Fall 2022 Journal

THE JOURNAL

(Print edition: ISSN 2328-4366; Online edition: ISSN 2328-4374)

is published quarterly by the Kansas Leadership Center, which receives core funding from the Kansas Health Foundation.

The Kansas Leadership Center (KLC) is a non-profit organization teaching that leadership is a skill that can be developed through learning and practice. The principles and competencies covered at KLC can help anyone hone the skills needed to confront problems that exist in organizations and communities.

KLC is different in that it focuses on helping people from all positions, backgrounds and sectors learn the same four competencies of leadership.

KLC MISSION

To foster civic leadership for stronger, healthier and more prosperous communities in Kansas and beyond.

KLC VISION

To be the center of excellence for leadership development and civic engagement.

THE JOURNAL’S ROLE

To build a healthy 21st Century public square for all to lead.

KANSAS LEADERSHIP CENTER

BOARD OF DIRECTORS

David Lindstrom

Overland Park (Chair)

Julia Fabris McBride, Matfield Green (Interim President & CEO)

Jill Arensdorf, Hays Tracey Beverlin, Pratt Gennifer Golden House, Goodland Ron Holt, Wichita

Karen Humphreys, Wichita Susan Kang, Lawrence Mary Lou Jaramillo, Merriam Peter F. Nájera, Wichita

Patrick Rossol-Allison, Seattle, Washington

Frank York, Ashland

EXECUTIVE EDITOR

Chris Green 316.712.4945 cgreen@kansasleadershipcenter.org

CIVIC ENGAGEMENT MANAGER

Maren Berblinger 316.462.9963 mberblinger@kansasleadershipcenter.org

DIRECTOR OF COMMUNICATIONS

Sam Smith 316.712.4955 ssmith@kansasleadershipcenter.org

SENIOR DIRECTOR OF CIVIC ENGAGEMENT

Shaun Rojas 316.712.4956 srojas@kansasleadershipcenter.org

ART DIRECTION + DESIGN

Craig Lindeman lindemancollective.com

PHOTOGRAPHY

Jeff Tuttle Photography 316.706.8529 jefftuttlephotography.com

CONTRIBUTING EDITORS

Stan Finger

P.J. Griekspoor

Kim Gronniger

Jerry LaMartina

Joel Mathis

Mark McCormick

Amanda Vega-Mavec

Dawn Bormann Novascone

Michael Pearce Barbara Shelly Mike Sherry

Beccy Tanner Keith Tatum Mark Wiebe

COPY EDITORS

Bruce Janssen

Shannon Littlejohn Laura Roddy

CONTRIBUTING WRITER

Roxie Hammill

CONTRIBUTING PHOTOGRAPHERS

David Kaup

Luke Townsend

WEB EDITION

klcjournal.com

SUBSCRIPTIONS

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CHANGE OF ADDRESS

Update contact information or unsubscribe online at klcjr.nl/updateinfo.

KANSAS LEADERSHIP CENTER

325 East Douglas Avenue

Wichita, KS 67202 www.kansasleadershipcenter.org

JOURNAL THE

CONTRIBUTORS

KEITH TATUM Columnist

Keith is a native Kansan, born in Manhattan and raised in Topeka. He has dedicated his career to public service and empowering every voice within our community. He holds a master’s degree in public administration from the University of Kansas and a bachelor’s degree in psychology from Washburn University. He and his wife, Teresa, live in Topeka and have a blended family of 10 children and one grandson.

JOEL MATHIS Contributing Editor

Joel is a freelance writer who lives in Lawrence with his wife and son. He is both a reporter and opinion writer who covers topics that include technology, politics and popular culture. He currently blogs at joelmathis.substack.com.

BARBARA SHELLY

Contributing Editor

Barbara is a veteran journalist and writer based in Kansas City, Missouri. She specializes in reporting on education and health care. Her work has appeared in the Kansas City Star, where she worked on staff as a reporter, columnist and editorial writer, and more recently KCUR public radio, Flatland, The Pitch, The Huffington Post, The Week and the Community College Daily.

Watching Our Mouths

Words are not violence. But in these fraught political times, they certainly matter.

During the hotly contested mid-term election, many of us were inundated with political communication. The political messages we give and receive these days are often strongly worded, designed to speak to lizard brains rather than rationality. Candidates and groups hoping to influence you know they’re often fighting a losing battle to hold your attention.

The problem happens when political hyperbole drifts into apocalyptic language or dehumanization. Partially because of that, we currently have a political system where Americans are less likely to tolerate political differences and have less faith in working things out through the ballot box. As many as 1 in 4 Americans, according to a poll released last January, say it’s sometimes OK to use violence against the government, with 1 in 10 saying violence is justified “right now.”

One way to counteract political propaganda is to pay heed to how our buttons are being pushed. You probably can’t help repeating your side’s talking points every so often. But you can manage your triggers and force yourself to hold and test multiple interpretations.

How do you know when political messaging goes too far? One tell is that a victory by the other side is equated to the end of the world. You might hear that if Democrats win, it will result in the shredding of the Constitution and the end of America. (More than one candidate who ran this fall said something along these lines.)

If you’re a Republican, you most certainly won’t like many of the governing choices being made if Democrats win. But the past two years haven’t ushered in a woke, socialist dystopia in the U.S. either. Facing considerable constraints, Democrats have sacrificed some of their liberal priorities to focus on items with broader appeal. And they may have to give up power anyway.

Another clue to look for is when a group gets caricatured. Perhaps you know someone willing to argue that all Republicans are racists. How anyone thinks they can see into the hearts of tens of

millions of voters to know exactly what they believe is beyond me. There’s no doubt many Republicans have different views on issues related to race, ethnicity and unity than many Democrats. But it’s also true that the views of both sides can resonate across racial and ethnic lines. It’s telling that President Donald Trump, despite withering criticism about some of his statements, increased his support among Black and Hispanic voters in 2020, compared with 2016.

That doesn’t mean that elections don’t have very serious consequences. Efforts to cast doubts on elections when we don’t like the outcome are troubling, as is continued insistence, despite evidence to the contrary, that the 2020 vote was decided by fraud. Kansas voters seemed to reject these concerns in the August primary in the race for secretary of state, but voters around the country could make different choices this November.

Through it all, remember that you can be a partisan and watch your mouth at the same time. Don’t fall into the trap of describing the other side in less than human terms or saying that a political party’s victory will usher in an apocalypse. The odds are it won’t, and there will be other elections in two years and four years, where fortunes can be altered again.

When we see exaggerated political language being used, we should call it out and encourage those expressing it to reframe their views. They don’t have to change too much. You can strongly criticize what you disagree with without demonizing the people with whom you disagree. And if we’re truly exercising leadership on this topic, then we should hold our own side accountable first. Saying that someone has the wrong ideas might not feel as gratifying as saying they are dangerous or evil. But it certainly makes it easier to contemplate living in a world where your side’s power ebbs and flows.

Sure, politics can be about getting what you want done. But unless it’s also about keeping our social ties strong amid change, our politics won’t serve anyone well for very long.

LETTER FROM THE EXECUTIVE EDITOR CHRIS GREEN

CHRIS GREEN EXECUTIVE EDITOR

WITH POLITICAL COMMUNICATION TENDING TO EXTREMES, MANAGING OURSELVES MATTERS MORE THAN EVER.

BY: BARBARA SHELLY

Cowley College was established in 1922 as Arkansas City Junior College. For 30 years, it existed in the basement of the Arkansas City High School. In 1950, Galle-Johnson Hall was built, the beginning of today's 15-acre campus in downtown Ark City.

CHANGES IN HIGHER EDUCATION: COMMUNITY COLLEGES

A different kind of animal reaches a

CROSSROADS

KANSAS’ 19 COMMUNITY COLLEGES OFFER A PATHWAY FOR 96,000 STUDENTS TO PURSUE POSTSECONDARY STUDIES. THEY HAVE LONG BEEN AN AVENUE OF OPPORTUNITY FOR FIRST-GENERATION AND IMMIGRANT STUDENTS, AND THEIR INVESTMENT IN ATHLETICS AND CAMPUS LIFE PUTS THEM ON THE CUTTING EDGE OF WHERE TWO-YEAR INSTITUTIONS MIGHT BE HEADED ACROSS THE COUNTRY. BUT PRECIPITOUS ENROLLMENT DECLINES, AGING CAMPUSES AND FUNDING STRUGGLES CLOUD THE FUTURE OF THESE INSTITUTIONS, WHICH ARE OFTEN ECONOMIC LINCHPINS IN SMALL CITIES.

Photo by Jeff Tuttle

If Joe Blake had followed family tradition, he’d have headed for the University of Kansas straight out of high school. His parents are KU graduates and his older brother and sister enrolled there as freshmen.

But when Blake graduated from Hutchinson High School in the spring of 2020, he drove south to Arkansas City and Cowley College, a community college whose campus fits into a few blocks of a sleepy downtown.

Blake had his reasons. He’d been a star tennis player in high school, and Cowley offered him a scholarship and the chance to continue competing. He also had his sights set on a sports broadcasting career, and Cowley has a strong mass communications program. Blake plans to complete his bachelor’s degree at KU’s School of Journalism.

As he finished up his time at Cowley, Blake had no regrets about first going to a rural community college with an enrollment of about 3,600 students.

“I ended up being the voice of Cowley soccer this year,” he says. “And the tennis has been phenomenal.”

Blake is one of about 96,000 students who connected with a Kansas community college last academic year for credentials that include associate’s degree courses or training certificates. His experience highlights why public two-year schools are popular and, for many students, essential, even as the schools face headwinds.

Lawmakers and others in Kansas are calling for affordable education opportunities beyond high school. Current and prospective employers depend on community colleges to equip workers with the training and knowledge to thrive in today’s economy. Lawmakers recently created and expanded the Kansas Promise Scholarship program, which provides a free education at community colleges and technical schools for qualifying students in high-demand fields.

Yet enrollment at Kansas community colleges has plummeted in recent years. Campuses are

aging and funding is a persistent headache. As the state’s community college network moves into its second century of providing affordable postsecondary education for Kansans, questions about its viability grow more acute.

“We need advocacy,” says Dennis Rittle, who served as president of Cowley College for seven years before departing the post in July for a job in Arkansas. “We’re always fighting for the crumbs and trying to make sure we can keep our doors open and our bills paid, versus really getting out there and changing Kansas in a positive way.”

KANSAS COMMUNITY COLLEGES ARE PLENTIFUL, RESIDENTIAL AND SPORTS-FOCUSED

The birth of community colleges in Kansas dates to 1919, when college-level programs were established as part of public school systems in Garden City and Fort Scott. A 1965 state law enabled two-year schools to operate

independently of school districts, with their own governing boards and taxing authority.

From the start, community colleges presented an option for high school graduates who weren’t willing or able to attend a more expensive fouryear university. Over time, the schools moved into the workforce domain, offering training and job certification to adults of all ages. Across Kansas and the nation, community colleges are a leading avenue of opportunity for low-income, first-generation and immigrant students.

Today, 19 public community colleges are scattered throughout Kansas, and most have multiple locations. In addition, the state has seven technical colleges, which offer workforce training but not, usually, general college courses.

Compared with nearby states, that’s a lot of schools. Missouri, with a larger population, has 14 public two-year colleges. The Association of Oklahoma Community Colleges lists 12 members.

Johnson County Community College, with a sprawling campus in Overland Park and a reliable stream of income from a sales tax in the state’s wealthiest and most populous county, served about 26,000 students in the 2021 academic year. That’s a larger head count than the Kansas Board of Regents reported for any of the state’s public universities.

But JCCC is an outlier. Most Kansas community colleges are located in rural areas and serve about 2,000 to 3,000 students on their main campuses.

And those schools are notably more residential and sports-focused than most of the nation’s community colleges.

While only about one quarter of the nation’s 936 public community colleges have on-campus housing, according to research by the American Association of Community Colleges, dorm options in Kansas are nearly universal. Only JCCC is exclusively a commuter campus.

And while about half of the nation’s two-year colleges have intercollegiate athletic programs, every community college in Kansas offers men’s and women’s athletics.

“Athletics is important to community colleges in Kansas,” says Carter File, president of Hutchinson Community College. “It’s one of the ways we can really integrate ourselves into the community and something the community can take pride in.”

In some ways, Kansas community colleges have existed for years as a model for what colleges in other states wish to become.

“What I have learned is that rural colleges really need two things – they need athletics and they need residence halls,” says John Rainone, president of Mountain Gateway Community College in Clifton Forge, Virginia, who just wrapped up a term as chair of the American Association of Community Colleges Commission on Small and Rural Colleges.

“If

really want students to think about us as a first option, I do think students are expecting

we

Former Cowley College President Dennis C. Rittle doesn't think the state's community colleges are meeting their potential:

Photo by Jeff Tuttle

“We’re always fighting for the crumbs and trying to make sure we can keep our doors open and our bills paid, versus really getting out there and changing Kansas in a positive way.”

that we have some of the amenities that fouryear colleges have,” he says.

On-campus housing and the chance to play sports bring students from around the world to small Kansas towns like Arkansas City, Parsons and Concordia. They provide activities and entertainment and youthful energy to aging rural communities.

But as Kansas’ experience demonstrates, sports and dorms alone aren’t enough to keep small community colleges relevant in a turbulent economy.

WHAT HAPPENED TO THE STUDENTS?

Despite an ongoing push to enroll graduating high school seniors in some kind of postsecondary academic or vocational program, the overall enrollment in the state’s community colleges has been declining for at least 10 years.

In 2022, a total of about 96,000 students signed up for college credit or vocational courses at the

19 community colleges. That’s nearly 16% fewer students than in 2017, according to Kansas Board of Regents data. Some community colleges have seen enrollment drops approaching 30%.

The picture over 10 years looks even worse. Based on a report issued in March, community college enrollment dropped by 27%, while enrollment at the state’s public universities dipped by about 3%. The smaller technical schools fared much better, with a recorded increase in enrollment of 61%.

Community college enrollments have always been tied to economic trends, often to the schools’ advantage. Laid-off adults rushed to campuses during the Great Recession, for instance, seeking to upgrade their skills and credentials.

But that kind of bounce didn’t happen in the pandemic, when classes were remote and the federal government was offering generous unemployment benefits. And in the current economy, employers desperate to fill job openings are waiving education and training

requirements that students have traditionally obtained at community colleges.

“We hear all the time from our area industries, our regional industries: ‘I just need somebody who’s going to show up for work every day, and pass a drug test,’” says Marlon Thornburg, president of Coffeyville Community College.

The effects of the labor shortage are hitting some of the schools’ most popular programs, such as a collaboration between Coffeyville and Pratt community colleges that trains high school graduates to install and repair electrical power lines.

