Small Town Follies

A Short Story

Growing up in a small Kansas town meant you knew everybody. And everybody knew you. Take my third grade class photo below. I can still name every one of them except for three of the girls, who must’ve moved away in the next year or two and were most likely from families who were stationed at Fort Riley.

We were also divided into the ‘townies’ and the ‘farm kids.’ I was definitely a townie although I spent a lot of time on my maternal grandparent’s farmlands. Both sets of grandparents lived in the vicinity as well as my maternal great-grandmother, and eventually her sister and son (my uncle). I also had other various aunts, uncles, and cousins in town. To me it was normal.

L-R: Aunt Belle Mackender, Great-Grandmother Mackender (deceased before I was born), Grandfather William Mackender, Great-Grandfather Mackender (died on my birthday, I believe), and Aunt Leda Mackender

As kids, a group of us townies from various age levels would meet up downtown, usually on our bikes, to have a laugh, hang out, and harass each other and the older dudes driving around in cars. I remember one time we were yelling at a couple soldiers from Fort Riley who were cruising the two block main drag and the driver stopped and jumped from his car with a giant chain and started screaming at us punks about being from New York City and what he’d like to do with that chain. Needless to say, it scared the bejeezus out of us. The guy, fortunately, was mostly bluster as we were truly not a threatening presence. Small town boys with big britches. We didn’t yell at soldiers after that.

On Father’s Day, I was reminded that on Memorial Day, two of my friends whom I’ve known since first grade (1960), both pictured in the third grade class photo, left flowers on my parents’ graves in the Riley, Kansas Cemetery. They both messaged me on FB, with Arden Pultz (townie) showing up first as his folks are buried next to mine.

Then a bit later Doyle Jones (farm dude) messaged me that he also stopped by with flowers.

I attended first grade to grade 11 with these guys but we eventually went our separate ways. Despite that, there’s a certain bond growing up in small-town ‘murica that lasts a lifetime.

Arden Pultz, Doyle Jones, and me

And it’s hard to believe it’s been 20 years since Chas left us. Miss both my parents.

Late 50s photo of my folks in Riley, Kansas at my paternal Grandparent’s home. To be honest, I cannot tell if that’s me or my brother. Heh.

And now…