Too Long in the Wind

Dad wasn't the only family member involved in those Pawnee Rock days of endless springtime. I must thank my mom, Anita, for setting me on the path toward education and public awareness, and my sister, Cheryl, for keeping me honest in more recent times.

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Christmas rituals

[December 25]   As I write this, I'm watching the televised midnight Mass at the cathedral where Sam and I attended a service earlier in the evening.

We're not Catholic, but we've gone for the past three Christmas Eves and sat on the fringe of the sanctuary. We follow the cues to stand and sit and wish "Peace" upon our neighbors. We don't take communion, of course, but we see the humility of those who do.

The majesty in the service seems appropriate for a celebration of the birth of Christ. I like the fellowship and the mystery, and Sam enjoys the Latin, especially "Adeste Fidelis." We both are there for the music.

As you may know, I was raised a Mennonite, and maybe that's partly why I find Catholicism interesting even if I disagree with the church in some regards. We often think of Mennonites as being old-fashioned, but Catholicism goes back almost to the beginning of the Christian era and its adherents literally wrote the book on Christianity. On this night, while Santa circles the earth and the hearts of children, it seemed good to also be in the robed arms of this church and its ancient rituals.

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The Christmas gift

[December 24]   'Twas the week before Christmas and all through the house, the kids were stressing out over what to get Mom. To be precise, Nik was stressing and Sam was certain, in his faith-in-the-future way, that the perfect gift would appear.

Every parent goes through this. It's hard enough to pick out an acceptable present -- something that evokes "wow!" -- without having to help innocent young shoppers deal with the holiday too. But we do it, because we're good parents. And we remember our own childhood, when we were stumped about what to get Mom and Dad.

One of our Pawnee Rock grade school teachers suggested to my class that we ought to think of something that didn't come from a store. How about cutting construction paper into small tickets, she said, and writing a household job on each one. Then, when our mom wanted something done, she'd hand us the ticket and we'd cheerfully do the work.

I don't remember which teacher suggested this, but it doesn't matter. They were all mothers.

So I did that one year. Mom opened her gift-wrapped envelope and said something that made me happy even if I hadn't given her something she could wear or cook with. I did one of the jobs, or maybe two, and then I began to hide whenever Mom mentioned the tickets.

That's how I learned about promising too much.

My wife created something like the tickets a few years ago when she made up passes giving me permission to go fishing guilt-free, so I believed the job tickets were a good idea to pass along even if the deeds were never completely done. I suggested to my own boys that they make tickets for their mom. Sam gave me a look that questioned my level of common sense, and Nik got a gleam in his eye that let me know he was already cooking up a grand scheme -- like decorating his tickets with NASCAR designs.

I have an ulterior motive. While skiing last April, my wife shattered her big lower-leg bone -- the upper part known as the tibial plateau, which is what the thigh bone stands on when we walk. She was laid up for weeks and only recently has been much fun. I've been doing more household chores (predictably, she says it is still not enough), and I'd be glad, in a Tom Sawyer way, to get the boys to help more.

Last Thursday, a mere week before Christmas, we took my wife back to the hospital. Eight hours later, we carefully drove her home with 19 fresh stitches in her leg. In her bag was a plastic container holding the eleven screws and a metal plate that for eight months had held her right tibia together while it healed.

Most people would have been satisfied to crawl into a lounger and wallow in the narcotic effects of painkillers, and that's what my wife did. It looked like it was going to be a long week.

One of the boys and I went to the grocery store that evening and on a whim I bought a large Marie Callender frozen banana cream pie. I cut it up and nudged my wife awake to eat a piece. She did and went back to sleep.

In the morning, my wife told me to stay in bed because she was driving herself, without painkillers, to the doctor to have her stitches checked.

Now, my wife will be the first to tell you she's tough, even beyond the "I gave birth without an epidural" routine. Her surgeon was amazed to see her walking (she pretended to use crutches so he wouldn't yell at her, and she didn't tell him that she had driven herself). Another guy who was impressed was my outdoorsy friend at work who has been bitten by a wounded grizzly and who once rode his mountain bike eleven miles, with kidneys bruised when he fell down a cliff, so he wouldn't be embarrassed by a helicopter rescue.

I'd like to think that an indomitable spirit, and the need to buy presents, motivated my wife to get out of bed that first morning and get on with her life. But I know there was more to it than that.

Overnight, I discovered, she had eaten half of that big banana cream pie. It was the Miracle of Marie Callender.

Now, the boys and I have her back. But what do you give a woman like her for Christmas?

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Still life in a field

[December 22]   Some days I feel like the tumbleweed that didn't tumble. My tired old roots are frozen into the ground, and the wind drifts December's snow around me. Me and the dirt clods, waiting for spring.

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Card shower for Mrs. Schmidt

[December 22]   Dale Unruh asks people who knew Sheila Sutton Schmidt from Pawnee Rock to send her a card this week. Right away, actually, if the card is to get there by her birthday next Sunday. (Thanks also to June McFann, who noticed the note to this effect in Sunday's Great Bend Tribune.) Here is Dale's e-mail of today:

I have enjoyed reading comments at pawneerock.org. Thank you for what you have accomplished.

Some of the latest comments have been about Shiela Sutton Schmidt. My wife and I bought the two 80's from her including the "Rock House." We still rent a quarter of land from her. Her 97th birthday (according to my information she was born in 1911) is coming up on December 28th. We, along with a good friend of hers in Madison, SD, have been asking for a card shower on her birthday. Her current address is:

Shiela Sutton Schmidt
Heritage Living Center
211 NW First St
Madison, SD 57042

I am sure she would appreciate hearing from former students and anyone else.

