WCBA Vol II: Small Town USA

VOLUME II: Small Town USA

I drove 2500 miles in 13 DAYs through kansas, nebraska, wyoming, and idaho,
visiting over 50 small towns along the way.

"We Could Be Anywhere, Volume II," is a 40-piece exploration that tells of the people and communities

that I met on my adventures traveling through small town usa.

on volume I, I wrote: "We could be anywhere is a body of work that represents us all,
no matter where we come from, what we believe in, or how we choose to define ourselves.

the works are not unique only to the characters and scenes through which these
stories were born from, but rather, to All of us."

In Volume II, I aim to honor the very mission this project began with,

this time, through the tales of the people and places that make-up small town usA.

Back to 'We Could Be Anywhere'

Closing Up The Store I

His father’s age is starting to show, and you can see it in his walk.
But you can’t feel it in his heart, he’s been at the shop doing his part.
Billy told me that I caught them right in time, as next week, dad would be closing up the store.
And after I sifted through every aisle, Billy rang me up, and took me for a tour.
It started off on Paola, and turned into a talk on Small Town USA.
But all throughout, Billy asked and learned about me,
Curious about my perspective, and why I really came.
It's not that Billy wasn’t open to talking, he just was as curious as I was, too,
About who I was, about my life, and about what I was doing in Paola, Kansas from New Jersey before noon.
He seemed to be more concerned, with making sure that I was ready for my time,
Traveling across Small Town USA on my own, exploring towns and meeting people who don’t know that I’m coming by.
I was lucky to have met Billy, so early on in;
Paola was but my second stop, on the first day of the trip.

Closing Up The Store II

When we finished our walk around the Paola Square, we came by the store for some shade.
Before he’d get back to work, he wanted a smoke, and we shared one final conversation.
The more time we spent together, the more that Billy opened up with me.
I kept returning to how the store would be closing, and what it all really means.
For Billy, for his family, and for the community in Paola, too,
But he told me that I was thinking far too much— change is just something you get to.
He continued on with the lessons, weaving in history so subtly in between,
But I received it all so specifically, as Billy continued to prepare me for all that I’d see.
While we were talking, down the alleyway, a neighbor went back-and-forth, loading up his truck;
The perfect backdrop, for all that Billy and I had come to discuss.
There’s a lot to talk about, but out there, people rarely complain,
Billy taught me that it’s more about moving forward and making it through the day.

A Guest Is A Guest

As the sun starts to set, is the day really done?
Perhaps, maybe for most, but for others, it’s just begun.
I caught him working in town, preparing for the fair that was soon to come.
When I offered to lend him a hand, he let out a chuckle, and asked where I was from.
I was still learning the Kansas way, but I knew the folks were a proud bunch.
He welcomed me in and wished me well— but told me that nobody within a few hundred miles would take up my offer,
“A guest is a guest, especially if they’re willing to help.”
A lesson I’d encounter again and again, that I had to grow to respect.

Show Don't Tell I

(Shared Story)
It was my first time visiting a County Seat Town,
Which serves so many more, than the 800 or so who live around.
Shops line down Broadway, cars flow in and out without stop,
And right before the towering courthouse: the gas station and auto repair shop.
I was peering into the garage, when he saw, and glanced back at me,
I took a few more steps, walked in, and asked if I could see.
I introduced myself and told him, what had brought me to their town,
With a smile, he invited me in, and then I followed him back around.
Tracing the path of the single tire, he wheeled atop the shop floor,
To meet the boss, to greet the crew, to see the workshop, and talk some more.
Right from the start, they made it clear that I was welcome to stay,
But a lot of my questions went unanswered, as they continued to work away.
In my journey so far, that balance at times ensued:
Some people open up their hearts, while others show you who they are, by doing what they do.

