mighty Koocanusa River, which drains the Rockies contribution down its length. These rivers permit Schonefield's bowl shaped depression to remain relatively dry, allowing time and nature to meander along.
South of the town begins the climb out of the valley via the high hills of the Betten range. The West Road undulates and doglegs through scenic landscapes of until finally reaching Prairie Point a few miles west of Highway 93. Here the junction with Highway 27, which begins snaking back down to the south, presents a breathing panorama. On the way, Highway Ten, a branch off 27, leads into the heart of the Betten hills. Several miles of conifers, oaks and maples, suddenly give way on the southeast side, to a horseshoe shaped twenty acre clearing where sitting back off the road stands what once was the Harrison Traditional School.
The school, named for President William Henry Harrison, began, as most private schools, as a dream of its founder, George Morgan. Barely a dozen senior classes would pass through before it would graduate from private school to a pantheon for all Americans. Today, the Federal Government is anxious to obtain the land; "to preserve and present it in the proper light" is the term most used. Those who own the property have so far successfully declined the government's offer. "Time and changing administrations," claimed one of the investors "has a tendency to place filters over the proper light, and end up placing fast-food restaurants next to icons. That, God willing, will never happen here."
Turning in one drives slowly, almost reverently, to the parking lot nearly an eighth of a mile away. Passing by the eighteen willow trees, standing nine to a side like an honor guard, most succumb to the temptation to read in hushed voices the bronze plaques embedded atop three-foot concrete pedestals commemorating those who fell defending the building - eleven teachers, three administrative and three food services staff, and Schonefield P.D. Patrolman Lawrence T. Harper.
Entertainment systems off, voices muted; children are admonished to be both quiet and on their best behavior. For most, this is an unnecessary warning. They, like the adults, are familiar with what happened here. The story of Harrison is only three years old. Its scab of inoculation only now has begun to fall away revealing an indelible psychic scar. Those old enough to remember the horror of 911 receive an unwanted booster.
Adults bring different agendas. Most want affirmation, to see where their own values were made manifest. They bring their children for that same purpose. With others, the tragic consequences of those same values reinvigorate the desire for social change; envisioning the day when the twain sins of patriotism and firearms will separate not only never again to meet, but hopefully be destroyed, each in its turn.
With the young, as it usually is, things are much simpler. They stare with awe usually reserved for an anticipatory visit to the amusement park or, for the older teens, seeing their favorite rock star. The battered building, reconstructed with its six bastions, seems to speak to everyone equally. Nearly all visitors, young and old, male and female, ask themselves the same questions:
What would I have done? That they ask in their heads.
Could I have done what they did?
That question they ask with their hearts.
History records what has come to be known as 'The Schonefield Incident' as lasting from 4:49 am on Monday, 9 May 2022, and lasting until the last pocket of organized enemy resistance succumbed at 5:05 am Wednesday, 12 May 2022. The attack, all 48 hours 16 minutes of it, marked 207 years since the last foreign invader left American soil. At that time the entities of Schonefield and the state of Montana lay decades in the future.
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