It’s 11:10 a.m., and Linda Rogers flips the switch on the microphone to deliver the farewell address she has dreaded for weeks.

Throughout the usually bustling building on North Iowa Street, seven teachers, 10 staffers and 117 students fall silent, listening to the Riverside School principal’s authoritative voice for the last time.

“Be careful, have fun, and good luck at your new schools,” she says. “We’ll miss all of you. We love you. And keep the Riverside spirit.”

As her last words rang through the halls — no bell sounded this day, inviting students to linger and teachers to exchange hugs — the school that opened in 1855 as a rural, one-room schoolhouse finally yielded to the most urban of pressures: population shifts, industrial growth and belt-tightening budget cuts.

It was a scene played out with subtle variations at two other Lawrence schools. Centennial and East Heights join Riverside in the group of elementary schools that won’t reopen next year. They were shuttered by a school board unable — or unwilling — to balance next year’s budget and keep the schools open.

At Riverside, parent Stacey Fullerton waited outside teacher Sherry Tamerius’ class with a bouquet of flowers. Her 7-year-old son, Steven, soon would step out the door for a future at Deerfield School.

“This is the saddest day of my life,” she said, wiping away tears. “This place has been a family. We moved up here especially for the school, and it’s been the best experience we’ve ever had. I couldn’t have asked for a better school.

“I do know this: I’ll never move for a school again.”

Students and teachers lingered a bit longer on the final day of classes at Riverside School. First-grade teacher Jeannie Hendrix received a hug and flowers Friday from student Kathryn Amick, 7. The school is one of three in Lawrence that were closed by the school board.

But many at Riverside understood the building’s shrinking role in a growing district. The school had only 13 students in fifth grade, and its building twice had been hit by cars in recent years.

Immediately south of the building is a trucking company. Just north is a pet foods plant, and to the west is the sprawling Kmart Distribution Center, where even the bankrupt retailer calls in dozens of tractor-trailers each day.

“I’m just glad we’ve had a safe year, and I’m pleased about that,” Rogers says, watching parents pull their minivans into traffic after school for the last time. “Everybody’s been upbeat. It hasn’t been all gloom-and-doom up here, and that’s been great.”

• Mark Fagan

Centennial School first-grader William Harnar, left, gets his T-shirt signed by classmate Allie Crockett as Avery Whipple, center, and Ryan Hutchins, far right, wait their turn on the last day of school. The school's PTA provided T-shirts to all students and teachers.

East Heights

East Heights School was put to rest with a 22-person salute.

Sixth-grade teacher Debra Temple brushed aside tears before handing each member of the school’s final graduating class a certificate of promotion and a white rose.

“It’s been very, very wonderful for me to be here,” she told graduates and about 100 guests. “Thank you so much for sharing your children with me. I hope I shared something with them.”

After the ceremony, Principal Gary Johnson gathered sixth-graders around him. He implored them to “be proud of yourself.”

And on the count of three, with Jamie Battiest, Hailey Toshavik, Shelise White and all the other graduates clutching hands as if in a basketball huddle, Johnson led them in a final chant: “We’re seventh-graders!”

¢ 6News video: Three schools close for good¢Stories, video, audio, photos about Riverside, Centennial and East Heights schools closing

The celebration on the final day of the 2002-2003 school year brought an end to use of East Heights as an elementary building. After 49 years, the school board voted to convert the school on Haskell Avenue for use by the district’s preschool program.

Sixth-grader Sunny Boado, 12, said she was saddened by the demise of East Heights.

“I don’t understand why they’re closing the school,” she said. “It felt special to be in a school where everybody is treated equally.”

Her mother, Terri Dyer, concurred: “There are a lot of good people here. It’s like a family.”

Rashaad Spicer, 11, is congratulated by fellow East Heights School students. The school marked its final day Friday with a graduation ceremony for 22 sixth-graders, including Rashaad. Next year the building at 1430 Haskell Ave. will be used for the district's preschool program.

