30 Years Ago Today: I saw the Little Town in the Valley for the 1st Time

I wasn't in the best mood when I came back from northeast Kansas with a note on my dorm room door that read, "Call Don Wells, sup't. at Cheney."

I had just completed another interview. It was the spring of 1989, and I had driven all over the state from South Haven to LeRoy to Winfield to Scott City to Jetmore to Ness City, and Horton to name a few.

The view driving from Horton back to Tabor College in Hillsboro, Kansas, was incredible. The hills, the landscape. But I was tired and prayed aloud if I'd ever get a job in an area that wasn't so far away from a larger city.

So, I traipsed down the flight of stairs in the dorm to the payphone and set up the interview. Yes, a payphone. Back when we had to use a calling card and everyone around us could hear the conversation.

I was drained. Missing too many classes and filling up the Olds Calais on a daily basis. But I needed a job, for I was graduating with an English education degree.

I'm not sure what made me apply at Cheney. Was it the visit to the district's booth at the Fort Hays job fair when Russ Busenitz and I drove out there from Tabor College one spring day? No one else went, and there were other potential teachers graduating that spring. Why were we the only two to go?

where it all began

Or did I see Cheney's opening on a paper print-out in the career development office in the TC Library? Spent a lot of time there looking at the teacher openings. Spent a lot of money on stamps too sending out application letters and transcripts. So different from today. I also received by mail, the South Dakota teacher openings bulletin and even had an interview lined up at Miller in my home state once college was out.

But I went ahead and called USD 268 to set-up the interview. It was for Friday, May 5, 1989. I don't remember seeing any students or athletes around, so the interview must have been later in the day. Maybe I requested that time, so I wouldn't miss anymore classes.

My interview began with the 7-12 principal, Dick Wells. No relation to the school's superintendent, Don Wells. This was back when principals and superintendents interviewed the teachers, not a team of potential colleagues (although the Winfield interview was done in that manner due to the team-teaching nature of the position).

what a jewel, this note from Jim Gillett on day one

The Cheney opening was for a 7th and 8th grade literature teacher. Literature. Not really my thing. I preferred writing, grammar, punctuation. And my student teaching experience included 9-12 at Halstead High. Would I want to teach jr. high students? I did have coaching experience with them at Hillsboro Middle School during my college years. So, maybe.

The current literature teacher, Theo Voth, was going to be the 7-12 librarian, so that's why there was an opening. I was reassured she'd be able to guide me if I needed help. Theo also taught public speaking, which the district called oral communications due to certification issues. Since she would be taking over the yearbook, they wanted me to have the public speaking duties. I never got to meet Theo during the interview, but I did get introduced to co-workers, Paula Voth and Jack Goss.

school year #1: 1989-90

Next I had my interview with the superintendent. He was conversational and pleased with my interest in basketball. Seems they'd been wanting a woman on the coaching staff for the high school. And for years that was the norm. Always had to have a female on the bench. You can read more about my coaching and teaching life at Cheney by clicking here on my school website.

Sup't. Don Wells also wanted me to get certified to teach speech, something that would require more college classes. This was almost a deal breaker for me. It had already taken me five years to get the degree I had because I'd changed my major my sophomore year.

But I liked the small school atmosphere of Cheney, the proximity of the classrooms, the size of the town, and its closeness to Wichita where my sister Brenda lived. I agreed, that if offered the position, I would do my best to get as many hours as I could towards that speech certification.

Mr. Wells wrapped up the interview by assigning me an essay. I do not remember the topic. He handed me his pen and told me to sit in his chair behind his desk. We said our goodbyes, and I was to leave when done.

No other interviewer had asked me to do that. It didn't phase me a bit. I had been editor of our college newspaper for two years, so I welcomed the chance show him one of my strengths. I sure would like a copy of what I wrote. Maybe it's in my personnel file.

I had not worn my typical interview outfit that day. Was I tired of it? Was it even clean? Instead, I wore a crisp white oxford type shirt and a black and white skirt. It wasn't new. And after I landed this job, my sentimental nature kept me from giving it to charity until many years later.

That interview outfit: me on the right.
I'm with college pals Julie & Teresa in 1983.
The only picture I've taken with Santa.

Afterwards, I drove around the town to check out the homes and the environment. I chuckled wondering if I could ever live here with all the dips at the intersections. You see, my car had a hook installed in the front of my car in case I ever needed to be pulled out of a ditch. Dad's South Dakota thinking.

