Drizzt
Member
When guns and schools were pals
By Mike Moore
Time to settle up on a bet.
It started with a conversation I had in a Downtown bar a couple of weeks back. A guy tried to convince me when he'd gone to Mitchell Middle School, there was a shooting range in the basement.
He saw my skeptical eyes narrow into that "How many have you had?" look. He suggested I try to confirm it.
Possibly, if I'd read my buddy Chris Bennett's Glad You Asked column about another old range, I'd have believed the story right away. But the guy described more than the thing's existence. He remembered students traipsing into the school office to get the guns.
Could be that sounded foreign because I've adapted already to the world of ID badges and students emptying backpacks at metal detectors. Yes, that's the same world where rule-happy principals feel compelled to throw the book at students who carry butter knives to home-ec class. But it's also the world where "Columbine" has instant name recognition.
So I took the case. Besides, the odds were double if I won.
First, I stopped at the school, on Racine's south side. Principal Bob Wilhelmi said he'd heard rumors of the range, but that there's no shooting down there now. Only dust bombs skipping from box to box in storage.
A couple of phone calls sent me into a bit of a time warp, with each person referring me to the previous Mitchell principal. Finally, I reached Wally Stenavich, who was principal in the late 1950s or so and still lives in the area. Was there really a shooting range in the basement? "I helped build it," he said.
An industrial arts teacher oversaw the construction of it and started a rifle club league. Stenavich was a student in 1939 and got involved in one of the teams.
Later, as a teacher and principal, he took over the teams.
Dang, my payoff was in danger. The only chance I had left was to squeeze by on a technicality. I asked Stenavich if the guns were stored in the office, as I'd heard.
Sure, he said. And we're not talking the air rifles that some schools compete with today, the ones that barely give crows a tickle.
"At the time, the U.S. Army was encouraging these things, and they supplied us with the rifles," he said.
Not quite like picking up a hall pass.
"It wasn't the tightest control, kids in and out of the office," Stenavich said, but he didn't remember any problems or injuries.
The range had more features than the one at Horlick High School, he said. A separate door to the outside kept teams from disturbing the nighttime activities upstairs.
I'm assuming it was soundproofed somewhat, although a well-timed "BOOM" can really liven up a PTA meeting.
The rifle teams from various schools would compete, which produced an occasional battle of the sexes. Stenavich remembered the time one cocky boys' team got beat by an all-girls team.
"They concentrated a little better after that," he said.
The spirit of competition is stuck in Stenavich's bloodline. His grandson Adam, from Marshfield, has a shot to be an NFL offensive lineman after signing with the Carolina Panthers this week as a rookie free agent.
The competition was secondary at the range, though.
"Our main purpose was to teach gun safety," Stenavich said, "and hunting was a big thing during that time."
After he moved on, Stenavich said, nobody was there to oversee the program. The rifles were sent to an armory in St. Louis.
I suggested 21st century America would never allow this. To him, that's a sad thought.
"We've become paranoid in this world," he said. "But I have a lot of confidence in our kids."
And I have a little more confidence in barroom storytelling.
http://www.journaltimes.com/articles/2006/05/03/local/columns/iq_4023882.txt
By Mike Moore
Time to settle up on a bet.
It started with a conversation I had in a Downtown bar a couple of weeks back. A guy tried to convince me when he'd gone to Mitchell Middle School, there was a shooting range in the basement.
He saw my skeptical eyes narrow into that "How many have you had?" look. He suggested I try to confirm it.
Possibly, if I'd read my buddy Chris Bennett's Glad You Asked column about another old range, I'd have believed the story right away. But the guy described more than the thing's existence. He remembered students traipsing into the school office to get the guns.
Could be that sounded foreign because I've adapted already to the world of ID badges and students emptying backpacks at metal detectors. Yes, that's the same world where rule-happy principals feel compelled to throw the book at students who carry butter knives to home-ec class. But it's also the world where "Columbine" has instant name recognition.
So I took the case. Besides, the odds were double if I won.
First, I stopped at the school, on Racine's south side. Principal Bob Wilhelmi said he'd heard rumors of the range, but that there's no shooting down there now. Only dust bombs skipping from box to box in storage.
A couple of phone calls sent me into a bit of a time warp, with each person referring me to the previous Mitchell principal. Finally, I reached Wally Stenavich, who was principal in the late 1950s or so and still lives in the area. Was there really a shooting range in the basement? "I helped build it," he said.
An industrial arts teacher oversaw the construction of it and started a rifle club league. Stenavich was a student in 1939 and got involved in one of the teams.
Later, as a teacher and principal, he took over the teams.
Dang, my payoff was in danger. The only chance I had left was to squeeze by on a technicality. I asked Stenavich if the guns were stored in the office, as I'd heard.
Sure, he said. And we're not talking the air rifles that some schools compete with today, the ones that barely give crows a tickle.
"At the time, the U.S. Army was encouraging these things, and they supplied us with the rifles," he said.
Not quite like picking up a hall pass.
"It wasn't the tightest control, kids in and out of the office," Stenavich said, but he didn't remember any problems or injuries.
The range had more features than the one at Horlick High School, he said. A separate door to the outside kept teams from disturbing the nighttime activities upstairs.
I'm assuming it was soundproofed somewhat, although a well-timed "BOOM" can really liven up a PTA meeting.
The rifle teams from various schools would compete, which produced an occasional battle of the sexes. Stenavich remembered the time one cocky boys' team got beat by an all-girls team.
"They concentrated a little better after that," he said.
The spirit of competition is stuck in Stenavich's bloodline. His grandson Adam, from Marshfield, has a shot to be an NFL offensive lineman after signing with the Carolina Panthers this week as a rookie free agent.
The competition was secondary at the range, though.
"Our main purpose was to teach gun safety," Stenavich said, "and hunting was a big thing during that time."
After he moved on, Stenavich said, nobody was there to oversee the program. The rifles were sent to an armory in St. Louis.
I suggested 21st century America would never allow this. To him, that's a sad thought.
"We've become paranoid in this world," he said. "But I have a lot of confidence in our kids."
And I have a little more confidence in barroom storytelling.
http://www.journaltimes.com/articles/2006/05/03/local/columns/iq_4023882.txt
