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PrologueThursday, March 15, 2001In April 1943, in a farmhouse located in the hills of Northern Tennessee, a little boy was born. The second child of a farmer with dreams of a better life for himself and his family. (The farmer had a 3rd grade education and his wife an 8th grade) At two months old this baby was moved from his home in Tennessee and deposited in the tiny town of Frankton. When he became of age to begin school it was in a school building that contained all 12 grades required to complete your education. He attended that very same school until the year the new high school was built, separating the 9th through 12th grades from the rest. This school was Frankton High School. Unfortunately, through circumstances that befall many young people, he was unable to graduate from this school. He married, enlisted in the United States Army, gained a High School Equivalency Diploma and raised 8 children. Of these 8 children, his oldest was the first to graduate from Frankton High School, standing on the stage he never was able to climb the steps to. The same exact school he spent his final school year in. She was followed by 4 brothers and 3 sisters. All proudly graduating from the school, all of them seeing the additions that were eventually built onto the school. This morning my husband told me that Frankton High School had caught fire. I am not a big news fan 7 days a week like many people are, so I had not heard about this. I am the oldest child of the man that was never able to stand up with his class and graduate. As I read the newspaper articles I knew that the damage done to this school was in a part that was never even there when I graduated, and yet I felt a great heaviness in my heart about what could have happened if the Fire Department had not acted as quickly and as competently as they did. I had tears in my eyes as I read about the disruption to the class schedules of the Lapel students, and the trouble the Frankton students have to go through to continue their education while the repairs are made to the high school. I may be overreacting in my emotions, but it puts me in mind of all the past troubles many high schools experience all across our country. This time it wasn’t the death and injuries of students at the hands of another student. But it could have been the death of a building that means very much to the past graduates and the current students that attend there. The Frankton fire does not even compare to the fire that demolished Anderson High School a couple of years ago, but I can now imagine even more how the alumni and students felt while the flames raged. I haven’t spoken to my father about what he thinks about the fire, nor have I spoken to any of my siblings, but I would like to think they have the same sentiments that I feel towards Frankton High School, and I sincerely hope that no one had in mind to intentionally set fire to a school that I feel provides one of the best educations that a child can receive in Madison County. If someone was foolhardy enough to think they could set that fire and get away with it, shame on them. The same shame that is due to anyone that tries to take away anything or anyone from our society that has potential good to offer. I am not sure why I wrote this out, but I do know I wanted to share an emotion that I felt that comes from the pride of having been a part of Frankton High School, and the sadness that it was nearly lost. The pride that I was the first child in my direct line to even graduate from the 12th grade of school. Frankton High School means more to me than just an Alma Mater, it is the symbol of my success. The symbol of my father’s success at raising children that achieved what was expected and desired of them. Pari Ann Eden Bell 1979 graduate
visits since 10/9/2004
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