Robert T. Pride is angry. It has been four months now since the School Board voted to make this year's school season the last for Twin Lakes. The Board decided that the school is to be demolished and a shopping center to be put in its place. Robert fought hard to save Twins Lakes. He spoke at school meetings, wrote to School Board representatives and sent numerous letters to the editors of local newspapers. Robert was the most dedicated supporter Twin Lakes' principal, Dr. Norman Shearin, had; Robert fought with every erg of energy he had and then continued until he dropped. But he had failed, and the last day of school serves only to remind him of his failure and re-awaken his anger along with his pity. 

For the first time in four years, he realizes how much Twin Lakes has given him and how quickly this school will be torn down. What took decades to accumulate is to be demolished in weeks. 

While walking across the campus, Robert stops and stares at the buildings and tries to imprint upon his mind what the school looks like. He walks to the front lawn and watches the Twin Lakes school flag wave gently on the flagpole...for the last time. His attention is then diverted to the school arches standing high above him. Many times has he stood under these arches, which have become a symbol of the school to him. Although many years old, the arches look new; the words "Central Schools" put on the arches when Twin Lakes was three separate schools can be clearly seen. Jutting from the face of the arches are sculptures of baby angels playing flutes. 

Sitting under the arches, Robert pulls out an old school newspaper from his handbag. The yellowing 1929 paper is wrinkled, proof that it has been read over and over. The front page of the paper features a large photo of the school and the arches; the headline reads: New arches constructed on front campus. Robert lays the newspaper in front of him and begins to think of what the school must have been like then. "Majestic," he thinks. Robert picks up the paper and carefully admires the arches in the photo. 

"Haven't changed at all," he mumbles. 

But his solitude becomes short-lived when the silence is broken by the sound of large, cumbersome trucks. Immediately, Robert knows what they are for. As soon as school lets out, the school's sidewalk wall and adjoining structures will be demolished by a wrecking ball; the trucks are there to pick up the pieces. 

Sadly, Robert picks up his newspaper and handbag and walks away slowly. He heads toward the "000 Building" to say goodbye to a teacher. While in the hallway, Robert sees a ladder leading into the attic and watches a custodian descend it. As the custodian leaves, Robert walks up to the ladder and peers into the gaping hole where the ladder's top is braced. A small but noticeable ray of light inside the hole catches his attention. 

"Is there a window up there?" Robert wonders while trying to remember if he has ever seen one on the building's roof. 

Looking around to make sure no one is watching, Robert climbs the ladder to see that, indeed, a window is located on the roof. Carefully stepping onto the attic floor, Robert walks over to the dust-encrusted window, which is oval in shape and is bent outwards. The dust is so thick that it is impossible to see clearly out the window. Robert places his hand on the glass and begins to rub it in a circular motion, causing decades of dust to fall to the floor. He looks through the window but cannot see anything because of a large palm tree obstructing his view. He doesn't realize, though, that he has never seen this palm tree before. Craning his neck, Robert peers around the tree to see a girl walking briskly across the campus in clothes that look like they come straight out of the "Roaring 20s." 

"People will wear anything nowadays," he muses. But before he can look further, he is interrupted by a booming voice. 

"What are you doing up here? Students aren't allowed in the attic! Get down now," yells a custodian. 

"Y-Yes sir," replies Robert, not noticing that he has never seen this custodian before. Robert climbs down the ladder and is immediately astonished by what he sees, so much so that he falls backwards against the wall and loses his breath. He refuses to believe what is in front of him. 

"The walls, the roof, the rooms...everything is new! What happened?" he wonders. Robert looks down to see that even his clothes are different; they resemble the clothes being worn by the student he had seen through the window. 

"Son, you're supposed to be in class," an authoritative voice tells him from behind. Robert turns to see a tall man in a blue suit. 

"I'm heading there now," lies Robert, while walking away. "Where have I seen that man before?" Robert questions himself. "He looks so...No! It can't be! He was Twin Lakes' principal during the late 20s. I've seen his picture in the main office. That can't be though! What's happening to me? Am I hallucinating?" 

Robert exits the "000 Building" and once again walks onto the front lawn. Much to his surprise, the lawn is dotted with huge palm trees, just like the ones in the 1929 newspaper picture. There is no doubt in Robert's mind now. Somehow, someway, or by some stroke of fate, he is now at a 1929 Twin Lakes. And he is overjoyed. Like a child on Christmas morning, Robert runs around the campus with a smile that does not even come close to expressing how happy he is. 

"It's just like in the picture," he yells. "I can't believe this is happening! Somebody up there must like me! This is a dream come true!" 

As before, Robert stops and stares at the buildings. They are sharp and crisp, like a new dollar bill. There are no cracked sidewalks, no half-painted garbage cans and no smelly dumpster that the 1985 Twin Lakes contains. Rather, everything is in perfect order. 

Robert walks towards Cooley Stadium, a structure he has always admired for its size. After climbing a flight of many stairs, Robert reaches the top and stares out away from the school. Not a single structure can be seen, except for one lonely road leaving Twin Lakes and winding through the woods that completely surround the school. 

"That's right," Robert remembers. "Twin Lakes was the farthest west structure in the 20s." 

