she handed me the paper I had written about Gene ‘Big Daddy’ Liscomb, a Baltimore Colts tackle, with a bold “A” scrawled across the top of the paper.
I was happy; she was not.
She said, “You got an A on this paper, but if you ever turn in another assignment written about sports, I’m going to give you an F. You’ve got to broaden your horizons and write about other things.” I didn’t understand then, but it was a lesson well learned.
Down the hall was Mr. Hufnagle’s room. As a history teacher, I have never forgotten his Veterans Day lesson. On November 11, 11 minutes after 11 a.m., he had his class stand for a moment of silence, reflecting on the sacrifices made by members of the military. It was an assignment I didn’t have to study for, but it was more powerful than any I could have.
On the second floor, I chuckled, entering what had been science teacher Don Daughenbaugh’s classroom. He was also a football coach and, later in life, gained renowned fame as a fishing guide who developed a friendship with President Jimmy Carter.
The humor recalled stemmed from a lesson Daughenbaugh was teaching about wet & dry bulb thermometers.
Explaining how the device worked, he opened the classroom window on a cold winter day, stating he would take the outside temperature. He placed the thermometer on the window’s edge and continued his lecture on the subject. As time passed, the classroom began to feel the chilling effects of the open window.
Continuing his running commentary on the lesson at hand, he walked across the room, shrugged his shoulders at the incoming cold, and closed the open window, resulting in the wet & dry bulb thermometer smashing to smithereens on the concrete parking lot below. It has been remembered these many years later.
Before leaving, I stopped at the old classroom of Miss Yeager. She was the youngest and most attractive teacher in the building who garnered the full attention of most male students who eagerly attended her classes.
President John F. Kennedy once said, “For time and the world do not stand still.” I wonder if he ever read H.G. Wells’s book.
