I went to Heaven
’Twas a small town…
— Emily Dickinson
A long, long time ago — 70 years on — life granted a great gift to a young boy. I was that boy — little Charlie Dunbar — and that gift was living for a time in the small town of Chapman, Kansas. My father was a U.S. Army officer, and our family had been living in Germany where he was stationed. The Army had ordered him in 1955 to return to the states to serve at Fort Riley, Kansas. It was a fortunate posting, as my caring, good, parents were native Kansans, both born and raised in Miltonvale, with many relatives living around the state. So we traveled back to the U.S., finding a home in Chapman, population just over 1,000 folks. We first lived in an old but lovely two story house, near the town’s center. We lived in Chapman for nearly four years, moving in the third year to a new home on the town’s western-most street, near Highway 40 — train tracks and the Smoky Hill River just beyond.
I was 8 years old when we came to Chapman. Little did I know then how important my years as a young boy in this small town would be. I surely didn’t know Chapman would visit me in many dreams over the years. Nor did I realize I’d never forget this sweet town, that it would nestle in my heart forever. Chapman turned out to be the perfect place for young Charlie Dunbar.
Chapman Memories
Here are some of my Chapman memories. After all these years, they’re still vivid, tugging at my heartstrings:
School Days
I attended Chapman Elementary School for 3rd through 6th grade. My memories of this school are all pleasant ones. The school staff were kind and friendly, and I looked forward to attending each day. I recall my first teacher, in the 3rd grade, was new to teaching. We were her very first class. She was young, very pretty as I recall, and had a helpful, sweet manner. I regret I’ve forgotten her name. She was a kind teacher, who comforted me once when I cried over spelling quiz errors I’d made. A girl asked why I was crying. Her gentle answer, “because Charlie wants to do well.” I suspect many of the boys in the class had a mild crush on our teacher, as I surely did.
Other memories come to mind, one involving our 5th grade class viewing a film (on long-gone reel to reel equipment) about Robert Frost. It was a bit beyond the boys, who began to make fun of his old-man appearance. I admit I was one of the miscreants. Our teacher had had enough. She stopped the film and gave us a well-deserved lecture on how wrong it was to make fun of a national treasure. We all rightly kept our mouths closed for the rest of the film. Another memory, grateful in nature: Another teacher, caring and observant, saw that I couldn’t read the black-board from my desk. She talked to my mother, who had my sight assessed. I soon had my new pair of glasses, seeing all around me so much better.
Good Friends
I recall being thrilled to make new friends when I started school. It was a big deal to have friends, really the first close ones of my childhood. One instance of friend-making is vivid in my memory. Don, one of the boys in my first class in school, seemed at first not to like me. One day as we sat in class, his desk close to mine, he dropped his pencil. Without much thought, I leaned over, picked it up, and gave it back to him. Don smiled, thanked me, and we became friends, just like that. It’s still a good lesson for me of the power of a kind act. I soon made other friends — Phil and Mike. We were buddies, Don and Phil, Mike and Charlie. Later, after we moved to our second home, I made another good friend in Mark, who lived nearby. We rode our bikes all over town, our days filled with all the fun things young boys enjoy. And Chapman was a safe, friendly place, a wholesome town.
I especially recall many pleasant times playing at Phil’s warm, friendly house. He was my closest friend, a kind, thoughtful, boy. We were watched over by his caring mother, Verna (trained as an anthropologist and engaging in a considerable amount of field work over her life, I learned only recently.) Phil’s father, Neil, also a friendly presence, was the local banker. I vividly recall one day at their home, playing inside during a snowy winter storm, watching out the window as a bright red cardinal ate seed from their bird feeder.
Sweet Girls
I recall two girls from my grade school classes, Vicki and Donna. I can still see, all these years gone, their pretty, young-girl faces and recall their kind ways. Vicki was, as I recall, more outgoing, while Donna seemed a bit shyer. There were other girls, too, all of them seeming uniquely special to me, a quiet, shy boy, in their presence. I recall one day, sitting at my desk in class, one girl passing me, brushing her hand over my crew cut, saying, “I just wanted to see how it feels.” A girl’s purely innocent touch, but it was a first and felt nice! And on one Valentine’s Day, a card was delivered to my house by a classmate — it may have been Vicki. That was another first for me, I was surprised, happy. So these early school days held the first inklings of what girls — and later, women — would come to mean to me. My first crushes on girls. It was an early-in-life awakening, young Charlie not yet knowing its full import.
Baseball
I fell in love — passionately — with baseball while living in Chapman. It was my first sport, and my first experience in being part of a team. We had a young baseball team over these years, coached by a gem of a man, Jack Leather- man. Jack ran the local grocery store, The Mercantile, a beloved family business. He was a young man in his 20’s at the time. And he was a fine coach, friendly, encouraging, skilled at leadership and teaching, knew baseball well, loved the sport. He gave and gave as a coach. We were youngsters, new to the game. We needed just what Jack had to give us. We took it with our whole hearts, soaked it up. He was a good man and a worthy mentor, my first in life (my parents excepted).
Our youth league was scattered around the eastern-central Kansas area. We played with teams in small towns like Emporia and McPherson. Traveling out of town was a big thrill, game days always exciting. I played as a left-handed shortstop, and as a pitcher. Memory dims as to how good a team we were over these years. I know for sure that we all had great fun playing the game.
