I don’t really want to talk about what happened yesterday, what is all over the news. There’s nothing to add to such a tragedy that is already being overexposed and trampled by the media.

Of course when something like this happens it leads you to imagine what those families are going through. What if it had been your child, yourself? Working on the campus of a very large university, there was much discussion here about our own capabilities to deal with such a thing as well as our own past violence. Repeat ad nasuseam. Too much, too much. This morning, I swore not to think or read much about this today (not avoidance of reality I just don’t want to be dragged down by all the reposts of facebook pleas and seeing the same victims on every single news channel being forced to relive their experience).

While getting ready for work it occured to me that I haven’t had a school nightmare in awhile. They usually pop up when I’m stressed. I’ve been feeling pretty off the past couple of weeks. No dreams are a good thing. This then led my mind down the path of lockdowns and shootings I experienced while teaching. Only one murder during the three years I was there. I don’t want to tell that story today though. Instead I want to talk about our building.

My school was the oldest school in Dallas still being used. It was a lovely WPA-era building but run-down and too big for our shrinking, inner-city enrollment. There was a basement and bomb shelter that only housed rats and whole floors with barely any classrooms in use. There were many entry and exit points in the building - too much for the four full-time security officers to monitor or for the campus police officer who generally stayed put in the student action center by the main office. To keep the doors locked, chains were required. This was a fire hazard while school was in session. So although students were herded in and out of a couple of doors outfitted with metal detectors and bag searches, conceivably anyone could run in and out of any doors, and often did. We seemed particulary subject to local residents hiding from police in the rambling building. A colleauge used to joke that our army was looking for Osama Bin Laden in the wrong place. He was hiding in B**** S****.

Once, I had stayed late to take care of paperwork. It might have been around 7pm and the building was nearly empty except for me and the custodial staff. The building was quiet until I heard gunshots from the floor below. I sat still and didn’t get up to see what was happening. About 15 mintues later an officer knocked on my door and peeked in. Was I okay? Fine, thanks, what happened? Someone had robbed a push-cart ice cream vendor nearby and then ran into the building to hide. He had shot at a janitor who came out to see what was going on. Everybody’s fine? Good. Back to paperwork.

I was also going to write about my broken window and calls to the superintendent but that would lead to my shot-out window and murder. Although it’s not a terribly tragic story (well of course murder is always tragic but unfortunately some is more run-of-the-mill than others these days), I don’t feel like telling it today.

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