You Can’t Go Home Again (Part 1)

There are places I'll remember
All my life, though some have changed.
Some forever, not for better;
Some have gone and some remain.

All these places had their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall.
Some are dead and some are living,
In my life I've loved them all.

In My Life (John Lennon)

There’s something genuinely confusing about returning to the home of your youth after a long absence. You deal with the comfort of familiarity, the shock of change, and the pain of loss, all in one swirling tempest of emotions you never quite prepared yourself for. You suddenly see your past, your present, and the blueprint of your future on one enormous canvas.

When I returned to Saginaw for good in the Summer of 2011, I hadn’t lived in the area for almost 20 years and hadn’t lived in Michigan since 1998. My visits became fewer and way farther between despite having family here. I saw my Mom for the last time in 2003, and returned for her funeral in 2005, seeing very little of the community on either trip.

When I got to Saginaw, I exited I-75 at Bridgeport and took Genesee Ave. through town. I found myself drawn not to what I saw, but what I didn’t. Some things remained, albeit considerably more run down that I remembered (does anyone recall the party Coach Brinza threw for the freshman football team? That house still stands). I found myself asking questions like, “Hey, wasn’t there a GM plant right there before?”

The biggest shock was when I drove past the Saginaw County Fairgrounds. It was abandoned. I had no idea, but the fair had moved to Chesaning in 2005. The buildings that still stood were busy falling to the ground in an urban jungle of scraggly trees and vines. That beautiful gate at Genesee and Webber was engulfed in a tangle of weeds and other assorted ugly plants.

There were more vacancies and memories as I drove through the City, past the Castle Building, where I had an office in the late 1980s, across the river, and through the neighborhoods on the Northwest side, also, like so many other things, in a state of decline. As I headed west on Davenport, I was wondering what I’d find when I crossed into the Township.

I didn’t have to wait long to find out. Yes, it was “the same” as I remembered, but familiar landmarks had faded or vanished completely. Dawn Donuts at Hemmeter and State, which had satisfied many a cannabis-fueled craving, was closed (It’s now a vacant lot). Green Acres Plaza, the commercial hub of my childhood, remained but had transformed into something barely recognizable (there’s a gunshot detector in the parking lot in front of Kroger, a sobering thought for another discussion).

There were many more shocks, major and minor, as I drove along State Street, like, for example, where the hell did that Walmart come from? Thank God that Terry’s Bar (gone now, unfortunately) as still standing, with a new name, to give my memories a lifeline to hang on to. But, where the hell is the Texan? Other jolts to the circuits in my brain came in the weeks that followed. Familiar haunts where we used to entertain ourselves in our formative years, like the Twilight Drive-In, Bowl-O-Mat and State Lanes, and the Green Acres Cinema, all gone. Fashion Square Mall is now (like me, I suppose) a hollow shell of its former self. Brockway Roller Rink is a dilapidated wreck. The Township is as different as it is the same.

There are lessons in this experience, and I’m not sure I’ve processed them all dis a dilapidated wreck. The Township is as different as it is the sameespite being “home” for 15 years. The world of my youth is gone. I find myself living on a quiet suburban street that I’ve known well, with one of our classmates living across the street, both of us older and hopefully wiser. The place still feels like home, no matter how different it might seem to me. Maybe the only lesson I really need to take from all this is that no matter how far you go or how many years might pass, you’re only “from” one place, and that’s the foundation on which you stand.g is a dilapidated wreck. The Township is as different as it is the same.

I knew it was happening, but I never paid much attention to it . . . just to the passage of time. Something new always slowly changes right in front of your eyes - it just happens.

William Eggleston

I’m captivated now by the need to hang on to at least some of the fragments of your youth. More importantly, it’s important to share them with the people who have traveled the same roads in those formative years. For some of us, the chances to do so will be rare. For too many others, sadly, that chance has already passed.

RXM

You Can’t Go Home Again (Part 2)

(Or Maybe You Can)

I said “Whoa no, Heritage High School won't do.

And I did not think the girl could be so cruel.

And I’m never going back to my old school.”

“My Old School” (slightly modified)

Steely Dan (Donald Fagen and Walter Becker)

Last fall, when I was not enjoying retirement as much as I thought I might, I decided to take on some work as a substitute teacher. There’s a certain irony there, considering what a horrible student I’d been, but I more than met the requirements and had cleaned up my act in the 49 years that had passed since I was last considered, at least on paper, a student in the public school system.

During the 25-26 academic year, I ended up teaching in 31 schools across 6 districts, and two charter academies on top of that. I taught every grade, K through 12, and learned a number of interesting things about public education in the 21st Century. I thoroughly enjoyed the experience, especially when I snagged my first assignment at Heritage High School, that imposter that now occupies the site of our Alma Mater.

Walking up to the building from the North parking lot felt comfortably familiar. As soon as I walked through the doors, that familiarity got pretty foggy in an instant. Gone were the banks of lockers in front of the main office. There was a branch of the Wildfire Credit Union to my left. What was once Ottawa Middle School is now the administrative offices for Saginaw Township Public schools. The place feels oddly smaller. I guess everything really does shrink with age.

Where did those lockers go?

The real shock came when I was escorted to my classroom by security staff (Did we have security staff? I don't remember that). The cavernous open classrooms that we knew and sometimes loved were gone, replaced by narrow corridors framed with brick walls and locked doors. As I sat in my first period class, 10th grade honors English, I was struck by the absolute silence. No chaos..

Other changes quickly revealed themselves, most notably, there is now a purpose-built cafeteria in the rear of the complex, back by the football field. It's like a miniature food court and the food is pretty good if you like hamburgers microwaved in bags. What this means, of course, is that the beloved lunch train is no more, although I'm told that at least some of it is still there.

Since the student center is no longer used for lunch, it, too, has changed. Fewer tables gives it a more spacious feel and there are several semi-circular bars, like Tiki Bars, scattered about. Even so, the place seems to have grown smaller somehow.

Even though the Eisenhower we knew and loved has morphed into a different school, there's enough that remains to remind you that you're home. The broad circular hallway that surrounds the gym has that comforting feeling of home.

Open Classrooms? What Open Classrooms?

Narrow Hallways Replace the Wide Open Spaces

This could be my memory playing tricks on me, but the gym itself seems mostly unchanged. I always thought it was one of the school's best features and I'm pretty happy that they left it alone for the most part.

It's been a long hard road that first took me from my home town and then gently dropped me back here 20 years later. Being back here in our old school gives me a chance to remember simpler times, friends, mistakes, triumphs, and the subtle process of easing one's self into the perils of actual adulthood. Places change, but memories linger. That's a gift that a lot of us seem to take for granted.

Rick Moore

Still The Coolest Gym in the State of Michgan

The New Cafeteria - Choices, Choices, and More Choices

The Student Center Looks Pretty Spacious These Days

The Photos Were Provided by Lori Puckett, Communications Specialist, Saginaw Township Community Schools. Thank You, Lori...

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I still remember taking my second year of German class with Frau Buller, my senior year, but needing another elective to graduate. So I took my first year of French class for 7th hour. I remember how it used to drive Frau Buller crazy that I would come into German class speaking all my German with a French accent. By the end of class, she had broken me of that habit, but then I went into French class speaking French with a German accent (French is very nasal, but German is very “throaty”).

Language classes were my favorites that year.

Learning the Languages - Phil Lowe

Mr. Lowe looking very pensive- circa 1975

From Guy Zimmerman, a few headlines from the front page of the Eisenhower Word.

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