Too Long in the Wind

November 2011

Home, a long time ago

My home on Santa Fe Avenue, Pawnee Rock, 1974.

The house in 2011.

[November 28]   One of my first memories of playing outside our home on Santa Fe Avenue was finding a snake sunning itself in the alcove on the right side of the front. Because I was afraid -- church taught me that snakes are evil -- I yelled for Mom, who called Dad, who killed the snake with a shovel or hoe. I wasn't in kindergarten yet.

One of my best memories is set in the same alcove, there behind the rose bush with the button-size flowers. In the dust under the brass faucet, I planted wheat brought home from harvest on my grandparents' farm, and I tended it with my cast-iron red tractor and harrow. Those kernels grew big and made more wheat, a golden harvest of a half-dozen stalks.

I made the top photo a decade or so later, in 1974 when I was a high school senior. The second photo, converted to black and white for easy comparison, was made this past summer when I visited Pawnee Rock to attend Dad's funeral. He built the house in the late 1950s, a year or two before I found the snake.

That little alcove -- maybe 18 inches inches deep by 48 inches long -- means a lot to me. I can't tell you how often I wrestled with the hose there, trying against all reason to undo the threaded end before turning off the faucet. I played with roly-polys there, piling up their fascinating little bodies and tapping them with grass stalks when they unwound and decided to make a break for it.

A colony of grape hyacinth plants lived at the base of the rose bush. The flower balls, in the shape of a pine tree at the end of a long trunk, had a waxy smell and taste, not at all like the soft pink rose petals.

There was also an undercurrent of darkness in the alcove. The basement window led into the room that was my parents' bedroom, a carryover from the time when the house was only a basement. The window, backed by a curtain, was always dark from the outside. And yet, it was at a big desk under that window that I spread out my mom's large typing manual -- a big red, cloth-covered book, bound at the top so it could be opened fully on desks -- and learned to compose words on a hardy manual typewriter. At that desk, I wrote out more than three years' worth of Pawnee Rock Informers, my weekly/biweekly newspaper of the late 1960s, and I've been writing ever since.

The alcove was death, life, and fear. By being "swallowed" by the alcove, by going into its belly, I found my way to face the elements of life and transcend them. The snake is my friend.

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Holiday lights

[November 25]   John Bowers set up his camera and tripod near the tiny parking area at Pawnee Rock State Park. He aimed the camera eastward, so it included the cedars, the monument, and the sandstone pavilion. The night was clear, the sky full of stars. When it was time to shot, he held the shutter open.

And you can see the result -- a beautiful photo that captures the rotation of the earth, measured against the stars, and the warm atmospheric glow that silhouettes the landmarks.

I admire this photo and wish I had taken it. I hope we see more from Mr. Bowers.

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Football in the 1950s

Pawnee Rock High School's football team in the fall of 1953: Front row: Wesley Howerton (37), Jim Bob Svatos (38), Duane Blackwell (41), James Ritchie (42), Russell Dueser (42), Jack Waggoner (35), and Jay-dee Schmidt (55). Second row: Assistant coach John Tomanek, Jerry Schmidt (40), Gene Mull (53), Don Schultz (51), Jay Leeper (54), Derry Drake (41), Bill Wilson (39), Eddie Durall (37), Bennie Baldwin (50), and Coach Ted Allen.

[November 24]   A post last week mentioned a New York Times article that discussed the revival (or not) of towns including Bazine. I described the spot as a South 50-6 League foe of our beloved and lamented Braves.

That brought a note from Ed Durall, who once lived very close to the second-to-last Pawnee Rock High School building and who graduated in 1954.

Here's what Ed wrote:

When I was in school, the South 50-6 league consisted of PR, Radium, Garfield, Belpre, Trousdale (which is now considered a ghost town), and Zook. How many of those were still around when you were at PRHS and when did Bazine join? My wife graduated from Ransom HS in 1958 and she said Bazine was always in their league, of which she can't remember the name.

I sent a note back:

Bazine seems to have been brought into the league in 1967 or 1968, about the time that Garfield closed. According to a report in the yearbook, the league at that point seems to have included Pawnee Rock, Haviland Academy, Bison, Bazine, McCracken, Hanston and Hudson.

