The Building on Ripa

I am (finally?) stirred to action by a Facebook picture-post from inside the old building at 229 West Ripa (a crossword puzzle word meaning related to or situated by the banks of a river) and I thought I’d jump start this blog in the new year with some memories of a place where I spent so many happy years.

The memories are kind of random and will focus mostly on the building itself.

My first room, 200 (bottom left in the picture above), around the corner from Bill Moody’s Library office, from which he would frequently emerge to offer either “advice” (of dubious value, IMO) or a ribald story, was a revelation to me. Now, my high school was hardly a palace*, but Hancock High School, built in 1934 (I hope someone salvaged the cornerstone and dedication plaque before it was demolished) took me somewhat by surprise. First were the Venetian blinds on the windows in my room. Anyone who’s been challenged by those from the past knows they’re not sturdy in the best of circumstances, that cumbersome and size are absolutely correlated, and these were well-worn when I arrived. They didn't last long. There was also a built-in wood cabinet/closet for my coat and whatever other stuff I needed to keep out of the way.

I remember hardwood floors, but would not swear those were in my room; I’m pretty sure they were common on the third floor for quite a while. The windows were big, heavy wooden things that either stayed up or didn’t; it was kind of a guess which ones would stay open on any given day. And they needed opening, even during the winter, thanks to the radiators that did what radiators do, get scalding hot and spit steam and water. Fluorescent lighting was still in the future.

Bel Kaufman’s Up the Down Staircase was a ‘60s classic. Despite its satirical title, Hancock actually had “Up” and “Down” staircases for its two wings, connected only by a hallway on the second floor (not visible in the picture above). To go from Room 315 to 305, for example, you had to go down to the second floor and then back up to the third. Incidentally, a marginally known “secret” was that, unlike so many other buildings, school and otherwise, that I’ve been in, room numbers at Hancock actually followed a system that made sense. Room numbers beginning with a 3 were, of course, on the third floor, even if it seemed like the second floor because the primary building entrances were located on that middle level. Rooms with a 0 as the second digit were in the West Wing (not to be confused with the White House); those featuring a 1 were in the East Wing. Odd numbers for the final digit were closest to the (Mississippi) river on the east side of each wing, even numbers to the west. Rooms starting with a 1 were in the basement.

There were two gyms by the time I arrived, designated as the Boys Gym (Dome) and Girls Gym (smaller space including a warped floor, the stage and non-functional locker rooms underneath that eventually morphed into drama dressing rooms and random storage). Yes, Girls PE was in the Girls Gym and Boys PE in the Dome. (Eventually the name was at least changed to Gym-B in a nominal nod to equality.) Underneath the Girls Gym bleachers was more random storage, a spooky and fascinating area.

The shops were on the bottom floor of the East Wing. Bill Parkhurst’s machine shop did a fine job of prepping boys for good jobs. Bill also provided security for the back faculty parking lot when he took his smoke breaks between classes. We also had a wood shop and even an auto shop that lasted into the 80s. 

It was a cool old building, sometimes downright cold when the boiler went out, as it was wont to do with some regularity. Or hot; air conditioned rooms? Please. More than one box fan plummeted from a third floor room as it toppled out a window after failing in a vain attempt to circulate some air during the hot humid months for which St. Louis is famous. I will confess it’s tough to try to be professional with sweat trickling down the trough below your beltline.

One final anecdote about the windows. In the Spring of ‘75, if memory serves (and it’s becoming a balky servant more and more frequently, so it might have been ‘74), we had just passed a bond issue to put in new windows to replace the (then) 40-year old originals, when a ferocious hail storm blew out all the east windows in both wings. Because no one was hurt (despite a junior high science teacher, who will remain unnamed, thinking it would be a great idea to send out a kid to fetch some hail using an umbrella to ward off the golf-ball+ sized stones), the hailstorm turned out to be quite providential. Insurance picked up the cost for the about half the building’s windows and we ended up with a free roof out of the deal. And since teachers hadn’t had a raise since the 71-72 school year, most of us just pocketed the checks for hail damage on our cars. And really, in my case, what would have been the point of fixing an orange Chevy Vega? I loved that car (and both its engines).

Feel free to sign in and add your own memories, either here or on Facebook.

*Although my high school did contain a big white “chateau” which housed what passed for a library and some small classrooms in the basement labyrinth and elsewhere, it consisted mostly of three 2-room prefabs (see picture below) with a middle area for lockers and a bathroom. My previous public schools had been relatively new, however (Edgar Road Elementary, which went into service the year before I started there for kindergarten in 1953, Hixson JH, and finally West Ladue Junior (which eventually became Westminster Christian Academy), brand new the year I started (1961).