According to her friend, she is getting along OK for her age. She is very hard of hearing and her hearing aids are not helping much anymore.

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Andrew Seibert Jr.

This map, printed in 1902, shows the location of Dundee and the And. Siebert's 160 acres. (The spelling in the map differs from the spelling in the biography.)

[December 22]   The Seibert name is familiar in Pawnee Rock and its neighboring towns. Here's a little bit of information about one of the area's first Seiberts, Russian-born Andrew Jr. He had a quarter-section one and half miles directly north of the Dundee settlement; today you could find it at the intersection of SW 20 Road and SW 60 Avenue, just southwest of the Great Bend airport.

The following sketch came from the 1912 publication, "Biographical History of Barton County, Kansas." (Read more about the Dundee settlement.)

Andrew Seibert -- "Dundee Valley Farm"

Some of the most progressive of Barton County's citizens are Russia born, and, coming to this county when land was cheap now ride in their automobiles and take life easy. Of this class is Andrew Seibert, seven miles southwest of Great Bend.

He was born February 25, 1870, on a farm in Russia, and came to America with his parents, Andrew and Luffintine Seibert, in the fall of 1874. They first settled east of Dundee, and later moved to Rush County, but at this time they reside in Barton County, Kansas. Andrew, jr., was educated in the public schools of this state and became a successful farmer under the instruction of his father, and in 1890, when he began farming on his own account was well qualified to meet the obstacles in front of him.

He at first rented the one hundred and sixty acre farm which he has owned for years, and began life on his own account with little beside a good team. The first two years were reasonably successful and he determined to buy and get married and this he did. Then followed the bad years from 1893 to 1896, and failure seemed to stare him in the face. His little all was invested and he could not leave; and so he stayed on and by courage and determination won.

The farm is in a high state of cultivation and the improvements are good. The house is a one and one-half story frame with eight large rooms. There is a nice grass plot in front enclosed by a neat fence, and in it are many plants, shrubs and flowers. At the back is an acre of towering boxelder trees which furnish shade. The barn is 14x32, and the cow shed 12x32. Then come the automobile garage, granary, chicken house and other outbuildings, which form a comfortable picture.

Andrew Seibert and Miss Carie Beese [Boese? Base?] of Barton County, were married on October 23, 1892, and they have been blessed by three interesting children: Elvena May, 14; Grant Louis, 11; and Victor Charles, 6.

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Hello, Judy (Hagerman) Bowman

[December 21]   Judy Bowman wrote to sign up for the Friends of Pawnee Rock list. She graduated from Pawnee Rock High School in 1966 and now works in Topeka as an accountant for the Office of the State Bank Commissioner.

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Mrs. Schmidt at school

[December 21]   Leon Miller of Dallas wrote in with a remembrance of Sheila Sutton Schmidt during his school days:

"To answer the question about Sheila Schmidt, she only taught music my years at Pawnee Rock schools (1939-1951). The picture referred to was probably taken in 1944 at the height of WWII. I remember she married Harold Schmidt shortly after WWII, and he also taught at PRHS. With this interpolation, Ms Schmidt would have been 34 at the time of this photo. I remember she was a very strict disiplinarian as well as a very good teacher, and didn't tolerate any kids play in her classes."

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Fire photos

[December 21]   I want to say again how much I appreciate the photos made and sent by Jim Dye and Gary Trotnic of Friday's fire at the Santa Fe Mercantile. This was big news about a site we're all familiar with.

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In honor of the Santa Fe Mercantile

[December 20]   The Santa Fe Mercantile was extensively damaged by smoke yesterday afternoon after a fire started in the storage shed behind the store. The McCowans, Walt and Linda, will examine the goods today to see what can be salvaged among the dishes, the books, the farm tools, the postcards, the leftovers of many lives. The store building itself may still be strong, but remodeling it would be costly.

It was a sad day for the McCowans, as well as for Pawnee Rock. The store, dedicated to delivering history into our hands, had a long past of its own.

I spent a lot of my upper teen years in the building, when it was Bob's Place. Bob's had one or two pool tables, a Pong video game, a bad bathroom in back, bar shuffleboard, and behind the bar a sign that said: "Set your watch back 25 years. You're in Kansas." Eventually Bob's became the Pawnee Inn, and one day my dad was surprised when I walked in and sat down next to him at the bar. He did the right thing -- he bought me a can of Budweiser, and that was the only time we ever drank together.

Many years later, I brought my own sons to the building, which by then was occupied by Santa Fe Mercantile. I wanted them to see commerce in my hometown, and as we browsed the boys got to see the things that were fresh when I and my own dad were kids.

A couple of years ago, I returned to the store with Dean Lakin. Dean and Walt McCowan had a comfortable chat about old photos that Walt had bought from a fellow in Western Kansas, and he showed us a token from D.R. Logan General Merchandise, a Centre Street store that was long gone. A 20-something parked his pickup and trailer out front and tried to talk Walt into buying some scrap, but Walt and he differed widely on the value so the deal went nowhere. I admired a calendar and a rooster; I bought some of the photos and the rooster and Walt gave me a handful of postcards.

Things moved slowly in the Santa Fe Mercantile, befitting an antiques store in a small town. The concrete-block building, having survived its beery youth, was cloaked in wooden siding and edging into old age.

I don't know whether the building will be remodeled or razed. I'd hate to see it lost to the ages, in the same way we have given up earlier buildings on the property -- the Rock Hotel, the Gano office, Stella's Cafe. But it is the way of the world that buildings eventually cease to exist. They fall down, they're blown down, and sometimes they burn and are torn down.