Show Don't Tell II

Here To Stay

The floods did a number on Elmdale, but the rain couldn’t wash the town away.
Not just once, but twice, and even when the levy broke, some still chose to stay.
It wasn’t without a fight, as FEMA told residents that the town wouldn’t sustain,
And then it bought up a few houses there, right next to neighbors who remained.
Today Elmdale has a population, less than half of from when it was founded,
And depending on who you ask, they’re either disappointed or thrilled about it;
Some want to see more growth and change, while others are grateful to see the town hang on and survive.
I learned it all from Branden, who’s stayed rooted in Elmdale through trying times.
He took me for a tour, and after our walk, he brought me into his workshop before I left town.
I got to see the thriving business he’s built for himself— but he reminded me that everything he does, is for his family that he’s looking after.
In Elmdale, it’s at times hard to ignore, as tribulations of the past still permeate today,
But thirty-nine people call the town home, and they’ll continue to fight for their place.

From Afar

Drivers walked over caked in dust after racing their laps,
Parents lined up to shake his hand one by one.
Kids whispered and pointed, while they peered from afar,
I was the only one who didn’t know who this man was.

From the stands, to the dirt-turns, to front and center at the track,
It didn’t matter where he went to spend a moment to watch.
Once he was spotted from the crowd, a queue would form at his back,
All that I saw was exactly who this man was.

The Cuba Pitstop

I was coming in just as he was heading out, and I could see that he was in a rush.
I drove a few hours in the same pouring rain, except I had a roof on my car.
I had a feeling we were on similar Small Town adventures, and he confirmed that I was right.
He said he wasn’t conducting interviews, though, and I laughed, and said neither was I.
A hard sell to him, as the camera swayed from the strap around my neck;
I knew better than to pry too much as he packed up, so I asked for advice instead,
About if he had any thoughts, for my next days on the road,
As I’d be crossing into Nebraska, then Wyoming and Idaho.
He suggested that I stop to explore towns that I didn’t plan to, just because I saw the signs,
To visit a bar around noon whenever I can, to see the different folks who might be passing by.
Not everyone will open-up to a stranger on a whim, but nearly everyone will share a talk;
He started to realize that he was now doing the same with me, and that’s when his engine revved and kicked up.
With an amused grin and a laugh, it was time we said our goodbyes.
I made it for the Cuba Cash Store, and he continued on with his ride.

The Heartbeat Of Town I

(Shared Story)
If you’re reading this story now, it’s likely coming through on a screen,
And that’s the most ironic part, as Cherie digs through it all organically.
She went to find the paper, but it wasn’t from the present day,
Cherie was looking for a story from a few years ago, and she saved the clipping just in case.
There’s something so endearingly old school about her, and I mean that in the most respectful way;
Back home, everyone runs to their phone— in Cuba, Kansas, Cherie goes right to the pen and the page.
Later in the day, I found her at the table, with a few more people from town,
This time, with a different paper in her hands, reviewing national averages, for pricing the store out.
When I asked her why she does everything the way she does, she said if it isn’t broken, then what’s there to change?
A thought that’s hard to challenge, especially in seeing how Cherie operates.
Her job can often feel thankless, from the outside looking in, at least,
It's not that the work that she does is overlooked, it just takes so much more than it seems.
The Cuba Cash Store doubles and triples in its purpose, well beyond the products that line the shelves,
It’s the heartbeat of their small town, and the community has Cherie to thank for upkeeping that.

The Heartbeat Of Town II

At The Cuba Cash Store I

(Shared Story)
When I walked in it was empty, and when I left, the Crew was there.
Not just the three, in this scene, but a few more, who later pulled up a chair.
It seemed so awfully normal, to come to Cherie’s store and take a seat.
To eat a kolache, order a sandwich, and shop for groceries.
Not everyone comes through to buy, some just stroll on in to have a chat,
And throughout my time in Cuba, I found myself continuing to come on back,
Back to visit the Cuba Cash Store throughout the day, and see who might be at the table hanging around,
To learn a thing or two about life, from the people themselves in town.
The later in the day it got, the more full the Cash Store became,
As the townsfolk were getting ready, for the evening Steak Bake;
Where neighbors from near and far, would be meeting across the street at the Cuba Town Hall,
For a big meal, to share some laughs, and to finish off the kegs from the town dance, just a few nights before.