Looking down to the football field in front of him, Robert thinks of the many generations of players who have participated in games on the field. He remembers how the track team practiced on that field and won the state competition in 1983. 

"If I could only tell somebody what I know," he mumbles. "But they'd think I was crazy." 

Robert leaves Cooley Stadium and walks to the "700 Building," which, even in the 20s, housed the school newspaper. In fact, the 1929 newspaper had its own press and was distributed weekly. A lump forms in Robert's throat as he thinks of how the building would later house the nationally number-one debate team in addition to the nationally acclaimed newspaper. 

Swallowing hard, Robert walks to the opposite end of the campus and enters the "200 Building." While walking towards the south end, Robert hears the high pitch sound of an A.M. radio being tuned in. Slightly opening one of the classroom doors, Robert peers in the room to see an excited group of about 30 students sitting around a very old-fashioned radio; to them, of course, the radio is brand new. 

"Welcome to radio station WIOD," a voice says over the radio between static. "Today, we are featuring Walter Damrosch and his orchestra." 

Robert watches as the students hush each other so as not to miss a single note. He can see the excitement pent up in each student over having a radio in class and likens it to the anxiety he felt using a computer in school. 

Minutes later, the sound of many footsteps interrupts Robert's eavesdropping, causing him to hide in the bathroom. Robert cracks the bathroom door to see the principal along with several other dignified people. 

"The new arches are supposed to look real good," the principal says to another man. "I hope it was worth the wait." 

"We'll know when they unveil it," says the other man. 

"They're going to unveil the new arches!" Robert yells in his mind. To him, nothing could mean more than seeing the arches revealed for the first time. Keeping a far distance behind the principal and then hiding behind bushes just outside the building, Robert watches a large group gather in and around the sheet-covered arches and examines their faces as the arches are unveiled. For several minutes, the group of people shake hands; they then leave while a student photographer snaps several pictures of the arches and the school. Could this be the photographer who took the picture for the school newspaper, Robert wonders. 

As the photographer leaves, Robert crawls out of the bushes and runs to the arches, ignoring the throbbing that has begun in his head. 

"This is it; this is really it," Robert says with a shaky voice while trying to stop his eyes from filling with tears. He walks around the arches several times and, with each pass, notices new things, such as the smell of fresh paint and a plaque of appreciation dedicated to the Class of 1929. Over the years, the plaque must have loosened and eventually fallen off, Robert concludes, since there wasn't one on the arches in 1985. 

With his head still throbbing, Robert takes a ladder left by the painters of the arches and stands it up directly under the leering structure. He climbs the ladder and, for the first time, is able to see the words "Central Schools" at eye level. He reaches out and feels the cold cement, still tacky from the fresh paint. The throbbing in his head worsens. Like a mother caressing her child, Robert rubs his hand over the jutting figures of angels and sighs in disbelief. 

"I can't believe this," he says. "Here I am, a student from 1985, in front of something I've always wanted to seen brand new." The throbbing begins to hurt Robert. 

"Hey, son, you're not supposed to be up there!" a loud voice yells from behind. "Get down now!" 

Robert turns and sees no one. 

"I said now!" the voice repeats. 

Again seeing no one, Robert feels his head begin to throb terribly; his vision blurs and his body weakens. For a few seconds, Robert sees nothing but a swirl of colors as his eyes fill with tears of pain. Finally, the throbbing subsides and his eyes clear. 

But Robert finds himself staring out a dust-encrusted window instead of looking at the arches. Much to his surprise, he finds himself back in the school's attic. 

"Let's go son," a voice once again tells him. Robert turns to see Mr. Wimberly, one of the school's custodians. No longer is Robert in the "Roaring 20s;" no, he is back where he belongs. 

Grabbing his handbag, Robert climbs down the ladder and runs out of the building. 

"You're still here!" he yells aloud to the school. With renewed fervor, Robert stares at the aged buildings, almost wishing he could hug them. Seeing the school as it was in the 20s has made Robert truly appreciate Twin Lakes. More than ever, he realizes the school represents excellence, history and people; it is not to be regarded as just a set of structures. Robert is so happy that almost nothing could sadden his joy...except one thing: 

The wrecking ball swings high into the sky just above the arches. 

"Nooooo!" he screams in a flood of emotion. "Those are mine! You can't do this! Get away!" 

The ball comes down swiftly, doing its job in one swing. The arches come crumbling down. 

Robert's heart crumbles with it. Experiencing emotions he has never known, Robert cries bitterly. 

"How can you do this?" he says while on his knees and clutching his stomach. He thinks of how he had touched those arches and how he had admired them. 

"Those were mine! You've killed them just like you're going to kill my school! You murderers! You unfeeling killers! Oh, God, don't you care...don't you..." His voice weakens as his body totally collapses and falls among the rubble from the demolished arches. 

Once again, all is quiet. The day is warm and a light wind blows through the campus, disturbing only the birds. The traffic has dried up and no students roam the campus. Peacefulness has wrapped its arms around the campus for a second time. 

The only sounds to be heard are the sobbings of a child, still innocent, crying over fallen angels...and a wrinkled, yellowing newspaper.