Enterprise High School: Mourning an Old Friend

On March 1, 2007, my old friend passed into history. There was no long illness during which I could prepare myself. There were no good-byes. There were no last glimpses I could burn into my memory for later reflection. In an act that took a mere 10 seconds, my friend was murdered.

Enterprise High School was my old, dear friend, and the killer was Nature. At just past 1 p.m. on that stormy day, an EF-4 tornado ripped through the solid brick building, leaving a scene of destruction beyond imagination. For fifty years, my friend had cradled the young people of Enterprise, Alabama, within those walls. For fifty years, our community's future leaders had entered those halls as teenagers and left as young adults. For ten seconds, my old friend cried out under the force of 150 + mile per hour winds, and then collapsed.

I had walked those halls all my life. My mother taught English, literature, creative writing, journalism and mythology there until her retirement. My four siblings and I attended school there, walking across the football field to receive our diplomas. I taught there as a substitute teacher after my son was born, many times on the now-demolished third and fourth halls. My step-son graduated as a valedictorian from EHS, winning a scholarship to Auburn University. I took my son there when he was four years old to see his first live performance, a Bible Man show.

Generations of our adolescents struggled to learn while under the watchful eye of my old friend. Academically, my friend turned out graduates who earned over two million dollars a year in scholarships to colleges. Friday night football was a community highlight, the blue and white colors showing up in full force to support our title-winning athletes. The EHS band was consistently one of the top rated in the state and the country. Our cheerleading squad won numerous accolades each year. Our ROTC drill team, choral music groups, clubs and organizations have been consistently applauded in local, regional, and national competitions.

My old friend did not just coddle us as students, though. It also taught us invaluable life lessons. In the courtyards, parking lots, and football stadium we learned about pride, self-worth, compassion, achieving goals, supporting our community, and about love. We learned what it meant to be good citizens and good people. Being a part of EHS meant being a part of a group of school system leaders that always went above and beyond the call of duty to make sure we were safe, loved, and ready to face the world.

And on March 1, I think my old friend put every ounce of strength it had into sheltering its charges from the storm. No one who has seen the wreckage can believe that not more than eight students died. Michael J. Bowen, age 16; Peter James Dunn, II, age 16; Andrew Joel Jackson, age 16; Ryan Andrew Mohler, age 17; Kathryn Madora Strunk, age 16; Michael D. Tompkins, age 17; Jamie Ann Vidensek, age 17; Alice Michelle Wilson, age 16: young people whose lives were lost that day and that will always be remembered as heroes. But there were hundreds of students, teachers, and parents inside that building, each one of them a miracle that he or she came out alive.

EHS gave one last valiant effort to succor its loved ones in time of disaster. And for those that are gone, they passed away having learned the same lessons that I and countless others did within its halls. Those lessons were seen in the young men that shielded the students beside them with their own bodies. Those lessons were demonstrated in the lives of those students who played sports, participated in extra-curricular activities, loved their friends and family and fiercely supported their school and their town.

In time, a new EHS will rise from the dust and potsherds of that horrific day. A new generation of students will fill it with questions, cheers, musical notes, laughter, hugs, and love. A new school will learn to shelter its charges with comforting halls and stimulating classrooms. And memories of my old friend will linger there, its spirit never forgotten.