Chapman had two baseball parks, one near the business district, the other across the railroad tracks to the south. We young boys played in these parks, as well as the older boys in their leagues. I loved to watch the older boys play. Danny was one I recall, a pitcher with a smooth, graceful delivery. I viewed him as kind of a baseball prince. Once, as Danny rested after playing, I saw his glove lying on a bench, no doubt a “Wilson,” the brand to have of that era. I couldn’t resist — I picked up the glove and tried it on, imagining for just a moment that I was older, more skilled and practiced — just like Danny.
One summer our baseball team took an unforgettable baseball trip, led by Jack, helped by some of the baseball dads. We all got on the train — imagine our excitement! — traveling to Kansas City to watch the A’ s play Boston. The stadium was so very large, beautiful to our eyes. Especially thrilling, we got to watch the great Ted Williams play. I can still remember my amazement at the power of those batsmen — balls hit so hard, towering so high, and so very far! For small town boys it was surely the trip of our young lives.
More Chapman Memories—Short Takes
Our first black and white TV at home — later a new color TV. A whole new world of entertainment had arrived. My family and I were entranced, often watching TV together. Ed Sullivan and Lawrence Welk, “The Grand Ole Opry,” “Captain Kangaroo,” “I Love Lucy,” on and on — the good old days of TV in its early years.
Watching my dad working hard in the garden — hand-plow, hoe and shovel — growing corn and tomatoes. He was a real Kansan, had the knack. I helped him, getting rid of pests and weeds — tomato worms and dandelions were my specialties.
Looking out our window with amazement in the middle of winter — a car spun ‘round in a full circle on our icy street across from the big County high school— but no damage done. All fine, then, and on the car went.
Country watermelon stands in the summer. Dropping a just-bought, big water- melon on the ground, horrified as it shattered to pieces — But we got another!
July 4th fireworks stands — Fireworks abounded! It was much fun and also a bit scary. I once held a firecracker in my hand as it exploded — short, quick fuse the villain — hurt like heck! Mom fixed me up.
Learning to love reading, checking-out books at the small, second-story Chapman library. My first favorites were the Nancy Drew books.
Listening intently every night to music from a Chicago radio station (WIND, I think) loving the rhymes, rhythms, and melodies of song, as well as the tales told. Hearing in real-time the classic transition from mid-50’s pop music to the beginnings of rock and roll — from Pat Boone, Doris Day, the Everly Brothers, to wild, brazen, rock music — Chuck Berry, Elvis, Little Richard, Jerry Lee Lewis, and lots more to come…!
Carnival Days in Chapman — the downtown business block taken over by fun and games for all.
Trips to the dump with my dad driving his old, beat-up Dodge truck, badly faded red in color.
My first job as a boy — delivering papers across the town by bike, collecting on bills at month’s end. I was proud to do a good job and earn a little money — a good way to enter the world of work.
My first dog, “Boss” — a good dog, fine companion, my friend, but very excitable around kids. After he bit a girl, off to my grandfather’s farm he went. It was a sad loss, I cried lots of tears — my first broken heart.
Enduring the long Kansas winters — down in the basement with tennis ball and baseball mitt, pretending to be pitching. Tennis ball on cement wall going “bonk-bonk-bonk,” while I waited long months for snow and mud to be gone. Time for Spring baseball!
Across from our second home at Chapman’s western edge lay “Witches Hollow” — wild country land, a creek, small hills, an abandoned homestead. We boys took BB guns and snacks — marching off on brave adventures.
Leaving Chapman
After nearly four years in Chapman, my family had to move on. My father was ordered to join a small U.S. Army contingent on the Pacific Ocean island of Guam. We would live there for a short time, then move to a larger island, Okinawa. After that, back to the U.S. at Fort Hood, next to Killeen, Texas. It was hard to leave our lovely Chapman. I was sad to leave my buddies, my school, our nice home. It was the ever-changing life of an Army family, and one got used to it. (At times, though, I’ve wished I could have lived in Chapman for all my youth. A much different life as a boy it would have been…).
I left Chapman with many gifts. I had learned and done so much. I’d made good friends — my first buddies — learned to play and love baseball, was taught so well in grade school, and had my first little job. Still a young boy, I’d learned a lot about going out to meet the world. Life in Chapman had readied me for life yet to come.
Dreams of Chapman
As an adult I’ve been blessed with many pleasant dreams of my Chapman days. In many dreams I’m a boy again, riding on my Schwinn bike through the town’s streets. I’m happy and free in my around-the-town travels, going up and down the the gentle hills and tree-lined streets. I’d wake and smile, remembering those good times. Though once, not so pleasantly, I dreamed the town had grown much larger, and a huge shopping mall had been built near our first home. It was a troubling, bizarre dream. So it was good to wake-up, finding it was just a dream.
Closing Thoughts
So there we are, the nostalgic memories and musings of a thankful old man of 78 years. I live now, with my dear wife Eileen, on the California coast north of San Francisco, near two small towns, Mendocino and Fort Bragg. I came here nearly 40 years ago, moving from San Diego. I’ve been blessed with a good long life, including the ups and downs and eternal learnings that come to all of us. I’m retired now, after a career in social work with families and children, as well as elders. Gardening has been my passion for 55 years. We have a small place on land a mile from the ocean, growing many trees, shrubs, spring bulbs, roses, and more.
After all the years gone by, living in many other towns and cities, I still hold dear my memories of Chapman and its kind, good-hearted, souls. These memories — and the perspective and gratitude that have come with aging — moved me to write my love letter to this little town. Young Charlie Dunbar was nurtured and formed there as he started out in life. Much good fortune came to him during those years. Chapman was indeed a heavenly haven, a boy’s dream come true.
Dear little Kansas prairie town, thank you.
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