I called my sister from the payphone in the southwest corner of the Jim's Foodliner parking lot. I love telling students there used to be a payphone there.

We met on the west side. I remember telling Brenda that I liked Cheney, but there was one teacher I met, a long black-haired lady, and she was quite the whipper-snapper.

Yes, that was my first impression of Paula Voth. Don't worry, I told Paula this story when she retired.

I began fantasizing about having an apartment in west Wichita and driving to work in Cheney. I'd be all grown-up and on my own. Making my own money. Dad would not be telling me what to do.

And that could have happened because Cheney did offer me the job. And I did accept it. And I did go back to take some classes that summer at Wichita State University. Interpersonal communications and introduction to radio and television. Spending more money to make money. Isn't that the saying? But once my Cheney job started, I did not live in Wichita. Cheney became my home.

in the dorm signing the teaching contract

In fact, I didn't even get to pick out my first apartment. Dad, Mom, and Brenda did that. They drove to Cheney during the weekend of my graduation, found me a one-bedroom apartment, and put down a deposit. They saw Wilma Brandes walking among the Jefferson Condos on 2nd Street. I learned later that she was Theo's aunt. Wilma got them in touch with Stan and Darlene Woolf who owned the unit. The rest is history.

When my family came to Hillsboro on graduation day and told me this, can you imagine me being okay with that? I can't either, but I guess I was. One less thing to worry about.

That's how it all began.

Whenever I'm returning to Cheney from Wichita and arrive at the top of St. Joe Road, there's rarely a time I don't recall that day. The day I first drove over that hill. Thirty years ago today.

It's a beautiful scene.

The little town in the valley.

My home.

Where Were You When the Big Things Happened?

Thirty years ago this week, the Space Shuttle Challenger exploded killing the seven astronauts on board. 

Where were you when the Challenger blew up?

I was a sophomore in the library at Tabor College in Hillsboro, Kansas, when students came in talking about it. Soon we surrounded the big screen TV in the student center watching the replays of the tragedy.

This is the event I use to teach the research paper process to my seventh graders, so I’m always aware of its anniversary. Thinking about it this year; however, caused me to chronicle where I'd been during major events.

Here are a few. 

Where were you when Elvis died?

I was playing outside with my best friend Gail and my second cousin Jodi Glanzer.  We were near the tree we played on as a couch since its trunk lay parallel to the ground. Mom came out and told us that he’d passed. Gail and I liked his "Hound Dog" song, so we were a little sad.

But my dad likes to tell a story about what happened that night at supper. He asked Jodi, a preacher's kid, what she thought of Elvis. She replied, “He’s not my type.” We all laughed at her respectful disapproval of Elvis.

Where were you when President Ronald Reagan was shot?

I was on the east stairway of Hitchcock High School when Larry Gilbert, a student a few years older, came in from shop class yelling, “The President’s been shot.” 

Our shop teacher, Coach Mike Satter, must have had the radio on out there, for  teachers didn’t have cable TV in their classrooms back the 80s. Later that night on the news, I remember thinking how bizarre it was for John Hinkley to shoot the President to impress Jodi Foster, the actress.

Where were you when Michael Jackson died?

I was at Conklin Cars in Hutchinson, Kansas, waiting for my Alero to get tured up. On television was a documentary of the life of Farrah Fawcett who had just died that week from a battle with cancer. News reports of emergency vehicles showing up at Jackson’s mansion interrupted the program.

When I got home, my step-daughter Brittany called on the phone and said, “I’m sure sorry about Michael Jackson dying, Melodie.” She knew I was a fan of his music. I was shocked, for I hadn’t heard that he was gone.

Days later I bawled during most of his funeral when it was televised on cable. I scrubbed away cleaning the kitchen and bathroom. Mad—not necessarily because he wouldn't be producing music anymore, but because of the choices he’d made that lead to the demise of his reputation.

Where were you when the OJ verdict was read?

I stood stunned beside my social studies colleague Peter Holton when we’d gathered a bunch of jr. highers into our largest room to hear it. Shock. The entire room. Quiet. No cheers. No sighs of relief. Just mystified by the decision.

Where were you when the World Trade Center was attacked by terrorists?

I was in my classroom teaching. My middle school communication students were critiquing videotapes of their monologue projects. The Today Show would come on between me switching out the tapes, so we heard the reporting of Tower One being on fire. The kids wanted to watch it, and I’d told them no and that we had stuff to do, so we kept on with our critiques. That was the class of 2007. Tiane DeVore, Kurt Lehner, Bill Rhodes. Some of the faces in that morning group.

