I recently had an opportunity to walk through the halls of my old high school. I hadn’t been back in that building since I graduated in June of 1975. It’s funny how I spent three years counting the days until I could get out, and then the next 44 years trying to get back in. I think it had something to do with the dreams.

We’ve all had those same dreams – over and over again. You’re in school. It’s the final exam and you’ve never been to that class before. It’s also a subject you’re terrible in. For me, it’s either a math or science class. Or, it’s the dream where you can’t find your locker, or remember your locker combination, or you’ve lost your class schedule and don’t know where to go. I’ve also had that dream where I’m walking down the hall topless. I’m still not sure if that’s a dream or a memory. We were pretty loose in the 70s.

My high school was Charles S. Mott High School in Warren, Michigan. Charles Stewart Mott was an American businessman, a co-founder of General Motors, and a philanthropist. Although, rumor had it that he never gave a dime to our school. That might explain why we never had a football field. Our lack of a football field was a source of embarrassment for our football team, The Mott Marauders. My husband, Tim, and I once took a drive to Mott so I could show him where I went to high school. As we drove through the parking lot to the back of the school, Tim immediately noticed the missing field. “Where’s your football field?” he asked. “We didn’t have one,” I answered. He suddenly stopped the car and looked at me like I had said our school didn’t have running water. “How can you not have had a football field? Did you have a football team?” “Of course we did!” I answered. “I think they used the football field at another school.” I couldn’t give him any more information than that. I never went to a football game (or a homecoming dance or prom – but I’ll save those stories for a much sadder essay). Tim just shook his head and drove on. “What’s that big building over there?” he asked. “That’s the auto shop.” Tim stopped the car again. He stared at the building and then looked back at me with a shocked expression. “There are seven auto bays! Seven auto bays! Who has seven auto bays in a high school auto shop?” I didn’t have an answer to that either so I just said, “One that saved money by not having a football field?” 

If the grounds of Mott High School looked odd without a football field, the inside was worse. The floor plan was so confusing I think there are probably a few people from my graduating class still wandering the halls. The school was divided into “houses.” There was North House, South House, and West House. Don’t look for an East House because you’ll just fall into the pool. Now, each house was built in a square with a courtyard in the center and rows and rows of lockers at the entrances. Navigating classes between these houses was nearly impossible. Class schedules should have been handed out with compasses. I think there is more than one class that I never attended because I couldn’t find it. And yet, I still wanted to get back inside.

Luckily, one of my high school friends tipped me off to an annual holiday craft show that’s held every year in the school. How could I pass that up? So, one cold Saturday morning I drove through my old neighborhood, parked in the teacher’s lot and went in. I entered at West House which is where my original locker was. Unfortunately, I never had a single class in West House so I crammed all of my stuff into my friend Sue’s South House locker. As I moved down the hallway it was difficult to recognize anything since the halls were crammed with tables filled with Christmas decorations and old people arguing over prices. (Note to self: Essay on holiday craft shows). 

Once I paid my $2 entrance fee to the craft show, and got my hand stamped, I was immediately granted an all access hall pass. As I pushed my way passed lighted reindeer, Christmas sweaters and more candles than a Catholic funeral I found my way to the center of all high school interactions – the art room corner. It was here, at this corner with the large metal pole, that the hierarchy of Mott High students was established. If you were one of the cool kids you got to lean against the pole with your friends and huddle together while you looked down on everyone else. Between classes, the art room corner was a sea of faded jeans, concert T-shirts and lots and lots of hair. If you weren’t one of the cool kids, you put your head down and just kept walking. Now that I was back in the school and none of the cool kids were there, I walked over to the pole and leaned against it. As I looked around at the crowd of oversized sweatpants, permed gray hair and crocs, I finally knew what it felt like to be one of the cool kids. 

After leaving the art room corner I walked to the main lobby. The pay phone was gone and you now had to pass through a security center. The cafeteria was opened up and the courtyard was now turned into a large atrium for more seating. I was hoping it still smelled l like french fries, but it didn’t. Back then, my friends and I would sit at the round lunch tables, eat french fries and ice cream sandwiches and talk about rock music until the bell rang. Now, the vending machines that once carried pop and candy bars have been replaced with bottled water and healthy snacks. How is one supposed to stay awake through American History by eating kale chips? 

Outside of the cafeteria I took a right turn and headed to the gym. Funny how all these years later the smell of that gym and the hint of chlorine in the air from the pool still gave me sweaty palms. Just one look at the stacked bleachers and impossibly high basketball nets made my heart pound. To say I wasn’t athletic is an understatement. I think I conveniently used the “I have cramps” excuse at least four times a month. I’m surprised the gym teacher never sent a note home about the urgent need for me to see a gynecologist. I still think the worst part of gym was if you forgot your uniform. If you came to the gym without it you had to dig through the drum of discarded uniforms and put one on. It didn’t matter what size it was, where it came from, or if it had ever been washed (it hadn’t), you had to wear the uniform of shame and go out on the court and compete. Let me also add that none of us brought our own swimsuits either. We just grabbed them from a communal bin, put them on, jumped in the pool and prayed that the chlorine would kill the germs. On the bright side, in my senior year I ripped-off one of the bathing suits and used as part of my Alice Cooper Halloween costume. I won a prize. 

Once I left the gym, I found my way to either North House or South House (I didn’t have a compass) and walked around. There were no craft tables set up in there so it was quiet and I was alone. The classrooms were all locked and I couldn’t get inside my old Government class. That was the only room I remembered being in. My friend, Sue, had that class the hour before me and she used to leave the quiz answers stuck under the desk for me. I got an A in that class. Some of the rooms had class names on them that I didn’t recognize. Computer Programming (we used a ditto machine), Mass Media, and one odd room labeled “Safe Space.” I don’t know what goes on in the Safe Space room, but I remember that our “safe space” was smoking in someone’s car in the student parking lot (which is now a football field). 

I don’t know if that afternoon spent at my old high school helped me put into perspective my years there. I do know that I felt out of place walking through those halls. Maybe I expected to see the ghosts of all the boys I had crushes on. Or possibly hear a long lost echo of someone calling my name. The school looked tired and worn and I had a difficult time imagining my younger self cruising those halls in my platform shoes and rolled up jeans. One thing I do know for sure is that I wish I had paid more attention to learning, spent more time appreciating the people around me, and had never forgotten my gym uniform. 

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