(Voiced by: MacKenzie Saladin)

Story: The History of Martin Hall

 

I look like conjoined twins, but I used to just be Martin Hall. In December 1935, EWU approved the contract for constructing me. I would be used by the education department to teach college students how to teach and also have practical experience by housing a lab school. I was in development from March 13th, 1936 to April 6th, 1937 and was named in honor of governor Clarence D. Martin. They added another building to me, the Campus School, in September of 1959 and I was connected to it by a breezeway. The Campus School, later called the Robert Reid Lab School, stood in the space where the empty lot behind me now is. During the fall of 1967, an addition was made to me which was cleverly named the Martin Addition, which turned the space into a triplet education powerhouse. The Martin Addition was used for additional classrooms and offices for the Education Department. The Martin Addition was renamed Williamson Hall in February of 1979 after Dr. Obed J. Williamson, the chairman of the education department during the 30’s and 40’s. It wasn’t until September 21st, 2015 that the Robert Reid Lab School was demolished and we were left with the structure that still stands today. While I have stood the test of time, I have experienced the trauma that destruction and construction create as the university expands.

 

Question: How Can We Recover What is Lost?

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What happens when you get physically ripped apart and Frankenstein-ed back together? Trauma. I am a building. Or two buildings with the ghost of a third. You may not see the trauma that is embedded in my structure, but it’s here. Richard Crownshaw defines trauma as “that which defies witnessing, cognition, conscious recall and representation – generating the belated or deferred and disruptive experience of the event not felt at the time of witnessing” (167). The destruction of the Robert Reid Lab School is no longer felt in the consciousness of this university. I don’t even recall it very well. But the empty space where it used to be haunts me. It’s fitting that the psychology department lives in Williamson, right next door, because I need help to recover these repressed memories. This was not only the destruction of a building, but a destruction of part of me. The Lab School was part of my identity, part of my goal and dream to produce educators for the world. And now it’s gone. How can we recover what is lost? How can we remember what we’ve lost? 

 

Dream: Remembering What’s Gone

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 I will always bear the scars from the trauma I’ve been through. Laura Cantarella and Lucia Giuliano write in “The Topography of Trauma” that people “can detect some physical features of trauma in architecture and landscape: ‘the fragment, the wound, the crack, the gash, the mending, the monument, the immobility, the superfetation’, etc.” (41). For the foreseeable future, the empty lot behind me and the awkward suture where I am joined with Williamson are here to stay and to remind people of what we’ve lost. But remembering and sorting through the trauma allows us to process what was lost and be able to think about how we can recover programs that have died. Right now, the university is going through major restructuring. It’s collapsing collages, departments, and programs and I hope that through it all we don’t lose too much. The Robert Reid Lab School was a beautiful partnership with the Cheney School District and an opportunity that the education department is missing out on now. I can only remember my departed friend and hope that the university finds a way to hold on to elements students don’t want to lose.