In just two years, for a little more than $25,000 in tuition, fees and living expenses, an in-state student can graduate with an associate’s degree and a certification for a job that pays a starting salary of nearly $50,000. After a fiveyear apprenticeship, earnings exceed $77,000, according to KSDegreeStats.org, a tool created by the Kansas Board of Regents.

But right now, many students aren’t staying for two years.

“The companies need workers,” Thornburg says. “After the first year of the lineman program, a lot of kids do an internship that first summer. And if they do well on their internship, those companies don’t want the kids to go back to school. They’re hiring them right now.”

SKEPTICS AND CHAMPIONS

The steady enrollment declines feed an undercurrent of discussion about the viability of Kansas’ system of small, independent community colleges and the way they’re funded. “Kansas has stagnant population growth, fewer Kansans in the workforce, shrinking rural communities and an overall aging population,” says Kansas Rep. Kristey Williams, a Republican from Augusta, who has questioned the cost and necessity of supporting 19 community colleges.

Community college sports teams across Kansas help with their schools' branding and reputation. This past season, Cowley College's baseball team defeated Kansas City Kansas Community College in the Plains District championship game – in which Ty Hammack, of Edmond, Oklahoma, got a round of low fives after hitting a home run – enroute to the NJCAA World Series. Photo by Jeff Tuttle

Williams, who responded to questions in an email exchange, notes that the two-year school in her district, Butler Community College, lost 30% of its enrollment in the past decade.

“Many students are moving to online options, which provides a source of revenue but doesn’t require the large footprint necessary when enrollment was in-person and growing,” she says.

Alan Cobb, president and CEO of the Kansas Chamber of Commerce, says he is frequently asked about the administrative costs of the community colleges.

“Obviously, Garden City is going to have some programs that are different from Johnson County Community College, so you need some flexibility,” Cobb says. “But do you need a president at every community college? I think we should ask that.”

Talk of mergers of community colleges, or of community colleges and four-year colleges, pops up every so often in legislative hearings or other forums. But because community colleges operate independently without any statewide governing authority, it’s hard to discern who besides a governor would initiate a conversation about consolidation.

“There are people who whisper in the halls. It’s very rarely discussed in a formal setting,” says Heather Morgan, executive director of the Kansas Association of Community College Trustees.

Skeptics and advocates agree on one point: They say the state’s system for funding community colleges is hopelessly outdated.

A cost model created in the early 2000s calls for the Legislature to pay roughly one-third of the cost of instruction and related services for community colleges. The remaining two-thirds is to come about equally from student tuition payments and local property taxes.

But the state hasn’t paid its share for years. In the 2020 fiscal year, state appropriations amounted to less than 20% of revenues for the community college system.

That leaves locally elected boards with the difficult choice of either raising tuition, increasing local mill levies or both.

The reliance on property taxes in particular bothers Williams. She notes that only about 20% of Butler Community College’s enrollment comes from the home county. Most students commute from neighboring Sedgwick County.

“Sedgwick County is the major benefactor of the property taxes paid by Butler County residents,” Williams says.

“I think the coolest part about the Kansas community college network and also the trade school programs is that a majority of them are located in rural areas.”

Many community college leaders say they, too, would like the Legislature to pick up a greater share of their funding and shift the burden off of property taxes. They’d also appreciate more state help with maintaining their buildings and financing new ones.

“Physical building issues are preventing us from educating more Kansans to meet the workforce demands that are acute across the state,” Morgan says.

Community colleges are somewhat hampered when it comes to making their case in Topeka. Few of them can afford lobbyists. Apart from Morgan, there is often no one to take up their cause.

Research has found that, while taxpayers were forking over $13.5 million in the 2016-17 fiscal year to Cowley College, the return on investment in higher lifetime earnings for Tigers alumni and increased business output, was more than three times that. Additionally, the school adds millions to the regional economy in jobs and spending by staff, alumni and collegians like sociology student Sierra Yourist of Ponca City, Oklahoma.

Photo by Jeff Tuttle

Trisha Purdon

Kansas Office of Rural Prosperity

Each college is governed by an independent board of trustees. Unlike in most states, Kansas has no governing or regulating authority for two-year schools. While the Board of Regents governs the state’s six universities – hiring their presidents, setting tuition rates and approving contracts – community colleges make those decisions at the local level.

“The regents champion the universities,” says Rittle. “I’m not bashing them or saying they don’t care about the community colleges. But we don’t have that champion that says, ‘The only reason we’re here is to help you be successful.’”

“I think the coolest part about the Kansas community college network and also the trade school programs is that a majority of them are located in rural areas,” says Trisha Purdon, director of the Kansas Office of Rural Prosperity, a division of the state Department of Commerce.

“They really are the integral resource that these rural communities depend upon,” she says, “not just for new blood coming into the town, but also for ongoing training programs that really ensure that rural communities continually evolve and learn new skills.”

Researchers examined the 201617 fiscal year and found that federal, state and local taxpayers gave Cowley College $13.5 million in that period. The return on that investment, in higher lifetime earnings for students and increased business output, is projected to be $45.8 million.

DISCUSSION GUIDE

1. What barriers keep the factions (legislators, community college officials, local government officials, business community officials, etc.) from coming together to make progress on the health of the local community college?

Of course, plenty of people around Kansas are pulling for community colleges to succeed.

By some measures, investment in Kansas’ community colleges is a bargain. A 2019 economic impact study by labor market data company Emsi found that Cowley College adds $265 million to its region’s economy annually through jobs and the spending impacts of students, staff and alumni.

The same firm, Emsi, found that Kansas City Kansas Community College in Wyandotte County added $182.3 million to its local economy in a given year. That report estimates that students who attended KCKCC in the 2016-17 school year will earn a combined $186.3 million more in pay over their working lives because of the education and training they received at community college.

2. `What are the possible roles for senior authority in these situations? What are potential opportunities for leadership?

3. Leadership is risky. What is at risk for the community that doesn’t take action toward progress?

- By Kaye Monk-Morgan

Because of their scattered nature, many of the achievements of Kansas community colleges never become widely known.

In Concordia, Cloud County Community College was one of this year’s 25 semifinalists for the Aspen Prize for Community College Excellence. The Aspen Institute awards the honor every two years, based on metrics such as retention and graduation rates and success factors for lowincome and minority students. Although Cloud wasn’t one of the 10 finalists, it can still claim bragging rights.

“It’s a great time to be at Cloud, in my opinion,” says college President Amber Knoettgen, who obtained her associate’s degree at the school and played on its basketball team. “When we’re recruiting, we’re able to say that we’re one of the top 25 community colleges and technical schools in America.”

By mid-August, students were filling up dorms at Kansas community colleges and sports seasons had begun. Enrollments still looked low and finances still looked uncertain. But colleges remained secure of their place in their communities.

At Garden City Community College, plans were underway for a new building to expand John Deere ag tech training, and industrial maintenance and welding classes. Students from around the nation and world were coming to campus to play sports or take courses they can’t find at home. In the spring semester, 43 states and 90 nations were represented on campus, college President Ryan Ruda says.

Ruda, who has been at the college for 23 years and served as president since 2019, said he networks constantly in his community to try to make sure the school is responding to needs.

“We are a transfer institution. We are a technical institution. We provide fine arts and athletics,” he says. “Community colleges really try to be all things to all people.”

AN ESSENTIAL RESOURCE FOR RURAL COMMUNITIES

COMMUNITY COLLEGES

Extending a hand

BY: BARBARA SHELLY

WHEN COMMUNITY COLLEGES RECRUIT A DIVERSE MIX OF ATHLETES TO THEIR CAMPUSES, IT CAN CREATE CONFLICTS AND MISUNDERSTANDINGS WITH THE MOSTLY WHITE LOCALS.

BUT IN HUTCHINSON, OUTREACH BY POLICE AND COLLEGE OFFICIALS TO STUDENTS COULD POINT THE WAY TOWARD HEALTHIER RELATIONSHIPS.

Members of the Hutchinson Community College Blue Dragons football team had just arrived on campus in July when the police chief paid them a visit.

If the athletes were expecting a law-and-order lecture, they received something altogether different. Jeff Hooper welcomed them to Hutchinson. He told players that, in his department, good police work is measured not by arrests but by positive encounters between officers and those they have the privilege to serve.

Hooper acknowledged that some of the athletes sitting before him, more than half of whom were Black, might not have a positive impression of the police. Some grew up in tough urban neighborhoods, others in small towns where people of color are closely watched and often harassed.

“Give us a chance,” Hooper said. “Allow us to talk to you and build relationships and connect with you on a one-to-one basis.”

The presence of minority student athletes, such as (at left) Micah Woods from Birmingham, Alabama, in mostly white towns like Hutchinson has led to some encounters with local law officers in which players felt profiled. With that in mind, Hutchinson Police Chief Jeff Hooper made it a point this summer to meet with Hutchinson Community College's football players, welcome them to town and explain that arrests are not how he measures good police work. Photos by Jeff Tuttle

Hooper recalls some of the athletes were clearly skeptical, others suspicious. “Police are evil,” one player said.

Later, Hooper said he was not offended by the generalization. “One of the things I talk to my officers about is that our uniform carries with it baggage,” he says.

“And that baggage is made up of everything you’ve ever read, seen or heard about law enforcement.”

The chief asked the players to keep an open mind.

“I’ve never been Black, and I’ve never been from the inner city,” he said, recalling the conversation later.

“But you’ve never been a police officer and been on a call all by yourself at night where you get a report that an armed subject broke into a house and you have to enter that house on your own not knowing whether you’re going to go home to your family at the end of your shift.”

Hooper’s outreach to students, in collaboration with college leaders, could point a way toward better relationships in other Kansas cities where sports and other opportunities bring diverse groups of community college students to campuses and communities where the population is majority white.

THE CHALLENGES OF RECRUITING

Sports are huge at Kansas community colleges and have been for decades.

Kansas Rep. Kristey Williams, a Republican from Augusta, has asked the Kansas Legislative Division of Post Audit for a report on whether money from state and local taxpayers is used to subsidize athletes from other states or nations. The audit is ongoing.

Beyond the fiscal concerns, some people question why more roster spots aren’t given to Kansas athletes.

Carl Heinrich, commissioner for the KJCCC, says the conference limits teams to 55 out-ofstate football players on 85-player rosters. Other sports have no caps on out-of-state athletes.

campus lucrative for the colleges. Some community colleges offer scholarships to out-of-state and Kansas athletes that can come from fundraising, fees or other methods the schools come up with, Heinrich says. Scholarships are limited to tuition, fees and books, and sometimes room and board, depending on whether a college plays at the Division II or Division I level.

A MEASURE OF TROUBLE

File, president Hutchinson Community College

Athletes arrive in rural communities from around the nation and overseas. Some just want another year or two to be part of teams and play the sports they love. Others hope a good season at a junior college will lead to an offer to compete at a four-year university.

Talented Kansas athletes often have scholarship offers from four-year schools, Heinrich says. To be competitive, coaches have to look elsewhere.

“It’s a challenge for coaches to get their rosters filled every year,” he says.

International athletes often receive aid from their home countries to attend college in the U.S. and play sports, which makes their presence on

At a time when Kansas community colleges struggle with declining enrollments, sports programs guarantee a statewide presence of about 3,000 athletes on campuses, in classrooms and in residence halls.

But sports have also brought a measure of trouble to a few schools.

Hutchinson Community College President Carter File and his wife, Tracey, were on hand at Gowans Stadium in Hutch this fall as the Blue Dragons football team began its season with a 42-0 romp past Navarro College of Corsicana, Texas.

The chief’s welcome was a marked departure from the reception that athletes and other students of color at HutchCC, as the school is called, once experienced. Before Hooper’s arrival in 2018, Black students complained of routinely being stopped and questioned by police when they were out and about in Hutchinson, a city where nearly 80% of the population is white.

“In the past, it happened quite a lot,” says Darrell Pope, past president of the Hutchinson chapter of the NAACP. “We’re talking about being stopped while driving and walking. They’d be out somewhere, and the police would come and hassle them. Or they’d be in Walmart and someone would call the police.”

The Kansas Jayhawk Community College Conference (KJCCC) is one of the most robust chapters in the National Junior College Athletic Association, and Kansas teams routinely compete for national championships in multiple sports.

“For a lot of people, athletics is the lens they see the college through,” says Carter File, president of Hutchinson Community College.

File counts it as a plus that HutchCC’s sports programs draw students from all over. “One of the things we pride ourselves on is that we do introduce diversity into the community,” he says.

“We want to create the opportunity for students to interact with other students of different backgrounds.”

The far-flung range of hometowns on Kansas community college sports rosters does raise some eyebrows.

Photo by Jeff Tuttle

For a lot of people, athletics is the lens they see the college through.

" "

Carter

Twice in the last four years, football players died of heat stroke during practices. Fort Scott Community College, in southeast Kansas, shut down its football program after Tirrell Williams died there. The other death, of Braeden Bradforth, was at Garden City Community College in western Kansas.

Apart from the deaths, lawsuits filed in 2020 and early this year alleged that Black student athletes at Highland Community College in northeast Kansas were subjected to “rampant racial harassment and discrimination.”

The 2020 lawsuit, which the American Civil Liberties Union of Kansas filed on behalf of four athletes, alleged that members of the Highland Police Department, acting as security officers for the college, routinely searched vehicles and dorm rooms of Black student athletes. Police officers used their squad cars to trail Black students while they walked on and off campus, the suit also alleged, and disciplined Black students for offenses more than white students. Ultimately, the parties reached a settlement.

The college agreed to pay students and their lawyers $90,000. Security officers and housing personnel were ordered to take antidiscrimination training.

Still pending is another lawsuit, brought by three former Highland Community College coaches. The coaches contend the college fired them without cause and smeared their reputations because they protested the college’s treatment of Black players.

It also alleges that the school’s now former athletic director told the coaches to “recruit more players who the culture of our community can relate to.” The population of Doniphan County, where Highland is located, is 92% white. Its Black population is about 3%.

In an email, Highland President Deborah Fox said the college “intends to vigorously defend itself” against what she called “baseless allegations” by the coaches.

“Our communities that house the main campus (Highland) and other HCC locations have been extremely positive when interacting with our students,” she said, and added that the people in the community “understand how important all students are to our college and northeast Kansas communities.”

AN INTENTIONAL APPROACH IN HUTCHINSON

In Hutchinson, which also has a Black population of about 3%, leaders say that cultivating positive relationships for both minority students and residents requires an intentional approach.

The college opens its campus to civil rights events such as Hutchinson’s Emancipation Celebration’s gospel fest. And the spring semester begins earlier at HutchCC than many other colleges so that students can engage in local activities for Martin Luther King Jr. Day if they choose, File says.

