Rural schools are crumbling

LUND -- The building resembles something straight out of the Dust Bowl. The roof sags like an old man's shoulders. Large scabs of cracked paint flake off the sides. The floor, its wood arthritic and worn, groans underfoot. A gust of wind brings a hoarse cough from the walls, a rasp of structural emphysema.

But of course, this isn't the Dust Bowl. This is rural Nevada, and the haggard, decades-old building is not an abandoned lean-to, but the science classroom at Lund High School. It also should serve as a good, hard slap across the face for any Clark County student, teacher or administrator who would dare to grouse about inadequate facilities.

"The state for years has ignored what's been going on with rural schools," Lund Principal Hugh Qualls said. "Because of that, you have kids here who are receiving a Third World education as far as the kind of structures they're in. I've been to Central America -- Honduras, Guatemala -- and I'm telling you, they have better school facilities than you see here."

Officials in cash-poor rural districts across Nevada long have bemoaned the severe physical deterioration of their schools to state lawmakers -- to no avail.

The Nevada Legislature, since ceding control of property taxes -- the primary source of funding for school construction -- to counties two decades ago, mostly has left the job of capital improvements to individual districts. Lawmakers by and large have resisted appeals to throw money into building schools, fearing that the sheer cost of putting up facilities would precipitate massive cuts in other state programs.

Now, with some rural schools such as Lund High quite literally on the verge of toppling over, state lawmakers and Gov. Kenny Guinn may have no choice but to prop them back up. Three bills circulating in the Legislature would provide, to varying degrees, financial assistance to fund school construction, and could usher in a new era of equality -- or less disparity, perhaps -- between urban and rural schools.

Any amount of state aid can't come quickly enough for Lund High and the rest of the White Pine County School District. An independent engineering firm hired by the district two years ago deemed Lund High, home to 68 students, structurally unsafe, and recommended replacing it.

It's easy to see why. Built in 1931, the school is marred by physical anomalies. Classrooms the size of one-car garages. A sieve-like roof over one building that doesn't so much keep out the rain as strain it. Fissures that fan out like spilled ink across the exterior walls of the main building.

White Pine officials also are seeking funding to build a facility in Pleasant Valley for 75 elementary students who now must ride a bus 90 minutes over dirt roads to a school in Utah. The route offers its own form of rush hour -- herds of cows occasionally block the road -- and this year alone buses have suffered 18 flat tires shuttling to and from the school.

In addition, officials want to replace the rapidly decaying White Pine Middle School in Ely by 2002, when the building will be a less-than-spry 89 years old.

A sudden infusion of state funding into White Pine wouldn't pay for a school in Lund that would rival the opulence of, say, Green Valley High. Still, Qualls said, if the state kicked in money, rural students would gain a measure of parity with their urban counterparts. So might the administrator: The computer that Qualls uses to prepare report cards sits in a converted closet that once was used for candy storage.

"When you live in a rural area, you know there's going to be some trade-offs in culture and other things. But should that extend to education as well? Should it be that kids in rural areas don't get the same kind of education or opportunities as in the city? No one can say it's the kids' fault for being born here," he said.

Dual dilemma

The dual dilemma of sparse population and the state's property tax cap has hindered rural districts' attempts to renovate and replace old schools. The state limits property taxes to $3.64 per $100 of assessed property value, with a proviso that enables counties to bump the rate to $4.50 in a financial emergency.

Yet even at the higher rate, small counties fall well short of generating the money needed to build new schools simply because they have too few residents. Despite White Pine County voters' approvial of $6 million in school construction bonds in recent years, for example, the funds remain untapped since the district is unable to collect enough taxes from residents to sell off the bond debt.

Moreover, the recent departure of the mining industry from some of the state's outlying regions has further depressed property values. Couple that with the high percentage of government-owned -- read: untaxable -- land in Nevada, and rural districts often struggle to scare up enough money to maintain existing schools, much less build new ones.

Which is why the state needs to chip in, said Mark Shellinger, superintendent of schools in White Pine County. In lobbying lawmakers to help rural districts, Shellinger has seized upon a clause in the Nevada Constitution that requires the state to provide a "uniform system of public schools."

"It's a matter of fairness in education," he said. "It shouldn't matter where you live in the state, (whether) you live in Clark County or White Pine. There needs to be equity."

Shellinger contends that in the same way the state disburses operating funds to districts on a per-pupil basis, lawmakers should create a balanced system for handling capital improvement needs. He favors a plan that would obligate the state to renovate or replace buildings if a district reaches tax capacity, suffers from declining property values and has to send students outside the district because of a lack of facilities.

Most states nationwide provide some level of funding for school construction, according to a 1997 report by the Nevada Legislative Counsel Bureau. Arizona, Ohio and Texas, among other states, have been forced to redress facility discrepancies between rural and urban schools as a result of lawsuits brought by districts, the study showed.

Hoping to pre-empt that kind of litigation in Nevada, Assemblywoman Marcia de Braga, D-Fallon, has proposed a measure that would pay for new schools through general obligation state bonds. Other bills under consideration by the Legislature would create an emergency fund for school construction, or allow districts to impose a quarter-cent sales tax hike to collect more money for capital projects.

"Everyone's trying desperately to solve this question with rural schools," de Braga said. "The state's going to have to get involved. And if we get involved through lawsuits, that's the wrong way to do it. The money goes the wrong way."