Almost every lot in downtown Pawnee Rock once held a building that's different from the one that's there now, and there are quite a few one-time building sites where many current residents of Pawnee Rock have never seen a building. Each space once held someone's bank or mercantile or grocery store and meant everything to the people who traded there or lived in the back room. Maybe a young couple first made eyes at each other over the dry goods, and now the building has gone to the winds.

Destruction is hard to watch, because the buildings symbolize a time or a feeling or even a town. I hope the McCowans rebuild their store; if that's impossible, we can all be glad for the times we shared in that building.

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Sheila Sutton Schmidt's tenure

Mrs. Schmidt, who barely looks older than her students in the 1940s, is in the back row, second from the right.

[December 18]   Barb Schmidt of Seattle sent this note about one of our school's long-time and favorite teachers. Can any of our readers answer her questions?

The last I heard, from Jeanine Mull Haynes, Mrs. Schmidt was living in Madison, S.D. Her 98th birthday is coming up.

Here is Barb's note:

"I was looking at some of your Gallery photos this evening and noticed on Gallery 24 a group photo of Sheila Sutton Schmidt with a class she was teaching at PR in the 1940s. She was still teaching music in the grade school when my class graduated in 1969 and is the only teacher I recall who was always there throughout all our school years (as reliable as The Rock). Plus, she was the teacher who introduced so many of us at a very young age to great classical music with the help of her record player that she wheeled on a cart from classroom to classroom.

"I am wondering if you know or if others could tell us: Did Sheila always teach music? Did she ever teach any other subject? When did she start teaching at PR? When did she stop teaching at PR? Where is she now? I also remember her daughter Sheila, who was 3 years ahead of me in school and a good oboe player at a time when the high school band was still large enough to have oboe players! What do you suppose has happened to all those musical instruments we once knew how to play?"

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Family photos on the Rock

Mandy Sheldon and her brothers on the Rock, mid-1980s.

[December 18]   Mandy Sheldon, now writing from eastern Kansas, "where it looks like a Winter Wonderland," used to come through Pawnee Rock quite a bit with her family on their way to see relatives in Larned.

Yesterday, Mandy sent along a couple of photos that I'm sure will remind everyone of how much fun we had on our big chunk of sandstone.

Here's what she wrote:

"I came across these pictures last night and although they have very little historical significance outside my own family, I thought I would share them.

"The first is a picture of me and my brothers at the Rock and judging by our ages I would say it was around 1984. We made lots of trips 'out west' and I'm sure we were headed to Larned for a reunion of some kind.

"The second one I just think is funny. That's my brother Paul acting goofy. It makes me smile and reminds me of the pictures and stories that others have shared about the fun they have had on the Rock."

Mandy, thanks for sending the photos.

Mandy, by the way, is the marketing coordinator for Aberdeen Village. You may be familiar with the Presbyterian Manors retirement communities in Kansas and Missouri, of which Aberdeen Village is a part.

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Static fling

[December 17]   Ray Randolph, now of Indiana, remembers his own fun with static electricity. I wouldn't be surprised if many of us, especially the guys, worked up a scheme with the same goal.

Here's his e-mail:

"During my years (grades 5-8) at Sunny 4, the little Rice-County country school, when we were restricted to playing inside at recess during the winter, some of the boys spent time dribbling basketballs and shooting baskets. We soon discovered that dribbling a rubber basketball created static electricity. This discovery was soon followed by the ungentlemanly (but fun) tactic of dribbling a ball and then immediately finding the nearest person (most always a girl) and reaching out and shocking her on the arm. Talk about 'sparking' the ladies."

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Souvenir of winter

[December 16]   We all have our favorite stories about winter in Kansas. Many of them involve cars, ditches, and snowdrifts. Mine have to do with static electricity.

The Sunflower State's humorless wind carries dust, which rubs against everything and creates static in the way you might rub a balloon on the cat and then position it (the balloon) on a wall. Cars collect a lot of static, and so do people who climb out of them in rustling coats. This can be a problem at gas stations.

One cold-as-nails January in Hays, I got out of my car and went first to unlock the gas cap; this was in the first gas crisis, when it was a sport to siphon your neighbor's tank dry. I moved the key toward the cap and an inch-long spark leaped forward between the two. I ended up pumping gas while reaching out with the hose from around the corner of the car.

(The summer before, I had watched flames erupt out of the gas tank of a wheat truck and I had no intention of being broiled myself.)

Static was a bugaboo in another regard as well. As I've mentioned, I carried a camera around all the time in high school and just about everything I knew I learned the hard way. One thing I discovered was that when I rewound my 35mm film too fast -- haste in bitterly cold weather seemed like a good idea at the time -- it generated sparks inside the metal film cassette. That left tracks on images, ruining a good number of photos before I caught on. I have some very nice shots, however, of sunny-day lightning.

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Fresh air, all of it cold

[December 15]   All those who left Pawnee Rock surely miss the grand sweep of winter weather. If you don't like today's weather, a version of the saying goes, wait 15 minutes and it'll get worse.

And that's what happened Sunday.

The forecasters were accurate with their prediction of the cold front that flash-froze Pawnee Rock. The temperature rolled downhill from 50 degrees at 3 a.m. Sunday to 3 degrees at 3 a.m. today and to 1 degree at 5 a.m. The forecast had been for an overnight low of 4 degrees.

Sunday featured a sharp north wind and a rising barometer. It was a good day to skip the Christmas shopping and stay inside to watch football -- if the game hadn't been our Kansas City Chiefs wilting in the closing minutes and losing to Steve Crosby and his San Diego Chargers.

