Picher girl still a Gorilla
By
John David Sutter
Staff Writer
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Sunday,
August 20, 2006 |
twilight at TAR CREEK continuing coverage |
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PICHER
— Driving her fatherÕs mid-90s Ford Thunderbird to the first day of her
senior year, Tracy Carder, 17, anxiously flipped between radio stations and
wondered whether she could find any normalcy in what may be the last year of
her school and her hometown.
Which of my friends will be back?
Will any of
them be back?
An athletic,
strawberry blonde who enjoys hip-hop, ÒGeneral HospitalÓ and ÒOprah,Ó Tracy
previously brushed off such questions with jokes and a smile full of braces.
The day
before, she sarcastically told a teacher she had little choice but to become
Picher-Cardin High SchoolÕs last valedictorian, salutatorian, class president,
class secretary — and class clown.
How much
competition could there be?
In far
northeast Oklahoma, just two miles from the Kansas border, Picher-Cardin
schools opened for business Wednesday. But about two thirds of the students
transferred in advance of a federal buyout that will pay residents to leave the
dangerous mining area.
Tracy chose
to stay in the only school system sheÕs ever known. The fifth daughter of a
disabled truck driver and a factory worker, she will not be a 3-point
specialist on the basketball team this season because Picher-Cardin will have
no athletics, band or art classes. But she and 11 other seniors will graduate
as Gorillas.
She wants to
leave her mark on the town — be a piece of its legacy.
ÒI am
definitely sure about staying. I donÕt know. I just like the feeling that IÕm
going to graduate as a Picher Gorilla, and, you know, be in the last class,Ó
she said.
ÔBarely
togetherÕ
Tracy pulled
into the almost-empty parking lot about 7:20 a.m., though the first bell was
not until 8:30. This from a student who often hustles into class in pajama
pants just in time to avoid a tardy slip.
Her nerves
had awakened her 30 minutes before the alarm clock.
So even
after stopping for gasoline, she was early. And alone.
She spotted
a close friend, Jessica Elkins, also 17. The two discussed how Tracy looked
Òsuper cuteÓ in an outfit sheÕd bought in Joplin, Mo., and how, no, it wasnÕt
all that noticeable that JessicaÕs tank top had a glob of makeup on it. Then
Jessica left on a bus for classes at a vo-tech center.
About 20
minutes later, three girls assembled around Tracy — a fourth of the
senior class waiting for an uncertain day to begin.
ÒWhoÕs that
over there?Ó asked a girl dressed in all pink, down to her spiral notebook and
flip-flops.
ÒI donÕt
even know. The entire freshman class?Ó suggested another. Normally quick-witted
herself, Tracy stood and listened, watched.
As the
parking lot began to half-fill, it became apparent they would need to go
inside.
ÒIÕm afraid
to go in there. IÕm going to cry if I go in there,Ó one girl said.
Tracy left
the pack and headed for the front door. On her way, a teacher stopped her to
compliment the brown belt Tracy had loosely wrapped around a long white shirt.
When the
teacher touched it, the belt unsnapped and half-fell.
ÒNever touch
a senior girl,Ó the teacher said, Òcause sheÕs barely together.Ó
Assembly
ÒFront rowÕs
all to you,Ó said English teacher Shirley Sharbutt, 59, noticing that out of
140 chairs set up in the schoolÕs main room, Tracy had selected the first chair
in the first row, alone.
Most
students headed for the back. The girls who had been talking to Tracy outside
filed into her row.
In front of
a sign that read, ÒITÕS GREAT TO BE A GORILLA,Ó Superintendent Bob Walker
addressed 40 students and 13 teachers.
ÒI know some
of us are sitting here right now, and itÕs like someone put their fist right in
our guts, and they knocked the wind right out of us. But itÕs OK, weÕre going
to get our breath back,Ó he said. ÒYou donÕt have to wear a football helmet or
play in the Picher-Cardin band ... to be a Picher Gorilla.Ó
Science
Tracy rushed
to his room, as if heÕd be there.
She had
joked her way through two classes and a meeting, thrown her day planner into
her locker and was headed to her favorite classroom, the one where heÕd given
her inspiration and a future.
