I just had one of the more surreal experiences of my young, now quarter-century long life.  Last week, I witnessed what may possibly have been the final football game played by the A.S. Johnston High School Rams - The Pride of the East Side.  Not the final game of the season, because that wouldn't be journal entry-worthy.  No, THE final game.  As in forever.  
The school has been sucked in to a downward spiral for about two decades, and come this February when the latest crop of Austin's east side impoverished take the state standardized scholastic aptitude test they should perform low enough to finally pull the plug on a high school that's been breathing its last breath for far too long.  The school that's been atop the list of having the highest dropout rate in the United States, has long been the major player in statistically raising the number of high school pregnancies,  and a school that has recently been unmasked for its long time low performing numbers with the extraction of the Liberal Arts Academy a few years ago.  Most definitely, The "Pride" of the East Side.  My alma mater.

I attended Johnston High from 1996 through graduation day in the year 2000.  When I first came in as a freshman the school was in terrible shape in every aspect you could think of.  Physically, economically, culturally, academically, criminally, and last but not least, athletically.  Whether or not you consider athletics an important part to the success of a school the fact is that school pride can be fed heartily by the performance of an athletic team.  It's a fact.  Winning on the field generates a boost in morale for the majority of the student body, and faculty.  I know, I witnessed it firsthand in 1998 when our varsity basketball team defeated the Westlake Chaparrals on a last second shot for a share of the district title, and a state playoff birth.  We couldn't be yanked off our cloud if you had an army tugging on the other end of a noose wrapped around our necks.  We weren't going to budge.  And by "we" I mean everyone from the principal down to the freshman that nobody noticed.  Our confidence was damn near an all-time high.  That's the power of athletics, and Johnston High had that singular experience to essentially make up for all the losing seasons in all the sports for the past 6 years, and to last for all the losing seasons that were to follow for the next 10.
The rest of the things that were lacking at the school weren't as easy to make out as the underperformances of the athletic squads.  Johnston High was home to one of the more recognizable magnet schools in the state, if not the country, which was The Liberal Arts Academy (LAA).  Graduates from the Liberal Arts Academy usually went on to Ivy League or Division 1-A universities, and would be a step up over everyone else towards inevitably lucrative careers after graduation.  The majority of the students in the LAA were not usually of the lower-class east side Austin resident variety.  Most came from upper middle class families from different parts of the city.  Sure, there were quite a few students from my neighborhood, and the similarly poor neighborhoods in the typical Johnston High district that were LAA students, but I wouldn't say they made up a significant percentage of the LAA class.
The inclusion of the Academy temporarily solved two problems at the school.  One, it evened out the racial make-up of the student body.  Whereas most of the typical Johnston High students were either hispanic or black, the educational advantages of the LAA brought in the white crowd that would normally grace the halls of one of the west side Austin high schools.  The other problem it solved was that the low performing numbers generated from the Johnston High students were evened out by the high performing numbers that came from the LAA students.  Problem solved? Or, was it just a bandage put over a deep gash?
The fact is that the success of the LAA did nothing to help the problems that Johnston High School was facing.  It just put a shiny coat of paint over a car that didn't run.  From the outside everything didn't seem so bad, but once you get in and turn the key in the ignition, there was no life.  There was nothing working for the car that wasn't brought upon by the shiny paint.  The LAA flourished in academic and artistic activities.  Many a great band musicians and drama students came from the Liberal Arts Academy, and on the flipside probably close to none came from your average Johnston High School student.  How do I know this?  I don't.   I can only assume that the cause of a state competition level marching band going from 50 members to 9 in one year's time probably had something to do with the fact that the same year was the first year the LAA was moved from Johnston High to neighboring LBJ High, in an effort to combine the two Austin magnet schools together as LBJ was already home to The Science Academy.  I can only assume that the drama program suffered just as big of a blow.  The marching band never recovered by the way.  Usually, the University of Texas marching band or other close-by colleges would offer their services to come and perform on behalf of Johnston high school.  Sometimes, even old Johnston grads would pull out their retired tubas, drums, flutes, or what-have-you and join the 9-man marching band on the field, as if they were 5 to10 years younger.