This ESPN story, by the way, notes that fans who arrived early at the stadium east of Kansas City enjoyed a 60-degree afternoon -- but the temperature was in the 20s by the end of the game. That kind of weather is a lot easier to put up with when you win.

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Pawnee Rock lights celebrated

[December 14]   The home of Ruth McKeen and her husband is all aglow this winter.

The Kansas State Network, in a TV report Saturday evening about the bright lights of "the tiny town of Pawnee Rock," describes the effort the couple went to.

Here are three paragraphs from the KSN story, "Christmas display stopping traffic":

"I have children and they're in California," she said. "And we loved Christmas and we always decorated. And I thought, well there are a lot of kids in the community and I don't see a lot of lights, so I'll just go for it!"

The entire house is strung with lights. Santa and his reindeer sit atop the roof and there are dozens of lighted figures standing in the yard. If you roll down your window when driving by you can see how the lights dance to Christmas carols. But McKeen had another reason for making her home's display really stand out.

"No one ever looks at Pawnee Rock when they go by because they're so fast, but now they're slowing way down, way down," she said.

Ruth promises she'll send photos of her house, which is at 501 Barton Street, on the east side of town along U.S. 56. You can't miss it. (Update: See the photos in the Gallery.)

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Warm thoughts about winter

[December 14]   The weather service says it'll be cold in Pawnee Rock today. The temperature began to dive from 50 degrees when the front blew through at 3 a.m. and is expected to bottom out around 4 degrees tonight. There might even be snow. In fact, the high temperature every day through Thursday is forecast to be below freezing.

On the bright side, a serious cold snap kills a lot of insect pests. And if there is snowfall, it'll look nice under the big bright moon we have for a few more days.

Finally, if it must be cold, at least Mother Nature picked an appropriate time of year. It'll help everyone appreciate the sweater that lurks under the tree.

In a few months, the sun will come back to its blazing glory and bring forth these sunflowery plants. If you're at the river, maybe you'll find one so freshly opened that its pollen still clings to the petals.

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Santa's siren call

Art Sayler dresses in the Santa suit in the red-brick fire station. The truck behind him was Pawnee Rock's old truck, not the one he rode into town.

Santa Claus rides the firetruck on Bismark Avenue before the truck turns south onto Centre Street.

Santa gives a sack of candy and nuts and gets a smile in return.

A clown also brightened the day. He speaks here to a woman who I think is Dorothy Bowman.

[December 13]   In the month between Thanksgiving and Christmas, Pawnee Rock had an advantage over every other town in Kansas. We knew Santa Claus was coming to town, and we knew when and where and how he was going to arrive.

Santa blew into town on the Saturday morning a weekend (or two weekends, depending on the calendar) before Christmas. He came from Pawnee Rock State Park, and he rode majestically on the back of our town's newer firetruck.

Now, we all know that Santa didn't really come from the Rock. But imagine that you were nine years old and you've been standing with the crowd on our one asphalt street, between Carris' grocery store and the post office, the Clutter-Lindas Lumberyard and Elgie's Craft Shop. You looked north into the breeze, and you looked and you looked, and as soon as you turned away the siren came on and the shout went up:

Santa Claus is coming!

It was easy to convince our young selves that the firetruck had gone to pick up Santa on the Rock, where there was grass for his reindeer. Our parents may have planted that possibility. What could have been more perfect for the town of Pawnee Rock than knowing that our landmark was on Santa's map?

(In reality, Santa had been driven from the fire station and around the block before coming out on Centre -- siren screaming -- at Bismark, at Dorothy Bowman's house.)

The adults weren't suckers, although they may have thought back sentimentally to when they were our gullible age. They knew that our Santa was a stand-in for the real Santa, who wouldn't show up until Christmas Eve to eat our cookies and kiss Mommy. I imagine that most people knew his identity, and those who didn't know spent a few minutes seeing which Lions Club member was missing from the crowd.

Kids pushed up against the back of the firetruck. Santa handed out brown lunch sacks stuffed with an orange or candy orange slices, Lions Club fund-raiser imitation LifeSavers, and the nut group: peanuts, walnuts, filberts, Brazil nuts, and a Snickers. I know, because I always helped fill those sacks the day before in Dad's carpentry shop and put them in the cardboard boxes that would find their way onto the back of Santa's firetruck. Even high school girls would come to Santa and, with a sheepish grin, accept a Ho-ho-ho and a sack.

I also had fun on those Fridays turning the squirrel cage, which I think my dad had made with wire fencing and lumber from his shop. On Santa Day, it would be filled with slips of paper bearing the names of people who had entered the turkey raffle. The dozen or so winners were called out and the frozen birds were transferred to their new owners.

It wasn't until five days before my 18th birthday that I really went behind the scenes. On that brisk day in 1974, I photographed Santa as he stood in front of the older firetruck and put on the suit of red and white over his plaid shirt. It doesn't escape me that I lived next door to Santa's dressing room and before that day never thought to wonder whether maybe Santa and the firetruck were connected before they appeared to come down from the Rock.

That was my growing-up day. Despite my teenager-ness, I wanted Santa to come from our Rock, and I didn't want him to be somebody I'd see at Farmers Grain. But once I had peeked behind Santa's door, I became a co-conspirator in our town's favorite event. And I rode the firetruck with Santa.

In looking at these negatives for the first time in decades, I'm surprised that the crowd wasn't as large as I had imagined it to be. Perhaps the reason is the Pawnee Rock high school had been closed for a couple of years and people were already drifting away from our hometown.

