The 2004 Kansas Tour

Can you really call something with only two stops a tour? I think you can, especially if one stop is Manhattan. Mind you, since this Manhattan was the one in Kansas, I suppose it's open to debate. 

Barbara and I flew into Kansas City, rented a car, and headed for The Little Apple on Thursday, September 30. Our destination was The Great Manhattan Mystery Conclave, and we were just in time for a fabulous Kansas sunset. They're qualitatively different with those infinite horizons.

I hadn't been to Manhattan in a lot of years. I went to Kansas State for one semester, then continued to visit buddies, but we all graduated or gave up long ago. So I got confused on the way into town. I stopped at one of those ubiquitous American quick markets that usually sell gas and snacks and everything but what you went there for. I needed directions, and the minute I asked, it was clear to me we were back in Kansas. Everyone in the store stopped what they were doing to be sure we knew where we were, where our hotel was, and how to navigate from one point to the other. Not that people in Tucson's stores aren't polite. They're just not as likely to have the time or inclination to get so personally involved.

The first Great Manhattan Mystery Conclave was a delightful success. We met hundreds of wonderful people, discovered all sorts of writers who had to be added to our to-be-read piles, and otherwise thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. I managed to find a few minutes to explore town, campus, and Aggieville -- why, I even recognized some of it.

Before leaving Tucson, I asked my friends on Kansas-L how the weather was back there.  Long sleeves or short sleeves?  Cheryl Brooks wrote back.  "You do remember!!! Long sleeves, short sleeves. At any time of year, the answer is YES as usual. <grin>" 

And she was right. We went from lovely mid-seventies to a record frost in our three days in Manhattan, and nearly back again. 

We drove down to Wichita for our second event on Sunday.  Nancy Mehl had written a lovely review of Plains Crazy for Sunday's Eagle. As a result, people kindly showed up for the signing at Watermark Books on Monday evening. And, as always, when we spend time in a great bookstore, our to-be-read piles gathered more selections. 

Before the signing, and our unfortunate need to catch an early flight back to Tucson the next morning, we found time for a frantic drive to Benteen County (Reno, actually) and a quick tour of part of my old stomping grounds. Other folks are stomping them now.

It's an odd feeling, no matter how you feel about the abortion issue, to find a billboard practically in the front yard of the place you remember as home on which someone has depicted the body of a bloody, dissected child.  Our barn fell down a couple of years back, too. It's just lying there, now, slowly rotting into the earth. Having been trained in archaeology, I should be comfortable with that -- but I'm not. Like Thomas Wolfe said, You Can't Go Home Again.

My favorite singer/songwriter, John Stewart, made it even clearer in "Kansas" from The Phoenix Concerts album. "You can't go back to Kansas," he specified, "because that was yesterday."

Well, maybe I can't go back, but I can pass through--on tour. 

JMH, November 2004