Building has surprising past, promising future

Blocked off by two chain-link fences, rusting and covered with brush, stands a monstrous decaying building. Around it sits a grass lot filled with willow trees, moss hanging from their branches, sweeping through the wind. At night it could be a scene from a horror film, but during the day, when the sunlight beats off the paint-chipped bricks and shoots through the bare window frames, it’s more like a scene from an old poet’s imagination.
Wanting to know more, I made the treacherous climb over the fences and piles of broken wood to get closer to the structure. I see weeds shooting through the concrete around me and stacks of bright green mossy brick. Walking up the crumbling steps that lead me into the building, I come to a hole in the wall where a door used to be. A tall, thin door lies across the few remaining floor boards as a bridge to the inside. Standing on the makeshift overpass, I look up through the non-existent ceiling and find myself staring toward the only remaining roof fixture in the building. Old shutters are perched on deteriorating floorboards of what would have been the third floor. Next to me, the aqua-blue staircase, supported by stacks of cinder blocks, spirals upwards to the roof.
There are three doorways in this entrance. The first one is a Harry Potter-sized closet space underneath the steps, the second shows a view of the back of the building, and the third to the right, the only accessible entrance I can use. So I slowly make my way along the last bit of floor towards the third doorway. From the threshold I examine the large room. One side of the room is that same aqua color from the stairs and the other is a dirty vanilla hue. Most of the windows have no glass and every panel on the wall is flaking with paint and grime. Whatever wood is left on the floor is warped, moldy green and splitting into pieces. Beneath that is sand, almost covering the Busch Miller High Life’s empties from past intruders. Looking up I see the sky. The roof is missing and 2-by-4 boards line the second floor above me. The chimneys, unlike the rest of the house, have withstood time and Mother Nature with only a few crumbling bricks.

On my way out I take another look around. Decomposing lumber and tarnished drain pipes lay strewn about the yard. Dried-up ivy hangs lifelessly from the screens in the back windows. A sign on the back door read: POSTED: NO TRESPASSING KEEP OUT. But I plow ahead, circling the building, touching notches in the bricks. Wires and plumbing fixtures crawl through the concrete, reminding me that this piece of architecture was once alive, serving a purpose.
Just as I’m about to leave, a white minivan pulls up and an older couple hops out with worried expressions on their faces. They tell me I can’t be in the building. I tell them I know. They tell me it is their job to keep people out of the building because they work for St. Benedict the Moor Catholic Church which owns the property. I tell them I’m intrigued.
We talk and I learn that the building, called St. Benedict the Moor School Building, once served an important purpose. It was one of the first schools in Florida for the education of African-Americans. Built in 1898 and funded by St. Katherine Drexel, an heiress from Philadelphia, the school opened its doors to newly freed slaves. The Sisters of St. Joseph were brought in under the invitation of Bishop Verot to teach at the school, and they did so for 66 years. However, in 1916 on Easter Sunday, three of the Sisters were arrested because in Florida at that time, a white individual could not educate a black student. Years later, in 1964, the school had to close in response to the Civil Rights Act and the integration of Catholic schools. Sadly, the school never opened again. As a way to pay homage to the individuals involved with the school, the church community is now attempting to make the old school house a museum commemorating St. Katherine Drexel and the Sisters of St. Joseph. The restoration committee also hopes to incorporate multipurpose classrooms into the building to be used for tutoring, meetings and workshops for those involved with the church. Through fundraisers and charity events, the school house is already being remodeled little by little. When it is finally completed it should resemble the original structure which had a Victorian style wraparound porch complete with wooden columns.
Although this building may already be beautiful in its own corroding, molding, paint-chipping, ivy-growing, cable-protruding way, the restoration committee’s plans will likely bring joy to the people of Lincolnville.
I can’t wait to see the wraparound porch. That doesn’t sound too shabby at all.
By Danielle Brady