(Also, the 1954 yearbook says Pawnee Rock played these teams in football: Radium, Burdett, Hudson, Belpre, Bison, Garfield, Trousdale, and Zook.)

And Ed responded:

That league was pretty spread out. Bazine and Ransom are still hanging on by having middle school at Bazine and high school at Ransom, but their days are numbered. Last week the Ransom grade school and the entire city block it occupied were sold at auction for $25,000. The high school building at McCracken was sold on EBay to a company that presses out CDs. Otis and Bison combined but I don't know if they still exist or not. I don't know about any of the others.

I may have mentioned this before, but I read a few years ago that since 1950 500 high schools have disappeared in Kansas.

I hope I don't come off as a nit-picker here, but the 1921 view of the old high school is actually looking southwest. There is a picture of the building in gallery 2 that looks northwest. By looking at the satellite picture, I have determined that the parking lot and the wing of the "new" school that runs northeast (the grade school wing?) sit right in the middle of our old football field.

There was little grass on that field, and the northwest corner was solid sandbur vines. We used to choose to kick off first. We'd kick into the sandburs and knock everyone down whether they had the ball or not, and they'd come up with sandburs all over them. It never seemed to help us much, but it was fun listening to them gripe, especially the guys from Bison because they had a beautiful field.

And in response, I fixed the caption to reorient the photo of the high school, which is in the Gallery. Thanks, Ed.

Eddie Durall, yearbook entry in 1954.

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Thanksgiving blessings

Bergthal Mennonite Church of Pawnee Rock, 1949, photographed by Ervin Schmidt.

[November 22]   We're coming up on the time of year when church, with its stories of harvest and birthm plays a bigger role in a lot of lives. And so it was with Thanksgiving on her mind that Barb Schmidt came across this photo of the Bergthal Mennonite Church, which sits three miles north of Pawnee Rock.

Here's what she wrote:

The bulletin at my Seattle church this Sunday had a reminder to bring a canned or prepackaged food item to the special service held annually on Thanksgiving Day, as an offering instead of cash. The food collected will be taken immediately to a local food bank for distribution to folks who would otherwise be hungrier than those of us blessed with more than we need on Turkey Day. This also reminded me of how, when I grew up in the Pawnee Rock area in the 1950s & 1960s, local churches and other organizations always tried as best they could to help the needy in the community not just at Thanksgiving but throughout the year, and I am sure they still do.

After I got home from church, I was browsing through old photos, looking for something I might send you for the PR website. Given my mindset, it wasn't too surprising that my eyes landed on the attached photo of the Bergthal Mennonite Church northeast of Pawnee Rock. It was taken in 1949 by my uncle Ervin Schmidt, who grew up in the church.

The Bergthal Mennonite Church had 223 members in 1953 (according to the online Mennonite Encylopedia), and the membership was probably about the same in 1949 when this photo was taken. From all the cars pulled up snug next to the church, I'm guessing most of the membership was seated inside at the moment this photo was taken -- enjoying good fellowship with family and friends, counting their many blessings and hopeful for the future.

Pawnee Rock is, indeed, blessed to still have 3 churches, even though the town's population in 2011 is barely larger than the local Mennonite membership was 62 ears ago.

And speaking of history:

Way back in 1777 and in the middle of the Revolutionary War, the Continental Congress first proclaimed a national day "for SOLEMN THANKSGIVING and PRAISE: That at one Time and with one Voice, the good People may express the grateful Feelings of their Hearts."

In 1863 and in the middle of the Civil War, Abraham Lincoln issued a Presidential proclamation fixing an ANNUAL Thanksgiving Day, although in doing so, he said we should give thanks to God "with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience."

Not as much has changed since Lincoln's time as we might prefer to think. But I think it is good that our nation still sets aside one day each year to reflect, together, on the many things for which we can be thankful, whether our thanks is given to God or in a more secular way. So happy Thanksgiving to you, Leon, and to all our families, friends and neighbors in the extended Pawnee Rock community.

