It happened in an instant and it came from out of nowhere. Just the other day I was walking down a hallway (location not important) and there it was. That smell, that aroma, that unmistaken combination of yeast, disinfectant, and a faint hint of…what…ink from a mimeograph machine? And there I was again, transformed back into the halls of my elementary school.

I could see myself walking in a “single file” line with my classmates going to the cafeteria at lunch time. You could smell the fresh baked yeast rolls all the way down the hall. On the way we would pass the boys and girls restrooms (on the right), and just before entering the cafeteria, there on the left, was the office (where the intimidating principal lived). Thus, the trio of aromas hitting the senses; yeast from the rolls, disinfectant from the rest rooms, and ink from the office. Good, reminiscing smells.

I look back on my  school days at Powell Elementary School and smile. I was quiet and shy (hard to believe, right?). I tended to be a follower – I don’t think there was a “leader” bone in my body. I can recall even being nervous when I was, on the occasion, proclaimed “line leader”. After all, that’s a lot of responsibility and everybody is looking to you to keep that line straight and true.

Powell Elementary, the institution where I learned reading, writing, and begrudgingly, arithmetic – and a whole lot more. It was the place where I first witnessed someone with a learning disability and wanting desperately to help him. The thrill of watching a reel-to-reel movie even though it was educational (please, no pop quiz afterwards). The dreaded “achievement tests”. The smell of pencil shavings and the feel of chalk between my fingers. The excitement of getting to go outside on pretty days for a lesson or two (thank you Miss Hendrix). The morning Pledge of Allegiance where we all proudly put our hands over our hearts and recited those words.

In those years I found out that Santa Claus wasn’t real, and not every teacher is nice. The yearly group picture where I would inevitably be seated on the far end (shortest on the end after all). Those halls witnessed my first kiss (a quick kiss in the cafeteria after school) and subsequently, my first breakup. I enjoy thinking back of art class in the spooky basement, the musty smell of the gym floor (yes, we laid directly on the floor),and the sound of the bell ringing telling us that the school day was over. I established a lifelong friend, Ellie Baker Howe.

Those memories are forever etched in my mind. I wouldn’t trade them for anything. Those formative years where life lessons made more of an impression than the “Three R’s”. May those halls forever echo the chant, “Go Panthers”!