The Visit
On October 24, 2009, the day before our reunion picnic, Betty Miller, my husband Mike, and I headed for New Orleans in search of Binder’s French bread.  We were out of luck there because the baker had put too much salt in the dough that morning and it never rose.  What we found was better. Travel with us for a few minutes. Look at some photos and see if you can add to our fading memory of what was where inside of 3820 St. Claude Avenue.

                                                                               


        Where y'at?


By Mary Olivier


Been there lately? It wasn’t what I had expected. I thought the building was falling apart and needed to be torn down. That certainly didn’t look to be the case. It would be a shame to see that happen. There still seems to be neighborhood pride associated with the building—whatever its use. Call it what you will. It will always be Nicholls to us.


On the front steps we met faculty volunteers ready to help paint the exterior. One teacher told us the school’s total enrollment is approximately 350. We didn’t tell him there were 430 in our senior class. We couldn’t get into the school through the front door, but that was always off limits to us anyway.


We walked right in through the auditorium’s Pauline Street side door and were surprised to see the area in such good condition. Apparently a good bit of cleanup and restoration has taken place since I last read about the school. 


The heavy black-out draperies are missing from the windows, but all the seating looks to be in good condition. Take a look at the ceiling.


Is the ceiling new? I don’t remember these colored tiles, but I haven’t been in the auditorium since 1961.  I really think this was the first time I was ever in the balcony, although I spent at least an hour a day in the band pit for three years. Still, I think this ceiling would be hard to forget.


The stage curtains looked to be brand new, and behind the blue ones, which open, there’s a complete set of curtains that can be lowered. 


The double doors from the lower level of the auditorium to the school’s ground floor were locked, but the doors to this balcony entrance from the second floor were open. We were in! 


The first place I headed was Room 219, the room once swarmed by Mr. Wilson’s classes. It was locked, but the chemistry lab (where I spent my darkest days at Nicholls) was unlocked, and we were able to get into 219 through the cloakroom. Now there’s a word I haven't heard in a while. 


Please excuse my shaking hands, but when I walked into this room I was 16 again. 


This view is looking toward Pauline Street. The door is to the “back room” where The Rebel Yell staff produced the school newspaper. There is a series of tiny rooms in that area between 219 and the chemistry lab. Extra copies of school newspapers through the years were stored in one room.


There is also a darkroom, although the enlarger was gone by 1961. Staff members in subsequent years have written their names on the darkroom wall. That would have got us a week in detention when we were there, but that was then, and this is now, so I went for it.
Mr. Wilson would have wanted me to.


Remember the forbidden stairs at the front of the school? We’re at the top of them where they ended at the second floor. If we could see through the windows, we’d be looking at what was then George Washington Elementary School. Because Nicholls was overcrowded, many students had a class there, giving them quite a distance to travel during the 3-minute break between classes.


At the top of these stairs is a blank wall. What I had forgotten (but Betty remembered) was that the school office had once been situated here. I learned recently that the office was moved from the second floor during the summer before we began our sophomore year. The oblong grilles on the wall look like vents; I don’t know when they were installed.


The office is still where we remember it—behind the forbidden front stairs in the long hall that runs parallel to St. Claude Avenue.


The cafeteria is still at the center of the ground floor, although cooked food is now delivered and reheated before serving. It has some better looking tables and look—air conditioning! Wouldn’t that have been nice at those cafeteria dances?


The whole school (except for the auditorium) is air conditioned. Suspended ductwork hangs uncovered from ceilings in all areas we saw. It took a while to realize why the upstairs halls looked so strange. The lockers are all gone, and the matted photos of all the graduating classes are gone. The walls looked strange because we had never seen the walls. The terrazzo flooring is in very good condition.


All the stairwells were in excellent shape. In many areas of the school it was only the paint jobs and the exposed ductwork that took away from the building’s overall appearance.


This is a downstairs hall. We’re standing in the area closest to the St. Claude and Alvar corner and looking toward North Rampart. A team of football players in the distance is dressed out and headed to the practice field.


I’m lost here, but I believe this is an upstairs hall.


There were several steps to be taken from the sidewalk to the school’s side doors. Several more were inside the door. The National Guard was quartered on the second floor during Hurricane Katrina, but I don’t know if the ground floor flooded.


Sadly, this metal detector sits at the top of those inside steps at the Pauline Street entrance. I’d guess the two desks are to seat security guards.

I don’t know if I’ll ever see the inside of the school again. I do hope anyone who does will take more pictures and ask some good questions of those who might have the answers.

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