Hutchinson’s faith community also reaches out to students. Soon after they arrived for training, the HutchCC football team was invited to a meal at one of the Black churches. Black players are shown the way to barber shops and other places where they can feel comfortable.

Pope, the NAACP leader, credits Hooper with creating a positive atmosphere in town. “He’s got a different philosophy,” he says.

Hooper says his philosophy begins and ends with relationships. In Hutchinson, he says, “there aren’t many people who don’t know me or haven’t heard me talk.”

But the community college constantly brings new faces into the community. “So every year we have to try to meet with those new students and try to break through those barriers,” Hooper says.

After the chief’s meeting with the football team, the athlete who had blurted out that “police are evil” trailed behind his teammates to talk to Hooper as he walked out to his patrol car.

“Hey chief,” the athlete asked, “can I ride in your police car?”

“Absolutely,” Hooper said. “Hop in.”

“I drove him back to the dorm,” Hooper says. “A lot of the kids were getting back by that time. He got out and said, ‘Yeah, I got a ride from the chief!’”

Hooper doesn’t know if the encounter will change the athlete’s perception of law enforcement.

“I do know that he’s seen my heart,” he says, “and when I see him on campus, we can have a conversation. He’s going to walk up to me or I’m going to walk up to him. That’s the only way I know how to change the world, is one relationship at a time.”

Before Police Chief Jeff Hooper’s arrival in Hutchinson in 2018, Black students at HutchCC complained of routinely being stopped and questioned by police. Photo by Jeff Tuttle

STEP

BY: JERRY LAMARTINA

CONVERSATIONS

ABOUT RACIAL JUSTICE AND EQUITY HAVE BECOME INCREASINGLY POLARIZED ALONG PARTY LINES. BUT A COMMISSION CHARGED WITH ADVANCING RACIAL JUSTICE AND EQUITY

AFTER THE MURDER OF GEORGE FLOYD HAS FOUND SUCCESS WITH POLICY PRESCRIPTIONS THAT TEND TO GENERATE CONSENSUS RATHER THAN CONTROVERSY.

The journey of a commission charged with addressing issues related to systemic racism began back in July 2020, a mere 60-some days after the murder of George Floyd at the hands of a police officer.

In the months since Kansas Gov. Laura Kelly introduced members of the 15-member Governor’s Commission on Racial Equity and Justice, the group has convened nearly three dozen meetings and published three substantial reports totaling more than 250 pages in length.

The first, which came out in December 2020, dealt with policing and law enforcement. Two reports in 2021, one in July and one in December, dealt with the social determinants of health. With that last document, the commission’s work as a body formally ended.

But in many ways, the group’s leadership challenge was only beginning.

Since the summer of 2020, conversations about race have become increasingly polarized, with controversies erupting over programs to promote racial and social justice, especially in schools. One factor helping drive the flareups has been deep divisions, especially along partisan lines, over whether racism is a problem that mostly lies in the hearts of a few individuals or a societal challenge that requires changes in policy and culture.

The commission was mentioned this fall in a campaign advertisement attacking Kelly for “appointing a woke commission that pushed for anti-policing laws.”

Amid these upheavals, members of the commission have, in recent months, contributed to highly visible efforts to advance a slate of recommendations for actions that Kelly, the Legislature, local governments, law enforcement and other agencies and organizations could take to improve the criminal justice system and increase economic, educational, health, mental health and housing opportunities.

Through its efforts, the commission staked out a middle ground of sorts with legislative recommendations often designed to foster systemic change while transcending the most hot-button topics.

And this past session, despite a contentious political climate, they saw several bills with components related to their recommendations signed into law. A $16 billion budget that Kelly, a Democrat, approved April 20 included a provision extending KanCare’s postpartum coverage from 60 days to one year, a change federal officials eventually signed off on.

Other bills related to the commission’s recommendations didn’t become law but the Legislature discussed them, which gave them attention and started a dialogue, including state policies involving COVID-19, says Dr. Tiffany Anderson, the superintendent of Topeka Public Schools, who chaired the commission with Dr. Shannon Portillo, then a Douglas County commissioner, recently an associate dean of academic affairs in the University of Kansas School of Professional Studies at KU’s Edwards campus in Overland Park and a professor in the public affairs school on KU's Lawrence campus.

On a visit to the Topeka Center for Advanced Learning and Careers, 14-year-old Morgan Barrett got a chance to meet and visit with Tiffany Anderson, the superintendent of Topeka USD 501.The center, created through business partnerships, provides real work experiences through profession-based learning. Photos by Jeff Tuttle

THE CHALLENGE OF ENGAGEMENT

Portillo, who left Lawrence for a position at Arizona State University this fall, says engaging the Legislature has been one of the commission’s “big challenges … to make sure the recommendations we put in front of them that have to do with racial equity make a meaningful difference in communities across the state. This work will be ongoing for years.”

But commissioners also view their engagement work more broadly, looking for ways to connect with more Kansans, including “those who don’t see themselves as criminal justice activists, to step up and play a role and ask how they can address behavioral health problems,” says David Jordan, a commission member and president and CEO of the United Methodist Health Ministry Fund, based in Hutchinson.

That includes people who may not know a lot about the issues, which requires commissioners to build support by working through others, whether they are stakeholder groups or individuals such as faith leaders, community influencers and business owners.

“If we’re able to address some of these longstanding inequities, we’ll be able to be living in a more just and prosperous state,” he says.

SUBTLE BUT SIGNIFICANT CHANGES

The legislation that has passed so far might not grab the headlines. But the support for the measures has been nearly unanimous, suggesting there is at least some space for common ground on topics that can be highly charged.

Still, not all stakeholders are excited to talk about even those areas that have produced consensus. Despite multiple attempts, efforts to reach Republican legislative leaders about areas of agreement on the subject of racial justice and equity were unsuccessful.

In a news release from the governor’s office, State Rep. Brenda Landwehr, a Wichita

Republican, lauded the expansion of postpartum coverage under Medicaid in July. But none of those quoted connected the policy change to racial equity.

“As a mother, I know how important the first year is and this enhanced period of care for Kansas mothers is vital for their mental health, their baby’s health and their families,” Landwehr said. “I am grateful to our state for taking this monumental step to improve maternal health across the state.”

But that doesn’t mean the impact won’t be significant.

Jordan said in a news release that the extended coverage would help 9,000 Kansas mothers a year by “reducing maternal mortality, improving health outcomes and reducing disparities.”

KanCare covers 31% of Kansas births, and 29 organizations signed a letter supporting postpartum coverage expansion, which the federal government allowed because of the COVID-19 pandemic.

The policy itself has nothing do with race or ethnicity. But it could have profound implications for racial equity nonetheless. Kansas has stark racial disparities when it comes to maternal and child health, according to the commission’s first report.

Black, non-Hispanic women have pregnancyrelated mortality rates more than three times higher than those for white women. And infants born to Black women are more than twice as likely to die as infants born to white women.

Another new law, HB 2008, allows the state’s attorney general to coordinate training regarding missing and murdered indigenous persons among law enforcement agencies throughout Kansas in consultation with Native American Indian Tribes, the Kansas Bureau of Investigation, the Kansas Law Enforcement Training Center and other appropriate state agencies. The effort is seen as a way to address the high rates of missing and murdered indigenous women and girls nationwide.

Other statutory changes included SB 127, which addressed driver’s license suspensions while HB 2026 created a drug treatment program for people on diversion.

Anderson sees both short-term and long-term actions that can lead to progress on many of the commission’s recommendations.

These include creating rural opportunity zones, expanding the types of businesses eligible for state tax credits, and providing affordable child care assistance. But she adds that changes requiring governments to spend more money, such as expanding Medicaid, have a fraught history, even though expansion would reduce spending from the state’s general fund on law enforcement and behavioral health.

The commission’s recommendations include data collection and analysis, partly done by the governor’s Office of Administration, Portillo says. Engagement of minority organizations such as the Kansas African American Affairs Commission and the Kansas Hispanic and Latino Affairs

“If we’re able to address some of these long-standing inequities, we’ll be able to be living in a more just and prosperous state.”

David Jordan, president of the United Methodist Health Ministry Fund, sees work of the Governor’s Commission on Racial Equity and Justice as more than just reporting to the Legislature but also connecting with a swath of Kansans. Photo by Jeff Tuttle

Commission also is important for reaching the commission’s goals.

“We can see some of this work spread out for the state,” Portillo says.

She says stakeholders are increasing public awareness of the commission’s goals using methods including social media, live-streamed informational presentations, community agency announcements, listening sessions with community groups, newspaper opinion pieces and editorials, making the commission’s reports available on government websites, learning sessions with law enforcement officials who are people of color, and conducting webinars on the commission’s recommendations “intended to inform and engage the public so they’re empowered to take the next step.”

LEADERSHIP OPPORTUNITIES AND CHALLENGES

Floyd’s death, and the earlier deaths of Ahmaud Arbery and Breonna Taylor at the hands of police officers, prompted nationwide demands for racial equity reforms in the criminal justice system. But the road to creating substantial change can be long and difficult.

The commission’s strength and its opportunity to provide leadership grow from the diversity of its members’ expertise and their ability to share its goals with the people they serve to get them involved in the process, Anderson says.

An important part of the commission’s recommendations addresses “training and mindsets, transformational practices,” including anti-bias training, Anderson says. Unchallenged and unchanged mindsets “create barriers to transformation occurring.”

“I think that’s the largest barrier in any system,” she says. “It’s how you think.”

Anderson focused her doctorate on new school principals’ effective leadership styles. She says leadership can occur regardless of title and formal authority, which is foundational to the

commission’s efforts to involve all Kansans in working toward its goals.

Portillo says the broad range of topics the commission studied and made recommendations for is both exciting and one of the biggest challenges because of how many areas they address. Approaching the problems from the commissioners’ multiple disciplinary perspectives required them to ensure they were “speaking the same language” in making their recommendations.

Leadership opportunities to implement the commission’s recommendations, because they seek to address a wide range of long-standing, systemic and interwoven inequities, require “hard work, determination, focus and multiple partners and stakeholders,” Jordan says.

“The leadership challenge is facilitative to empower partners across the state to take leadership on these issues that resonate with them, that align with their interests and that they have talents and skills to address, and it’s also adaptive in nature,” he says. “The challenges are not technical or simple. They need collaborations to address emerging needs.”

Jordan says it is worth analyzing the Strengthening People and Revitalizing Kansas' executive committee, which oversees the state’s distribution of American Rescue Plan Act funding, with a race and equity lens. This lens can also be applied to all statewide policies.

Asked how the fractured political climate would affect the commission’s work, Jordan says challenges also bring opportunities.

“Not all will engage with all issues in these reports, but there’s an opportunity to engage as nonpartisan,” he says. “We can all work together to move forward recommendations at the local level, which is sometimes easier than at the state or federal level.”

Portillo says none of the commission’s work is partisan, but implementing the recommendations requires working across partisan divides. For example, the idea of

When it comes to racial equity, unchallenged and unchanged mindsets

“create barriers to transformation occurring,” says Dr. Tiffany Anderson who co-chaired the Governor’s Commission on Racial Equity and Justice.

Photo by Jeff Tuttle

having public defender offices in the state’s most populous counties is nonpartisan and would increase economic efficiency. She cited data showing public defenders cost the state less than having appointed counsel.

“But it’s a topic that as we talk about organized public defense, people see it as ideologically leaning one way or the other,” she says. “We’re arguing that this is better for equity outcomes and more economically efficient for the state.”

CRIMINAL JUSTICE

Wyandotte County District Attorney Mark Dupree calls Kelly a visionary for creating the commission when “the criminal justice system as well as the community and state as a whole, and quite frankly, this country, needed it to happen.”

He says educating those in power is the key to a more equitable criminal justice system. The commission assembled experts in various fields, including criminal justice experts in law enforcement and the courts – “boots on the ground and those working with creating laws that would be more equitable for Black, brown and broke folks in the entire community, and then allow them to educate us.” Many of the commission’s recommendations grew from their learning about where systemic flaws are.

Dupree says the biggest obstacle to achieving the commission’s recommendations will be changing the minds of people who are removed from “where things are happening on the ground.”

“Though I’m law enforcement, there’s a difference in what I do and what officers do,” he says. “The disconnect that I had to deal with and humble myself and understand is that I may see things a little different from where I sit.”

Some legislators are “a tad bit removed from where a lot of those touchpoints are,” Dupree says. The task is to convince them less to accept the commission’s recommendations than to accept what the experts told the commission and then advance those recommendations.

Asked how to balance making the criminal justice system more equitable with the system’s responsibility to prosecute those who commit crimes, regardless of their race, Dupree says a holistic approach is needed.

“We historically haven’t had the whole picture in mind but only a case-by-case analysis, which is important to understand as a piece of the puzzle but not the entire puzzle,” he says.

The commission’s goal of a more equitable approach in criminal justice matches “what

we’ve always tried to do, which is pursue justice.”

The difference, though, is pursuing justice by considering all factors that affect it, the “underlying issues that bring individuals into the criminal justice system as well as what happens to them once they get in there.”

Mental health is a good example of those factors, Dupree says. Going back 20 to 30 years, most people disregarded mental health as a criminal justice factor. That view has changed because “now we understand that the vast majority of cases that we deal with in our criminal justice system is predicated on someone being diagnosed with a mental illness.” That translates to 80% of county jail inmates throughout the country having been diagnosed with a mental illness, he says.

DISCUSSION GUIDE

1. Who are the factions that might need to be engaged on this topic? How would you characterize their views, values, and potential gains and losses?

2. From your perspective, how might commissioners work to inspire a collective purpose among all Kansans?

3. How do you see the work of the commission benefiting the culture of Kansas and your life? In what ways might their work challenge you?

4. How might commissioners work to create a trustworthy process that can cross partisan divides?

5. The commission has reported on a variety of subjects, from policing to the social determinants of health. If you were on the commission, what would you choose to focus on?

- By Maren Berblinger and Brianna Griffin

Lacking conversations about the effects of mental illness on the criminal justice system prevents having informed conversations about recidivism, Dupree says. The same is true for drug addiction and drug treatment. Some people need treatment but others “need prison. But to say, ‘Let’s throw them all in prison’ really does a disservice to the pursuit of justice.”

That also applies to equitable treatment in the courts. Without considering race and historical racial disparities, “we’re trying to pursue justice without the whole picture.”

“I tell people all the time that the criminal justice system in our country is the best

criminal justice system in the world,” Dupree says. “However, in any system that’s run by people, since we are flawed, there will be flaws. And that’s OK as long as we’re willing to acknowledge those flaws, educate ourselves and then work to correct it and keep moving."