A more likely reason is that I had in mind my earliest winters, when Santa's arrival filled my world a week or two before Christmas.

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Steve Crosby, our town's coach

[December 13]   Steve Crosby, who attended school in Pawnee Rock and became a football star and eventually an NFL coach, is featured in the Hutch News. Kathy Hanks wrote the story.

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Road trip

[December 12]   My root canal came and went, and it really didn't hurt until afterward when the bruising from the big needles and drillwork came home to roost. But that's why they make ibuprofen. And thank goodness they make mashed potatoes, too, or I would have gone without food.

Kay Steed, who lives in eastern Kansas and has Pawnee Rock in her heritage, has experience with both root canals and road trips. She sent a fun note yesterday:

Your recent mention of having a root canal hit a nerve, so to speak! I've given birth to three children and would rather do that than go through another root canal and all that precedes one. That probably doesn't help you in your anticipation of needing the work done. Good Luck!!

Also wanted to comment on driving to and from Pawnee Rock. Even before I came into this world, I was driven to P.R. from the East coast then on to Calif. for my birth. Dad was in the Navy and during any time off, Pawnee Rock was always our destination, no matter the weather, but it was usually a very hot drive. No air conditioning back then, no four lane highways, motels few and far between. Dad always had us up and going before dawn and his goal was to drive 500 miles each day.

I can't imagine traveling today with kids and no DVD players, no Game Boys. I remember sleeping alot in the back seat and waking up covered in sweat with drool running out the side of my mouth, pretty picture huh?

It was always an experience but worth it when we finally got on the road heading towards P.R. and dad would say, "Can you see the Rock?" I never could pick it out. The adults must have been so happy to see thier final stopping place after traveling days with three kids and a dog in a hot car. What fun.

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The philosopher and the toothache

[December 11]   I have sometimes enjoyed the thought that I might turn out to be immortal.

Such thinking influenced my bulletproof sensibilities in my younger days, when I did things like leap out of school swings, sass Doug Flick, and ride my bicycle to Larned on U.S. 56.

I have discovered, however, that the very idea of immortality is a hollowed-out sham. Early this morning, perhaps as you read this, I will authorize the killing of a tooth.

A few years ago a molar, which had given me years of fine service, cracked during a restaurant meal and one of the corners came off. I should have had it taken care of right away, but doing so would have involved a trip to the dentist. It appears now that the nerve inside the tooth is perilously close to being exposed, a situation that when it happens will deliver what my dentist assures me will be so much pain that I will wish for a quick end to my so-far immortality. So I'm going to have a root canal.

It's my first such procedure. The dentist will stick many anesthetic needles in my gum and drill until he cleans out my innocent and unsuspecting nerve, and then he'll fill the top of the tooth with a temporary crown that later will be replaced with a permanent one. It'll take two hours, and the dentist promises that my main sensation will be boredom.

I've been fortunate in my life, as I still have all the parts I came with except my baby teeth and four wisdom teeth that gave way to Dr. Gutschenritter during the holiday season about thirty years ago. But now the bloom will be off the rose.

On the bright side, I'll have a genuine memento mori, and I'm going to keep it forever.

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Friends and relatives on the road

[December 10]   My wife just packed her sister on a plane and sent her off into the night, bound on a long day's journey to Salt Lake City, Cincinnati, and Atlanta, and eventually to England, her most recent home. All of our visitors come by plane; it's a drive of five and a half days from central Kansas, and no one seems up for that adventure.

But driving is how it used to be done in Pawnee Rock. Ella Foster's column in the Tiller carried many paragraphs of Mr. and Mrs. Somebody and Mrs. Somebody Else driving to Oregon to see Mrs. Somebody's sister, and on the way back they stopped in Anyplace, Nevada, and at the Grand Canyon.

Those trips amaze me now as much as they did three decades ago.

1. These were people who had accumulated some years and were, I imagine, set in their ways. How did the couple and their friend put up with each other as they sped across several states on the endless Interstate 70? I'm guessing that the husband drove, but did the women take turns riding shotgun? Was the wife allowed to back-seat drive, but not the guest?

2. If two couples made the trip, did the non-car-owning gent stand outside the Buick at the gas pump and insist that this time he would pay for the fill-up?

3. Who picked the restaurants and the motels? Did they choose the motels by price, or by the quality of the garden gnomes, or by how close it was to a restaurant and the highway?

4. Once they got out of sight of everyone who knew them, did they pick up a fifth in one town and drive to the next to have a sip before supper?

5. Why did so many Pawnee Rock descendants and relatives move to the West Coast? We almost never read of people driving east to see them. Or maybe driving west was just a much more attractive adventure, and those who moved east were required to drive back west.

Actually, any transcontinental trip would be a grand time just for the change in landscape. Imagine the bonding the couple and the friend would feel -- and how glad they would be to get back home after a two-week trip and not have to be pleasant even when they weren't of a mind to.

I'm glad that Pawnee Rock is not so close to a big airport that flying is always the first choice. There's so much more to be enjoyed when you move at highway speed: antique shops, cherry limeades, city parks, historical markers, little restaurants, and the never-ending parade of folks like us passing in slow motion as we trundle down the interstate in search of the next truckstop with WiFi and the next radio station with decent music.

These are things that, after a lifetime of hard work, are meant to be enjoyed. It's not at all surprising that Pawnee Rock folks would invite a friend along on their western adventure.

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Winter comes knocking

[December 9]   It's starting to look a lot like Goodland ... like Aspen ... like Christmas.

