It was my Freshman year, and I had just been summoned to the Boys Gym for the first time. The memory of all the punishments I might receive for entering the boys locker room repeated itself over and over in my mind. I contemplated the two doors, fearful that one of them would lead me to my doom. With my sense of direction (or lack thereof), it seemed inevitable that I would end up in the wrong place no matter how hard I tried to avoid it.
Luckily, a classmate of mine seemed to know what she was doing and confidently walked into the gym. I cautiously followed her and was relieved to find that I had safely made it to the Boys Gym Classroom.
Three years later, this harrowing experience replayed in my mind as I looked up at the Boys Gym. Despite my well-earned understanding of the layout of the building, other aspects of the gym still remained an enigma. Everything from the gym’s many layers of polish on the floor to its omnipresent stench, made it obvious to me that it was practically prehistoric. I’d heard stories of the building being used to train war cadets, but nobody seemed to have any concrete details that defended these lofty assertions.
At first, I was convinced that solid information about the Boys Gym would be easily accessible, just waiting for a clever journalist like myself to uncover it and piece it together. I was sorely mistaken.
In the space of the past two weeks, I’ve nearly driven myself mad trying to gather facts for this article. In my quest, I’ve skimmed hundreds of old Oakland Tribune issues, braved the most terrifying parts of the Boys Gym (from the locker room to the roof), called Mr. Price’s father, and even sat in Mr. Sherman’s van.
Unfortunately, I don’t have much to show for my efforts. The only person who knew anything about the Boys Gym was Ms. Rosemary. She told me that the buildings that are now Studio One and Park Day used to be a military barrack. The Boys Gym acted as an expansion of the site, and the weight room was a shooting range.
Later, in 1989, the gym was a shelter for people whose home was destroyed in the Loma Prieta Earthquake. People slept, showered, and lived in the building for about a month, and students were not allowed in the area. Today, the gym is newly painted for the first time since Ms. Rosemary started working at Tech in 1979.
Despite the fact that I was able to find some good evidence on the Boys Gym, its enigmas continue to haunt me. I continue to wonder what it was like to be in that building many years ago. How loud were the rifles when they were fired in the weight room? What did it look like when it was newly built in 1928? Did it always have that potent stench?
Three weeks ago, looking at the Boys Gym reminded me of the horrors of PE. Today, I wish I could say that the Boys Gym represented something deeper, but instead I find that the building only inspires a feeling of dread deep in my soul.