By Steve Barnett
Guest Columnist
Last week, the Carrollton Board of Education and Superintendent Dave Davis opened the doors of Carrollton High School and Carrollton Elementary School one last time. With the new Carrollton Elementary slated to open this fall on the main campus with Carrollton High School and Middle School, the “old high school” and elementary schools on Third Street and Second Street, respectively, are set for demolition. One last time, the community had a chance to wander the hallways, check out the classrooms, and share stories of where so many spent their youth.
While most of my contemporaries couldn’t care less, after turning 40, I’ve learned that time waits for no one. I’m more nostalgic now. Maybe it’s because I’m older and wiser, or maybe it’s because I spend more time at Carrollton Schools now than I did when I went there, as my kids are so involved with so many school activities. I can’t help but recall my time at Carrollton Schools. My grandmother always said of my time in school, “It’s the best time in your life; don’t wish it away.” Almost 30 years since graduating from CHS, I’ve finally learned to appreciate what she meant.
As students, we had no responsibilities of work, no families to support, and none of what today’s generation calls “adulting.” Life got real and serious when you became a senior; at the end of the school year, you weren’t coming back, but going out into the world. That was a big change from the routine that started in kindergarten. So much of our early years are spent in school and with a group of people with whom we share a lifelong connection. Some of the best memories—friendships, activities, and life lessons—happen in schools, the social institutions rooted in our community. It’s only natural to form an attachment.
So, when I read the announcement that CHS and Carrollton Elementary would be open one last time, I couldn’t wait to go.
“I met my best friend in this room when I was in third grade,” said my mother.
Another voice heard: “I don’t think that [wing of the building] was here when I was here.”
“Oh, I never did anything bad,” someone else joked.
“Do you remember…” was a common refrain.
My mother recalled the elementary gym—known as the dungeon—being her cafeteria and how she had to stand in line at the top of the stairs to empty her metal tray (we had Styrofoam). Weirdly, I remembered exactly where I sat in every class—from ninth grade algebra to senior government. I struggled to find my locker (the old tan ones were gone), but somehow still remembered the combination: 12-14-4.
The biology classroom no longer had its cabinet full of formaldehyde specimens. I asked Mr. Davis where they went. Turns out, they’d been there since Storm Hill’s grandfather taught. Physics in that room. Mechanical drawing with Mr. Ferguson in that one. Chemistry lab—thank you, Mrs. Shanks, for the life lesson: read the directions. English with Mrs. Buck. Typing with Mrs. Postlethwait—electric IBMs, not the manual ones my mom used.
The memories flooded in: classmates, silly antics, spelling lists, gym class, Channel One, film projectors, floppy disks. The memories were tied to each room, each hallway.
Then the teachers—some there, some remembered, some now gone.
Both buildings were sweltering. No ceiling fans back then. The drinking fountains, once too tall, now seemed impossibly low. I still felt the need to ask permission for a drink.
I visited every elementary classroom I’d once been in. Chalk trays, alphabet-lined desks, coat hooks, snack breaks, and lunch tickets. Some desks still had the cursive alphabet strip and taped name tags.
Some things haven’t changed.
The masonry plaque on Carrollton Elementary reads “1913 Public School.” The high school’s northeast cornerstone: “1955.” Combined, 182 years of students walked those halls. Generations shared those spaces—learned, ate, played, cheered, and grew up.
“It’s a sad time to be so happy,” someone once said.
Starting this fall, all Carrollton students will be on one campus. The new school is amazing—modern and full of promise. I never thought we’d see anything like it in our lifetimes. I’m glad my kids do.
Yes, I’m sad to see the old schools go. But Mrs. Smiley once taught me that legacy matters. And that makes the sadness easier to bear.
Every student from Carrollton, Augusta, Willis, Dellroy, Harlem Springs, Kilgore—and further back, Perrysville and New Harrisburg—we all carry the legacy. The buildings may go, but the memories remain. Our stories keep them alive.
It’s not the buildings that are the legacy of CHS. The legacy is in us.
One hundred years from now, what will Carrollton alumni say about today’s “new” school? What will the future hold?
Will someone write the next chapter, reflect on our time?
Bravo to Carrollton Schools for opening the doors one last time. Thank you for the memories. Thank you for the future. The outgoing buildings were “loyal, true, and faithful” and were “the best school in the land” for so many of us.
When one door closes, another opens.
The next chapter begins this fall.
Editor’s note: Steve Barnett, CHS Class of 1996, is the Carroll County Prosecuting Attorney and past president of the Carrollton Schools Alumni Foundation. He’s not sure if this column would pass journalistic or creative writing muster with Mrs. Buck, but we let him try anyway.
