Herculaneum MO

Today I traveled to Herculaneum, MO to see my granddaughter Kristi do her bit in an oratory competition. I left my office in downtown St. Louis to make the 30 minute drive south.

It was a glorious afternoon. Ducking out at 2:15, the drive was free of traffic. I had a feeling of playing hooky. The sky was a solid sheet of cyan, cloudless and bright with the winter sun. Shirtsleeve weather to be sure, and I drove my minivan with the window down. Enduring the thunder whipped by the wind in my left ear was a tiny price to pay for the day, as if spring had made an earnest deposit for the following year.

Herculaneum was delightful. I had passed through the business district before, but usually on my way somewhere else, further south en-route to a float trip or hike. This time I had an hour and a half to kill, and I did not know where the high school was, so I prowled around.

Calling the town delightful is accurate, but too many bed-and-breakfast brochures have robbed the word of its cachet. I drove around and felt extraordinarily good. Flags were flying, and I had a sense that these people meant it. Homes were well-worn and lived in, there would be no photo crews snapping shutters for Architectural Digest, but the whole place radiated powerful family waves.

A herd of boys running cross-country came my way, so I backtracked their course and found Herculaneum High School (Herky for short). I parked overlooking a field where three young ladies practiced drill, but not with batons, with white faux rifles! In an era of prissy educators heck-bent on extracting the steel from the spines of youngsters, (unless said youngsters oppose US foreign policy or smoking) here were girls twirling mock 1903 Springfields! Michael Moore might have a stroke, but this warmed my heart.

Herky was staffed by helpful people who made sure I found where I was going, including a coat-hangar to open up my car after leaving the keys within. The school was a composite of old and new. Kristi was giving her reading in a classroom of lavender walls festooned with uplifting slogans that leaned more toward Eisenhower than Oprah. Courage. Respect. Character. A sign said "I don't give grades, you earn them". A child will find neither neglect nor pampering if the instructor's chosen decor is any indication.

My beloved Kristi gave her reading, a moving piece called "The Room" that imagined a place where sins are indexed and the Savior puts paid to each and every one. Kristi is a faithful girl, bright, sweet and feisty. Her choice of prose would have been courageous in another district, but in this chunk of heartland freedom from religion isn't just yet the unwritten law.

A blue sky and a warm breeze. A classroom where grades are earned, not given. Girls with rifles and the Gospel spoken both at a public school. Oh yes, a glorious afternon indeed.

Tim McNabb