The Shadow: Candy Wrappers and Courtrooms: A Sticky School Situation

Welcome back, Shadowers! I hope everyone had a joyful and chocolate-fueled Easter weekend. There’s something wonderful about celebrating the resurrection of Christ while simultaneously releasing a herd of sugar-powered children into the wild to chase neon plastic eggs through their own backyards like pastel-clad race hounds. Bless their little hyperactive hearts.

At last week’s April 14 AHPS Board meeting, Superintendent Kim Halterman recapped the recent press conference and the status of the Covington Middle School air quality situation. She pointed parents and stakeholders to the now-famous “CMSIncident dot com” site, which, at this point, has more uploads than Mr. Beast’s YouTube channel. The superintendent reiterated there’s no carbon monoxide issue at CMS but acknowledged what the experts are calling an “airflow optimization opportunity,” which is bureaucratic code for “the fresh air system ain’t workin.”

What’s emerging here isn’t just a story about kids with headaches and mysterious symptoms—it’s starting to look like the building itself has caught a case of chronic dysfunctions. We’re not just dealing with a health issue for students; we’re dealing with a facility that’s wheezing louder than the eighth graders on mile-run day and just might need a trip to an emergency room for buildings.

According to the Board’s own mechanical consultant, the CMS rooftop air exchanger—basically the school’s designated “breath of fresh air” machine—has been down for a mysteriously vague but “significant amount of time.” Translation: long enough to grow a beard and develop abandonment issues. This backs up the statement made back in February 2025 by former AHPS Supervisor of Maintenance Eric Tyree, who claimed the unit had been “repaired” in May of 2024, but not actually put back into service. So, it’s like saying your car has four tires and calling it fixed, even though it still won’t start and the squirrels are now living in the engine compartment.

Now here’s a question: Why would a career-experienced, highly credentialed building official—whose literal job is to uphold building safety laws—apparently overlook something as minor as, oh, I don’t know, required CO detectors and blatant building health and safety violations? Wouldn’t you think Building Official Eric Tyree would know exactly what Maintenance Supervisor Eric Tyree knew…Didn’t they ever meet in the hallway or just awkwardly avoid eye contact with each other?

Meanwhile, during Tyree’s time as Supervisor of Maintenance (2021-2024) and then Covington’s Building Official (2024-current), Fire Marshal violations at CMS piled up like unpaid parking tickets, documenting a festival of violations: expired fire extinguishers, uninspected fire doors, stuff blocking fire exits, and more. Then, the 2025 independent inspection reports piled on more bad news with mechanical failures, bad air quality, mystery moisture, peeling paint and plaster, and basement puddles big enough to require fishing licenses.

And then, apparently knowing these issues, as the job would dictate, Building Official Tyree issued a Certificate of Occupancy for the school on December 27, 2024, officially declaring the CMS building “safe for kids.” Which makes you wonder: was that Certificate printed on actual paper, or just wishful thinking applied with a couple squirts of Febreze?

Second question: Where was the school’s principal in all this—out on the playground sticking their tongue on a frozen metal bar in an attempt to prove being tongue-tied and unable to act? Or perhaps both the principal and Tyree were racing to a very important meeting with the VA Department of Shrugs and Plausible Deniability?

If you recall, last week’s Shadow followed fictional student “Betty” through her school day using real classroom CO₂ data from the ECS report. Betty, bless her imaginary lungs, spent 42% of her school day in the “High Exposure Zone,” clocking in an average CO2 level of about twice the NIOSH recommended maximum.

But here’s the twist: according to the latest mechanical report, there may be more floating around in that air than just CO and CO2. Turns out, the building itself is having a full-blown identity crisis. The ventilation isn’t just inadequate—it’s actively working in reverse. Engineers noted signs of negative pressurization, which means the pressure inside the building is lower than the pressure outside. In simple terms: the school can’t breathe.

So what does a suffocating building do? It starts inhaling. And not fresh Highlands air, either. No, CMS is reportedly pulling unfiltered air in through cracks, gas vents that are supposed to go out, not in, door gaps, mystery holes, and plumbing vents—basically anywhere air shouldn’t be coming from. It’s like watching a drowning person sip water through a straw and calling it a survival strategy.