Not until class break did I hear from other teachers what was going on. I tried to go on with my day as normal; however, some teachers watched the coverage all day long with the students. I’m glad I hadn't stopped to watch that morning, for I wouldn’t have wanted to be responsible for young eyes seeing that second tower hit.

By mid-afternoon, teachers stood looking out the south windows of the school. Cars lined up out onto Main Street of our tiny town to get gas. I waited in line over 20 minutes that evening.

We shut off our motors and stood outside talking while waiting to pull up to the tank. I knew the man I stood by but can't remember who he was. We stood, Amercians, together. Talking, wondering, concerned. A crisis made us pause. 

The manager of the station came out twice to change the price on the sign. A few murmured at her. She was following orders from corporate. We all knew that, but it was disconcerting.

I was supposed to meet with my neighbors' brother-in-law that evening to discuss the addition of a garage to my home. We never met. Everyone hunkered down and stayed home. Then the reports of the heroics of the Pennsylvania plane came in. I sat in my house. Alone. And cried. Cried for America. Part fear. Part pride.

Did you wait in line during the 2000 presidential election between Gore and Bush?

I did. In small-town middle-America. I voted in the evening after basketball practice. I’d never seen our poling area filled with chairs and people let alone a line outside the police station, our poling place. I sat next to Jessa Albers, wife of a former student and now our school nurse. It's where we met. The turnout was incredible. Again, Americans. Together for a common purpose.

Something tells me election day will be like that again.

What details do you recall from the events I mentioned?

Cherishing Those Lottery-Like Moments

I've won the lottery all-life long.

I hit it when I was born. My parents were seasoned, for they'd already raised three other children. My mom said she was thankful for me, a healthy breach baby of barely six pounds. Because of my size and near jaundice condition, I remained in the hospital for four days while Mom got to go home.

When I turned six, Mom threw me a party with a few of my cousins, church kids, and some school friends. After games and food, we went outside. When Dad wheeled a brand new bike around the corner, I thought I'd hit the lottery. I had no idea I was getting it. I'm not sure where they'd kept it hidden. Maybe at my brother's? Church friend Jimmy Joe Weems said, "That's nothing," when he saw the bike. He hopped on it to show how he could drive it without training wheels. He ran into the gas pumps.

In fourth grade, we were assigned to draw something representing our birthday month. I did as Mom suggested and drew a flag for July. Mrs. Schneider picked my picture as the winner. I don't remember any prize for it except her saying it, but I felt like I'd won the lottery. It was nice to be praised. I've kept that flag all these years. 

In high school when I earned the honor of representing my school at Girls' State in the summer of 1983, I was shocked. I was not the smartest in my class, nor the second smartest, or the third. But politics fascinated me, even back then—and not just in election years. My essay caught the eyes of the judges, and I got to go.

I bawled when Mom drove me there, for I was so scared. I'd never gone to an event with all strangers and stay over night for four days. A girl from my church, Heather Mendel, was attending, but we'd be in separate groups. I knew our paths would never cross. In addition, the NBA finals were on TV that week. I didn't want to miss them. This was the year Dr. J earned his ring, and I heard about it on the radio that night. I think I cried myself to sleep because basketball was such an important part of my life back then.

Me: in back, 2nd from left. My roommate, Heidi Shanard: front row, green skirt.

I did enjoy the week though and reported back to the American Legion. I remember them saying, "We've never heard anyone enjoying this quite like you did, Melodie." Their response made me happy. Seems we'd both hit the lottery.

When I landed the job at Cheney, I felt God's favor again. How many first year teachers are lucky enough to live near a big city but enjoy the safety of small town life? Years later, Superintendent Don Wells told me I'd yelled into the phone with excitement when he made the offer. I was pretty excited, for I'd been driving all over the state for interviews. But when I drove to the top of the highest point in Sedgwick County and saw the little town in the valley, I thought this place might be the one. And it turns out, it was. I got to teach English. To kids. It was work, but it didn't seem like work once I got the hang of it. And I was an assistant girls' basketball coach, part of a winning program that went to state six years straight. I'd hit the lottery.

And now decades later, with my match.com husband and a little grand baby in our world, I feel once again that I've won the lottery. Dad is 91 and healthy. Our dogs, my favorite companions, are always nearby. Family seems nearby too thanks to FaceTime. Boredom and loneliness don't visit me much anymore. And I've got this writing gig going—this place to share my thoughts. Life seems good.

