Good-news developer

It's become the "D" word around Sandpoint. Over the past few years as we've seen several structural historic icons around our community obliterated to make room for new construction, we tried-and-true locals have begun loathe the word "developer" and its meaning. So, it's always good news when we can read about a developer who shows respect for history and who has the means to preserve pieces of our past that have been so important to the community.

We've seen this with the beautiful restoration of the old post office on North Second. We'll be seeing it again soon when the old city hall on Second and Main gets restored by a Seattle architect who's doing the same for the historic Beardmore Building in Priest River. Over the past few weeks, we've been seeing exterior work on windows, and now we read officially that a developer named Brad Scott is restoring the old high school on Pine and Euclid.

Hallelujah!

His plans for ornate three-story brick structure, which housed hundreds of Sandpoint students through decades of school years, call for a banquet room in the old gym (complete with the running track above), a coffee shop, an elevator and offices. He hopes to restore the third-floor 500-seat auditorium into a facility that will house weddings, musical performances and civic events.

From what I read this morning, he's had his eye on that building for several years and has fallen in love with it. I don't know Brad Scott, but he's a hero in my book. Unlike many other developers who've all but stamped out every visual memory of Sandpoint's past in their ruthless march to make their fortunes, this man is demonstrating a caring respect and appreciation for a structure close to the hearts of thousands of present community residents and natives who have moved elsewhere

I think of my own cherished memories during three years spent as a student at what we called Sandpoint Junior High School. Many are documented in my first book, including my youthful indiscretion of participating in a methodical plan to remove the nuts and bolts from the auditorium chairs. We were supposed to be studying each sixth hour during a lull between choir concerts with our teacher Dona Meehan, but as precocious 12-year-olds our youthful minds led us astray.

I got in on the dismantling project after noticing that several of my classmates who'd come into the auditorium at the beginning of class were nowhere to be found DURING the class. I learned later that immediately after Mrs. Meehan took attendance and began tending to her musical planning, these classmates disappeared under the seats and began removing those nuts and bolts one by one.

The next day I decided to participate. I could never restrain myself when involved in such impishness; hence, within minutes, my giggles gave me away. Mrs. Meehan heard me, then she caught me---down on all fours with a screw in my hand. A bunch of seventh grade girls got the lesson of their lives when Mrs. Meehan brought our principal, Charlie Stidwell, into the auditorium the next day to reprimand us.

Anyone in Sandpoint during those days knows that a reprimand from Charlie was never on anyone's list of "things to experience." He lectured us and charged us with the challenge of doing something positive to make up for our vandalism. Each of the guilty parties picked a project around the school, which when completed would be inspected by the powers-that-be. Then, they would decide whether or not to tell our parents and whether or not we would ever be allowed into honor society.

I dusted Mrs. Meehan's piano. I learned a lesson that stuck with me from that time on. That magnificent auditorium served as part of my training ground for life----in one way I learned never to sing in public again, in another, I learned to avoid any further temptations to be part of the group when the group was doing something naughty but (in our teenage minds) fun. It just wasn't worth it to live in the fear that Charlie and his troops could impose on us.

I went to dances in that first-floor gym where mostly girls danced. I prayed one Friday night that Greg McFarland would come to ask me to dance. I thought my prayer had been answered when he came directly my way but asked Karen Arndt who was sitting right next to me. He had the nerve to break my heart after I had bought him Good and Plenty's---his candy of choice.

I learned how to enunciate my words clearly and that it's "inCOGnito," not "incogNITo" from Ann Curtis in her third-floor speech room. I trapsed to the Whatnut Shop across the street every noonhour for nickel and dime candy. Corn nuts were the rage at the time. I'll never forget all the assemblies and concerts we attended in that auditorium and, fortunately, never fell out of our vandalized seats. And, of course, I endured the famous "pocket girdle" debacle in the hallways, the bathroom, Mr. Chronic's science room and the annex.

So many memories, and those come from one individual alone. I cannot fathom the infinite numbers of stories that unfolded during the years when that building served as the foundation for so many young people's lives. The knowledge that its glorious past will be brought back to life for scores of future generations with such meticulous care is about the best news I've read here in Sandpoint for a long time. I'm sure that I'm not alone in my excitement.

I'm looking forward to meeting Brad Scott one of these days. I'll walk up to him, give him a big hug and say "thank you" for being a foreward-thinking, wise developer with a vision embracing what's so near and dear to many of us who have mourned as vital remnants of our area history slowly disappeared.

Instead of the "D" word, I think of Brad Scott and his plans for the old high school as a big "A-Plus."

Special Note: Speaking of preserving, Miss Annie Love flew to Honolulu yesterday morning, and she's already snapped some neat photos to preserve her memories. She'll be adding to them all week, so if you like fun photography and Hawaii, bookmark (http://www.nnlove.blogspot.com)