That notion undergirds the commission’s recommendations, especially in their early stages of implementation but also long term. Anderson says the commission’s reports provide “a bridge between the divisions across the state … because it offers conversations on topics of concern to everyone.”

Shannon Portillo, here conversing with KU Endowment's Scott Zerger, says none of the commission's work is partisan, but implementing its recommendations requires working across partisan political divides.

Photo by Jeff Tuttle

KIDS AND GUNS

Ayoung gunman’s appalling murder of 19 students and two teachers at a grade school in Uvalde, Texas, horrified Kansas teacher Victor Mercado and parent Matt Onofrio. Like so many, both miss the pre-Sandy Hook days when active shooter drills weren’t part of a student’s educational process.

Both also hope people can look past such unspeakable tragedies and see the amount of good that can come from programs that safely bring students and firearms together. Onofrio and Mercado are coaches for clay target shooting teams at Kansas high schools. A fast growing scholastic sport in America, it is also proving safe, according to John Nelson, USA Clay Target League president.

“What those kids did in Texas and Buffalo were terrible tragedies, but they’re so very rare compared to the number of students who benefit from these kinds of programs,” says Onofrio, head clay target shooting coach at Kapaun Mt. Carmel High School. “For every bad kid we read or hear about, there are thousands of success stories with young (target) shooters in Kansas and probably millions across the country.”

Mercado says Maize High School has had as many as 48 students on his school’s clay target shooting team. He’d like to see many more benefit from the program.

“I love to see kids get involved in anything outdoors,” says Mercado, who teaches Spanish and an outdoors education class that introduces students to such pursuits as fishing, camping, hunting and target shooting. “That’s especially true of clay target teams. They have so much to offer.”

He also touts “life-lesson skills” that go beyond what students can learn in a classroom. Mercado’s students learn not only firearms safety and awareness, but respect for others and

themselves, the importance of determination, working as a team and mental toughness.

Most scholastic target coaches say such traits help youth mature into good adults and help keep them from being caught up in the rising tide of teen gun violence.

“I don’t worry about those kids at all for that,” Todd Robinson, a 17-year law enforcement professional, says of the young people he coaches on a shooting team in Concordia. “They’ve learned to understand and respect firearms. They also have something they belong to, a place, the trap range, where they know they’re welcome and included. It’s when kids don’t have that, that we can have some serious problems.”

Opportunities for such “target busting educations” have spread quickly across Kansas and have become amazingly popular.

A FAST GROWING SCHOOL SPORT

Kansas got into high school clay target competitions back in 2016, with 29 schools and 321 shooters. Josh Kroells, the USA Clay Target League Kansas state director, says the recent spring season saw 108 Kansas high school teams put about 2,200 students out on ranges, busting clay targets with shotguns. Another six Kansas schools, with about 170 shooters, who can be as young as sixth graders, have teams within the Scholastic Shooting Sports Foundation. Some teams include students from several schools because not all schools host the activity.

Nationally, the USA Clay Target League began in 2007 with a few Minnesota schools. Now, it’s in 34 states with about 32,000 students participating. Some states, such as Minnesota, have stunning levels of participation.

Participants on Augusta High School's sporting clays team often look as adept as Taylor Gresham even though 40% didn't have access to a shotgun when they started. Coaches have discovered a variety of options

“In Minnesota we have more students shooting clay targets than boys and girls on high school hockey teams combined, and Minnesota is so known for hockey,” Nelson says. “We have 12,000 student athletes shooting targets on about 400 teams.”

BY: MICHAEL PEARCE

Photo by Jeff Tuttle

Nelson says participation is growing at a rate of about 20% annually across the nation. State clay target championships can draw more participants than many other sports.

Most Kansas teams have been started by students, a faculty member or parents. Kroells says schools must approve a program before it can be accepted into the USA Clay Target League. Administrative approval allows a team to use the school’s name and mascot. School financial support varies greatly, but is never enough to cover all costs. Money also comes through team dues, donations and fundraisers. Clay target team participants are subject to all school sports rules such as maintaining good academic and attendance records. School policies forbidding guns and ammo on school grounds are strictly enforced.

Mercado says he’s gotten no negative comments from the Maize High School administration or faculty.

“Our administration is supportive of the shooting team because it gets kids involved in an extracurricular activity,” he says. “They know when kids get involved in a school activity, it gives them a sense of pride that they belong to something. Shooting sports is just one of many activities our school offers.”

Some coaches did face initial challenges when creating a shooting team. Augusta High School just finished its first year of target shooting competitions. Andy Hall, team coach, says it took three years to get the team started.

“We had a principal who didn’t believe in any kind of shooting. We’d make a presentation asking to start a team and we’d get an immediate ‘no’ from her, even though we had an athletic director and several teachers supporting us,” says Hall. “Eventually we got a new principal who was big into youth involvement. We took him and the school superintendent out to shoot some clays and things got rolling. The school board approved our team 7-0. Some members asked why we hadn’t had a team earlier.”

Nelson says some high schools that experienced past school shooting tragedies now embrace their high school teams. Minnesota’s Rocori High School had two students murdered by another in 2003. They’ve had a clay target team for several years. Last spring the school’s team fielded 74 students, says Nelson.

Coaches like Mercado and Hall say they’ve occasionally heard from parents who were leery of anything that combined kids and firearms. Some even had kids on their team. Mercado told of an 18-year-old student who purchased his own

shotgun and parents said he couldn’t bring it into their house. Hall had a parent who was very outspoken, both against her child shooting and the shooting team concept.

“Once she (the parent) really took the time to understand what was going on, and how things were working, she changed her mind,” says Hall. “She’s now a huge supporter of the team.”

“That means we had over 130,000 rounds fired in two days, and nobody got hurt,” says Kroells.

“But that’s not a surprise, because these kids are so well trained as per gun handling and following safeguards.” Nelson says the safety record of the state competition mirrors that of the sport nationally, where millions of rounds are fired annually.

It took Andy Hall, the coach of Augusta High School's clay target team, three years to get the OK from the school's administration to form a team. But that was the big hurdle. School board approval was unanimous.

In both cases, the coaches invited the parents to come see how the team practiced and operated. Those parents eventually became supporters of the programs. The overall safety of the sport has been the deciding factor for many, say Mercado and Hall.

SAFETY FIRST, MANDATORY ACCREDITATION, ZERO INJURIES

On June 18 and 19, the Kansas State High School Clay Target Championship was held at the Kansas Trapshooting Association’s Ark Valley Gun Club, a few miles north of Wichita. Kroells says teams came from 84 schools, totaling 1,363 students. Each shot at least 100 clay targets. Mercado, Kroells and others say the event went very well.

Kroells added that teams have a high ratio of coaches to students. Head coaches must go through training before they can coach with a team.

Paradoxically, injuries in a sport that involves weapons are all but nonexistent when compared with traditional athletic activities.

Jennifer Rolland has two daughters, Emma, 15, and Anna, 13, on Baldwin City’s interscholastic teams.

“You know, we’ve come home from (cheerleading practice) with a couple of concussions,” says Rolland. “They’ve never come home, after four years, from clay target practice with any kind of injury. These kids, and their great coaches, know what they’re doing.”

Kroells and Mercado say no other school sport has better safety preparation.

Photo by Jeff Tuttle

Jake Hall, a member of Augusta High School's clay target team, competed in August at a youth tournament on a sporting clays course at the Sportsman's Training Center near Augusta.

Photo by Jeff Tuttle

All student target shooters must attend and pass an approved, hands-on hunting/shooting safety course to be admitted to a team.

“It’s the only high school sport in America with mandatory safety certification,” says Nelson. “The safety of the participants is always of first and foremost importance.”

Coaches say participants take what they’ve learned to heart.

“The responsibility is not lost on them,” says Mercado. “If someone does slip up, another kid almost always gives them a polite reminder before I can say anything.”

Trap is the main sport for the scholastic target teams. The rules of the game, and the trap courses, are designed for optimal safety. Targets are launched remotely from a single trap house, away from the shooters. Shotguns are loaded one shell at a time and only when it’s a shooter’s turn to try a target. Only one shooter has their gun loaded at a time. They call to get a target thrown when they’re ready.

Shotguns must remain unloaded, and open in a way that would make firing impossible, until it’s a student’s turn to fire at a target. Muzzles are always pointed in a safe direction, even when not loaded. It’s a very regimented and time-honored system (the modern version of trapshooting dates back to the 19th century) that is almost foolproof. Eye and hearing protection are mandatory. Most competitions are held virtually, with scores added online to determine winners, so there’s not a lot of traveling with guns.

ANYONE CAN SHOOT WELL

In addition to being safe, scholastic clay target shooting is an uncommonly inclusive scholastic sport. Athletic or physical skills aren’t needed to succeed.

“We have kids out there, succeeding, who’ve never had a desire to wear a football helmet or baseball glove,” says Hall, the Augusta head coach. “We have kids of all shapes and sizes on

the team. This gives all kids a chance to be part of a high school team and spend some time outdoors.”

Hall tells of being approached by a father of an athletic teen made a paraplegic in a motocross accident, asking about possibly joining the team. They worked to get the boy situated at the shooting line.

“He hit, I think, 12 out of 25 targets. It was something,” says Hall. “He looked at me with a smile I’ll never, ever forget.”

Nelson says that nationally, 39% of clay target league student athletes don’t participate in any other sports. Unlike many school sports, there is no “making the team.” All who go out get to be on the team and shoot at every practice and competition. Practice is more important than pre-team experience. Coaches like Hall say even those who’ve never shot before can quickly become competitive, through good coaching and repetition in as many practices as possible.

Alex Nold shoots for the Piper High School team in Wyandotte County. As an eighth grader, he helped form the team despite having no organized trapshooting experience. When he graduated in May, Nold was among the elite shooters in Kansas.

“It basically comes down to who shoots enough shells, and practices enough to be good,” says Nold. “This is one of the few co-ed sports. Boys and girls compete together. Our top five always had one or two girls in it.”

Hall and Matt Farmer, another coach of Concordia’s team, say teams are open to students of any financial means. Their programs are largely supported by a variety of fundraising events, like chili feeds and raffles. Farmer says kids on the Concordia team earned points based on participation in those events. Those points equaled free ammunition or other needed equipment.

The coaches say money from the fundraisers paid for things like a season’s worth of targets, range fees (if not donated by others), and ammo. Hall says manufacturers sell shotgun shells to

Kenny McCoy joined a Kansas Big Brothers Big Sisters hunting and recreational shooting program at age 13. While the program drew protests from other programs around the nation, McCoy says he learned about the importance of respect for nature, others and himself.

Photo by Jeff Tuttle

teams in bulk, at rates far below retail prices.

About 40% of Hall’s shooting team didn’t have a shotgun when practices began. A variety of options makes sure all on the team get to shoot. Many find a relative or family friend to lend them a shotgun. Conservation groups, like Ducks Unlimited, have donated shotguns to programs as have individuals. Farmer said most coaches own several and gladly loan them to team members.

Many students who decide to stick with the team soon get a shotgun of their own. Sometimes the students, themselves, find ways to fund a purchase.

“At least four of our boys were out mowing lawns or doing whatever they could, and saving every dollar, to buy a (inexpensive) shotgun,” says Hall. “It doesn’t take anything fancy to shoot trap. It’s good to see a kid breaking targets with something they worked to get. They can also still be using that same shotgun in 50 years.”

LIFE LESSONS AT THE SHOOTING LINE

Rolland says her oldest daughter, Emma, has benefited in several major ways. The first time she shot, the sixth grader hit five of 25 targets.

“She really struggled at first, and I thought that was great,” says Rolland. “Facing a challenge is good. Now, she usually shoots around 20 out of 25. That’s taught her so much about perseverance.”

That average score places her high on the Baldwin City team, a solid competitor with the best of the boys.

“She’s always wanted to be a firefighter and this should give her confidence she will be able to make it in a male-dominated world,” says her mother.

Shooting trap is largely repetitive. Coaches say once a shooter masters the basics, it becomes a game of focus and an individual’s mental state.

“This sport teaches these kids mental toughness,” says Farmer, the Concordia coach.

“If they’re in a slump, they have to just shoot and shoot until they work it out. Eventually all these kids do work through those kinds of things. That does so much for their self-esteem and selfconfidence.”

Young shooters who work hard enough can get the same school athletic letter as awarded in other sports. Colleges with shooting teams offer scholarships.

YOUTH SET EXAMPLE FOR ADULTS TO “KEEP IT CLASSY”

In another difference with what has sadly become common in youth sports, shooters generally compete within a culture of encouragement.

“I’ve never heard anything negative or any kind of taunting. They all get along. Kids that don’t know each other will start talking,” says Robinson.

“Kids who before didn’t feel like they belonged anywhere, now know they have friends at the trap range. That’s huge for a kid, to know they have that.”

Sarah Barlow, who participated in many sports at Lansing High School, is particularly appreciative of the bonhomie among trapshooters. She joined the team at Piper High School because Lansing did not have a team. She was immediately accepted and welcomed.

Kroells says most Kansas scholastic teams welcome students from schools that, at the time, don’t have teams.

“It’s more laid back in a lot of aspects,” says Barlow, who just graduated from Lansing. “I know like in softball, some of the girls get pretty mean. Everyone is nice and considerate on the trap team. People on other teams keep it classy too.”

Rolland says it’s a joy for parents to attend shoots because parents are as well behaved as the shooters.

“You don’t have parents screaming at an ump or heckling a coach,” she says. “It’s fun to see hundreds of parents, well, acting like adults at a sporting event. No conflicts. People are talking and sharing things. It’s a welcome change.”

Augusta High School's Gavin Kiser sharpened his skills for the upcoming clay target season in August at the sporting clays course at the Sportsman's Training Center near Augusta. Photos by Jeff Tuttle

EMBRACING RECREATIONAL SHOOTING, HUNTING

Getting youth involved in target shooting is far from new in Kansas.

Ray Bartholomew, Kansas 4-H interim shooting sports coordinator, says 4-H has sponsored youth shooting programs for at least 30 years in Kansas.

A Kansas chapter of Big Brothers Big Sisters was the first within the organization to embrace hunting and recreational shooting for youth and mentors more than 20 years ago.

The Wichita-based group did so in 1999 largely to attract more outdoors-loving Kansans as mentors, says Mike Christensen, past director of the chapter’s outdoor mentoring program.

The decision drew protests from many Big Brothers Big Sisters programs around the nation.

He's proud to say the program has largely silenced many who criticized the idea of firearms and kids.

Before their first hunt or trip to a target range, participants must pass the state hunter/shooting safety course. They are mentored closely at ranges and hunting locations.