De Braga's bill, scaled down from an original request of $25.5 million to build three new facilities in White Pine, would help fund a high school in Lund and a modular school in Pleasant Valley at a total cost of $8.1 million.

She also has pitched a bill that would forgive the remaining $1.6 million on a $2.5 million loan given to White Pine by the state four years ago after the district collapsed financially. The district's annual loan repayment of $365,000 has come out of its operating budget allocation from the state, triggering staff and curriculum cutbacks.

Guinn spokesman Jack Finn said the governor is weighing whether to give White Pine a break on the loan. While it's still too early to talk specifics on state involvement in school construction, Guinn, a former superintendent of the Clark County School District, understands the crisis faced by rural districts, Finn said.

"When you're talking about children -- especially when schools are not only run-down, but dangerous -- that goes immediately to the top of the priority list," he said.

Assemblyman Lynn Hettrick, R-Gardnerville, agreed that rural schools need a boost, yet sounded a more cautionary note, pointing out that the Legislature is trying to trim $240 million from the state budget this session. Under the circumstances, freeing up money to assist White Pine could prove thorny -- particularly with as many as six other districts rattling their tin cups, he said.

Hettrick added that approving general obligation bonds for school construction potentially would require putting control of property taxes back in the state's hands -- something neither the state nor counties may want.

"We have to take a hard look because we (would be) establishing a precedent. ... ," he said. "If we do this for one (county), what says we don't do it for all?"

Shellinger countered that the state has partially funded such projects in the past, including construction of school buildings in Mineral and Lincoln counties. The state also has pumped money into computer centers on school district land in Clark and Washoe counties.

Search for funds

As for where to scrounge money in a lean budget year, Shellinger offered three possibilities. The state could use its estimated $48 million annual share of the national tobacco settlement. Lawmakers also could dip into the state's $130 million rainy-day fund that is set aside for a budget crunch. Or they could forgo numerous proposed capital projects -- including a $1.8 million renovation of the attorney general's office -- to fund school construction.

"What could be more important than schools for our kids?" Shellinger asked.

Precious little, in Caroline Hilton's view. She is vice principal of White Pine Middle School, a facility built in 1913 that houses 400 students. Engineers have determined that the district should close the building within the next three years.

And no wonder. Strolling around the school, Hilton points out missing ceiling tiles, cracked walls and buckets used to catch water leaking through the roof. Pipes burst almost weekly, forcing maintenance workers to shut off water to the entire building. In a makeshift repair area known as "the tunnel" that is remindful of a 1950s bomb shelter, workers have amassed a dizzying jumble of tools, supplies and the odd toilet seat or three.

"This is where we hold things together," maintenance worker Nolan Howes said.

Then there's the boiler, a hulking piece of metal seemingly swiped from the Titanic that lurks in the school's bowels. An ornery and inefficient bit of machinery that hisses, rattles, clatters and all but cusses at visitors, it is switched on for only a few hours each morning. The school relies on the students' collective body heat to warm the building throughout the day.

As for the school's general appearance, "about the best we can do is put on another coat of paint," Hilton said.

The effect is not lost on students. As a knot of seventh- and eighth-grade boys gathered on the school's front steps Tuesday morning, they took turns complaining about the school: the girls have seven bathrooms to the boys' two, pencil sharpeners are broken, the overhead projectors don't work, the athletic equipment always breaks. Hilton confirms all of the claims.

"Yeah, the buildings are going to fall down on us someday," said eighth-grader Jeremy Zeman, 14, with a matter-of-fact shrug. "What are you going to do?"

At Pioche Elementary School in Lincoln County, the threat of the school falling down is more than a youngster's casual joke. An engineering study found the building structurally unsound -- floor-to-ceiling cracks in several walls could cause them to cave in -- and district officials may close the facility at the end of the school year.

Losing the school would devastate Pioche (pop. 830), said Vaughn Higbee, superintendent of Lincoln County School District. He said the demise of the facility, where residents hold weddings, pageants, funerals and other community events, would "rip the guts out of this town." With no place to educate their kids, parents would begin an exodus, Higbee said.

Building a new elementary school in Pioche would run to about $2.5 million, far more money than the county's 4,000 residents could generate even at the emergency property tax rate of $4.50. Higbee has spoken with legislators about putting up a modular school, a quick fix that would cost $750,000. Failing that, the district may have to bus students from Pioche to Ely, a two-hour ride.

Higbee hopes it won't come to that. The state would never make students in Clark County travel that distance to attend school, he said, and rural students deserve similar consideration -- and facilities.

"I get angry when someone says we should just accept a second-class education in rural areas because we choose to live here. We accept that with roads, libraries and almost anything. But I do not accept that with education," Higbee said.

"If the state of Nevada is going to have quality workers and students, we need to have the same quality of schools. There should be no difference no matter where you live. I feel adamant about that."

As does Debbie Lani. A graduate of Lund High School who has two children enrolled there today, Lani, 47, said lawmakers have to remember that Nevada consists of more than Clark and Washoe counties.

"These schools are embarrassing," she said. "Do they want us all to move to Las Vegas or Reno? We want to stay here. Help us take care of our schools."

Sun reporter Cy Ryan contributed to this story.

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