Catie Hunter is only 11 years old. Her father, an Army platoon sergeant, has spent five of those years away from her, serving his country in Korea, Iraq and Afghanistan. At her elementary school on an Oklahoma military post, ceiling tiles are removed so that when a Great Plains storm rumbles in, rain can cascade from the rotting roof into large trash cans underneath. To get to class, Catie must dodge what she calls “Niagara Falls.”
Each day as the fifth grader enters Geronimo Road Elementary School, she walks beneath the tiles, bent and browned, some dangling by threads of glue. In her classroom, an archaic air conditioning unit at times drowns out her teacher’s voice. Signs of disrepair abound: chipped floors, termite-infested walls, cracks the size of the principal’s finger along brick halls. A bucket, strapped by a bungee cord, hangs over the gym door — another makeshift fix for leaks.
“I’m really proud of the fact that the school is still standing,” said Catie, a pixie of a girl who twitches her nose when she talks."Sometimes, I wonder if it's going to fall in."
Catie’s Fort Sill schoolhouse, built before Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower ran for president, isn’t the only one in poor shape. Tens of thousands of children — from Georgia to Kansas, Virginia to Washington state — attend schools on military bases that are falling apart from age and neglect, and fail to meet even the military’s own standards. Some schools have tainted water and fouled air; others are so overcrowded teachers improvise, holding class in hallways, supply closets, and in one instance, working in a boiler room. Outdated? One school in Germany was built by the Nazis.