Nearly 95 year old Coral Springs volunteer continues daily service at local elementary school finding purpose and community after 14 years
Coral Springs, Arkansas – At Eagle Ridge Elementary School in Coral Springs, the school day begins long before the first bell rings. While students are still waking up and teachers are preparing lessons, one steady presence is already in motion inside the building, moving through hallways and the copy room with quiet purpose.
By around 7:15 a.m. most mornings, Carmen Arteca is already on campus, beginning another volunteer day that now stretches across 14 years. At 94 years old — and turning 95 next week — she has become one of the most recognizable and dependable figures in the school community. Staff, students, and parents alike have come to expect her warm greetings, her calm presence, and her consistent routine.
Arteca’s role at Eagle Ridge is simple on paper but essential in practice. She manages copy requests for teachers, prepares worksheets and classroom materials, and helps keep the daily flow of school work running smoothly. It is the kind of behind-the-scenes effort that often goes unnoticed, yet the school would feel it immediately if it disappeared.
“She’s like everybody’s grandma,” Principal Lindsey Sierra said. “When she’s not here, everybody’s wondering, ‘Where’s Carmen? Is she okay?’”
That sense of care did not come from obligation. It grew over time, starting after Arteca retired from Bank of America more than a decade ago. She had worked for years in the bank’s U.S. sales department as a secretary and originally planned to step into a quiet retirement life at home. But stillness did not suit her for long.
A former supervisor encouraged her to stay active and connected her with Broward County Public Schools volunteer opportunities. Not long after, she received confirmation that she had been placed at Eagle Ridge Elementary, a school close to her home.
“I said, ‘Oh my God, they didn’t waste any time,’” Arteca said.
From the beginning, she gravitated toward the copy room, even if the machines initially felt overwhelming. Over time, she learned every function, every setting, and every routine needed to keep up with constant teacher requests.
“She has a system,” Sierra said. “She’s very efficient.”
That efficiency, however, is only part of her impact. Arteca’s presence reaches far beyond printed worksheets or organized packets. Students know her by name. Some stop by just to say hello. Others run into the front office to hug her without hesitation. In a school filled with movement and noise, she has become a familiar point of comfort.
“She’s a familiar face,” Sierra said. “The kids do love her.”
Sierra has watched that relationship grow since the day Arteca first arrived on campus 14 years ago, when Sierra herself was serving as volunteer coordinator. Now, after 25 years at Eagle Ridge — moving from teacher to reading coach to assistant principal and eventually principal — she says Arteca has become part of the school’s identity.
Outside of school, Arteca’s life has been shaped by both resilience and routine. She moved to Coral Springs decades ago from New York and spent many years building a life there with her husband. After his death more than 30 years ago, she focused on staying active and connected. The couple had once enjoyed traveling together, but in later years, she turned toward simpler daily rhythms.
Gardening, puzzles, and volunteering became her steady habits. Even now, at nearly 95, she continues to drive herself to and from Eagle Ridge each day. Her schedule is consistent — Monday through Friday, arriving around 7:30 a.m. and staying until early afternoon.
She also remains closely connected to her family, including a daughter, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, who are an important part of her life outside the school walls. Still, she often describes Eagle Ridge as an extension of that family circle.
“I have my school here,” Arteca said. “These people are my family. They’re good to me. I enjoy being with them, and life goes on.”
Among roughly 200 volunteers at the school, administrators say none match her consistency or hours contributed. Yet despite her age and the physical demands of daily routine, Arteca shows no intention of stepping away.
“I’ll be here as long as they want me,” she said. “Because then I wouldn’t know what to do.”
In a place defined by constant change — new students each year, shifting schedules, evolving lessons — Carmen Arteca remains something rare: a constant presence, quietly shaping the rhythm of a school that has come to rely on her as much as she relies on it.
