The Davy Crockett Building of the Dallas Public Schools. It used to be a school building.

The Davy Crockett Building of the Dallas Independent School District used to be a school, and then was made into an office and a museum for Native American studies.  I loved that building, and used to be responsible for all of it's heating and air conditioning services and repairs.

The Davy Crockett Building.

I worked at the Dallas Independent School District from the years 1995 to 2002, and during that time I, perhaps, enjoyed the David Crockett Building more than any other building in that very large school district, and make no doubt about it, I'd been inside every single building that the Dallas ISD owned or was associated with in any way. The Dallas Independent School District, perhaps, is the largest criminal organization in the entire state of Texas. During the time that I worked there it's reputation was so horrific that every single day in the Dallas Morning News a reader could expect not one, but several articles concerning corruption within the district. It seemed, literally, as if any or everything that was not bolted to something solid was likely and liable to come up missing at any given time. Of course I had a cutting torch on my district service truck, and could get into any place that I desired, should the place have air conditioning or heating in need or repairs, or not.
In all seriousness, and I say this with complete honesty; I do not recall ever once stealing a single thing from the D.I.S.D., and I suppose that it is for this reason that one day in 2001 I received a call from Special Agent Kay Peterson, of the Federal Bureau of Investigations; and maybe they'd chose her to make the call based upon the data that they had on me, or maybe not, but the facts that for all the world she sounded like a country Lady, and with her sometimes cheerful voice, she'd invited me down to the Earl Cabell Federal Building on such and such date at 9:00 a.m. was not lost upon me, oh no, not at all. I had nothing to hide from the F.B.I., and still do not have anything about me that they'd likely find too very interesting; and besides, how can one refuse such a cheerful Country Lady's invitation for a meeting? Despite, and probably because of my cooperation in Federal Law Enforcement's investigation concerning the HVAC department at the D.I.S.D., my employment there did not extent too much after that date. Like the truth of the matter concerning law enforcement, if and when they've decided to arrest you; systemically corrupt school districts, when they want you gone, you'll get gone.
Suffice it to say that Hoover's sometimes Satan Spawned Feds at least recognized that I'd be completely and totally nonbelligerent towards a female agent of Federal Law, and next time, I want a little action; or I'm pleading the FIFTH!

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But I was Talking About The David Crockett Building. . . .

It's sometimes somewhat difficult for me to stay on subject, the thing is, it's I who decide what subjects will be discussed here; some folks like my style, others, well, who cares about the others? The David Crockett building was home for me in those days, the final three or four years that I'd worked for the largest, often criminal, organization in Texas. I was assigned as the person responsible for all duties involving window units, "wall mounts," which are the vertical package units that are on the sides of portable classrooms, modular building's package units, and any or all split systems within the main buildings of all schools in South Dallas, and East Dallas. I was also responsible for the mechanical functions of each and every single exhaust fan, and kitchen vent a hood. Quite a daunting task for one individual with no help outside of the child, or young adult Summer help that I'd sometimes get assigned to ride with me, don't you think?
Well, I love Old East Dallas, and I was lucky enough to live there during most of the year of our Lord two thousand and nine. I could walk to David Crockett from where I lived, but I never did, I was too busy myspacing myself out, and talking to one specific, and Exceedingly Beautiful Irish Lady on the internet, or working late into the evenings for too little dinero per hour. I also spent a good deal of time soaking up suds at the Shuck N Jive, perusing the contours of a woman named Jessica's ass, and eating outstanding seafood while watching MLB on the tele. Alas, however, and parasitic, unfriendly to any save old money, Kaufman, Texas; town of my birth, has hold of me again.

Seriously, This Is About a Building.

Bill was his name, and I'd bet the farm that he's still living. He'd been in the Navy for years, and he was the head custodian at the Crockett building, and he was forever glad to see me; and was forever offering the traditional, for his age group and demographic, manner of greeting, the handshake: and it could crush yours, punk, don't doubt it. Bill knew what I was about, and he loved to tell his tales, and I loved to hear them. It's a logical conclusion were you to draw it, that Bill, and the Crockett Building, despite no longer being a school, would always get the highest priority of yours truly, the service technician, despite the screaming of drama queen teachers, and Hispanic, the newly dominant racial demographic in Dallas, and loving to flex their muscle, screams.
The basement of the Crockett building was condemned, and with lead paint flaking off of the walls, I found it to be a lovely place to take a Lower Greenville Avenue, Dallas, Texas; take out lunch, and enjoy a nap. Perhaps you, old magistrate of no accord, would love to charge me, or convict me with the crime of stealing time? I plead the fifth, but send a sexy female fed, with her knickers wet, and perhaps, something could be arranged?
The basement, and I had a key, of course; in fact, I had a key to everything in the D.I.S.D., and never stole a thing, which quite distinguished me, and made me; and even my more strict Father whose initials in nomenclature I share, all the less popular with the criminal administrators, who only seek to emulate their heroes, ironically, in the federal government. I might have accidentally lost my, felony to copy, and somewhat undocumented extras, and found extra federal reserve criminal banking cartel generated exchange media within my possession upon the occasions that I don't recall, I can't remember. It's sad though, as I'd prefer to live in the toxic, and condemned basement of the Crockett building with my illicit keys than to live in parasitic old money, or fuck yourself, Kaufman, Texas.
But it seems that the David Crockett building holds nothing but memories for me, and many another, and is now empty, and where did they move the monumental amount of knowledge that could be had for the ignorant, completely ignorant students of today via the Native American exhibits? The 26,000 BTU, and the 18, 000 BTU Carrier workhorses, so unique, and so classic, have all been slaughtered in the purge by Al Gore's idiotic, and totally worthless, save for he and bitch Tipper's wallets, media mogul endorsed propaganda concerning, rather hypocritically, usage of carbon, and electricity, as he and Tipper fornicate rather perversely, pegging being the way, in their Tennessee mansion.