Why is that a big red flag? First, this isn’t how normal buildings work. For example, several sources familiar with the building have pointed out that some classrooms still potentially contain unused plumbing from days gone by. If true, it’s likely that the water in the U-shaped pipes under sinks that block sewer gas has dried up, leaving sewage pipes wide open. Combine that with the negative pressure, and you may have the perfect setup for a reverse gas flow straight from the sewer system and into the learning environment. To be clear, this is a theory, and we are not alleging wrongdoing, but if these conditions exist as described, it could plausibly explain the “chemical-cat-urine-popcorn-funk” odor that’s been occasionally haunting the classrooms.

But potential sewer vapors aren’t the only thing making folks hold their noses.

The original March 3rd ECS air quality report also documented visible mold and water damage throughout several parts of the school. Elevated moisture levels were found in the auditorium dressing rooms (100% moisture) and Room 111 (84.4%), alongside observed ceiling damage and active leaks in the basement boiler room. While air sampling didn’t show alarming spore levels overall, apparently, the conditions for it are loitering with intent.

And then… There were the candy wrappers.

Yes, really. During their walkthrough, ECS noted “a couple of the classrooms had large amounts of trash (mostly candy wrappers) jammed into the radiators,” as if CMS teachers had been moonlighting as mega candy store owners from Virginia Beach’s main drag. It’s unclear whether the wrappers were from sneaky kids or part of a covert school-wide fundraising effort. But in a time where teachers often buy their own supplies, can we really rule out the possibility that someone was just trying to cover the next set of dry-erase markers by selling nice, warm Jolly Ranchers out of the heat radiators?

Candy wrapper plastics aren’t the only things heating up.

As if one lawsuit wasn’t enough to take the AHPS board and administration’s breath away, a second legal air-sucking thermobaric bomb exploded on April 15, 2025—this one filed by a powerhouse lineup including Munro Byrd, Whiting Injury Law, Marks & Harrison, and TLT Legal Services. Representing eight families, this lawsuit joins the one filed two weeks earlier by former U.S. Attorney John Fishwick, and both are singing the same chorus: that, allegedly, AHPS and Superintendent Halterman knowingly left students stewing in an unsafe building.

But these lawsuits aren’t just demanding answers and solutions for today’s mystery fog and persistent headaches; apparently, they’re also looking for legal & financial insurance in case little Johnny develops a respiratory condition or related ailment ten years from now.

These two lawsuits will now share the same stage on April 23 at the Alleghany County Courthouse, where a judge will potentially decide whether Covington Middle School remains open or closed. It will be the first public legal hearing to address the crisis—and yes, The Virginian Review will be covering it. Stay tuned.

Speaking of lawsuits, over in Iron Gate, a lawsuit that’s been simmering since 2019 continues to boil over. Five years ago, resident Jennifer Lynn Simpson sued the town after a failed drainage pipe flooded her property. She won the case, but the town’s appeals have dragged on, and the judgment has now ballooned to over $200,000, which is almost $70K more than the town’s total annual general fund budget. Both sides are now in talks to resolve the issue, with Iron Gate’s new mayor expressing a desire to put the long-running dispute behind them.

And while we’re talking about the citizens’ power and right to hold our elected leaders accountable, let’s not forget that Tuesday, June 17, 2025, is Primary Election Day in Alleghany County. It’s a dual primary, which means both Democratic and Republican primaries will be held on the same day. But remember—you can only vote in one party’s primary, so come ready to pick a side.

If you haven’t registered yet or need to update your information, the deadline to do so is Tuesday, May 27. You can also vote absentee by mail, but make sure you meet the deadlines listed on the official voter notice.

I’m out of time and out of coffee, but I’ll leave you with this final thought from one of my favorite poets, Robert Frost: “A jury consists of twelve persons chosen to decide who has the better lawyer.” So far, parents seem to be determined to win by stacking their deck with five.

Photos from the Covington Middle School, documented by ECS Study, March 3, 2025.