Barb

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Cold hard reality

[November 17]   Back in 1958, I was a year and a few months old. For the first time, I was able to stand on my own two feet in the snow and, as you can see from the photo, I didn't care for the experience. Maybe I was simply cold -- notice the lack of gloves -- or perhaps the mushy snow had already soaked through my snowsuit.

For many years, the curse of winter was embodied in the red plastic boots that we kids all seemed to have. Combined with wet jeans -- who ever knew kids to not mess around in the snow? -- they chafed my shins so grievously that I was afraid to climb into hot bathwater at the end of the day and make the pain worse.

Then came the day when I got my first grownup boots: heavy black boots with fold-over latches to make them tight. Now, dozens of years later, I have lace-up boots that weigh a couple of pounds each and feature thick felt liners. I have a scarves, insulated snow pants, several sets of gloves, stocking caps, a beaver-pelt hat, and coats and jackets to fit almost any occasion. There's a truism in the north: In the heat and humidity down south, you can't take any more clothes off, but in the north, you can always put more clothes on.

A bunch of that gear came in handy yesterday.

Perhaps living just south of the Arctic Circle is my way of finally conquering my early fear of winter. More likely, I'm just nuts.

It was 75 degrees warmer in Pawnee Rock (12:58 p.m.) than in Fairbanks (9:58 a.m.) just after sunrise Wednesday.

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¿Que pasa en Kansas?

[November 15]   The New York Times, in its current pursuit of trends on the high plains, has discovered that people with Spanish surnames are filling in many of the Kansas counties where the longstanding white population is shrinking.

It's a pretty good story, and it hits close to home -- Ransom and our old South 50-6 League foe, Bazine. (Read A.G. Sulzberger's story) | (earlier story about tumbleweeds)

The reporter, by the way, is the son of the Times' publisher. His mother was from Topeka, and he's now the Kansas City bureau chief for the newspaper.

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Time to honor veterans

[November 11]   I hope you'll all take a moment today to do something that has never happened on Veterans Day.

The holiday, born as Armistice Day, commemorates the end of the first world war on this day in 1918. As the world's politicians treated the symptoms of inequality by starting one war after another, it no longer was practical to honor the end of just one big war, and so we now have Veterans Day -- and a lot more veterans to thank.

Thank you, veterans.

What is unusual about today is that it's the first time Armistice/Veterans Day -- famed for its 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month presence -- will occur in a year ending with 11. Thus, we can set the alarm in our phone to alert us to 11:11:11 on 11/11/11.

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Community college, but not our community

[November 9]   I know it's fun to have a winning basketball team, but I guess I miss the old days when Barton County Community College had some players from Barton County. Or, for that matter, from west of Nickerson.

Here's the BCCC men's roster.

The juco women's team does a better job of recruiting locally. Women's roster

The University of Kansas men have a few Kansans. Men's roster

And the KU women have a couple of Kansans. Women's roster

And for those who prefer purple: K-State men | K-State women

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Good novel, fake Wichita

[November 7]   It's late on Sunday, and I'm watching a TV movie, "Certain Prey," because I am ethusiastic about the series of detective novels the movie came from. In this book/movie, a hit woman comes from Wichita, and so the Hero Detective from Minneapolis, played by Mark Harmon, files to Wichita to try to track her down.

The idea of going to Wichita must not have set well with the movie producers. They didn't even try to fake it.

The "Wichita" airport is set against a glistening skyline and a backdrop of mountains -- maybe the same ones we saw around the fake Dodge City in the old Gunsmoke series. The airport, identified with a cheap sign tacked up to the exterior wall of the "terminal," says "Central Wichita Airport" -- they didn't even go to the trouble of looking up the airport's name (Wichita Mid-Continent Airport).

As I write this, the movie's half over. I'll give it one hour to get better, and then I'm turning off the TV.

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Larry Hesed dies

[November 7]   Larry Mann Hesed, who did many good things for people, died Friday in Newton. He was 66 years old.

Mr. Hesed was born in Indiana and married Laurie Wilson in California in 1975. They chose to go by a Hebrew word, "hesed," meaning "GodÕs mercy and loving kindness" and "fidelity." Mrs. Hesed survives.

