The Delaware Street Elementary School

The Delaware Street Elementary School

I can still smell the oil that the janitors put on their dust mops that they ran over the wood floors of our elementary school at the end of each day. And the deodorizers that hung on metal clips inside each of the toilets in the girls’ bathroom. And the special aroma of Mrs. Trudnack’s first grade classroom, which had smelled like that since my father was in her class, and which was produced by the Crayola crayons that she required the parents to buy. And the smell and the feel of white library paste and how impossible it was to get rid of a little unintentional smudge of the stuff. And the dusty smell of the auditorium, probably from the ancient curtains that could be closed across the stage, replicated in the long window curtains that always let in a little crack of light when we were shown movies there.

And then there’s the dry powdery smell and feel of white or yellow chalk dust that collected in the eraser holders at the bottom of the blackboards. The fragrance of ditto machine fluid from the handouts we got every day in sixth grade. The faint urine-on-hot-radiator smell that always drifted out of the boys’ bathroom when the door opened. The nurse’s office always smelled of alcohol, and the principal’s office had a hint of Mr. Mullin’s aftershave. The faint aroma of baby spit-up always lingered on Mrs. Hillhouse, and Mr. Lindsey’s clothes smelled like cigarette smoke because he played in a band in night clubs on the side.

And last, but not least, the overpowering aroma of my fried Spam sandwich, marinating in mayo and white bread in the cubby under my desk.