INEVER attended classes at Maury School, and had just arrived here when the facility in the core of the city closed its doors in 1980.

But the long-unused building, a symbol for critics who say issues drag on forever in the city, has framed my connection to the area in two ways.

The first was my initial glimpse of the expansive brick structure that rises up above Maury Field.

It came as I rolled through Fredericksburg on an old, slow school bus heading to a football game against Brentsville High School in Gainesville.

Used to playing against schools like Washington & Lee in Montross or Essex in Tappahannock, a bunch of kids from Rappahannock High School in Warsaw were impressed by this massive brick vision that seemed to rise up out of a sea of grass fields and concrete seats.

Wow, we all thought. So this is how they do it in the big city. Hope we don't play them anytime soon.

Years later my old high school would. By that time, it was my son who suited up for the game, playing for the city's James Monroe High School team against my alma mater. For the record, I pulled for the Jackets.

The second thing about Maury School that frames my connection to Fredericksburg came through work.

It was 1978 and I'd just come to the paper as a young reporter.

One afternoon, when the fellow who covered City Council had something else to do, I was dispatched to keep tabs on a City Council committee meeting.

The topic: What to do with the Maury building after the school closed.

This spring, 28 years after that meeting, there's still no plan.

Given my start here with the "Whither Maury?" meeting, it's been frustrating to watch an endless string of City Councils raise the almost annual question: "What to do about Maury?"

At this point, there have to be many who'd agree with my simple answer: "Something. Anything. Please!"

I'm only jesting a little when I say there's a segment of us in town who'd be happy with any decision as long as it did something with Maury.

Offices. Condominiums. Public spaces.