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Silver King Elementary school epitomizes either the heartlessness, naivete, obliviousness, or ignorance of the Industrial Revolution. The school sat about a quarter of a mile below the Zinc Plant. The creek running along the east side of the school, right by the playground, carried sulphuric acid and other zinc smelting waste to the Coeur d'Alene River. The Bunker Hill Lead Smelter was just over a small hill from Silver King school. It was as if the founding fathers of the Industrial Age gave no thought at all to whether the emissions from these plants might be harmful to children or to the teachers who taught at this school.
It's funny, though. I went to Silver King for two years. Those two years were like my Fern Hill, the eden of Dylan Thomas' poetic memory. I loved Silver King's long halls with fat round posts in the middle, the ramp that went down to the lunch room and how fun it was to slide down, the big window at the south end of the hall and the colored glass bottles that decorated it; I loved the tiny library where I sat one day while Mom worked in her school room reading "Horton Hears a Who" and where another day I found a 78 rpm recording of "Rhapsody in Blue" recorded at a much quicker tempo than our Bernstein conducted version at home and where another day I found leftover bags of the hard candy Santa Claus distributed at the Christmas pageant.
By far, however, my favorite place in Silver King school was the gymnasium. I might have this wrong, but memory tells me that Silver King was built in two stages and the gym was in the new part of the school.
The floor was beautifully maintained, shiny, tan, almost slick. My best times in that gym were when Mom had to work on her room and she secured the key to the equipment room and let me, by myself, or me with a friend, shoot baskets while she worked.
When I was in junior high, especially, I had high hopes of being a good basketball player. I was a kid who got tall pretty fast, so that by the ninth grade, I was almost six feet tall and well-coordinated.
I loved to shoot. I read stories about players like Bill Bradley who shot audacious numbers of jump shots each day. I didn't shoot these high numbers each day, but at the Silver King gym, whether I was was alone or with Roger or with Terry or anyone else, I'd shoot and shoot and shoot; I'd run from end to end of the floor, running one man fast breaks and pull up for uncontested seventeen foot jumpers. If with a friend, we'd play HORSE. We'd invent shots. We'd try stuff out.
I watched as much NBA basketball as was broadcast in the middle to late sixties. We saw a game a week and then the all-star game and pieces of the playoffs. I loved to imitate shooters: Oscar Robertson, Sam Jones, Earl Monroe, Walt Frazier, Rick Barry, even Bailey Howell. I'd pick up on little habits they had or how they cradled the ball at the free throw line or how they squared themselves to the basket and I'd be those players.
It was a great escape. I created endless scenarios of games tied and me hitting final shots and free throws and beating the clock with a steal at midcourt and scoring a cripple just before the buzzer sounded.
I went undefeated at Silver King gym.
No wonder I loved it so much!
It's funny, though. I went to Silver King for two years. Those two years were like my Fern Hill, the eden of Dylan Thomas' poetic memory. I loved Silver King's long halls with fat round posts in the middle, the ramp that went down to the lunch room and how fun it was to slide down, the big window at the south end of the hall and the colored glass bottles that decorated it; I loved the tiny library where I sat one day while Mom worked in her school room reading "Horton Hears a Who" and where another day I found a 78 rpm recording of "Rhapsody in Blue" recorded at a much quicker tempo than our Bernstein conducted version at home and where another day I found leftover bags of the hard candy Santa Claus distributed at the Christmas pageant.
By far, however, my favorite place in Silver King school was the gymnasium. I might have this wrong, but memory tells me that Silver King was built in two stages and the gym was in the new part of the school.
The floor was beautifully maintained, shiny, tan, almost slick. My best times in that gym were when Mom had to work on her room and she secured the key to the equipment room and let me, by myself, or me with a friend, shoot baskets while she worked.
When I was in junior high, especially, I had high hopes of being a good basketball player. I was a kid who got tall pretty fast, so that by the ninth grade, I was almost six feet tall and well-coordinated.
I loved to shoot. I read stories about players like Bill Bradley who shot audacious numbers of jump shots each day. I didn't shoot these high numbers each day, but at the Silver King gym, whether I was was alone or with Roger or with Terry or anyone else, I'd shoot and shoot and shoot; I'd run from end to end of the floor, running one man fast breaks and pull up for uncontested seventeen foot jumpers. If with a friend, we'd play HORSE. We'd invent shots. We'd try stuff out.
I watched as much NBA basketball as was broadcast in the middle to late sixties. We saw a game a week and then the all-star game and pieces of the playoffs. I loved to imitate shooters: Oscar Robertson, Sam Jones, Earl Monroe, Walt Frazier, Rick Barry, even Bailey Howell. I'd pick up on little habits they had or how they cradled the ball at the free throw line or how they squared themselves to the basket and I'd be those players.
It was a great escape. I created endless scenarios of games tied and me hitting final shots and free throws and beating the clock with a steal at midcourt and scoring a cripple just before the buzzer sounded.
I went undefeated at Silver King gym.
No wonder I loved it so much!
1 comment:
I attended Silver King for 6th grade and I loved that year. I also played alot of basketball in that gym. Our class used to bring in our popcorn poppers and sell popcorn to the other classes when everyone would watch a movie on Fridays. I think the best thing was riding the bus from Kellogg to Smelterville and passing the smokestacks and settling pond. I still remember those smells.
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