1958

 

The Ghosts of Little Levels: 5 Surprising Truths from the Class of 1958

In the high, rolling plateau of the "Little Levels," Hillsboro, West Virginia, sits as an isolated limestone oasis. In 1958, this geographic cradle served as a unique cultural nexus. Here, the hand-planted trees of earlier generations—meticulously cared for by Principal Frank Johnson—provided shade for a generation of students caught between two worlds.

The Class of 1958 were the beneficiaries of post-war expansion, standing at the doorstep of the Space Age. Yet, their daily lives were rooted in nineteenth-century "Academy" traditions. They were a cohort of transition, graduating into a technocratic future just before the radical social shifts of the late 1960s would forever alter the Appalachian landscape.

The UVA Connection: A Rural Prep School for the Elite

While Hillsboro High School was a public institution by 1958, it carried the DNA of a prestigious private past. The community was originally known as "Academy, West Virginia," a name that reflected its intellectual ambitions. In 1834, long before the state had a formal high school system, the community erected a masonry one-room building with wings to serve as a high-level preparatory school.

This was no ordinary schoolhouse; it was a regional center of learning designed to prepare young men for the University of Virginia. This "Academy tradition" established a legacy of high academic standards that persisted for over a century. When the modern brick edifice was constructed in 1912 to replace the old frame buildings, it wasn't just a new school—it was the evolution of a century-old intellectual identity that drew students from multiple counties to this rural district.

Mentorship in the "6-6" Model: The Heirloom Yearbook

In 1947, Hillsboro adopted a "6-6" instructional plan, integrating 7th and 8th graders into the high school culture. This was more than an administrative move; it was a crucial catalyst for adolescent development. Younger students were mentored within a high-achieving culture, gaining early access to the school library’s 3,500 volumes and modern instructional aids like filmstrips.

This cohesive culture is immortalized in the 1958 edition of The Red Devil yearbook. In a move rare for the era, the publication included individual photos for every student down to the 7th grade, reinforcing a shared identity. Curiously, surviving copies of these yearbooks often lack student signatures or writing. To the families of the Little Levels, these were not mere scrapbooks for scribbling; they were treated as reverent family heirlooms, preserving a formal record of a community's youth.

Fire in the Band Room: A Direct Attack on Community Pride

The stability of the 1958 academic year was shattered one Tuesday morning by a frightening act of arson. An intruder gained entry to the school by removing a screen and climbing through a raised window in the band room. Once inside, the individual set fire to oil-soaked rags, attempting to burn the entire structure to the ground.

The choice of location was particularly stinging. The Hillsboro Band, led by Mrs. Frances Eskridge since 1955, was the heartbeat of local parades and athletic events. The band room housed instruments and uniforms that represented the collective financial investment of local families. This was not just a crime against property; it was an attack on a "deep protective bond" between the community and the cultural assets they had sacrificed to provide.

The McNeel Gymnasium: Hillsboro’s Social Ledger

The McNeel Gymnasium, completed in 1938, was the heart of the county’s social geography. Named for Dr. Winters McNeel, a beloved community physician and member of the Board of Education, the gym functioned as a "social ledger" where the lines between school and civic life vanished.

In 1958, the gym blurred the boundaries between a school facility and a professional arena. It famously hosted the All American Red Heads, a world-renowned professional women’s basketball team. Such events drew crowds from across the region, cementing the school’s role as the primary venue for entertainment and social connectivity in the Greenbrier Valley.

Symbolic Erasure: The Brutality of Consolidation

The Class of 1958 was among the last to experience the school’s local autonomy. In 1970, a county-wide merger consolidated Hillsboro, Green Bank, and Marlinton into a single entity. The transition was marked by what many felt was a form of "symbolic erasure"—the physical demolition of the 1912 main brick building.

As the heart of the Academy was torn down, the community was left with a complex mixture of optimism and grief. Principal Charles Moore, who led the school for sixteen of his twenty-three years there, understood the weight of the loss. He reflected that while a new, broader curriculum might better serve a modern society, the "experiences of the Hillsboro years were irreplaceable." The removal of the brick-and-mortar landmark felt like a jagged end to a century of localized tradition.

Legacy Beyond the Bricks

The true measure of Hillsboro High School is not found in the ruins of the 1912 building, but in the "useful and distinguished citizens" it produced. The Class of 1958 sent leaders into the world who carried the Academy spirit with them—men like Captain Tucker Reynolds and Lt. William Gay, who rose through the military ranks, and graduates like Margie Kershner, who pursued professional paths in the region's growing economy.

Today, the physical school is gone, yet the Class of 1958 lives on through the Pocahontas Public Library’s digital archives, where over 98,000 pages of history preserve their story. Their legacy invites a haunting question for the modern era: in our rush toward large, centralized consolidation, have we lost the ability to replicate the deep-rooted community identity that once flourished in the Little Levels?