The Final Bell

"And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee." - John Donne from Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions (1624)

Demolition began this month on our beloved Talawanda High School.  Yesterday I endeavored to traverse the treacherous grounds around the demolition site... OK, OK the placid grounds outside the perimeter... in order to present the photographs here for your funeral contemplations. 

I was hoping for clear blue skies and brilliant sunlight to better illuminate the grounds.  However, I think the leaden sky helps to set a better scene for this collection of somber images.  In the photo above, the artist in me couldn't resist framing this section of the building with the barbed wire that runs atop the chain-link fencing and is my subtle homage to the album cover for Hooligans, a 1981 double-album compilation of songs by THE WHO - the rock band that this teenage student was fanatical about during his high school years.

More Hooligansism-inspired [sic] artistic photography for the photo below:

The mountain of rubble at left and the industrial-sized dumpster at right frame, for me, what is the saddest evocative element of the photo above (and below, too); the open door hanging off its hinges.

Same photo (above) as its predecessor, but here with the Nikon Coolpix L12 pushed through the chain-link fence.

Around back (below), the feeling of melancholy grows equally proportional to the scene of destruction:

Hallowed Bowers Field, in the background (above), stands by as a silent sentinel.

Alliterative auditeria annihilation, above.  I would like to think that legendary English teacher Helen "Ma P" Plemmons would be proud of me.

Additionally alliterative auditeria and ag-room annihilation, above.  Heavy Artillery would like to extend its sympathies to anyone named Bulach for having to bear witness to this scene of vocational agricultural ruin.

The Jeep Main Battle Tank pays quiet respect to that which now is lost to the ages.

The Jeep Main Battle Tank occupies the sacred proving grounds where Mr B taught generations of students the mysterious art of maneuverability.

His golden locks Time hath to silver turn'd;
O Time too swift, O swiftness never ceasing!
His youth 'gainst time and age hath ever spurn'd,
But spurn'd in vain; youth waneth by increasing:
Beauty, strength, youth are flowers but fading seen;
Duty, faith, love are roots, and ever green.

His helmet now shall make a hive for bees;
And, lovers' sonnets turn'd to holy psalms,
A man-at-arms must now serve on his knees,
And feed on prayers, which are Age his alms:
But though from court to cottage he depart,
His Saint is sure of his unspotted heart.

And when he saddest sits in homely cell,
He'll teach his swains this carol for a song,
'Blest be the hearts that wish my sovereign well,
Curst be the souls that think her any wrong.'
Goddess, allow this aged man his right
To be your beadsman now that was your knight.

--- George Peele, A Farewell To Arms (1590)

Roll the credits!