“You can really see these kids change after they’ve been out a few times,” says Christensen. “They learn a lot they never would have learned staying home or in the cities.”

Kenny McCoy, a past Little Brother, joined the program in 2009, when he was 13.

“Man, every time I went out, it was something new and great in a great place,” says McCoy, now 26. “I can tell you straight up that’s what probably made a good man out of me. I learned the right things about firearms. I learned the importance of respect for nature, others and myself. Once you get a kid out there in the field, they do not want to leave.”

McCoy is currently an avid volunteer/mentor for the program. While helping coach a target team and mentoring on hunts, he works at recruiting youth from Wichita’s African American community.

As with scholastic clay target shooting, the safety record of the program is unblemished.

“We put probably 1,200 kids through the course, and we still haven’t had our first injury from hunting or shooting,” says Christensen. “It’s always the No. 1 priority.” He says it’s also not an anomaly.

VOLUNTEERS, OPPORTUNITIES A PLENTY

School shooting coaches happily acknowledge the support they get from parents and the local shooting community with fundraising, clerical work, range maintenance and coaching. Many coaches came to the sport when a child joined the team, then stayed after they graduated. Some past students have returned to coach.

have all these shootings, and so many people wanting to ban guns. I’ve thought if they’d come and watch these school teams shoot, they might look at guns differently.”

DISCUSSION GUIDE

Ican tell you straight up that's what probably made a good man out of me. I learned the right things about firearms. I learned the importance of respect for nature, others and myself.

Kansas has not had a hunting fatality for seven years, according to Kent Barrett, Kansas Department of Wildlife and Parks hunter education coordinator. Last year there were nine gun-related hunting accidents in Kansas, a state that federal surveys show can have up to five million hunter-days afield a year.

Eventually, Christensen created Pass It On Outdoors Mentors, so he could work with other states. The ties to Kansas Big Brothers Big Sisters remain strong. They’re also working to get another prime group of young people afield through their Shooting Sports Outreach Program. Since 2019, Christensen and staff have been organizing hunting experiences for school clay target teams in Kansas. The idea has proved popular.

When the Concordia team was formed, it had no place to shoot. That changed, quickly.

“In six weeks, we built a complete trap range,” says Farmer. “Once word got out, the community got behind it. We have grandstands, concrete walkways, nice throwers. And most came from donations. Community support for this team is so high up here.”

Dan Biehler, a volunteer coach at Kapaun Mt. Carmel, isn’t surprised target teams get such support. Kansas has many adults who grew up avid hunters and shooters. Many are quick to contribute to anything that paints target shooting in a positive light.

“When I was in school, we had guns in gun racks of a lot of pickup trucks. No big deal. Nobody shot up schools,” says Biehler. “Now we

1. To what extent does this story surprise you? What do you think that says about your default interpretations about guns and public safety?

2. How would you characterize the leadership challenge facing those who promote target shooting as a scholastic activity?

3. How might the information from this story help you become more effective at engaging in discussion about guns and public safety?

- By Chris Green

Sisters Anna and Emma Rolland shoot for the Baldwin High School clay target team. Fifty-six Kansas high schools will compete in the Fall Trap League.

Photo by Jeff Tuttle

Kenny McCoy

Former teenage recreational shooter

A DEADLY, EVOLVING PROBLEM

BY: MICHAEL PEARCE

TOXIC BLUE-GREEN ALGAE THREATEN CATTLE AND HAVE COLLECTIVELY ROBBED KANSANS OF THOUSANDS OF HOURS OF RECREATION. THEY DRAIN MILLIONS FROM LAKE-BASED ECONOMIES WHEN OUTBREAKS CLOSE LAKES TO PUBLIC ACCESS. DRINKING WATER IS SUSCEPTIBLE TO THE TOXIN, TOO, RENDERING IT SMELLY AND FOUL-TASTING. ALTHOUGH THERE ARE EFFORTS TO COMBAT THEM, CYANOBACTERIA AREN’T GOING AWAY. AS WITH SO MANY OTHER ENVIRONMENTAL AND HEALTH CHALLENGES OF THE 21ST CENTURY, KANSANS WILL HAVE TO CONTINUE TO ADAPT AND FIND A WAY TO LIVE WITH THEM.

A deadly bacteria could be awaiting Kansas livestock, pets and wildlife in the ponds where they drink. Scientists say it’s one of the deadliest organisms in the world.

“The cyanotoxins that cyanobacteria produce can be more potent to humans or animals than cobra venom,” says Steve Ensley, K-State clinical veterinary toxicologist. “We’re talking parts per billion amounts (can) easily cause death in a 1,200-pound animal.”

The culprit is cyanobacteria, more commonly known as blue-green algae.

It’s so deadly it’s blamed for killing 330 elephants in Botswana in 2020. Several small groups of cattle have died in Kansas, and hundreds of hogs died from toxic water at a farm in Iowa.

Blue-green algae have collectively robbed Kansans of thousands of hours of recreation and drained millions of dollars from lake-based economies when toxic outbreaks closed reservoirs to public access. Keeping the toxin’s bad smells and tastes from drinking water has had several Kansas municipalities scrambling and spending heavily to ensure safe water for residents.

BLUE-GREEN ALGAE: THE FACTS

While severity and number of harmful algal blooms seem to vary annually, many state water experts feel the occurrences are trending upward in Kansas, especially on public lakes and reservoirs.

Year after year, it seems harmful algal blooms are becoming more severe and more common.

Numerous Kansas dogs and unknown numbers of wildlife have died from ingesting the toxins while drinking or licking their feet clean. Kansans have been sickened by skin contact with cyanobacteria or even just inhaling fumes from blooms. It’s blamed for 60 human deaths at an outbreak in Brazil.

Kansas pond owners are taking notice. The iconic sights of cattle lazily wading in pasture ponds may become less common. At times, access to many of Kansas’ thousands of ponds built for pleasure could become off limits to pets and people. Few Kansans have avoided being impacted.

One such authority is Tom Stiles, director of water for the Kansas Department of Health and Environment. Stiles says it’s important that everyone becomes aware of the problem. Simply learning to identify blue-green algae can help keep families, pets and other animals safe. Education could also change some behaviors that are currently encouraging algal blooms.

Researchers are hoping that increased awareness will lead to more reports of toxic water and animal deaths. That could lead to a better understanding of cyanobacteria.

Kansans, they say, also need to learn how to coexist with harmful waters. Though not seen as a serious problem until about 10 years ago,

Don’t assume all algae is toxic. Most types provide a valuable service to the chain of life in lakes and ponds.

all indications are that we may be dealing with cyanobacteria problems indefinitely.

“You can’t let it paralyze you and keep you out of the outdoors,” says Joe Gerken, K-State extension specialist and instructor. “But we also can’t ever let it get totally out of our minds from now on. I never let my guard down, especially when I’m out with my dog and we’re near a pond.”

Meanwhile, some of the brightest minds in the world are striving to find ways to better prevent, predict and someday eradicate the most problematic blooms.

Environmental Protection Agency are helping. Most of those studying the problems say they’ve never dealt with anything as mysterious or as frustratingly inconsistent as cyanobacteria.

BLUE-GREEN ALGAE: THE FACTS

When problems first arose about a decade ago, scientists theorized the blooms were a product of climate change and increases in farm fertilizers that made their way into large Kansas reservoirs. While such theories still hold sway, other variables appear to be at work.

Ensley is one of many scientists from state agencies and universities studying toxic blooms. Federal heavyweights such as NASA, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration and the

“It seems like everything we thought we knew five to ten years ago (about cyanobacteria) has since proven wrong,” says Stiles. “This stuff doesn’t play fair. It keeps changing the rules.”

So far, most attempts to eradicate blooms have failed, though there are currently new areas of research underway at several private and public ponds in eastern Kansas.

TWO BILLION YEARS OLD, CREATOR OF OXYGEN

Ted Harris of the Kansas Biological Survey studies cyanobacteria within 100 small ponds at the KU field research station north of Lawrence. Though the bacteria can be as small as 1/25,000 of an inch, they’re easy to find.

Harris says they’re in about every ocean, river, impoundment and puddle around the world. Cyanobacteria are about 2 billion years old and have performed some important services to mankind.

“It was the first organism to master photosynthesis, which creates oxygen. We

The Kansas Department of Wildlife and Parks has divided Milford Lake into zones to give the public more specific information about blue-green algae. Yet in late September, zones A, B and C were all in warning status.

Marsha Fleming, who works out of KDHE's northcentral office in Salina, gathered samples in July to test an algal bloom at Marion Reservoir. Photos by Jeff Tuttle

Impacted waters will often have a “fishy” or other strong, putrid odor before, during or after a potentially harmful algal bloom.

might not be here without it,” says Harris, an assistant research professor.

For centuries, scientists think, cyanobacteria produced few problems even as huge blooms died and then released toxins.

Harris referenced a bad algal bloom at Kanopolis Reservoir in 1950. A Cheney Reservoir bloom that added a bad taste and smell to Wichita’s drinking water was one of several minor blooms amid the 1990s and early 2000s.

Then came nightmarish toxic blooms.

“In 2011 (algal blooms) came on and rolled over us like a massive, full-fledged invasion,” says Stiles. “It seems like it’s just kept rolling ever since.”

Milford and Marion were the reservoirs initially hit hardest, with blooms bad enough to sometimes close much of the lakes to human contact. They are still two of Kansas’ most susceptible waters to toxic blooms.

Blue-green

Kansas scientists aren’t alone in such frustration.

“This stuff will keep you humble,” says Jennifer Graham, a New York based U.S. Geological Survey research scientist with 23 years of experience with cyanobacteria. “It seems good at reminding us how much we don’t know.”

CLIMATE CHANGE MORE THAN RISING TEMPS

With the first problematic algal blooms came theories that the planet’s gradually warming climate was to blame, especially given midsummer trends of consecutive hot days.

“We used to say the Fourth of July to Labor Day was our blue-green algae season. That’s when we have the warmest water,” says Stiles. “But that’s not true anymore. We now have blooms in early spring all the way into November. A bad bloom during duck seasons (which peak in November) could get a lot of hunting dogs killed.”

a more rugged topography combine to make Tuttle Creek’s water more turbid. Harris believes that’s why Tuttle Creek seldom has algal bloom problems. Meanwhile, Milford, where the water is usually clear, has them frequently.

FEED THEM AND THEY WILL GROW

Like all organisms, cyanobacteria respond to nutrients. Decades of fertilizer washing in from farm fields means Kansas lakes and ponds can be like a never-ending buffet for algal blooms.

Nathan Nelson, Kansas State University soil fertility and nutrient management professor, says some current farming trends have cyanobacteria better fed than ever.

“We’ve had a big movement towards reduced tillage or no-till farming,” says Nelson. “Not working the soil is great for reducing sediment loss, but an unintended consequence can be more fertilizer getting washed away.”

streamways to absorb the nutrients. Currently only a small fraction of agricultural fields are farmed with that level of conservation in mind. Filter strips, sometimes called buffer strips, can be enrolled in U.S. Department of Agriculture conservation programs, which would pay farmers to keep the land out of production. But financially, that’s not a tradeoff many farmers are interested in making.

Agricultural nutrients can come in other forms too.

“Any time cattle start going into the water, their waste is adding nutrients to the water,” says Gerken. “Blue-green algae doesn’t care if its nutrients come from fertilizer runoff or the back of a cow. It’s going to use it to grow, either way.”

Some pond owners report algal problems increase after winters when huge flocks of geese have stayed on their ponds too.

Runoff from heavily used pastures and feedlots can provide manure nutrients to waterways as well.

As Stiles notes, cyanobacteria seemingly have been spreading across Kansas ever since. Some weeks it’s been common to see 20 to 30 public waters listed on the KDHE’s harmful algal blooms advisory list. First-time waters are added annually. Once a lake has its first harmful bloom, odds increase for repeat blooms.

Stiles says science has no solid answers for why cyanobacteria problems came out of nowhere in 2011 and continue to spread across the state. Nor do they know why some large blooms release toxins and others don’t. It also remains a mystery why sizable toxic blooms can occur within a few hours from seemingly clear water, then totally disappear in the same amount of time.

Harris says heat can accelerate algal bloom. But he believes climate change’s largest contribution to the problem has been changes in Kansas wind patterns.

“We’re getting longer stretches of days with heavy winds and longer stretches of no wind,” says Harris. “Those calm stretches can really kick in the cyanobacteria blooms. It’s the wind that saves us by not letting those algal blooms float to the surface and form huge, possibly hazardous blooms.”

Wind also stirs up assorted sediments in the water, creating turbidity. Such murkiness prevents bloom-triggering sunlight from reaching the scattered cyanobacteria.

Consider Tuttle Creek Reservoir, 20 miles east of Milford Reservoir. Different soils and

He’s referring in particular to phosphorus, a productive and popular fertilizer. The advent of growing more corn across Kansas, a crop that responds well to phosphorus applications, means farmers are using more of it as fertilizer.

Nelson says farmers broadcasting phosphorus atop the soil is a common practice. Broadcasting onto non-tilled ground increases the chances that phosphorus gets washed away, ending up in streams and eventually bodies of water.

Machinery that injects the phosphorus into the ground can reduce runoff, but it can be expensive to purchase and operate, Nelson says. Farmers generally don’t notice enough loss financially from broadcasting to explore other options.

Nutrients such as phosphorus can stay viable in a lake’s sediment for years, according to Harris, and keep feeding algal blooms.

Stiles says researchers are working with some farmers to reduce crop field runoff, largely by putting strips of lush, native grasses along

Towns and cities can contribute to the problem too. Runoff from golf courses and housing developments can wash a variety of fertilizers into streams and impoundments.

“You can’t have green lawns without having green water,” says Mark Jakubauskas, a past Kansas Biological Survey researcher, as he diagnosed popular lawn fertilizers in silt sediment cores from several Kansas lakes. “I can just about tell you when a subdivision or golf course went in by looking at the nutrients that show up down in the siltation.”

Concerned Kansans can help the cause by limiting the use of fertilizers on lawns or gardens, or working them deep into the soil. Simply picking up all pet waste could save tons of nutrients from reaching nearby streams and rivers in the state’s largest towns.

Harris says those nutrients can stay viable within a reservoir for many years after they arrive.

“I tell people I’m surprised we didn’t start getting (problematic) blooms earlier and don’t

algae will normally be on the surface, often in swirls. Many accurately say it resembles “spilled green paint.”

BLUE-GREEN ALGAE: THE FACTS

know why we don’t have a lot more of them,” says Harris. “There’s always been an abundance of nutrients.”