Tyrin Thorne, a fourth-grader with a sister, Courtney, participating in the sixth-grade graduation, said the district’s decision to transfer him to Kennedy School next year wouldn’t tarnish fond memories of East Heights.

“I’ll remember field day — the playing,” he said.

Duke Barnhill, the father of sixth-grader Daniel Villarruel, said his family appreciated the sensitivity everyone involved with East Heights showed his son, who has a disability, during the past 18 months.

He said students from East Heights visited Daniel at home, which had never occurred while he was in California schools.

“They showed us how strong this community is,” Barnhill said. “It touched our lives.”

Students at East Heights will be divided between New York and Kennedy schools.

East Heights sixth-grade teacher Debra Temple presents a white rose and certificate to Daniel Villarruel during graduation ceremonies. Friday was East Heights' last day.

• Tim Carpenter

Centennial School

For one last time Friday morning, the entire Centennial School student body performed the school clap.

And when the rhythmic applause ended, Principal Gina Grigaitis addressed the students and teachers, assembled on the school’s lawn, for the last time.

Centennial School first-grader Drake Truscello shovels dirt to cover a time capsule buried in the school yard with Principal Gina Grigaitis and fourth-grader Dixie Price on the last day of school. The students filled the time capsule Friday with photographs and trinkets to preserve memories of the school at 2145 La.

“Goodbye Centennial Cardinals!” she shouted. “This is a happy goodbye because each of you has done wonderful things, and we are preserving each one of you in this time capsule.”

With that, she glued the cap on a yardlong PVC tube — brimming with photographs, memories, trinkets and tributes — and held it above her head.

“Preserved for posterity!” she yelled. And with a “Bombs away!” she dropped the time capsule down a 5-foot-deep hole in the schoolyard.

“Good luck in your new school,” she said. “I can honestly tell you I’ll miss each one of you, but I wish you well.”

Then, students who most days would flee school quickly instead swarmed their principal in a mass hug.

Perhaps it was an act of holding tight to something familiar, stretching the time before the school’s classrooms, halls and playground went silent forever.

Nick Allen, 8, and Johnathan Roberts, 8, sign each other's yearbooks at Riverside School. Friday was the students' last day at Riverside.

The tears started early Friday at Centennial. They were part of the school’s last morning assembly. They slipped out as teachers helped students prepare material to include in the time capsule. They threatened to spill from the eyes of parents, some of whom attended Centennial in their youth.

Count Michelle Adam among the latter group.

“My son has had two of my teachers,” she said. “(The closing) is so emotional for so many reasons. To walk down the same halls you did as a child and know that it will never happen again is heartbreaking.”

Hugh Craven, Centennial’s janitor, spent the last five years keeping those halls clean. Along the way, he said, he’s met some pretty neat teachers and students, several of whom stood in a line Friday morning waiting for him to sign their bright red Centennial T-shirts.

Later, rolling a trash can down the hallway, Craven looked glum.

“It’s a very sad, hard day,” he said. “It’s kind of hard to say goodbye.”

Despite the sad occasion, many students looked ahead, cheerfully anticipating their futures.

Ten-year-old Tyler Fowler recounted his contribution to the school’s time capsule: a note that predicted his adult profession.

“I said I wanted to be an EMT,” he said.

Tiny messages rolled up and tied with thread, a cardinal figurine and a miniature Martin Luther King Jr. clay bust created by Centennial students were among the other tidbits sealed and buried with the time capsule.

“Closing our school stinks,” one student scrawled on a note.

Kindergarten teacher Coleen Martin wiped away tears Friday as she hugged departing students. She taught kindergarten in the same Centennial classroom where she attended kindergarten in the late ’70s.

“Twenty-five years is a long time,” she said of her connection to the school. “It’s kind of a sad ending, but there will be new beginnings.”

• Mindie Paget