David
Meador, a science teacher who moved on to another school, had been TracyÕs
favorite teacher — one of her favorite people — for the past three
years. After the counseling staff didnÕt fulfill her repeated requests to job
shadow a medical professional, Meador, in one day, arranged for her to follow a
certified registered nurse anesthetist at a hospital in Missouri.
Now, Tracy
wants nothing more than to become one. ÒI think you can do anything,Ó she
remembers him telling her. ÒI think the only thing youÕre gonna have trouble
with is math.Ó
She
respected his honesty. And she cried when he gave her an award for her
Òdetermination and commitment to the idea of being what it takes to be a Picher
GorillaÓ at an awards assembly last year. She keeps the certificate on the
dresser in her bedroom.
She was
popular because of her joking ways, but Meador had taken her seriously. Now he
is gone. And when Tracy arrived for her late-morning chemistry class, his
decorations — gorilla posters, Oklahoma State University paraphernalia,
pictures of his family — were missing. His green chalkboards were wiped
clean.
Tracy sat
down in the first desk of the front row.
And she
cried.
She was the
only student in the class.
Her new
teacher, Jerry Lewis, tried to console her by talking straight through any
potentially awkward silences.
ÒYou know,
time flies when youÕre having fun. Learning can be fun, too. It doesnÕt have to
be some really big activity. Once it gets going, I think it will pass faster
than you think.
ÒFrom a
teacherÕs standpoint, man, this is heaven. ... In fact, I know thatÕs something
the teachersÕ associations are always trying to get done: smaller classes.Ó
ÒIÕm
excited,Ó Tracy said, ÒI canÕt wait.Ó
Lunch
After class
with a teacher Tracy knew so well she answered the classroom phone for her, the
other senior girls asked Tracy out to lunch. She declined. SheÕd spent her last
$8 on gasoline.
The girls
sped off, and Tracy, who normally laughs her way to lunch in a pack of 10 or
15, walked across campus to the elementary school building, which houses the
cafeteria.
She took the
long route, through the 1936 football stadium where the grass is still mowed
short, though no Picher-Cardin games will be played there again.
In eighth
grade, Tracy earned her nickname, Tar Tar, on the track that loops around the
football field when she sat in freshly poured tar and became so stuck to the
track it took a team of people, laughing hysterically, to yank her up.
Walking
alone on a path between the gym and field, Tracy tore off her new, pointed-toe
heels and trudged on, barefoot.
She passed
the red door to her former basketball coachÕs office. She slapped the door in
reverence and walked toward the cafeteria where she was one of fewer than 20
people.
In English
class, Tracy mostly stared at a window, chewed her nails and chimed in with
witty one-liners.
ÒIt smells
good. What kind of detergent do you use?Ó she said after Mrs. Sharbutt passed
out stretchable book covers.
Sharbutt,
considered one of PicherÕs strictest teachers, is a gray-haired woman with
circular bifocals that magnify her already large brown eyes. But Tracy has
always secretly been fond of her.
Wednesday,
Sharbutt went easy on her class.
Instead of
diving into one of the four literature books she passed out, the class
brainstormed ways they could make this a good year, one worth remembering.
Tracy perked
up at her classmatesÕ ideas of field trips — maybe to a zoo or a museum
in Joplin — or a senior trip — maybe they could stay two nights in
Chicago to see Oprah or take a bus to Disney World.
Before the
last bell rang, Tracy waited at the door. She pushed it half-open in anticipation.
All she wanted was to go home.
Two of
TracyÕs friends who transfered to other schools waited outside to give Tracy a
hug.
One was
Kalleigh Chrz, 16, who pitches softball at Welch High School. At a recent game,
she played against her former teammates and cried so hard before the game that
she couldnÕt warm up. She wears red — the Gorilla color — under her
new blue uniform.
The girls
leaned on a teary eyed Sharbutt for advice.
ÒItÕs good
if you can adjust. You know, itÕs good. You donÕt have any choice. ItÕs rough
changing schools under the best of circumstances. ItÕs hard,Ó she said. ÒBut
when youÕre forced, thatÕs more difficult.Ó
After their
conversation died down, Tracy stood up. ÒWell, I have about 15 minutes to make
it for Oprah,Ó she said.
ÒKeep your
chin up girls,Ó Sharbutt said.
Kalleigh
stopped Tracy, hugged her, and said, ÒI love you Tar Tar.Ó
Tracy headed
for the car in tears, but she never questioned her decision to stay.