CATTLE PONDS, CYANOBACTERIA’S NEW FRONTIER

Most Kansas ranching families went generations without worrying about their cattle getting poisoned by algae in their ponds. Even when blue-green algae hit the news a decade ago, reports of it focused on large reservoirs that drained croplands.

Those days are gone, says A.J. Tarpoff, a K-State professor and extension specialist. Toxic blooms are now found in many Kansas ponds, some amid prairie with no crops or accompanying fertilizers for miles.

Cattle have died from drinking toxic water from those placid water holes. Last year Tarpoff got

a call from a veterinarian who had just driven up on several mature, dead cows that had succumbed beside a remote pond.

“There are quite a few stories like that out there,” says Tarpoff. “You hear rumors of entire herds dying. It could so easily happen, but we have no proof it already has. It sure seems like the problem is getting worse.”

Gerken’s main job with the extension service is working with private impoundment owners. He says there’s no shortage of algal blooms in those waters. During warm months he usually checks three or four impoundments per week. He estimates about one-third of those ponds check positive for harmful algal blooms.

Reports, both apocryphal and confirmed, seem to be increasing every year. Actual instances could be higher because of the here-one-hour, gonethe-next nature of algal blooms.

“When someone sends in a sample, we’re basically just testing a snapshot in time,” says Scott Fritz, a K-State diagnostic toxicologist, who added that things like wind conditions can change things quickly.

Fritz also says that early in a bloom event there may not be enough toxins to measure, but that toxins can quickly increase to problematic levels.

Ensley says the exact number of Kansas livestock killed by digesting cyanobacteria is nearly impossible to determine. Kansas has no requirements for reporting suspect livestock deaths, or to send in water or tissue for testing.

Gathering needed tissue samples isn’t easy.

Within a half-day of heat, decomposition can ruin any chance for accurate testing. Finding a large-animal veterinarian to take timely samples can be difficult. Many cattle owners also don’t want to pay hundreds of dollars for testing on a dead animal.

that showed switching cattle from dingy to clear water can increase their growth by up to 19%.

Josh Hoy, a Chase County rancher, had cattle seriously sickened several years ago by consuming tainted pond water. That year he had his worst-ever reproduction rates, too, probably from the toxins. He’s currently removing ponds from his ranchland and is using natural grazing and burning programs to improve the quality of natural surface springs.

“Impoundments aren’t natural to this part of the country,” says Hoy. “We know the spring water doesn’t have any (toxic algae) and is a lot better for cattle than pond water. A lot of these ponds never should have been built, and the springs should have been better cared for.”

BLUE-GREEN ALGAE: THE FACTS

RESEARCH CHALLENGES

LOOKING FOR NON-TOXIC WATER

Tarpoff and Gerken encourage cattle producers to be more proactive than reactive. With the right equipment, clean and healthy water can be pumped from ponds with histories of algal blooms.

Gerken says the deepest parts of most ponds can’t support harmful algal blooms because of lack of sunlight down deep. That means deepset intake pipes can send healthy water to stock tanks below the pond’s dam, which should be the herd’s only access to water.

While the costs of fencing completely around a pond and adding a pumping system can cost thousands of dollars, Gerken and Tarpoff say the benefits of such preparation can pay for itself if it prevents the loss of even one cow. Tarpoff says cattle prefer drinking from a solid tank rather than a pond. Gerken also referenced research

KDHE and extension service personnel are experimenting with multiple methods to provide animals clean drinking water from ponds. One utilizes bales of barley straw placed in the water, on the theory that a compound released as the straw decomposes will neutralize algal toxins. The other filters bad water through several feet of sand, a method that’s been used in remote regions for decades to give people clean water.

Official findings aren’t out, but there are concerns.

“Treating toxic algae is kind of like treating COVID; sometimes something will work and the next time it won’t. It’s like it gets an attitude, and it doesn’t care what you do,” says Stiles. “The toxins may go through that sand filter even if you stop the algae. Other times they might not.” He also says some ponds with barley straw bales have had multiple blooms while others have not.

Eradicating active blooms on larger Kansas waters hasn’t gone well, either.

Tom Stiles, director of water for the Kansas Department of Health and Environment, checks Lake Shawnee outside Topeka, where a sewage leak in early summer led to an algal bloom. It was weeks before the threat passed. Photo by Jeff Tuttle

Usually, blue-green algae will coat a stick, like paint.

Stiles says in 2019, the Kansas Legislature granted KDHE $450,000 annually, over a fouryear period, to research ways to deal with algal blooms. Results haven’t been as good as hoped. In 2020, a sizable bloom on Milford was treated with peroxide. The treatment worked, but not long enough.

“It knocked (the cyanobacteria) back for about three hours, then it was back. That treatment was $128,000,” says Stiles. “That’s about $43,000 an hour for short-term relief.”

Stiles says dealing with sizable blooms on large waters may not be practical. He added the agency may try to treat localized blooms, such as those on swimming beaches.

KDHE also has been trying to stop toxic blooms on smaller waters before they begin, or at least lessen their severity.

Elizabeth Smith, a KDHE biologist, is overseeing research at ponds below the dams at Milford

and Melvern reservoirs. Both ponds have histories of significant blue-green algae blooms. Smith explained the study includes seeing if preseason peroxide treatments can mitigate blooms by reducing the number of resting cells on the lakebed before they can become problematic.

Both ponds eventually had blooms.

“It’s kind of disappointing,” says Smith. “But we’re still waiting to see how bad it gets. We’re hoping it will greatly lessen the blooms.”

After thousands of collective hours studying 100 ponds, Harris and others are working to replicate about every scenario imaginable for understanding and predicting cyanobacteria.

“We’re working at getting to know every piece of this puzzle,” Harris says. “We need to find some patterns, so someday we’ll be able to say, with confidence, ‘Next week you’ll probably have an algal bloom,’ and they’ll be able to do something about it. That could make a huge difference for people.”

BLUE-GREEN ALGAE: THE FACTS

For the average person, the “jar test” is the most accurate way to identify potentially dangerous waters. It’s as simple as dipping a clean, clear jar into the water on the downwind side of the enclosed body of water. The jar is sealed tightly with a lid and placed in a refrigerator overnight. Buoyant, blue-green algae will usually float to the top and form a visible ring around the top of the jar.

Keith Loftin, a U.S. Geological Survey supervisor and research chemist, works in Lawrence but can view algal blooms from 500 miles up via satellite. Loftin is the leading USGS representative on a project with the EPA, NASA and NOAA. The satellite monitors 2,000 bodies of water in the continental United States. Loftin and others often see algal blooms sooner than people on a lake’s shore.

Field crews can be sent to get samples of particularly bad blooms for further research.

Loftin can send field crews to get samples of particularly bad blooms to further his research.

“We don’t have it all figured out. The satellite can see cyanobacteria blooms, but it can’t see the toxins,” says Loftin, who has studied cyanobacteria for 18 years. “That’s hard enough in labs, so we’re hard-pressed to do it from space, at least not without some technoimprovements. There’s still a lot of tire kicking going on.”

Loftin has hopes that more knowledge will become available as cyanobacteria gather more attention and are increasingly researched around the globe. Lots of information is being shared. Earlier this year more than 150 scientists from as far as Singapore and Scandinavia gathered in Toledo, Ohio, for the International Conference on Toxic Cyanobacteria.

HUMAN ADAPTATION REQUIRED

Loftin also said changes that lessen the impact of harmful algal blooms may depend more on modifying human behavior than trying to change an organism that’s been around for 2 billion years.

“We’ve never been very successful at changing nature, but we can change our actions,” he says.

“I tell people we didn’t create cyanobacteria,

but we sure may be involved in why it’s getting worse. We’ll have to look at our behaviors and see if there are choices we can make, then see if we can get a consensus to make them.”

Many Kansans have already adapted.

Brad Roether has owned lake-based businesses around Milford Reservoir for decades. He’s seen the worst of times when horrendous algal blooms left the lake, and many local businesses, mostly abandoned. For several years, even when blooms were gone, people were still afraid to go in or on the water.

Yet even with 2021’s large, problematic blooms, Roether reported Milford had some of the biggest crowds in the lake’s history. The crowds were a carry-over from 2020, when COVID shut down many workplaces and sent people

Boaters and fishermen are usually safe in the presence of an algal bloom, but fish-eating birds such as herons can be affected by toxins. Photos by Jeff Tuttle

outdoors for healthy social distancing. Camping, boating and fishing grew in popularity then and have largely continued.

“People have learned to adapt,” says Roether. “It used to be, everybody panicked. Now they’ve learned to go where the water isn’t green, to the upwind side of the lake where there isn’t algae. Common sense is taking over.”

It’s helped, he says, that KDHE divided Milford into three zones that are rated independently. One may be off-limits while the others are safe enough for at least some activities. Businesses have made the lake area more accommodating. Acorn Resort added a swimming pool, which at first seems incongruous since it’s on the shores of the state’s largest lake. Milford State Park added a splash pad for kids and has improved already impressive hiking and cycling trails.

Roether likes the crowds but wishes the algal problems were gone.

“You know, the people are back, but that stuff is still out there and it’s still disgusting,” he says.

DISCUSSION GUIDE

1. What is technical about this challenge? What is adaptive? 2. What barriers can you identify to mobilizing people affected by the safety of water in and from Kansas lakes? 3. How might those practicing leadership on this challenge use authority and expertise, or partner with those who have it, to make progress?

- By Jaryth Barten

Keep in mind that none of the methods mentioned in this article are 100% accurate, and that algal blooms can come and go in a short period of time.

The best way to have a private pond tested is to contact the local county extension agent. A list can be found at ksre.k-state.edu/about/statewide-locations.html, or by calling 785-532-5820.

The Kansas Department of Health and Environment has a website dedicated to educating people about harmful algal blooms (HABs) in Kansas. The page includes a history of blooms in the state, possible dangers of coming in contact with toxic water and how to report suspected blooms.

An important part of the webpage is the listing of public waters where harmful algal blooms are possible or present. The list is updated weekly from April 1 to Oct. 31. Harmful blooms have been found before and after those dates.

While some waters are regularly tested, most waters are only tested if a report has been filed by a natural resource professional or a member of the public. KDHE will often send staff members to take water samples.

KDHE uses the following system to rate the severity of algal blooms on public waters. Note that algal blooms can come and go within a few hours. Also, while one part of an enclosed body of water may be experiencing a toxic bloom, other areas on the water may be clear of the harmful algae.

“Honestly, I care more about the good of the lake than my businesses. They’ve got to figure something out.”

Photos by Jeff Tuttle

THE HIGH SUCCESS, AND SOMETIMES PRICE, OF STOPPING BLUE-GREEN ALGAE'S THREAT TO DRINKING WATER

BY: MICHAEL PEARCE

Big or small, most Kansas towns that use surface water from lakes and reservoirs face the increasing threat of toxic amounts of blue-green algae making it into the homes of consumers. That hasn’t happened. But preventing it has, or will, come at a cost, sometimes a significant cost.

Braxton Copley, Topeka utilities director, says the capital city is in the planning stages of updating two water treatment plants at a cost of about $20 million to help ensure clean drinking water into the future.

Topeka faces significant challenges since it gets “every last drop” of its water from the Kansas River, which is fed by several reservoirs. Two of those, Milford and Perry lakes, have consistently hosted harmful algal blooms.

Copley praised the Kansas Department of Health and Environment for alerting the city’s water treatment staff when possibly toxic waters are headed their way. So far chlorine treatments have neutralized any algae-based toxins in their system. But it’s not a perfect fix.

“Unfortunately, chlorine leaves byproducts when it encounters (the toxins), and that can leave the water with a foul odor and taste. We can take

that out with an ozone treatment,” says Copley. WaterOne, Kansas’ largest water provider, completed $35.8 million in ozone-based upgrades to its facilities in 2020. The utility provides water for much of the heavily populated Johnson County area.

Water officials, such as Copley, say improving treatment with ozone equipment also makes it easier to meet federal water standards in several other categories.

Still, he says he will never be able to totally rule out possible problems.

“I’ll sleep better, but given the extent and frequency of algal blooms at Milford, I know it will always be on my radar screen,” says Copley. “I’m sure we’ll have the best possible protection, but we never know what’s coming around the corner with these kinds of things.”

NORTON’S NEAR MISS

In 2018, things got dicey enough with Norton’s water supply that the Kansas National Guard was told to prepare to bring truckloads of bottled water to the small town.

It turns out only one load was shipped, and it wasn’t needed. Norton was able to quickly avert a possible drinking water disaster with the help of federal and state agencies as well as local residents.

James Moreau, Norton’s city administrator, says things started when a city employee smelled the telltale stench of cyanobacteria when he entered the plant one morning. It had been piped in from nearby Keith Sebelius Reservoir, which supplies 60% of the town’s water. Luckily the bad water hadn’t progressed far into the system. Norton’s water crew switched to the wells that provide the other 40% of the city’s water. The problem was fixed before demand exceeded the amount of water supplied by the wells.

“The key was the mayor and city commissioners didn’t panic or waste any time,” says Moreau. “They started a water-restriction program that saved us a lot of water until we could get things fixed.”

Residents were limited to outside water usage apart from peak midday times, and only a few days a week. Many residents and businesses went beyond compliance to save water.

Moreau says communication and cooperation among chemical companies and government agencies was quick and productive. Within a few days, the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency granted the city permission to clean the water with activated carbon to rid the system of problem algae. As well as being efficient at neutralizing the toxins, Moreau says, the treatment fit within the city’s $1.5 million annual budget.

“We don’t have near the budget those larger towns do, but we can do the activated carbon for $25,000 to $30,000 a year,” says Moreau. “That’s a pretty good cost-to-benefit ratio.”

Norton still uses the compound when needed. Meanwhile, the water-use restrictions remain in place.

Biggerandmore satisfying thanever

IN A STATE FILLED WITH QUIRKY FESTIVALS, FREDONIA’S SAUSAGE FEST STANDS OUT BECAUSE OF THE FINE LINE IT WALKS BETWEEN BAWDY HUMOR AND BUILDING COMMUNITY. HOSTED FOR JUST THE FIFTH TIME IN 2022 – THE 2020 AND 2021 EVENTS WERE CANCELED BECAUSE OF THE PANDEMIC – THE EVENT RAISES BOTH MONEY AND SPIRITS IN THE COMMUNITY. BUT FOR THOSE WITH DIRTIER MINDS, THERE’S A JOKE IN THE NAME OF JUST ABOUT EVERY ACTIVITY.

BY: BECCY TANNER

One doesn’t need to look hard to find a zany festival in Kansas.

Lucas has the Adam’s Apple Festival. Because, you know, the town is home to S.P. Dinsmoor’s historic Garden of Eden.