At 10:45 last night, the temperature was 37 degrees and a band of rain or snow was marching in the usual northeast-southwest band across the state. At 3:30 a.m. today, it was 32 degrees with a 26 mph wind from the north with gusts to 38.

Sounds like sweater weather, doesn't it? Today might be the kind of day when those who rise early get to see pretty scenery.

Last night's forecast was certainly a good one for the wheat:

Rain or snow likely late in the evening ... then snow after midnight. Areas of blowing snow after midnight. Windy. Snow accumulation less than an inch. Lows in the mid 20s. North winds 20 to 30 mph. Gusts up to 30 mph increasing to 40 mph after midnight. Chance of snow 80 percent.

And for today, even moreso:

Areas of blowing snow in the morning. Snow in the morning ... then a chance of snow in the afternoon. Windy. Snow accumulation of 1 to 2 inches. Total snow accumulation 1 to 2 inches. Highs near 30. Temperature falling into the lower 20s in the afternoon. North winds 25 to 30 mph with gusts to around 40 mph. Chance of snow 90 percent.

This is the time of year when Bing Crosby pops up on the TV in "Holiday Inn" and sings about a white Christmas. I felt cheated as a child because all the TV shows and kids' books insisted on having snow for Christmas, and we rarely did. And when we did, it was gloppy wet stuff and never that beautiful snow we saw the TV skiers enjoy.

And no one ever explained how kids could stand to build all those gigantic snowmen; my cotton gloves got soaked with the first snowball. And, it turned out, my friends and I were a generation too late to find coal for the eyes and mouth. All in all, winter in Pawnee Rock was not storybook perfect, although we did have fun sledding on the Rock.

Perhaps that's why I moved north. My sister and parents, however, would have been satisifed if I had moved only as far as Colorado or Minnesota, if I wanted cold and snow so much. To be honest, all this postcard scenery is nice, but it doesn't say "winter" in the honest way that Kansas' winters do, when the wind whips across the dry plains and builds drifts that dare you to drive through them.

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March 11, 1982

[December 8]   Front-page stories in the Larned paper on March 11, 1982, might have mentioned that President Reagan had proclaimed economic sanctions against Libya. There might have also been a story about sygyzy, an odd word meaning that all nine planets were aligned on the sam side of the sun, which happened on March 10.

In Pawnee Rock, it was an interesting week too.

Ella Foster, Pawnee Rock's correspondent for the Larned paper, collected the following items for publication on March 11. My dad saved this clipping for an undisclosed reason, perhaps because it included the death of a former Pawnee Rock woman, Mary Quincy.

These columns were my favorite part of the paper because Mrs. Foster recounted for us the nuts-and-bolts activities of our hometown. The newspaper publisher liked the columns because they were cheap to produce and because people bought the newspaper to see their names.

Pawnee Rock

Mr and Mrs. Howard Converse spent Sunday in Cawker City with their daughter Mrs. Charles Stevens, Mr. Stevens, Joshua and Seth Lee.

Jared Smith of Hutchinson spent the weekend visiting his parents Mr. and Mrs. Virgil Smith. Jared attends Hutchinson Jr. College.

Nora Buhrer of rural Larned spent Tuesday March 2 visiting Ruth French. They enjoyed eating dinner with tHe Sr. Citizens at the "Depot" that day.

Mathew Girard of Hays spent the weekend with his grandparents Janice and Earl Schmidt while his parents Bob and Brenda Girard were in Wichita. He accompanied his parents home Sunday night.

Mr. and Mrs. Eldon French spent several days in Spearman, Texas visiting their cousin Jesse French.

An appreciative audience attended the grade school musical program last Thursday evening, featuring excerpts from Walt Disney movies under the direction of Betty Twitchell and Alice Keith as accompanist. Featured soloists were Mishka Crone, Karianne Montgomery, Amy Strobel, Jamie Clawson, Monica Jacobs, and Katie Unruh.

Mrs. Chester Smith was admitted to Central Kansas Medical Center last week.

Mr. and Mrs. Guy Moore and Bertine Nichols returned home Feb. 21 after spending two months in Glendale, Ariz. with their sister and daughter of Mrs. Nichols, Lillian Nichols Leonard. The Moores also visited a short time in California with Mr. Moore's sister. Mrs. Nichols had the misfortune of becoming ill and was hospitalized for a few days while visiting in Glendale.

Members of the Lions Club hosted their "Ladies Night" when they met in the "Depot" Monday night March 8. The ladies service alliance of the New Jerusalem Church prepared the food for the delightful meal.

Mary H. Quincy age 81 and a former resident of Pawnee Rock died Saturday, Feb. 27 at the Great Bend Manor where she had been a resident for several months.

Mary was born July 21, 1900 in Johnson County, Neb. She married Clifford Quincy April 5, 1953, he died Feb. 20th, 1960. Mrs. Quincy is survived by her son Daylon Rankin and his wife of Larned, two grandchildren and one Great Grandchild. Also six stepsons. Memorial services were Tuesday, March 2 at the Peace Lutheran Church, Rural Albert, with burial in the church cemetery.

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Rock went to state 100 years ago

[December 8]   The Hutchinson News, digging into its files for its Yesterday's News feature, recounts how on December 5, 1908, the Pawnee Rock landmark passed into the state's hands and became a state park.

Here's a little more background about the Rock's ownership over the decades.

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True music

Christmas carols, the rock 'n' roll way. Photo by Margaret Unruh.

[December 7]   The children took their turns at the front of the room in the Muse School of Music, which sits above a truck-tire store and next to a beauty salon. Some played Christmas carols on the piano, some rocked through carols on electric guitars, and one or two, with lip-biting concentration, plucked at acoustic guitars.

