The incredible, shrinking high school

I remember the first pictures. The Superintendent paraded a two-foot by three-foot, framed architectural masterpiece of what New Millennium High School would look like if it were built across the freeway and within the slough system on Harkins Slough Rd.

Board members were ecstatic; Wetlands Watch applauded, and the Chamber of Commerce toasted the triumphant Superintendent. A youthful student was quoted as saying "That's my new high school? Wow!"

"Warning, shrinkage may occur," read the fine print.

One problem. The rendering and accompanying architectural work were created without consulting the Coastal Commission who objected to those plans.

The Commission, wanting to be helpful but unwilling to destroy sensitive habitat as the District had proposed, said the school would — at the very least — have to be scaled down.

The District, fearful that the Commission might not permit a school at all, accepted the Commission's reduced foot print though their planned 50-acre trophy facility — with its promised football stadium, swimming pool, library, multipurpose room, baseball diamond, performing arts center and permanent classrooms — might be but a shadow of it's former self.

And it didn't seem to bother the Superintendent or the Board that the original renderings, which cost millions in taxpayer money, were headed for the land fill just west of the school site. Naturally, the architect didn't mind; he would just make new ones, and bill for them handsomely.

Since the school was planned near the take-off end of Watsonville Airport's main runway, the site had to be evaluated to insure it was safe for 2,200 students. The State performed that evaluation, and under the watchful eye of the ubiquitous local Assemblyman, they delivered their "we do not object" opinion to the District.

The State's evaluation had given the District every inch possible, ignoring their own procedures to do so. They authorized development right up to the very edge of what the State describes as an historical crash zone, a first by all accounts. In response to a public information request, the State has offered no documentation of having ever approved such a school so close to a crash zone.

And yet, the District wasn't satisfied. They wanted more, and helped themselves to about two acres outside the area the State approved and inside the forbidden crash zone.

Could this have been an honest mistake? Did someone draw the lines incorrectly? Or did school officials plan facilities in an unauthorized crash zone and assume no one would notice? If they did, they need to seek employment elsewhere.

What about the architects? Couldn't they figure out the boundaries? It's hard to imagine highly paid, State certified architects making this error. And if they just gave a "wink-and-a-nod," to officials who knew better, they should be held libel.

Meanwhile the drawings kept coming. Several versions. Buildings here, buildings there, move them around. It's 40 acres. No, 35 acres. Actually, 32.17 acres. Or is it 30 acres? Could it really be only 25 acres?

After several renditions had been completed, the final — is anything ever final on this project? — plans were published in the Supplemental EIR. That document was then certified by five board trustees at the raucous school board meeting and Brown Beret Rally conducted at Rolling Hills Middle School last May.

Sorry, but those plans show no performing arts center. They show no swimming pool, no football stadium, no track and no baseball diamond. "And the classrooms?" you ask. Mostly portables, just like Watsonville High has today.

Then the City approved those plans issuing a Coastal Development Permit. Citizens who continue to find the project a disaster for the environment, for the students and for the community, appealed to the Commission.

At the School Board meeting of Sept. 12 we learned, due to some grading issues raised by those appeals, Building "C," housing the multi-purpose room would not be built.

No problem, said the Superintendent, we'll put the cafeteria in the library.

No multipurpose room, and now, no library.

Then it was brought to the District's attention that the incursion of the school facilities into the "historical crash zone" would raise the ire of the Commissioners — it certainly hasn't bothered the Superintendent, the School Board, or the City Council who were alerted to the problem in June.

Can you guess? More shrinkage. The district will now have to abandon its plan to develop about two acres at the north end of the site. And the architects? Certainly no shrinkage of their bank accounts.

So the planned 50 acres school has now shrunk to only 25 acres. For the 2,200, mostly Latino students, it now promises to be the least safe, and most crowded high school in the entire county, by a huge margin.

"If shrinkage persists," read the warrantee, "consider that it may not be suitable for your purposes."

[Peter Nichols is an educator, writer and web publisher. His opinions do not necessarily reflect those of the Register-Pajaronian.]