As it is getting late and I should really be asleep, I will try to keep this brief. This will not be a formal history of Stratford College, as that already exists in many shapes through books and other blogs. I do, however, want to share my memories.
21 years ago, Stratford House opened it's doors as a retirement home. My grandparents, Joe and Louise Taylor, were some of the very first residents. As a child, I was a permanent fixture; roaming the halls and playing in the dining room. Even in high school, on a return visit with my church youth group, I was greeted by a woman sitting on the patio saying "I know you! You're..." then she used her hands to signal a young person. "You used to play under the tables in the dining room." I simply smiled, and said "yes, that was me."
In 1991, Stratford House was nothing like it is today on the inside. While change is enevitable, it's still hard to grasp. For that reason, it became increasingly hard for me to return to visit those I knew so well in my childhood. As the pages of the calendar fell, there were fewer and fewer of the elderly people I used to visit and whose days I would brighten with my youthful presence.
One of my earliest memories of Stratford House comes before my grandparents ever moved there. I remember vividly driving by there after they had signed up, and seeing two cars parked at the huge gates that used to lead onto Eager Street and into the college. Never again would I see that, as there would no longer be a road there leading onto the former college campus. For whatever reason, to this day, I still look at those gates as if I expect them to be open or for vehicles to be parked there again.
I spent most of my childhood at my grandmother's apartment. I knew every inch of that building, knew where I could and couldn't go, and wandered as I pleased. The staff didn't care, nor did the residents. Well, save for one, but I don't think she approved of ANYTHING. I even spent much of my time wandering the corridors of Carrington Hall and the old Main Hall. I used to love climbing the old stairs that rest at either side of the back of Main Hall. Walking from the first floor to the second, and past the portraits of past presidents. The watchful eye of Mr. (Dr.) Simpson watching my movements. I was always a little scared of that portrait. I always felt like I was being scowled at for my wandering around.
John Simpson was the first president of Stratford College. A man I never knew, but come to find out, I knew his daughter: Rosa Gray. A very sweet elderly lady with whom I attended Epiphany and who my mother would see frequently at the Belk Leggett Restaurant. Just a few months ago, I ran into at Food Lion and relayed the story about how I was always unnerved by it, and she laughed. Her father never wanted that portrait done, and that's why he looked so miserable. She very happily said her father would have liked nothing more than for young blood to be exploring the college over which he presided.
By the time Stratford House was built, all that was left was Carrington Hall, Main Hall, and the Cafeteria. I used to spend hours just sitting on the bridge over the duck pond, watching the world go by and feeding the ducks. When the nursing home was built, however, the cafeteria and beautiful brick walkway that meandered back from the bridge back to the parking lot were razed: replaced by the nursing home and a crummy asphalt path. I shall never forget the beautiful tree lined brick path, however. And even as a child, was outraged that they would removed something so beautiful and awesome.
The last relic of Stratford College, that may not even exist anymore, is the sign. Behind Kennedy Hall, just outside the side door of Stratford House, was an old metal sign that directed students to various buildings. I cannot, for the life of me, remember what they were although I must have looked at it 10,000 times. Long gone are the benches that were built on the middle of the bridge over the duck pond, and the residents who were always happy to see me, and I, in turn, happy to see them. It would be years before I would truly understand that I was such a joy in their lives, and it would take the staff who watched me grow to point it out to me.
While it would be easy for me to bemoan the fact that I spent my childhood around the elderly, or speak of how much I miss my grandmother, I shall do neither. For I will always cherish the memories of my days at Stratford House and exploring the older parts of it. Part of me believes that Main Hall, with it's beautiful views from the fourth floor, long elegant stair cases, and tall windows began my fascination with old buildings. And I know for a fact it is the staff and residents of Stratford House who helped make me into the man I am today.
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