Elk Falls celebrates its outhouses each year with a festival on the Saturday before Thanksgiving. Cuba has the Rock-A-Thon. Participants rock around the clock for a week in rocking chairs, sometimes raising more than $25,000 for community projects.

Lindsborg’s plethora of festivals includes Svensk Hyllningsfest, which celebrates its Swedish heritage, and Vaffeldagen, a festival of waffles.

WaKeeney has a Buzzard Bash, celebrating turkey vultures. Wilson, Dodge City’s Boot Hill and Harper all have testicle festivals, a showcase for deep-fried Rocky Mountain oysters.

But perhaps no festival in Kansas walks the line between bawdiness and boosterism quite like Fredonia’s Sausage Fest. A truly family-friendly festival, Sausage Fest takes place in the town square on the last Saturday night in August. It celebrates community but with a twist – doubleentendres on male genitalia.

It’s the kind of event where you can sign up for the 5K Wiener Walk. Join a scavenger search known as the Quest for the Gilded Banger. There’s also the Wiener Weway, where participants scarf down a hot dog, drink a beverage and run with a Kielbasa baton in a relay around the town square.

Unlike many time-honored festivals in other Kansas towns, Sausage Fest started a relatively short time ago.

The inspiration for the festival came from a conversation two airline passengers had in 2015.

“Every good story starts, of course, with a trip to Las Vegas,” says Jennifer Bacani McKenney, the instigator of the festival and a family physician at the Fredonia Regional Hospital. “So, I was on my way back (from Las Vegas) and just like any good trip to Vegas, I was hoping that no one would sit by me, or that whoever sat by me wouldn’t want to talk.”

Not the case.

“I had a very talkative person … and at some point, I just had to concede and said I’d talk about Fredonia. I am very proud of my little town. He started asking, ‘Do you have any of those fun festivals like a lot of small towns? Do you have a garlic festival?’ And so, I’m like, ‘Well, we don’t have a lot of festivals, but we do have a homecoming but nothing that’s really unique.

“We talked about how there were a lot of farmers and livestock, pigs and things like that. I said we had lots of meat – and that turned into a meat fest, which … turned into a sausage fest and that was the birth of the whole thing.”

A FESTIVAL COMES TO LIFE

Bacani McKenney is no stranger to community involvement. She serves on the Fredonia school board and helped establish the Fredonia Area Community Foundation.

She’s also a member of the board of directors for the Kansas Health Foundation, a significant funder of the Kansas Leadership Center, which publishes The Journal.

Sausage Fest would seem to represent a much different kind of venture for a member of a profession not commonly associated with frivolity. And yet, the idea stuck.

Bacani McKenney introduced the concept to Cultivate Fredonia, a group of Fredonia residents who work to identify community needs and provide solutions. She had been instrumental in helping form Cultivate Fredonia in 2012.

The community growth initiative works on beautification, housing, business and healthy living projects, Bacani McKenney says.

“I asked them what they thought and that we could use (the festival) as a fundraising event for Cultivate Fredonia,” Bacani McKenney says.

The festival would raise money through the sale of ribald T-shirts – “Bigger and more satisfying than ever!” read the one celebrating the festival’s fifth year –and beer. Cultivate Fredonia could then use the money to fund activities such as Every Child Deserves a Bike, where second graders can sign up to receive a bicycle.

The idea resonated enough that a festival planning committee

was formed. The committee’s ideas soon began to arouse the community. “We were all coming up with this idea – you may have heard the idea of a sausage fest and what it means in pop culture?” Bacani McKenney asks.

Ah no. Reporters can lead sheltered lives, please explain.

“Let’s say a group of guys was going to a party and they were going to pick up women, for example. But the whole party was basically men – like the ratio of men to women, was way high. So, lots of men might refer to it as a sausage fest. Their odds are not good at a sausage fest.”

And the festival takes place from 6 p.m. to midnight?

Why?

It is a reference to a comedy released in the late 2000s featuring actor Jonah Hill.

“A young man on there references seeing a young woman and says that he just went from six to midnight,” McKenney says. “Some people understand it; some people don’t. But those of us who get it have a good little chuckle.”

But this is a family-friendly fest?

Yes, all money raised goes toward funding projects in Fredonia. Besides bicycles for children, proceeds from Sausage Fest have helped Cultivate Fredonia place a Fredonia sign at the town’s roundabout and financed work on a skate park and a story path park north of the town library.

The festival’s total package can’t help but bring out the curious.

On the concrete steps at the town’s bandstand in the square, Martin Stookey, age 61, and his father-in-law Ron Blowers, 84, both from Independence, sat observing this year’s events.

Contestants in Sausage Fest’s hot dog eating contest, held on Madison Street in downtown Fredonia, compete to see who will be declared the "wiener."

Photos by Luke Townsend

There was a certain, uh, anatomical uniformity to some of the competitors in the Haute Dog Runway Show. But well-chosen costumes only added to the entertainment factor.

a six-person

$5

“We came to see what it was all about,” Stookey says. “First time we ever heard of it.”

A story from a local newspaper and posts on Facebook piqued their interest.

“I was intrigued. It sounded like fun. I figure it must be about having a bunch of good hot dogs,” Stookey says.

As the festival evening rolled on, people of all shapes and sizes, some in costumes but all in various stages of satisfaction, appeared on the lawn of the square.

Carrie Stookey, Martin’s wife, was watching the Wiener Weway.

“I found out about this on Facebook on the What’s Happening pages,” she says. “I didn’t know if people were just that innocent or if they were trying to poke the bear a bit with the audience. I just thought it couldn’t be this naughty.”

This year was the fifth rendition of the festival. Sausage Fest failed to launch in 2020 and 2021, so plenty of get-up-and-go was evident this year.

Like any good festival, songs played in the background over speakers (although the Rubber Band apparently didn’t make the playlist). Neighbors and friends came together. Some drank beer. Others ate sausages – an apple gouda sausage went down easy.

Fredonian Cassie Edson was dressed in a long, white, flowing Victorian gown. Accompanying her was her dog, Angel, a 13-year-old dachshund who was sporting a pair of white angel wings. After years of running in the weenie dog races, the costume contest seemed more her speed.

“We always come to all the dog events. It’s just a lot of fun.”

Amy Thurlow, a Fredonia preschool teacher, is on the festival’s planning committee. She and her family have lived in Fredonia for the past seven years.

“The year we moved here was the first Sausage Fest,” Thurlow says. “We loved it! We thought it was so clever. We had so much fun, and I met Jen (Bacani McKenny) that night. And I was like, ‘Oh my gosh, I want to get involved with this thing. So, I just kind of asked if I could kind of be on the committee, and so, it’s been fun ever since.’”

In the past, vendors have given common foods raunchy names, Thurlow says. A simple biscuit with cheese becomes Schweddy Balls, a reference to an Alec Baldwin “Saturday Night Live” sketch. Sausage on a stick, wrapped in a cinnamon roll and icing drizzled on top becomes a Sticky-stick.

A TOWN GROWS IN ITS HISTORY AND RISES TO CELEBRATE

Located in southeast Kansas, near the Fall River, the town of more than 2,000 residents in Wilson County has a rich history. That area of Kansas was considered French territory and part of the Louisiana Purchase, which the United States acquired in 1803.

Kansas became a territory in 1854, and settlement near Fredonia began in 1857. The Fredonia Town Co. was organized in 1868, when the town’s land was platted.

Through the decades, the town has relied on the oil, natural gas and coal industries.

Other festivals the community hosts are the Old Iron Days in September and the Fredonia Fall Festival in October. But it seems fair to wonder if those two celebrations might get caught in the lengthening shadow of this Johnny-come-lately.

On the night of the Sausage Fest, the Rev. Alice Purvis, minister at Fredonia’s First United Methodist Church, sat on a bench

Photo by Luke Townsend

(LEFT) The Wiener Wagon,

pedal bike, was a popular draw. For

a person, a group can circle the town square. Photo by Luke Townsend

The Wiener Weway contest, in which participants down a hot dog, swill a beer and race around the town square, drew contestants Gina Holen (left), Doug Nunamaker (center) and Dustin Angel.

Photo by Luke Townsend

in the square watching and sometimes smiling at the events.

“This festival is mostly about community,” she says. “It brings us together – in general, I don’t think our community history has anything to do with sausage. But truly, it’s like watching a movie. The kids just love it, and the adults who are watching catch all the secret jokes.”

When it comes time for the festival, the town square is filled with families – and family games – such as a cornhole tournament in which teams of two participate to see who can feed the cornhole the most sausages. A Mr. Hot Link Pageant features men who must raise money prior to the festival and then show off a talent and give a short speech.

And then, there is the Chorizo Challenge arm wrestling tournament and the Hurtin’ for a Squirtin! contest in which participants don hazmat suits and duel with ketchup and mustard squirt bottles. Pets – well-bred and otherwise – can be entered in a costume contest, which also has a human category. This year’s winner was a goat named Lady Baba, dressed up Lady Gaga-style. Energetic families can pile onto the Wiener

Wagon, a six-person pedal bike, and for $5 per person ride the length of the town square.

ALWAYS PLANNING, ALWAYS BUILDING RELATIONSHIPS

“Honestly,” McKenney says. “It’s been all positive. We haven’t had anybody say this is inappropriate or not OK for kids.”

Perhaps the most fun, she says, comes not only from the festival but the planning committee meetings.

It’s not unusual for the committee of adults to have a libation or two as they create plans for next year’s festival.

“Even when we first started this, the idea is that if we did it right, this would be hilarious,” Bacani McKenney says. “We are very careful about the innuendos and double-entendres – they can’t be just blatantly offensive.”

And by the end of the evening, most people are listening to the music and dancing in the streets.

“It’s just a huge homecoming,” McKenney says. “People sometimes ask about all the different hats that we wear as family doctors in small towns. What I tell people is that this is a good example of relationships and relationship building.

“This festival may be the most ridiculous idea for a festival and is kind of pushing the limits – but this is my hometown. I’ve built relationships with business and community leaders. People believe this is a good idea and that we care enough about each other that we are going to support it and put money back into the community.

“We stress that even though it’s super fun and everybody has a good time, the underlying thing is that it’s for a good cause.”

So here’s the long and short of it: If your desires tend toward partying from six to midnight, Fredonia awaits.

DISCUSSION GUIDE

1. Is this a story about leadership? And if so, where do you see leadership emerging?

2. What are the risks of the line Sausage Fest walks? How might those risks best be managed?

3. What risks are you willing to take on behalf of your community?

- By Chris Green

Becky Ramsey (far left) bestowed lifelong Fredonian Pat Sandersen with the coveted Wiener Crown in recognition of his triumph in the Mr. Hot Link Pageant. After the organized activities concluded, a street dance capped the festival.

Photos by Luke Townsend

The Hurtin' for a Squirtin' Challenge participants spray one another with ketchup and mustard while dressed in hazmat suits acquired during the worst of the pandemic.

Photo by Luke Townsend

A CENTRAL KANSAS BAR’S STRUGGLE TO SURVIVE IS INDICATIVE OF BROADER CHALLENGES FACING MANY SMALL-TOWN EATERIES. FOR THOSE THAT MAKE IT, A WILLINGNESS TO ADAPT AND COMMUNITY SUPPORT OFTEN PROVE CRUCIAL. RESIDENTS OFTEN AREN’T

JUST KEEPING OPEN A PLACE TO EAT, THEY’RE KEEPING A VITAL PART OF THE COMMUNITY FABRIC FROM UNRAVELING. HERE ARE THE STORIES OF SURVIVORS, BOTH THOSE WAITING THINGS OUT AND RESTAURANTS THAT HAVE RETURNED FROM THE BRINK.

Saving More than

Supper

BY: BECCY TANNER

Conversation and laughter aren't on the menu at small-town restaurants, but they're a staple at places like the Inman Harvest Café, where waitress Polly Holler has worked for 31 years, taking orders from Charles and Ellie Aikens and family, among scads of others.

Photo by Jeff Tuttle

Whenever one of her co-workers celebrated a birthday or other milestone, she would bake a cake or make something special, says her son, Lee Devine.

“You know, she was always cooking and baking,” Devine says. “Everybody just started calling her ‘Mom.’ So, when they started this deal (in Seward), it was just Mom’s Bar and Grill.”

That was in 1998.

There had been a café in Seward previously, called the J&J Restaurant. It was somewhat atypical of a small-town restaurant in Kansas –two mobile homes placed in an “L” formation. But when Mom’s opened, Mom wanted the place to be a little different – more substantial and certainly more of an anchor for Seward, population 62.

Built in the architectural style of a Morton building – those utilitarian metal buildings used

for agricultural and commercial purposes – her restaurant emphasized cleanliness throughout, white and plenty of light on the family side, paneled wood on the bar side with deer heads and beer signs strategically placed. Both sides featured homemade food, slushy beers and plenty of banter.

Known mostly by word of mouth, she soon was drawing customers from a 50-mile radius.

People came for her hamburgers, pork tenderloin sandwiches, fried mushrooms and country fried steaks.

Farmers, lawyers, retirees and area families were loyal customers, often packing Mom’s at lunch and dinner, and especially on the weekends.

“The one thing I can tell you about Mom’s is that it is a constant,” says Mitch Minnis, president of Minnis Chapel Inc., with funeral homes in St. John, Macksville and Ellinwood. “You go there, and you know exactly what’s on the menu for that particular day. It has been that way forever. You knew what you were going to get.”

Think of it as a rural “Cheers” where everybody knows your name – and has for generations.

Small-town restaurants are often the life force of a community.

Food is still something you have to have.

When the pandemic hit, forcing shutdowns, customers briefly stopped coming.

But Mom kept cooking, making meals to go.

“She had customers who came down from Great Bend in an RV,” Lee Devine says. “They backed it up in the parking lot here – placed their order over the phone and the girls (the waitresses) took their drinks and food out. When they were done, they called and the girls went out, picked the stuff up and brought it back in.

“But most people got their food to go and Mom, being Mom, kept it held together,” Devine said.

Until, she couldn’t.

It might be Mom's to just about every patron who drops in at the Seward eatery, but for 10-year-old Ella Devine, it could be Grandma's, or even Dad's.

Carolyn Devine first earned the nickname “Mom” decades ago when working at a Great Bend packing plant.

Photo by Jeff Tuttle

On December 30, 2021, Carolyn Devine died from COVID complications.

For a time, Mom’s Bar and Grill was closed.

“That’s the thing with small-town restaurants,” says Marci Penner, director of the Kansas Sampler Foundation based near Inman and a promoter of rural culture. Small-town restaurants are often the life force of a community. “Food is still something you have to have,” even during a global pandemic.

