Walk into any grocery store in Union Township or Amelia today and you’ll still see them. Purple and white window decals. Faded "Trojans" hoodies. It’s been years since the building technically "closed," but for thousands of people in the Eastgate area, Glen Este High School isn't just a memory of a building. It’s a massive part of their identity.
Most schools that merge or close just sort of fade away into the archives of a local library. Not this one. The 2017 merger that formed West Clermont High School was supposed to be a clean break, a way to modernize and move forward. But you can't just erase decades of history with a new mascot and a fresh coat of navy blue paint. People around here are still fiercely loyal to the GE brand. It’s weird, honestly, how a school that no longer exists can still feel so present in the daily lives of the community.
The Merger That Changed Everything
Back in 2017, the West Clermont Local School District did something pretty bold. They decided to combine the aging Amelia High School and Glen Este High School into one massive, state-of-the-art facility. The logic made sense on paper. Both buildings were getting old. Maintenance costs were skyrocketing. By pooling resources, the district could offer better technology, more AP classes, and a sports complex that would be the envy of the Eastern Cincinnati Conference.
But logic doesn't always account for emotion.
The transition wasn't exactly smooth. You had two rival fan bases—the Trojans and the Barons—suddenly being told they were now Wolves. It felt like a forced marriage. For the students who spent their last years at the old Glen Este campus on Glen Este-Withamsville Road, it was a bittersweet ending. They were the "Last of the Trojans." That title carries a lot of weight in Clermont County. Even now, the alumni groups are some of the most active in the region. They don't just post old yearbook photos; they organize massive reunions and charity events.
Why the Trojan Legacy Sticks Around
It’s about the sports, sure, but it’s also about the grit. Glen Este always had this reputation for being a "blue-collar" powerhouse. Whether it was on the football field or in the wrestling room, there was a specific kind of toughness associated with the school.
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Think about the coaches who spent decades there. People like Dan Gause or Zak Taylor—yes, that Zak Taylor, the Cincinnati Bengals head coach who actually spent time on the Glen Este coaching staff early in his career. These figures built a culture that wasn't just about winning games. It was about a specific type of community resilience. When the school merged, that culture didn't just vanish. It moved into the basements and garages of the neighborhood.
- The Rivalries: The showdowns against Amelia weren't just games; they were local holidays.
- The Location: Being right in the heart of the Eastgate boom in the 90s and 2000s made the school a central hub for everything happening in the township.
- The Arts: People forget the choir and band programs were incredibly decorated, winning regional competitions year after year.
You’ve probably noticed that when people talk about "West Clermont," the older generation still qualifies it. They’ll say, "My kid goes to West Clermont, but we’re a Glen Este family." It’s a distinction that matters to them. It’s a way of signaling where they came from and the values they grew up with.
The Physical Space: What Happened to the Campus?
If you drive past the old site now, it’s a bit jarring. For a long time, the building just sat there, a hollow shell of what it used to be. Eventually, the demolition crews moved in. Watching the "Glen Este High School" sign come down was a genuine grieving process for some.
The site has been repurposed, but the ghost of the school remains. The district didn't just walk away from the land. They had to balance the need for new development with the reality that this was hallowed ground for many. Today, the West Clermont campus sits as a testament to what replaced it, but if you look at the topography and the surrounding roads, the footprint of the Trojans is still visible.
Educational Shifts and the "New" Normal
Transitioning a student body of that size wasn't just a logistical nightmare; it was a pedagogical challenge. The old Glen Este was known for its vocational tracks and its ability to cater to students who weren't necessarily looking for the Ivy League path but wanted solid, middle-class careers.
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When the schools merged, there was a legitimate fear that this "everyman" focus would get lost in a sea of 2,500 students. To be fair, the district has done a decent job of maintaining those career-oriented programs. They’ve expanded the Great Oaks partnership and added more technical certifications. But the intimacy of the old GE classrooms is something that alumni say can’t be replicated in a school that looks more like a corporate headquarters or a small college campus.
Addressing the "Ghost School" Phenomenon
Is it possible to be nostalgic for a place that technically still exists in its successor? Absolutely. We see this all over the country, but the Glen Este situation is unique because of the rapid growth of Union Township. The school grew up alongside the malls, the strip centers, and the subdivisions. It was the heartbeat of the suburban expansion in Clermont County.
When a school like that closes, it feels like the end of an era for the town itself. It’s not just about the loss of a building; it’s about the loss of a common meeting ground. Fridays at the GE stadium were where you saw your neighbors, your former teachers, and your local business owners. While West Clermont games are huge and exciting, they serve a much larger, more diffused population. The "neighborhood" feel of Glen Este is what people miss the most.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Closing
A lot of outsiders think the school closed because it was "failing." That's simply not true. Honestly, it was a victim of its own success and the geography of the district. The population was exploding. You had mobile trailers being used as classrooms because the main building couldn't hold everyone. It wasn't a lack of quality; it was a lack of square footage.
The decision to merge was also driven by state funding formulas. In Ohio, getting money for new buildings often requires a district to consolidate. It’s a "build new or keep patching a sinking ship" scenario. The Board of Education didn't want to kill the Trojan spirit; they wanted to make sure the kids had a roof that didn't leak and science labs that weren't from the 1970s.
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Actionable Ways to Keep the History Alive
If you’re a former Trojan or someone new to the area who wants to understand the local roots, there are ways to engage without just moping about the "good old days."
Support the West Clermont Alumni Association. They maintain archives and records from both Glen Este and Amelia. It’s the best way to ensure the trophies and photos don’t end up in a landfill. They are always looking for volunteers to help digitize old yearbooks.
Visit the West Clermont branch of the Clermont County Public Library. They have local history sections that specifically document the transition. It’s a great resource for seeing the old floor plans and reading news clippings from the 60s, 70s, and 80s when the school was first establishing its dominance.
Check out local "GE" Facebook groups. There are several specifically dedicated to different decades. If you want the real, unvarnished stories of what happened in the hallways, those groups are a goldmine. Just be prepared for some heavy nostalgia and the occasional debate about who was the best quarterback in school history.
Keep wearing the gear. Seriously. Local screen printers still make "Glen Este Alumni" shirts. Wearing that purple and white is a small but meaningful way to keep the school's name in the public consciousness. It starts conversations. It connects people across generations.
The reality is that Glen Este High School isn't coming back. The building is gone, the mascot has changed, and the kids who were freshmen when it closed are now long out of college. But a school is more than bricks and mortar. It’s a shared experience. As long as there are people in Cincinnati who remember what it felt like to stand in those bleachers on a crisp October night, the Trojans haven't actually gone anywhere. They’re just part of the foundation of what the community has become.
Next time you’re driving down Withamsville, take a second to look at the space where the school used to be. It’s different now, sure. But the impact that place had on thousands of lives is permanent. You can't demolish a legacy.