Old buildings have always had a special appeal. There is something about them that conjures up questions and stories about who might have lived or worked there, what events might have happened, and what the walls would say if they could talk. Old buildings appeal to one's imagination and curiosity.
Growing up in Central Washington state, most of the old - I should say historic - buildings I saw that were in good condition were the ones found in museums or were government offices. Central Washington is farm country. Most of the houses, mainly farmhouses, built between the 1850's and early 1930's, when Washington became a state and settlers began to move in to the area, have been left to decay. There are not a lot of historic houses and buildings for schoolchildren, history lovers, and dreamers to tour outside of the local museum.
Recently, I moved to the East Coast, where old, historic buildings appear to be, well, everywhere. The center of each town is home to several blocks of buildings that appear to date back at least one hundred years. Many buildings have signs in front of them telling the history and significance of the building.
One building in my town with such a sign provokes questions and fanciful stories every time I pass it. The yellow, three-story, brick building was built as an academy. Over the years, the building has served many different purposes.
While I don't know any more about the building than the information on the sign, I can't help making up my own stories about the building. I imagine that it was once a girls boarding school with mischievous youngsters who liked to play tricks on their spectacle-wearing, spinster, school marms. (I probably have a preteen book to thank for that image.) I also see a shy, scared, little first-grader who is huddled with her bunny in the corner, wishing she was at home with her parents. I can visualize girls running about the grounds, laughing and playing games.
As the years progress, I can see the girls being sent home because funds for the school have run out. Their faces are long, as they wave a sad farewell to each other. I imagine the school sitting empty for many years, accumulating dust and cobwebs. Occasionally, local pranksters sneak into the building to look for ghosts or break a window. Finally, the community takes notice of the old, forgotten building. They clean it up, give it several new layers of paint, and open it up as a community center and recreational hangout. Today, it is the historical center for town.
Now, is that what really happened in the old academy? Most likely not. In fact, if one of the city historians knew what I imagine about the building, they would probably be appalled at the tale I conjured up. Never-the-less, it is still fun to imagine what might have happened in the old, historic building. Now, if only the walls could talk.
