× Expand Photo by Chris Naffziger Central High School, September 2017.

St. Louis was in the Washington Post last week! Oh, wait, it wasn’t about how competitive our region has become, or how we are truly in the running to win Amazon’s second headquarters. The article was about the tragic condition of our beautiful “castles of education,” those stunning designs by William Ittner and his colleague Rockwell Milligan. Right here in St. Louis, Missouri, our architects revolutionized the direction public education in America in the 20th century would take.

St. Louis Public Schools have made great strides in the last several years due to the hard work of its employees and teachers. SLPS secured accreditation again, but the elected school board—the one chosen by the citizens of St. Louis—still lacks the power of the appointed board. I have always been impressed and inspired by the employees of SLPS; they are constantly attacked, blamed for problems they did not create, and expected to achieve the impossible. As an educator myself, anyone who attacks the rank and file of SLPS immediately loses credibility in my eyes. It is a nearly impossible task, and our politicians seem to revel in blaming teachers for all of society’s failures. Teaching is an art form as much as a profession, and those who do not teach have no understanding of what it takes to be an educator.

But one aspect of the continuing saga of St. Louis schools that still concerns me is the neglect of abandoned school buildings, most in already fragile neighborhoods. I have been photographing and writing about these abandoned schools for close to a decade, and it has become obvious that despite the district’s best intentions, and a perfectly fine real estate website, that more needs to be done by everyone, not just SLPS. For some reason, we have come to believe that the leadership of St. Louis public schools should be gifted in the art of real estate.

The results are obvious and easily seen. Central High School, up on Garrison at Natural Bridge, has become a poster child in the national media and in my own articles for what happens when nothing is done to move these grand buildings out of abandonment and into occupancy. Having observed the building for years, I have come to the realization that without some sort of outside help, Central will be a pile of rubble sometime in the next decade. First, the copper was stripped from the roofline, then the water began to get behind the brick walls, and now, as I observed during my last visit, Central is now officially, literally crumbling. The longer the softer interior brick is exposed to the weather, the more rapidly the spalling will spread. It is deeply depressing, particularly because the immediate neighborhood is in fairly good condition, and the school is dragging down its continued health. For some reason, vandals utterly destroyed the balustrade out in front of the school, and explorers’ accounts reveal a trashed interior.

In the grand scheme of neighborhood triage, I realize we cannot save every building—redevelopment will simply not come in time for much of St. Louis’s building stock. It pains me to say that, but with continued city administrations demonstrating a complete lack understanding of how decimated much of St. Louis is, further demolition is inevitable. But triage does not allow all of its patients to die; it saves those most likely to live. The stout, sturdy brick and stone walls of Ittner schools are obvious candidates for being saved. In many St. Louis neighborhoods, they are often the only major landmark, and the very names of neighborhoods such as Mark Twain and McKinley Heights reveal how important their eponymous schools are, or were, to social cohesion. If the new mayor downtown wants to show that she cares about all neighborhoods in St. Louis, saving Central High School and other recently closed schools would go a long way to showing that our government cares about the entire city—not just the parts that are already thriving.

Central High School: A Study in Deterioration, 2013-17

× 1 of 18 Expand Photos by Chris Naffziger Central High School, March 2013. × 2 of 18 Expand Photos by Chris Naffziger Central High School, March 2013. × 3 of 18 Expand Photos by Chris Naffziger Central High School March, 2013. × 4 of 18 Expand Photos by Chris Naffziger Central High School, June 2014. × 5 of 18 Expand Photos by Chris Naffziger Central High School, June 2014. × 6 of 18 Expand Photos by Chris Naffziger Central High School, June 2014. × 7 of 18 Expand Photos by Chris Naffziger Central High School, June 2014 × 8 of 18 Expand Photos by Chris Naffziger Central High School, June 2014. × 9 of 18 Expand Photos by Chris Naffziger Central High School, June 2014. × 10 of 18 Expand Photos by Chris Naffziger Central High School, August 2016. × 11 of 18 Expand Photos by Chris Naffziger Central High School, August 2016. × 12 of 18 Expand Photos by Chris Naffziger Central High School, August 2016. × 13 of 18 Expand Photos by Chris Naffziger Central High School, September 2017. × 14 of 18 Expand Photos by Chris Naffziger Central High School, September 2017. × 15 of 18 Expand Photos by Chris Naffziger Central High School, September 2017. × 16 of 18 Expand Photos by Chris Naffziger Central High School, September 2017. × 17 of 18 Expand Photos by Chris Naffziger Central High School, September 2017. × 18 of 18 Expand Photos by Chris Naffziger Central High School, September 2017. Prev Next

The social cohesion of our neighborhoods, and its relation to our school district’s success, also relies on compassion that so far has been lacking from city government. I spoke with Natalie Vowell, who was recently elected to the St. Louis School Board. In many impoverished, predominately African-American neighborhoods, home ownership is one of the few sources of financial stability. As written about before, the City of St. Louis will seize the property of even the smallest delinquent property tax bill, instantly annihilating a family’s financial equity, and thrusting families into unstable living environments. My experience volunteering at one local school revealed that unstable living conditions are one of the largest impediments to student success. Young children can go from the stability of living in their grandparents’ house, attending the same grade school for several years, building friendships and support networks, and then be suddenly thrust into uncertainty, possibly living across the city just because the government took their grandparents’ house. That is wrong and counterproductive; penny wise and pound foolish. Vowell explained:

"City taxpayers foot the bill for millions of dollars in TIFs and abatements for shiny projects that serve the affluent. Meanwhile, residents of low-income neighborhoods lose their homes to the City over unaffordable property taxes. We can't keep our schools open if we keep boarding up the homes that surround them."

I agree wholeheartedly. More abandoned houses around Central High School will never aid in bringing these community centers back. It is, in fact, cyclical: houses are seized by the government, removing them from the tax rolls, and then the school district loses the taxes of the now-abandoned house, and more schools are closed due to funding. Likewise, it baffles the mind that no use can be found for Cleveland High School, sitting right in the middle of Dutchtown. Why was it closed, anyway? It’s trashed now, too, and getting worse.

In my imagination, I see elected officials coming together and working on real solutions to help SLPS find a use for their vacant schools. As I suggested before, renting these buildings to qualified nonprofits in exchange for maintenance and utilities should be explored. Waiting for someone to come along and convert Central High School or other isolated schools to luxury condos is foolhardy. Instead of politicians colluding to deconstruct public education in St. Louis, perhaps they could actually cooperate in building up these historic architectural community assets.

Chris Naffziger writes about architecture at St. Louis Patina. Contact him via email at naffziger@gmail.com.