So, the LAA left to leave the rest of the Johnston students in the sewers. The bandage was ripped off, and the gash was left to bleed.  What difference does that make, though?  The students will have the oppurtunity to go to a better school once the place closes, right?  My sentiments exactly.  "It's about time," I thought to myself.  It's time these kids that really want a good educational experience don't have to transfer out of their districts to get it.
Then, I went to last Friday's football game.
As I looked around the stands, and down on the field all I could think to myself was, "these poor friggin' kids."  Here I was thinking about the future youths that will have a much better oppurtunity and high school experience than their predecessors, and I completely forgot about those predecessors; the kids I saw down on the field in cheerleader outfits, the handful of boys eligible to put on football pads, and everyone else in the stands currently a Johnston High student.  These were the kids that fell in between the cracks of the not-so-good, but better times that have been had by the students of my class and others, and the better times to be had by all the current 8th graders that won't have to go through what the post-LAA classes did.  I'm not talking about the 61% of the student body that dropped out.  To hell with them, because they were one of the biggest reasons the school found itself in the emergency state that it's currently in.  I'm talking about these kids that tried their hardest to be the solution.  The kids trying to do what I could've been trying to do.  The kids that wanted desperately to turn things around, and make a difference in an attempt to be able to recollect on their high school days fondly.
It's a hard swallow to say that you were part of the last class of a high school closed down due to performance.  That's not something I'd have the ability to say easily.  It doesn't matter how well you did, because your team failed, miserably.  That was something I didn't get when I attended Johnston High.  The lack of academic and athletic excellence wasn't something I was wanting to change, I just didn't want to contribute to it.  I was going to do my part to not be part of the problem, I didn't think of working hard enough to create a majority solution.  I hit the gym every summer for voluntary workouts, and went home and studied enough to get my B's.  I was going to do what I needed to do, and get out.  
Years later, I think back every so often and wonder whether or not I could have made a difference.  Could I have influenced a change in the status quo?  With my class it certainly seemed so.  We were a unified group, more so than I can recall any prior Johnston class being while I was there.  Everybody knew everybody, and everybody generally liked everybody.  No joke.  Nobody was excluded from activities and everyone got along about as well as a neighborhood full of Cleavers, and I credit that to a great number of classmates, that includes myself, who still remain friends to this day.  It started from the top of the stereotypical ladder of class status, with the head cheerleader, class president, valedictorian, football captains, prom and homecoming kings and queens, band members, etc.  We had a graduating class of about 265 students, which is relatively small for what it should have been, but I could probably name every single one of those people and tell you at least one point in time where I had hung out with them and shared a moment.  We all just seemed to make a genuine effort to include as many people as we could in everything we could.  I loved my class, and in turn ended up loving my high school experience.  I guess I just didn't love my school enough to make a change to what I knew needed serious work, and could have used my help.
So, there I was, sitting in the stands with two former teachers talking about old times and the eventual decease of the place I connect with all of my best relationships and memories.  I just kept thinking to myself that I was, on some level, partly to blame.  This was partly my fault.  That's not intended to sound like delusions of grandeur.  I don't think of myself as an important person, but I do think I had the oppurtunity to at least try and make a difference.  It's not my fault because I failed, it's my fault because I didn't even make an attempt.
As I sat in the stands, watching the football team get pummelled in typical Johnston High fashion, and was surrounded by old and current friends, part of me was looking internally for some form of redemption.  I think I turned out alright, as did most of my friends of past and present (meaning the majority of my entire graduating class).  For the most part, we aren't criminals or societal leeches.  We're good people, doing honest work, and earning fairly substantial paychecks.  Some of us have started some happy families, and some have gone as far as living out the dreams they had when they grabbed their diploma.
Maybe I'm not partly to blame.  Maybe I did what I was supposed to do.  In fact, I did.  I did my job.  I just didn't help anyone else do theirs.  I'm sure I would have if someone had asked, but is there some degree of responsibility on my shoulders to have offered?  Maybe that's what Johnston High needed.  I certainly can't recall being asked for help, from a student nor a teacher.  
I should have known better though.  I needed to offer, it wasn't going to be asked of me.  This was, after all, the pride of the East Side...


Adam Charles
A.S Johnston High School graduate (non-LAA)
Class of 2000