This -- butterflies, concentration, and survival -- is what the kids will remember about music and Christmas. You and I remember the Christmas shows in the Pawnee Rock school. We dressed up in clean Sears clothes and stood with our hands at our sides or cupped before us, as Sheila Sutton Schmidt had instructed us to do. We trudged our way through a carol or two and accepted polite applause before we returned to our seats and were replaced by the next higher grade, which sang a slightly more difficult arrangement.

Last night's Christmas party and show made me think more of hours spent with a family that gets along: where on the night of the holiday gathering the kids can do no wrong, where even a boy who plays uncertainly receives warm applause and gains enough confidence to try an encore, and this time his grin appears even before he looks up and sees his mother clapping.

The kids' music wasn't perfect, but the evening wasn't about hitting every note at the toe-tapping right instant. It was about the kids doing their best and earning a reward for afternoons invested in training their minds and fingers to lift a melody off the printed page and set it free. Their happiness was in their discovery and accomplishment.

In a small studio above a truck-tire store and next to a beauty salon, our kids gave the performances of their young lives. The chords have faded already, but the true music of the night could echo for a lifetime.

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Touching ghosts from the past

[December 7]   Living out there in southern Nevada's purifying desert, Rick Clawson comes up with interesting observations. Here's an e-mail conversation he and I had Saturday:

From Rick:

Just came from your website and it dawned upon me after reading the names on "Friends of Pawnee Rock" that they are like ghosts from my past. Names I have long forgotten, faces that no longer can I visualize unless I see a picture that suddenly jars me back to that time and place more than three decades ago.

Unlike most Friends of Pawnee Rock, I chose to leave right after high school and disappeared for years at a time. Seldom did I make it back to the place I still call home to this day, and slowly so many memories that I wish I could cherish have faded away. I feel I've cheated myself for leaving so suddenly, not taking the time to say good bye to all those who I knew and grew up with, not staying intouch, not even a simple "Hello! How are you?"

Too often we take for granted what we have and who we know, for I guess at that time, the places and the people just don't seem important. That's why, at this time, and over the past few months since I discovered PawneeRock.Org, each day is a chance to rediscover who I was and who I am today. I know it all sounds so "quirkish" but my past has become extremely important, and the people I once knew I want to meet again. They are like touching ghosts from the past.

From Leon:

I think this will strike a chord with a lot of people -- opportunities missed as the world goes by.

Last night I read a piece in Wired about friends and how sometimes it works out for the best to let go. Have you seen it? http://www.wired.com/techbiz/people/magazine/16-11/pl_brown

From Rick:

Read the article and he sounds like a big city person who is also a pretty selfish individual. Small town people have the opportunity to appreciate how special their lives were in their small world. Like I said before, I feel lucky that I grew up in a small town. Very few big city people would agree with that, but because they never lived in a small town. Not saying I liked everyone in my class, for instance.

I think I competed with Craig Smith every school day we attended together, and I hated it, but it doesn't mean that I wouldn't want to see him again after all these years. But it also doesn't mean we'd be friends if we met again, either. I guess what I'm experiencing is just wanting to fill in the blanks from all the years I've been away. I saw Jeanette Ater in 2002 and it was a great feeling to see her again after 25 years.

By the same token, too, there are some people in my current life who if I saw them broken down on a highway I just might swerve to hit them. But I don't have any animosity for those I grew up with.

From Leon:

I agree with your opinion of the article. I don't think I'd want that writer as my friend, but he might be interesting to talk to once in a while.

There are some PR/Macksville/Larned/KU people I don't miss at all, but I would like to find out how they're doing. I don't harbor ill will toward anyone now (I think). We were all doing the best we could with what we had.

Also, my opinion of some people I knew before has changed a lot now that we're grown up and away from the pressure cooker of school.

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Photos of people and our place

[December 6]   The e-mail brought surprises this week.

First, Kalie Tutak sent a couple of photos taken of her dad, Allen, and uncle, Rick, when they were little fellows. They were my next-door neighbors, but they were a few years older than me and so I knew them only as guys who were much taller. I'll post the other photo in the next couple of days.

Second, Kathy Dougherty Mast of Colorado sent a photo of her father as he enjoyed his visit in 1929 to Pawnee Rock State Park. I wrote back, mentioning that he looked suave, and she responded that he was a great guy. I was glad to see an old photo from our state park (haven't we all stood in that corner and gazed around?), but even more I was happy that the site could help show off a daughter's prized memento.

The words I write here -- and the ones you all contribute -- are of course prose that will be honored for generations to come. But what really helps me connect with our hometown, its history, and our old friends are photographs. The words provide context, and the photos create a visceral reaction. Looking at each old photo shakes loose a dozen associated memories and puts me -- us -- a step closer to understanding our hometown.

So, if you have family or historical photos of Pawnee Rock and its people, please scan and e-mail them to the site.

Housekeeping: I've had trouble recently with the site search engine, so I have removed it. I understand that this may create an inconvenience for our readers, and I plan to have a self-contained search engine on the site soon even if I have to buy one. In the meantime, please search using Google or Yahoo or whatever you're comfortable with.

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Dust storm in Larned

[December 5]   Ralph Gillispie, our correspondent in Idaho, read yesterday's posting about dust storms and thought about an episode from his childhood. Here's what he wrote:

There are some happenings in life that the mind puts into a separate section for permanent storage and easy retrieval, much like an executable program is etched into a hard drive for easy access.