At The Cuba Cash Store II

At The Cuba Cash Store III

A Bit About Bernie I

We shared hours of the day together, exchanging stories from our lives,
She poured me a beer, our laughs blended with tears; Bernie and I got together just fine.
Don’t let the locale fool you, Bernie’s a Chicagoan through and through,
Who has experiences of a different upbringing, that not all the Small Town folk do.
I’m not comparing anyone or anything, and neither does she,
But in North Central Kansas, perhaps it was the Jersey in me.
To find Bernie out in Cuba, and to befriend her so quick.
I know she felt the same, otherwise she wouldn’t put up with my bits.
We rolled through every conversation, poking fun at all the noise,
But we got serious, when we needed; Bernie toured me through town, showing me their way of life.
Her shop is just a few doors down from the Cash Store,
She, too, is set up right in the center of town.
At her antique store, the townsfolk sift through Bernie’s collections,
And from the collections of neighbors, who bring their stuff around.
A consignment shop of sorts, Bernie has something for everyone, and from every decade at that.
Her role in town is much bigger than the store, she’s someone people turn to for reason, a talk, and a laugh.
I saw it all for myself, as we met so many people from the community together that day;
Each one saw Bernie in a different light, but underneath, the ethos was all the same.

A Bit About Bernie II

One of Bernie’s biggest pain points, is the wind turbine company that’s trying to buy up the town,
And by the door, to the store, she displays her opinions proud.
Across Small Town USA, I heard a few similar tales,
About situations that challenge the people, their homes, and their land— and the fights they have to have.
One of the hardest parts is keeping a united front all together, and when one person caves, the hope starts to break.
Cuba’s been holding their own, but Bernie worries that without commitment, things might continue to change.
If the company has their way, there would be more turbines than homes in town,
But bless them in their fight against Bernie and the people of Cuba, who aren’t known to back down.
Just before leaving, I came back to her shop, and was welcomed by the ‘No Wind Turbines’ sign once more.
And when I walked in, she was standing there waiting, with a giant red book by the door,
Filled with photographs from New York City, a proper Bernie-esque gift and goodbye.
Until the next laugh we share together, I trust that she’ll continue on with the fight.

A Night In The Liberty House I

The Liberty House is Pat’s home, a bed and breakfast, and an antique shop, all-in-one,
Where nearly everything is for sale, except for where guests stay, on the top floor.
When I arrived, we sat at the dining table, and got to talking for nearly two hours.
In the middle of our conversation, Pat grabbed her phone, made a call, and cracked a smile.
She tried sending me off on my own, with a name, a phone number, and an address.
It wasn’t that I couldn’t venture out by myself, I just knew she’d enjoy being there.
After a bit of convincing, we locked up, got in her minivan, and hit the road.
Leaving the downtown of Seward behind us, as we headed towards the outskirts.
To visit her friend, an artist with a studio, that sits on eighty acres of corn and farmland,
That Pat wanted me to visit, so I could get a sense of the life, for an artist out there.
We spent an hour or so together, and then Pat and I continued to venture on.
She took the backroads, in the other direction, as the sun set deep into the clouds.
Pat’s a student of the past, and quite the teacher, too.
The further out we drove, the more she shared, about the local history that she knew;
Remember those books, about counties and towns, that they sell at bookstores?
Pat wrote one of them about Seward, Nebraska—the place she’s long called home.
She covered centuries in a few miles, making sure I understood each topic she opened up to explain,
But in between the lessons, Pat continued to glance over at the gas gauge;
It was time for us to start to make our journey, back towards town,
With a few more stops, along the way, then it was time to put our heads down.

A Night In The Liberty House II

When we made it back to The Liberty House, a few hours had already passed on by.
My day started nearly two hundred miles away in Kansas earlier that morning, and the next day, Pat had a long drive.
We said we’d call it a night, but we walked into her house through the shop door,
Where Pat had to finish up some work, and our conversation naturally continued some more.
She sat behind the register, by her computer at the desk,
Reviewing paperwork and receipts, that she prefers to compile by hand.
I toured her famed store for the first time in full, as gentle, old-school music filled the air.
Throughout, we walked ourselves back into conversations, that we never got to fully have.
But we knew there wasn’t enough time that night, for all that Pat and I had wanted to discuss and share.
She’s a different kind of thinker, who has opinions that at times make her unique out there;
There’s no one kinder, or more curious, let alone leading with better intent,
And I think that’s why she fills such a special and important place, for so many people across the Nebraska land.
On the county, and state levels, she’s been recognized all throughout,
For her life-long patronage, and the example she sets for all who come around,
To shop at the store, to stay the night, or to learn from Pat on a small town tour—
Soon enough, the music cut out, and then the lights went out next.
It was time to call it a night, actually this time, and Pat led us back up the stairs.

