I was pretty nervous about beginning high school. Tech was only two blocks away and the majority of my Webster classmates where headed there. Tech was primarily a vocational training school. I still had the dream of becoming an architect and that meant going on to college. I needed to attend a college prep school and that meant Central High. It was reasonably close. I could walk there.
Central was an open school meaning one could live anywhere in the city and attend. Most others required you to live with in their district. It was the oldest high school in Omaha founded in 1859. The present structure was built between 1900 and 1912. It is a beautiful historic structure built in a square with a central courtyard. It is imposing from downtown with the long flight of stairs climbing the hill to the beautiful marble appearing building.
Central was a mile from my house. The shortest way was through Creighton University. It was an easy walk and directly across the street from the pinkish-white marble Joslyn Art Museum. I had been there many times to sit and enjoy the magnificent paintings and sculptures, and experience a sense and wonder while sitting in the silence and beauty of all around me. I longed to do what the masters had done. I prayed for such a gift. Maybe I would learn.
The front of Joslyn angled from Dodge. This portion looks the same as in the 50's.
From west steps of Central High across parking lot to Joslyn. Section to right is newer.
As I recall, only Sandra, Austin and I attended Central High from Webster. I never had classes with either one. In fact, I never saw Austin at the school in four years and the next time I saw him was at a grade eighth class reunion when we picked up right where we left off. He told me he was going to be a minister. I could not have been more shocked.
The three of us went in our different direction. Austin was interested in music. Sandra became a cheerleader and rose in ranks of popularity. She was certainly had the look: blond, sharp dresser, maturing, great build. She was always noticed. Austin became more involved in music. I moved toward art and mechanical drawing,
I had great hopes of high school being a joyful extension of Webster. It became more than that within a small group of Christians, but not initially.
On day two as the upper classmen joined the freshmen I opened my mouth and made a stupid mistake. I had found my locker and had just got it opened when approached by three large black guys. At least they were larger than I. They surrounded me and one knocked my books on the floor. I should have quietly bent down and picked them back up but no I had to open my mouth, “What do you think you’re doing?" Not the smartest thing for a squeaky little freshman to say. They grabbed me and began to push me into the locker I began praying for help, along with a few very loud noises. Just then a teacher came around the corner and they released me. I grabbed my books off the floor and asked the teacher for directions. She sensed my distress and replied, “Come with me. I’m going that way.” I left the boys standing by my empty and open locker deciding that if God wanted me to have a lock it would be there when I came back. It was, I followed the teacher and never looked back. I was beginning to think that prayer might work. It did that time. In fact it was a miracle to me. So I planned on trying prayer again when the next emergency came. I just hoped I would live long enough to graduate!
My homeroom was near my locker. It was in that room I met Robert Washington, whom I affectionately called George, and Dean (not my brother). These two with my buddy Gene were the core of a group with whom I attended most football and basketball games. Dean had a short semi blond crew cut with the front butch waxed straight up and a voice that could break eardrums. He was loud and mouthy at games taunting rivals and making him heard. He motivated me to do the same, but no one was as good a annoying the other teams as Dean. Robert was a tall muscled Negro with a slight overhand of his brow that gave him the appearance of one angry dude. His presence helped Dean and the rest of us get away with being loud and obnoxious. This big loveable teddy bear looked to be a threat just standing there. Cool guy. He never said much. Really, all he had to do was stare and grimace.
Hanging with those guys let me be who I was at Webster, a little louder and out going. Otherwise, I was turning into a withdrawn kid. It was with these guys that I became aware of acting different in different situations. What was happening? Maybe it was the beginning of a survival plan.
Logo and block lettering still the same.
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