I call these blessings. Some would say, the favor of God. Others would say just luck. But tonight, hours away from the Powerball announcement, I'll call it winning the lottery because when my $2 ticket doesn't win tonight, I'll still be rich with these blessings, these memories, these relationships.

Money can't buy that.


What memories, honors, or events are priceless in your life? Ever bought a lottery ticket and fantasized what you'd do with the winnings?

Web's Lifesaving Personality Touches Many

The landscape of my work place, our school, has changed in more ways than one. Besides a big renovation, a beloved coach and teacher and an uncle-type figure of mine has retired. I won't hear "Mornin' Sunshine," his nickname for me, the gal who coached middle school girls' basketball with him for eight terrific years. I won't see his arms swaying as he walks to the gym with his jingling set of keys. I won't see him patting a kid on the back or putting his arm around someone for comfort. We will see him around town though, as the newest addition to the City of Cheney work crew.

Welcome again, Circle of Life guest blogger, Amy Wallace, as she shares what made her connection to Randy Weber extra special.

Web's Lifesaving Personality Touches Many

Guest Post by Amy Wallace

In the Circle of Life, many things are inevitable. Change is one of those things. You know it is a part of life, but it’s hard.

This is a tribute to my friend Randy, who is retiring after 41 years of teaching. 

Randy began his career in 1977 in Zenda, Kansas. There, he taught alongside another recent college graduate by the name of Casey Jones. Casey grew up in Kingman and is my uncle. Once Randy stayed at my grandparent's house in Kingman when stranded in a snowstorm.

Randy Weber (photo courtesy of USD 268)

In 1979 Randy moved to the job in Cheney. I first worked with him when I was the curriculum director at Cheney in 2001.

We quickly made the association to my uncle, and it was fun to have someone in Cheney with an instant connection to my family.

I didn’t see Randy every day back then, but when I did, he always greeted me with “What’s in your Wallace!” It was a twist off the Capital One commercial that was popular then, and it always ended with “what’s in your wallet.” (Click here for an ad with the phrase).

That was Randy’s specialty—nicknames for everyone. When I became principal at Cheney Middle School three years later, he told he needed a more professional nickname for me. From then on I was "Miss Aim."

As a teacher, Randy has all those skills that can’t be taught to teachers in training. First, he loves kids. He loves middle school kids. You simply can’t teach a person how to do that.

Weber & basketball player Reanna Woodard in 2003

He worked hard to connect with kids and get to know them. By doing this, he motivated them in ways we would never think possible.

As a colleague, Randy was the best kind. I counted on him to do anything that was needed. If I needed a class covered, he was there. Needed someone to take an extra duty? Work an event? No problem. Come early, stay late, clean a toilet. Absolutely anything.

And he never expected anything in return.

To a principal, this kind of person on your staff is a lifesaver. We can’t survive without people like Randy around because something always needs to be done. 

As a friend, Randy always had time. When something was wrong, he could tell, and he would never hesitate to check in on you.

Several years ago I was struggling with a difficult pregnancy and missing a lot of work. I walked into the school after being gone several days. There was Randy ready with a big hug.

Over the years we shared many stories about family. Cars that didn’t run, boats that didn’t work, and everything in between. Even though I didn’t spend much time with his family, I felt like I knew them from all the stories he shared.

I’m thankful he taught my two oldest children. Even though he never taught my youngest, he's always had a special connection with Lizzy. When she was born, he and his wife Christine gave her a ladybug blanket that she still uses daily—and she is seven. Lizzy remembers very well that it was from Mr. Weber. He also always had a treat in his pocket for her whenever he saw her—a fruit snack or a mint.

Several years ago Randy came across some old, grubby life jackets. Randy doesn’t like to throw things away, so he brought them to me and threw them in the back of my truck. They were junk. And for several days, as a little game, we took turns throwing them back and forth into each others' vehicles.

Being the pitcher that I am, I eventually headed straight to the dumpster with them but gave it some thought, and I kept one. As I stared at that life preserver, I realized it symbolized everything Randy was to me as a friend and a colleague.

I decided to save one for Randy’s retirement. I'd planned to talk about him in front of the staff and present Randy with that life jacket as a token of everything he had meant to Cheney, to Cheney Middle School, and to me.

But Randy didn't want a big celebration where he'd listen to people pay tribute to him and then have to give a speech himself.

In his words he wanted to “sneak out the back door.”