After college, he taught juvenile delinquents in Michigan. In Kansas, he was the scholar bowl coach at Otis-Bison and ws thefounder and director of the Victim Offender Reconciliation Program in five counties in central Kansas.

He was a peace activist and community worker in Kansas and Colorado. He retired from Heartland Farm, north of Pawnee Rock, where he was a farmer and maintenance worker. He was a member of Bergthal Mennonite Church of Pawnee Rock.

Mr. Hesed's funeral will be at 11 a.m. this morning at the church with Pastor Lynn Schlosser presiding. The burial, at Mennonite Memorial Cemetery, will be private.

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Lost and found

[November 4]   I may have mentioned this before, that I took a lot of photos when I was a kid in Pawnee Rock. Had the darkroom, had the prints in the bathtub, had the parents paying for film and paper.

I was up to my squint in camera facts, as was my style. When I was into fishing, I was all in; then, when I was a cycling fanatic, I knew every 10-speed's gear ratios by heart.

So I knew each of the camera bodies and lenses produced by Nikon, as well as by Ricoh and Pentax and Leica -- and Minolta. So when I read in the Great Bend Tribune that a couple had left behind their Minolta equipment on Pawnee Rock, I searched every inch of the park for what I assumed was top-notch gear. I wanted to be the guy with the latest, best, sharpest.

I should be ashamed to admit it, but I intended to keep the camera, bag, extra lens, flash, filters, and other equipment. That was, until I thought about how hard it would be to have such a camera and not be able to explain to Mom how I got it.

In 2010, I was looking through some clippings in the Barton County Historical Museum and came across this little story cut from the Tribune of May 20, 1975. I had remembered the couple as French, but it turns out they had a French name and were Canadian. I hadn't remembered their car's blown-over hood, and it certainly hadn't registered that they were schoolteachers who were only a year out of college. Their camera gear probably was a middle-of-the-road kit bought from Sears.

Poor little Canadians. Out in the middle of a flat foreign country, and they have car problems and then lose their camera with no realistic hope of seeing it again.

Had I found their camera, I probably would have returned it (with the attendant hope of receiving a reward and a hero's kiss from Mrs. Frenchwoman). Do you remember that 1960s TV commercial intended to make Americans less xenophobic -- "A visitor's best memory of America might be you"?

Well, I wanted to be that guy, too.

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Bierocks at Treaders Deli in Great Bend

[November 3]   Linn Hogg seems to admire bierocks as much as I do. Here's what she wrote:

These are a homemade treat that are stuffed with filling and a great little pepper kick.

We started making them a few months ago and they are in great demand. We tried to add some of my German heritage and my husband's Czech heritage to create the perfect meal. Hope you get a chance to stop by and try one.

Treaders Deli is in Great Bend, right on Main Street just west of the courthouse square. They are open from 11 to 8 Monday thru Saturday and 11 to 5 on Saturday. The bierocks cost $3.99 a piece, but you can get it as a combo for $5.99, which includes a 20 oz. drink and two sides (chips, cookie, potato salad, cole slaw or baked beans).

Linn Hogg

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Roll on, tumbleweeds

[November 1]   Tumbleweeds are pretty exciting, considering that they're unlovely to hold and spread thistle seeds during the fall.

Think about their role in western mythology -- the lone tumbleweed sprinting across the main street as the two gunmen square off, the "tumbling tumbleweed" songs, the emptiness of any place named for the Russian thistles. The land of the south wind could be the mother of all tumbleweeds.

They're fun to watch, however, sprinting like daredevil rabbits across the highway, the survivors piling up against fences and filling ditches. Back in the 1960s or '70s, I saw a station wagon with New Jersey plates driving west on U.S. 56 with a gigantic tumbleweed strapped to its roof. (How long it lasted up there, I don't know.) I bet you all have stories at least that good.

And now the New York Times has caught on to the plains' equivalent of the Chia pet. A story this past week from Cimarron looks at the thistle's botany and the folks who gain and lose to the tumbleweeds. (Read the story)

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