For Brent I

I was heading for the Sandhills, when I veered off to Clarks,
That’s when I saw her dragging on her smoke, and I pulled over and parked my car.
I introduced myself to Rita, and told her about the adventure that brought me through to her town.
When she put out her cigarette, she invited me in, and we continued our talk by the bar.
The lights inside shined dim, the ceiling hung quite low,
Framed photographs filled the walls of the VFW, a fallen soldier in each one.
While Rita told me stories, I saw her eyes continue to float,
Over to one frame, again and again, that she just couldn’t seem to ignore.
I asked her who he was, but really, I already knew;
Brent’s name is memorialized on the bench outside, where Rita and I first met.
That day, she was setting up for a family birthday party at the VFW, and not long into our talk, they came through the door one by one.
I started getting ready to head on out— but my time with Rita had just begun;
Once her brother and nephew realized, all that Rita and I were talking about,
The two of them jumped behind the bar, and sent us off towards her house.
Earlier she showed me pictures of Brent’s bedroom, and all that she’s done at her home to preserve;
I couldn’t have imagined that I’d get to visit that day, a stranger who just showed up on the road.
We made it for the door, and when we walked out, I offered to drive.
Rita said we were on her turf, turned on the golfcart, and we went for a ride.

For Brent II

For Brent II

We made it over to Rita’s, and the moment I walked through the door,
I could feel everything in her heart, displayed all over her home.
Before we even made it to his room, the frames at the front smacked me right in the face.
Each one, like a ton of bricks, especially with all that we discussed together on the way.
When Rita swung open the wooden doors to Brent’s room, the hairs shot right up along my neck.
It’s nothing short of a museum in there, that Rita maintains by herself.
We went from frame to frame, as she recounted every accolade, photograph, and tale.
I bit my tongue the whole time, because I thought that it might help.
To help fight back the tears, that later poured down as I’d continue on the road—
When we reached the last care package she ever sent him, I wondered how she kept her composure.
All throughout, we spoke about the war, losing family, and what it’s like to mourn,
To actively grieve forever, and the idea of moving on.
It was unique to listen and talk with Rita, especially since we both knew that I just could never understand,
All that Rita’s gone through, is going through, and all that she’ll forever bare.

A Lesson In Reverse I

(Shared Story)
When I asked if I could help, D blew me off quite fast.
He told me he knew what he was doing, and Ronald had himself a laugh.
But he couldn’t laugh too loud, because he knew that D was right,
And if Ronald wanted to learn to use the laptop, he’d have to play it tight.
A humble lesson in reverse, even more humbling to see,
When I noticed who was teaching who, it all came over me;
Lifetimes between the two, faces wrinkling and scrunched.
D teaching Ronald, out of kindness and the promise of free lunch.
I heard it all from Grandma, who works the register at the store.
She arranged this meeting of the minds, after Ronald came through her door,
Asking if she could help him with the laptop, and she said she knew someone who could.
I wonder if he knew it would be him, that he’d be learning from and sitting next to.

A Lesson In Reverse II

The Frontier Days I

(Shared Story)
A dive in on Craig, whose story doesn’t always get told,
While he tells tales of the Small Town past, teaching all who walk through Dobby’s doors.
He’s more of a teacher, than he might himself believe,
And I continuously reminded him, of just how much his work means.
A selfless man dedicated to history, who works nearly every day without pay,
Upkeeping at Dobby’s Frontier Town, asking for but a few bucks in exchange.
As Dobby’s has no funding, but a running budget on donations instead,
Those words printed on the pamphlet, so nobody leaves and ever forgets;
Ten bucks to take the booklet with you, but really, it’s Craig that you get,
Who walks you through the Frontier Town, answering every question you have.
He upkeeps over twenty buildings in town, just as Dobby himself had once planned,
A few decades ago, perhaps hoping for the exact types of exchanges, that Craig and I had.

The Frontier Days II

The Frontier Days III

The Frontier Days