And we will honor that, but I will find a way sometime soon to get that life jacket to him. His friendship, his service—a lifesaver to me and many others.


Did Coach Randy Weber give you a nickname? How did he serve as your life preserver? Or, for those who read the blog and don't know Randy, do you have a person that embodies the lifesaver concept like Randy did?

Musical Round of a Different Kind

Guest Post 

by Amy Wallace

Musical Round of
a Different Kind


Family history can uncover fascinating facts and interesting connections. A single piece of furniture, a musical instrument, brought our families together beginning in 1950 and again in the early 1990s.

The First Owners—Claude and Myrtle Wallace

In 1950, Claude and Myrtle Wallace were living in Kingman when they purchased a brand new Wurlitzer piano. Myrtle had a Stephen Foster song book and played a lot of his music. Her favorite song to play, however, was the "Blue Danube Waltz.”

Claude & Myrtle Wallace, the original piano owners

Their only child, Dean, took piano lessons for about a year or less. He stopped lessons when his teacher began playing the piano for the Meade Theater before movies. Around 1960, Claude and Myrtle moved to another home in Kingman, and the piano didn’t make the move. It was sold or given to their neighbor, Mabel Chase.

Dean standing in front of Mabel Chase's home. They were neighbors.

The Second Owner—Mabel Chase

Claude and Myrtle’s neighbor was a widow by the name of Mabel Chase. Mabel is my great-grandmother. She had one child, a daughter named Mary Elizabeth who went by Beth. After Mabel acquired the piano from her neighbors, the Wallaces, she passed it on to her daughter.

Mabel Chase, my great-grandmother.

The Third Owners—Beth and Don Jones

Beth married Ray D. Jones (Don) in 1948. They briefly lived in Kansas City, Kansas, before moving into her mother Mabel’s home on March 31, 1950. Beth and Don are my grandparents.

Their daughter Peggy was gifted at playing the instrument. During her growing up years, her parents never had to ask how her day at school had been. They could tell her mood by the piece she selected and how she played it.

Far right: Don and Beth Jones pictured shortly after they were married.

They would become the third owners of the piano. 

 Photo in front of Mabel Chase’s house with Wallace home in the background.

The Fourth Owners—Peggy and Jim Graber

When Beth and Don's daughter Peggy married Jim Graber in 1973, the piano was given to her as a wedding gift. Peggy and Jim are my parents. It was moved to their farmhouse near Belmont where Mom played it nearly every day. She played for her church, Kingman Mennonite, accompanying the congregation, playing special music, and directing the children’s choir. As the years passed, Peggy and Jim had two children: Amy (that’s me) and Jake, who both took lessons.

This is me, Amy, trying my hand at piano at the age of one.

Here I sit with my mom Peggy who was the fourth owner of the piano.

In 1991, I began dating Sean Wallace. One day we took his grandmother, Myrtle, to my parent’s home. As soon as the 93-year-old woman walked in the door, she spotted something across the room. “That’s my piano,” she said.

Sean and I exchanged a confused glance. How could a woman this age whose eyesight is less than perfect have any idea what piano this was? But she was determined. She walked directly to it, looked it over, and touched the wood and the keys.

“This was my piano,” she said again. And she began to talk about the piano, the sale of it, and the story began to unfold. It had been almost 38 years since she sold that piano to her neighbor Mabel.

The Fifth Owners—Amy and Sean Wallace

In 1996 Sean and I were married. For several years the piano remained at my parents’ home in Kingman where Mom continued to play it, and the grandkids enjoyed having recitals on it. In the mid-2000s our oldest daughter Macy began to take lessons, and my parents gave the piano to us. We moved it into our home in Cheney.

My children with the piano in

its current home in Cheney, Kansas.

When Claude and Myrtle sold the piano back in 1960, I imagine they assumed they would never see it or hear about it again. But it ended up in the living room of their grandson and then played by their great-grandchildren.

Back in 1950 their families were connected by nothing more than geography. But today their families are united by love, marriage, and family.

What an amazing legacy they left for us.

Do you have any special family heirlooms? What is the most interesting story you have learned about your family history?

About Amy Wallace

Music has always been a part of Amy

Wallace's life. As the 1995 Miss Kansas runner-up, she

sang a solo for the talent portion of the pageant.  This
professional woman, wife, and mother of three
continues to perform musically for her church,
work, and community. This is her second
Circle of Life story for the blog. To read

more about Amy and to read the first  post, click here.