The Shadow
Welcome back, Shadowers! Normally, I like to take ya’all on a stroll through the interesting and the untold with a warm cup of Paul Harvey in hand and a dramatic twist waiting at the end. But not today. Nope. This week, the news hit harder than a busted HVAC unit in July—so buckle up because we’re skipping the pleasantries and heading straight for the smell of it.
Last Thursday, AHPS school officials called a press conference to settle parents’ nerves over the constant Covington Middle School smelly health crisis. Superintendent Kim Halterman took to the mic like a seasoned cruise director and assured us, again, that there is “no carbon monoxide issue” at Covington Middle School. That line was followed by environmental expert Chris Chapman, who performed air quality tests at CMS and recently released the results. “We did not see any issues with carbon monoxide, for sure… but we did find elevated carbon dioxide levels… which isn’t a health hazard itself, but it’s a surrogate for poor ventilation.”
Let’s stop right there.
The Shadow Research Team read Chapman’s CMS Air Quality report, and let me tell you, watching the movie “Frozen” for the 100th time with your kiddo would be more riveting. So, the team thought, let’s create “Betty,” an imaginary 13-year-old student at CMS, and follow her through her schedule and rooms throughout one school day.
What could possibly go wrong?
The infographic posted with this article tells a slightly spicier story than the politely vague “elevated carbon dioxide levels” you’ve been hearing. Once we took the actual CO₂ numbers from CMS and laid them next to the NIOSH and OSHA benchmarks throughout a typical school day—like a game of “Who Wants to Breathe Safely at School?”—a whole new narrative emerged.
Currently, both NIOSH, OSHA, and Harvard studies agree that if you’re breathing classroom air with CO₂ levels up to 1,000 ppm, you’re in the so-called “Ideal Learning Zone”—where the brain functions, the focus holds, and no one’s nodding off before lunch. But once you drift into the 1,000–2,000 ppm range, things start to get foggy. That’s the Cognitive Impairment Zone, where decision-making wobbles, attention spans shrink, and your 7th grader suddenly forgets where they last put their mobile phone.
Go above 2,000 ppm? Now you’ve hit the High Exposure Zone, where the brain waves now run at the speed of a teenager trying to get out of bed on a Saturday morning. At this level, NIOSH and OSHA both warn of symptoms like headaches, drowsiness, and a sharp drop in productivity—especially for kids.
Now, let’s see how our imaginary student Betty fairs through her school day using the official air quality data directly from the CMS classrooms.
Student Betty starts the day at 442 ppm, an acceptable level. However, from there she experiences CO2 levels not only in the “Cognitive Impairment” Zone, but finds that 42% of her day is actually spent in the “High Exposure” Zone. In fact, her average exposure for the whole day is a whopping 2,270ppm, more than twice the recommended level of 1,000ppm.
What does this all mean? Well, first off—you can pretty much bet Betty is fighting fog and might be feeling sleepy. But remember, Betty is fictional. She doesn’t exist, she doesn’t go to CMS, and she doesn’t have to hold her breath during class. We simply gave her a schedule pulled straight from the CMS 2023-2024 handbook and let her wander through rooms filled with real, live CO₂ data.
However, if you’re curious about what your real student is marinating in each day, shoot me an email (shadow at virginianreview dot com), and I’ll gladly calculate their personalized CO₂ daily average levels for you.
What’s fascinating here is—if you’re into the science of stink—when CO₂ levels soar, so does everything else you’d rather not smell. Volatile Organic Compounds (aka “Why does it smell like a locker room inside a science lab?”) become stronger, linger longer, and hit harder.
Here’s the short and smelly of it all… High CO2 turns the air into a chemical soup. Carbon monoxide? Cleaning chemicals? Sharper. And yes—student body odor and cafeteria aftermath? Magnified to DEFCON 5. When ventilation tanks, even a passing toot in 2nd block can feel like chemical warfare.
So, are there any theories on how we got here?
