Axar.az presents an article, "Requiem For My School ” by John Samuel Tieman.

Ever been somewhere you can't wait to leave, only to find yourself nostalgic after you leave?

On the 16th of May, an EF3 tornado tore through the St. Louis area. Five dead, 38 injured, $1.6 billion in damages as of this writing. The tornado went for 23 miles. At its worst, it went for eight miles through the city. It at times was a mile wide. The school I taught at, Soldan International Studies High School, indeed the magnet school which I retired out of, was so damaged by the tornado that it will not reopen in the fall. It may not reopen at all. Soldan is on the far western edge of the City of St. Louis.

Soldan is considered an architectural masterpiece. Designed by the famed architect William Ittner, it opened in 1909. Conceived in that Gothic revival mode so popular at the time, Ittner also had in mind a place that would be both school and community center.

Among the more radical designs for the day is the fact that, when you first enter the school, what greets you is a full-sized theater with seating on the floor and in a balcony, for 1,750 attendees. Not an office, not a classroom, you are greeted by the community theater.

During its construction, the school was known as the Union Avenue High School. The school was finally named in honor of Frank Louis Soldan, a German immigrant who rose from classroom teacher to the superintendent of schools.

Soldan prides itself on its former students, actress Virginia Mayo, presidential advisor Clark Clifford, playwright Tennessee Williams, and others. In fact, Soldan is mentioned by name in “The Glass Menagerie”. Tom, Laura, and “the gentleman caller” attended the school.

The author speaks of how Laura, because of her limp, had a hard time getting up and down a particular staircase. I think I know that very staircase.

In the 1930s and 40s, Soldan became “the Jewish high school” in the city. By the time I got there in the 1990s, the students tended to be poor Black and poor immigrants. Not all, but a lot. When I retired in 2014, the school was roughly 75% Black, maybe 10% or so White, and the rest immigrants of various origins.

I used to live in Mexico City. My Latino students liked that. They were, however, disappointed that they couldn't curse out loud in Spanish. “No groserías en mi clase. ¿Está claro?“ (“No swearing in my class. Is that clear?”)

There were times when I hated working there. That wasn't because of the kids. One administrator I thought was cruel. One, I thought incompetent. Another was perhaps psychotic at times. Don't get me wrong – there were plenty of good folks in administration. As for my fellow teachers, I couldn't have made it all those years without their kindness and generosity.

When I stopped by the other day, just about every window in the front of the building was blown out. Many homes in the neighborhood were completely flattened. I'm not sure what the damage was inside the school. In some ways, I didn't want to know more. As another St. Louisan, T. S. Eliot said, “Humankind cannot bear very much reality.” One of my former students, her mother, was killed in the storm.

Soldan is unlikely to come back. William Ittner built a school for 1,600 students. When I began there, the student population was just under 1,000. Just before the storm, it was a bit over 300. The school district was already considering closing it. So the tornado was sort of the second of a one-two knockout combo.

I'm sad. I'm also proud. I'm sad to see my old school close. But I speak for a lot of my colleagues when I say, simply, we did some of our best work at Soldan International Studies High School. When you teach a kid, that's a good day. I miss so many of those kids.

Rest in peace. Requiescat in pace. Or, as we say in Missouri, “Soldan, ya done us proud.”