One of those is the dust storms of 1935-36 that you reference in your "Dust in Our Wind" article today. Although I was long gone from Kansas during those dusty days of the seventies that you refer to, I was very much present in those early and first dust storms of May 1935. My family lived in Larned at the time, on South State Street, between First and what is now SW Trail Street. We kids had a large backyard that was open to the Larned Park area just to the West.

That first storm that hit Larned happened almost mid-May as I recall. The day started out normal enough, breezy, sunshine, warm enough to wear only a light sweater while we played at the park. Then the day got very windy, and off to the SouthEast the skies were changing to a color that can only be identified as "dirty" brown. Within minutes of seeing the wall cloud of dirt approaching we were inundated with blowing, billowing dust.

Mom was standing out in the back yard, yelling for us kids to hurry, run home... and this time, we did not hesitate. As the envelope of brown descended upon us we were ushered into the house and were helping Mom and Grandma stuff anything we could find into any opening, under the door, around the windows, attempting to keep the dust from invading more than it already had.

I can only imagine how difficult it must have been for Dad and Uncle to navigate home from work through the brown darkness that afternoon.

A movie recently offered on television (Bound for Glory, based on the life of Woody Guthrie) portrays well how people had to live for days inside in the dusty atmosphere. It sure brought my recall to life in a hurry!

Thank you for the pictures and article today! Ralph

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Dust in our wind

During a dust storm in the late 1970s, an 18-wheeler rides the wind on U.S. 56 a mile northeast of Pawnee Rock near the waterhole with the Texaco sign.

[December 4]   In the land of wind and dirt, the ugly combination of the two elements can convince the most brazen child to turn his back to the blast and scurry for cover.

On the highway, 18-wheelers heel over on the leeward side and cars, their headlights burning in the darkened sun, lurch from one side of the lane to the other as the trucks pass. Tumbleweeds sprint before the wind, ripping across the asphalt like desperate deer.

The air is as brown as the ground; the air is in fact the ground.

Autumn's and winter's northwesterly breezes sometimes catch our part of the state in an awkward moment between the lushness of the last crops and the rising of the grasses in the spring, and not even the hardy green winter wheat and last summer's dry stubble can hold the earth together.

Our grandparents -- and maybe you -- knew the storms that came in the Dirty Thirties: dark clouds that moved soil from one county to the next. Maybe you helped hang wet sheets over your doors and windows to block the intrusive dust, as my grandparents did northwest of Pawnee Rock.

Now that the man-made practices that encouraged the Dust Bowl have changed, our state doesn't have the storms it used to. But once in a while during a dry week there comes a reminder that there's nothing between Pawnee Rock and Montana but a few barbed-wire fences.

Tumbleweeds roll past my car.

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C.A. Dirks dies

[December 3]   C.A. Dirks, who was born in 1917 to Lena and Nathan Dirks outside of Pawnee Rock, died December 1 in Great Bend. He was 91 years old, a farmer, and a member of the Bergthal Mennonite Church. Mr. Dirks will have his service Thursday afternoon in Great Bend, and he will be buried in the Pawnee Rock Cemetery. He leaves three survivors, who live on the East Coast. His brother, Bernard, died earlier. (Obituary)

Jake Durall dies: People who attended Pawnee Rock schools in the 1950s may remember James "Jake" Durall, who went to Pawnee Rock High before moving to Hays. Mr. Durall, who was 68, died November 23 in Hays. He had worked for the Kansas State Highway Commission, the Hays Police Department and the Ellis County Sheriff's Department, and he was an owner/operator who hauled grain and cattle.

Tex McCowan dies: Marty Ray "Tex" McCowan, who was the son and stepson of Walt and Linda McCowan of Pawnee Rock, died November 4 in Iola. He was 45 years old, had served in the Navy, and was a tattoo artist.

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Edward Miller dies

[December 2]   Edward Miller of Pawnee Rock died November 27. He was 81 years old and, I think, owned the house on Flora Avenue where the Ingrams once lived. He is survived by his wife, Laura Jean Hayward, brother Robert Miller, seven children, 26 grandchildren, 36 great-grandchildren, and a great-greatgrandchild.

Mr. Miller will be buried Thursday afternoon in the Larned Cemetery. (Obituary)

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They're homecoming candidates, 1970

[December 1]   Susan Unruh Ellis sent a note identifying the six girls early today, and not long afterward Cheryl Unruh sent the definitive proof: They were the basketball homecoming candidates for Pawnee Rock High in 1970. The original photo must have been taken for distribution to the Larned Tiller and Toiler and the Great Bend Tribune.

Here's a page that Cheryl copied from her 1969-70 yearbook. For those who don't want to read the small print, Candy Unruh -- who got a page of her own -- was chosen to be the queen and shared a kiss with king Larry Crosby after receiving a bouquet of red roses. (I've put larger views of the pages in the Gallery.)

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Naming the girls

From the left and starting in back: Lynda Russell, (needs ID); Candy Unruh, Darlene Crone; Cora Deckert and Meribeth Schmidt.

[December 1]   Regarding yesterday's photo of six Pawnee Rock High School girls, Susan Vondracek has some identifications.

The girl on the right in the second row, next to Candy Unruh, is Darlene Crone, Susan says. The girl in the upper right may be either Linda Carris or Rhonda Deckert.

And here's a question for anyone who was paying attention 37 years ago: Why are these six students standing together?

A sad note: Roy "Brit" Britton, who helped stabilize the town of Ellsworth during the Great Depression, has died of cancer at age 83. He was the husband of our friend Peg Britton. (Obituary, but also read this.)

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