At an AHPS Board meeting on February 4, 2025, Covington Building Official Eric Tyree offered a status update on the school’s rooftop Fresh Air Exchanger that sounded like a scene cut from a home improvement reality show. “It was under repair when I left,” he said, “and it’s basically been repaired to the point where it’s ready to put back into service now.” Translation: it’s fixed… ish.
Tyree, you’ll remember, was the Head of Maintenance for AHPS before resigning in June 2024 to return to his previous role as the City’s building official—a bit like switching from frying pan back into the fire, but with more ductwork. Somewhere in that transition, someone may have poked at the exchanger with a wrench, however, it’s still sitting idle like a broken fan at a sauna convention.
Any ideas on when this whole thing started? According to one source whose child attended CMS in 2023, things were fine back then. The air was breathable. The kids were upright. The windows didn’t fog from indoor humidity like a greenhouse full of gym socks. So the mystery remains.
The second interesting thing that happened in the spring/summer of 2024 is that construction started on the property across the street from the school, which apparently didn’t have access to the public sewage system. So, the city tied it in directly to the CMS building. According to at least one source, one theory is that last year’s tie-in from the Nettleton property may be back-piping in more than just waste. That property? Formerly a sawmill, then a hardware store, and now a hydroponic/greenhouse grow operation—each potentially a fine contributor to a long line of stinky smelly VOC stuff.
Anyhoo, while the mystery continues, Superintendent Halterman says they’re going to address the CO2 issues. She says the school is staying open, and window units are being installed. As for when the rooftop air exchanger system will be fixed? Maybe over summer break. Or after the next Ice Age and premiered on Frozen sequel number 900.
Now, folks, the fun didn’t stop there! Also last week, Former U.S. Attorney John Fishwick filed a 24-page legal haymaker against the AHPS School Board and Kim Halterman. On behalf of four families, he filed an injunction asking the Alleghany County Circuit Court to immediately shut down Covington Middle School for the rest of the year. The lawsuit reads like a true crime drama—complete with rising COHb levels, ignored alarms, and alleged threats of truancy against parents who dare put their kids’ lungs before their attendance records.
The legal request includes calls for virtual learning or relocation to the underused Clifton Academy. Fishwick also submitted a formal petition to the Virginia Board of Education asking them to step in with the full weight of their constitutional authority—and maybe a fresh set of batteries for those CO detectors.
The hearing is set for April 23. Mark your calendars. Bring popcorn.
In other news, on April 8, the Covington City Council made a few appointments to local boards. Julie (JT) Stanley was tapped for the Industrial Development Authority; Lee Roe joined the Economic Development Corporation, and Jay Crowder and Gene Mundy were named to the City Planning Commission. Mr. Mundy stated, “I am excited to contribute to our community… and enhance the quality of life for all residents.”
One seat on the City Housing Authority remains open—because apparently, no one wants to fill it. Also still vacant? The Executive Director role for Olde Town Covington.
Meanwhile, in places where the air smells like cotton candy and not confusion, Main Street Covington came alive with Easter spirit on Saturday. The Easter Bunny kicked off the festivities by leading a pack of excited kids and parents down Main Street, flinging colorful eggs like springtime confetti. Children followed in a cheerful stampede, scooping them up with baskets, ball caps, and the occasional hoodie pocket.
The parade concluded at City Park, where hundreds of eggs had been hidden in the grass, behind trees, and under every available bush. Dozens of families were already gathered there, and by the time the bunny’s entourage arrived, the crowd swelled to a cheerful frenzy. Then came the big hunt—about 60 to 70 kids tearing through the park on the hunt for the coveted golden eggs, which held something better than chocolate: free passes to the city pool.
And for a brief moment, sanity returned to the Highlands. No lawsuits. No CO₂ spikes. Just the easter bunny, laughing kids, and a few very proud golden egg winners. For one afternoon, the Highlands was exactly what we all needed it to be: joyful, simple, and safe.
I’m out of time and out of coffee, but I will leave you with a quote from distinguished Army General Bruce Clarke (1901-1988), “When things go wrong in your command, start searching for the reason in increasingly large circles around your own desk.”