Rural Kansans, she says, can often live in food deserts. It is not uncommon to travel 20 to 40 miles for groceries. Local restaurants in tiny towns across Kansas are a mainstay. “And if people live far from a grocery store, maybe getting takeout from a café is what they could do – if the café stays open. These café owners must have really loved their community to go above and beyond in the ways that they did.” If you have traveled across Kansas within the past decade, it is easy to see how the rural economy has taken a hit.

Almost weekly, there is news of restaurants, implement dealers and even grocery stores closing in small towns.

In 2016, there were 7,300 food licenses issued in Kansas – which included restaurants, convenience stores and concession stands, according to records from the Kansas Restaurant and Hospitality Association.

Before the pandemic began, Kansas had nearly 5,000 restaurants – many located in small towns, says Adam Mills, president and CEO of the Kansas Restaurant and Hospitality Association.

“It looks like there are (now) somewhere close to 4,300 restaurant licenses in Kansas,” Mills says.

Among some of those restaurants that closed included longtime favorites such as DeFazio’s Italian Restaurant in north Wichita, Pretty Boy Floyd’s in Ellsworth and The Linger Longer in Bennington.

Some closed and reopened, such as Courtney and Chris in Toronto, or have temporarily closed, such as Ad Astra Food and Drink in Strong City. The legendary Brookville Hotel in Abilene closed in 2021 amid financial problems. It was purchased this year in a bankruptcy sale by Charles and Deanna Munson of Junction City who reopened it in August as Legacy Kansas, merging menu items from Brookville and their own Munson’s Prime steakhouse. Munson’s was destroyed by fire in 2021.

To keep their restaurants open, restaurant owners have, of course, had to get creative. But in many places, the difference between success and shuttered doors has been the willingness of the community to rally around their eateries.

The collective purpose inspiring the community’s efforts is about food, but also far more than that. It’s about keeping part of the lifeblood of the community intact.

ALL THE COMMUNITY NEWS

In rural towns, rituals are created each day with the first cup of coffee sold.

Newspapers with the real news of the lives of people are fewer and farther between. But the regulars still meet to “cuss and discuss” all manner of topics. Marriages, divorces, births, deaths, ambulance runs and run-ins with the law are perennial favorites.

“People missed their rituals of meeting for coffee, or the ladies around the round tables talking through lunch,” Penner says.

In St. Francis, in far northwest Kansas, the Fresh Seven Coffee shop has been percolating for the past nine years. Proprietors Heidi Plumb and Kale Dankenbring met in Phoenix, where Plumb worked for a coffee roaster.

And then, love happened.

“We decided we wanted to open a coffee roastery in a small espresso bar,” Plumb says. “That was our original plan and we wanted to do it in a small, mobile espresso unit.”

They started with a food truck.

Kale, her husband and business partner, asked if she might be willing to try something like a coffee roastery in St. Francis, near the Arikaree Breaks –a ruggedly scenic strip of ravines and canyons.

The town had never had a roastery.

They bought a roofless, abandoned building in downtown St. Francis and pulled the truck inside the building’s shell. Then, they bought another downtown building in about the same condition. They fixed up a trailer – to serve coffee – and pulled it into the other floorless, roofless building.

They roast coffee beans in small batches each day, then make a commitment to sell them within seven days – hence, the name of their business, which grew so fast it pulled in people from three states – Colorado, Nebraska and Kansas.

“We started in the trailer, and the trailer was always going to be our original plan – with espresso and a traditional espresso bar. We decided that by staying in one place rather than traveling to different events, would be a better way to move forward with our business,” Plumb says.

Business was good.

“People missed their rituals of meeting for coffee, or the ladies around the round tables talking through lunch.”

Ron Scott's recent lunch came with a helping of conversation from Ted Devine, son of co-owner Lee.

Photo by Jeff Tuttle

Marci Penner

Kansas Sampler Foundation

“We raised money to put the roof on and built bathrooms in and closed it all in,” she says. “It’s definitely been through an evolution. It wasn’t our original plan, but this way people have a designated place where we will be. They can come in every morning and know exactly where we are.”

When COVID hit, nothing much changed at first. People came in for coffee and bought food off the menu – sandwiches, yogurt parfaits and salads.

But then business began to drop.

“The health department didn’t want to see us close down because we are already considered a food desert out here, and closing us down could have been a really bad thing for the people out here,” Plumb says. “But we made things work. The people in the community – no one wants to see a business go under – they were so supportive. I never realized like how many people really come together when stuff like this happens. I don’t think any of us have ever seen anything like this happen. It was very

heartwarming to see so many people come in and support us.”

There were instances when the local bank bought coffee for all the local nurses.

Then the nurses bought coffee for schoolteachers.

Area businesses and local residents banded together. They had a raffle that encouraged participants to go from one local business to another and buy items. The winning ticket was a gift package that included items from each of the stores.

“This always was a place that felt like we could breathe a little bit. It’s a place that feels like home and people take care of each other. It’s a very different dynamic than in the cities. It’s refreshing to know you have a community of people that will take care of each other.”

Before the pandemic, Plumb and her husband drove to Denver each weekend to shop for supplies.

Now, they order online, which takes some ingenuity – because the quality of provisions can vary.

“We decided early on, as long as we are going to keep going, people are still going to be able to rely on us here. It might not be perfect, in terms of our supplies, but at least we will be here. I think showing up for people is huge.”

FAMILY MATTERS

In Sawyer, about 10 miles south of Pratt, Greg and Ruby Wolf and family have worked diligently to keep the Sawyer Family Food Store open during the restrictions of COVID. The Wolfs are members of the Old German Baptist Brethren, a conservative church where plain dress is the norm. In addition to having a deli, they also sell canned specialty items.

“We felt less challenged than some – but there were a few challenges, and one was working during the whole masking, social distancing aspect from early on,” Greg Wolf says. “We

closed our dining room, and we tried to do what we could to respond to the state of Kansas’ requirements. … But we never closed our store function. We had takeout. We delivered food curbside. We took credit card payments by phone. And we have not had any major outages that we could not overcome.”

But the experience visitors had at the store may have suffered, Wolf says. Their store is known for its fresh-baked cinnamon and cherry rolls, take-home frozen casseroles, pizzas and pies – all made with Hudson Cream Flour, milled in neighboring Stafford County. The Wolfs’ six children have all worked in the store – three of their oldest daughters have now married and moved away and local church members have stepped in to help at the store.

As the three youngest children have grown and gotten closer to striking out on their own, the Wolfs have considered selling their store to another family.

“Our store combines shopping and dining-in and it is a vital social hub,” Wolf says. “Ours is an experience that is destination shopping. It is where people meet and interact. People have been reminded of the vital nature of the independent and local food supply. We learned some of the dangers of being overly reliant on corporations and corporate food channels.

The Family Food Store in Sawyer managed to survive COVID, even as it has left a mark on those who adore its sweet rolls, deli favorites, canned specialties and ice cream, here being enjoyed by 6-year-old Ashton Higbie of Greensburg.

“The whole COVID era has affected the psyche of the population. People have said to us they appreciate our local business beyond food, even, … ‘We want to make sure you’re here in the future.’”

SURVIVING WITH A HIGH-END RESTAURANT IN SMALL TOWN KANSAS

The Elephant Bar and Bistro in Hoxie is an off-the-beaten-path gustatory experience. The Sheridan County town has 1,200 residents but chef and owner Emily Campbell has people driving from as far as 150 miles away to enjoy such delights as spicy Seattle spinach and artichoke dip; bistro tacos; apple, prosciutto and gruyere flatbread; Atlantic wild-caught scallops; and dry-aged ribeyes.

Reservations often must be made a week or more in advance.

“I’m guilty of a bistro and bar – an upscale casual restaurant that’s not typical of what you would find in rural Kansas,” Campbell says. “It’s an elegant dining atmosphere with an eclectic menu – a lot of it is farm to table and is locally sourced – as much as we can here. We want to create something out of the ordinary.”

“We decided early on, as long as we are going to keep going, people are still going to be able to rely on us here.”

Photo by Jeff Tuttle

Heidi Plumb

Fresh Seven Coffee in St. Francis

Lettuce for the restaurant is grown at a nearby hydroponic farm. Bison are raised locally; wagyu beef comes from Seward, Nebraska, and shrimp from a farm in McCook, Nebraska.

Hoxie is where she and her husband, Doug, grew up. Both attended Kansas State University. She majored in accounting and finance and earned a CPA. She worked in that field for about five years. When her husband’s job took him to Seattle, she started a career change. She went to culinary school and worked under some renowned chefs.

They opened three years ago – to a roaring success.

“We were flourishing,” Campbell says. “We had a really good staff and we just kept redeveloping our menu more and more.”

When the pandemic hit, the couple shuttered the dining room and started serving takeout instead.

“We lost 75% of our staff, because when you don’t have guests, there is no use for house staff,” she says.

They produced take-home meal kits.

But then, supplies such as ketchup became hard to come by, and food that was supposed to be delivered the next day sometimes would take two or more extra days to be delivered.

Since then, the high cost of gasoline has been keeping customers and some staff at bay.

“I’ve had several employees leave me because they can’t afford to drive to work anymore,” she says. “Part of the reason I opened this restaurant is because I wanted something valuable for our community. I wanted us to have something out here that nobody else does. I truly believe in supporting local. I believe in building your own economy, your own ecosystem, in the area that you live in.

“It is a passion of mine to do it. Moving forward, it is going to take a lot of people who want to step outside the box and start being inventive on

how we operate, especially in rural Kansas. What we are providing is experiences. People come to us to have a three-course meal starting with cocktails and appetizers with jazz playing in the background.”

PIES, PIES AND MAYBE NOT SO MANY PIES

Carolyn Bontrager opened Carolyn’s Essenhaus (German for eating house) in Arlington 33 years ago. Her restaurant is known for its Amish Mennonite cooking – pies, cakes, cheesecakes, a Friday night fish fry, chicken fried steak, verenika (cheese-filled dumplings served with ham and cream gravy) and more.

At 65, she has listed the restaurant for sale “to the right person.”

After all the years in business, Bontrager says she’s never encountered anything like the pandemic or the supply issues she’s experienced in the past two years.

“I don’t even know how to put it into words,” she says. “First, there was the shutdown and my brain is scrambling – how do we keep going and making money and not leaving our employees without a job? And so we did walk-up windows and reopened and then the next year and a half is busier than anything I’ve ever known. Now,

Clockwise from upper left: At Carolyn’s Essenhaus in Arlington, familiar faces are the rule on both sides of the register. Carolyn Bontrager opened the place 33 years ago. Vicky Nisly, here preparing the daily menu, has been on the payroll for 20 years. Most days, their customers include folks like (far left) Kent Branscom, Craig Childs (second from left), Richard Loder (second from right) and Ken Neufeld.

Photos by Jeff Tuttle

“Part of the reason I opened this restaurant is because I wanted something valuable for our community.”

Emily Campbell

The Elephant Bar and Bistro in Hoxie

the gas prices go up and food prices go up and we are like, where are the customers?

“It’s not that they aren’t loyal; they can’t afford to come and eat out.”

Blackberry pie – a customer favorite is temporarily off the menu – blackberries are hard to find.

“We’ve had recessions before, but this looks kind of scarier than other things we’ve been through.”

Katie Reinecker is owner of the Inman Harvest Café, where she has worked the majority of her life – first as a waitress, and since 2008 as the owner.

She now offers a $25 gift certificate raffle – for gas, an incentive for customers to come in. But one of her lowest points in the past few years came on March 27, 2020, when McPherson County law enforcement officers came to her restaurant and ordered her to close the dining room because of a statewide prohibition on mass gatherings of 10 or more people aimed at reducing the spread of the coronavirus.

“This is our whole life,” Reinecker says. “My whole family works here. We do it together – it’s

really less about the food and more about the people. When you take the people out of the equation, what’s the point? We offered takeout. And then takeout boxes for the food were hard to come by. We couldn’t get enough boxes.“

So, some customers brought their own food containers.

To help provide some of the socialization that customers in small towns crave, the restaurant did Facebook videos.

The fried chicken buffet was turned into family style dinners to go.

“I’m just doing what I know to be the right thing to do,” Reinecker says. “I want to be in a community where people can gather and that it is multigenerational. This is a place that cares about you. Single people who don’t have family can come here, join our family and be a part of us. It is important for me that this place stays that way.

“It’s really sad when little places like ours close because the community is lost. This place holds a lot of history. You can get into all kinds of great conversations with people. The food comes in second to that.”

Katie Reinecker, owner of the Inman Harvest Café since 2008, has spent most of her working life at the restaurant. She started out waiting tables and then moved to the kitchen.

Photos by Jeff Tuttle

When Mom’s closed in Seward after Carolyn Devine died, the odds were long that it would ever reopen.

And then, Mom’s son, Lee Devine, and longtime waitresses at Mom’s formed a partnership to resume operations.

In March, they were dealt a cruel blow when Devine’s wife, Hether, died from cancer. They had been married 13 years and had two small children.

But the need for the restaurant remained apparent, Devine says.

His mom had built a legacy.

“Like I told my dad, ‘These people have been coming in and Mom always said if she isn’t open, where are these people going to go?’ That was my driving force. I told my dad that we can’t stay closed.”

Anymore, it’s about leaving the light on and having a slushy, cold, red beer – a concoction that typically blends beer and tomato juice –waiting for customers at the end of blistering hot summer days.

“Those good old red beers,” says Diane Getty, who often frequents Mom’s with a bevy of

Lee Devine Mom’s Bar and Grill in Seward

longtime friends. “It’s quiet and it’s not far to go. It's a good place to hang out.”

She says it’s all about getting together with friends, having something to eat and a combination of everything – beer, friends and food.

Devine, the longtime staff – and everybody else – knew the longtime favorite recipes. Everybody knew the daily specials. The beer stayed slushy cold. The banter came back.

So did the crowds on weekend nights.

“People are thankful we didn’t quit,” Devine says.

DISCUSSION GUIDE

1. What makes it hard to engage new voices and work across factions in a rural community?

2. What might be some common values of a rural restaurant owner?

3. What’s the most important thing about rural eateries? Besides food, what other purposes can you identify?

3. How might speaking to loss be different in a rural context than an urban one?

- By Katy Weidner

MOM’S BAR AND GRILL, PART TWO

After Caroline Devine died as a result of COVID in 2021, her son, Lee, and the longtime waitresses at Mom’s Bar and Grill in Seward formed a partnership to resume operations.

Photos by Jeff Tuttle

“People are thankful we didn’t quit.”

Embracing the possibility of a bilingual city

BY: JOEL MATHIS

CAN ONE CITY HAVE TWO LANGUAGES? WITH A PROFOUND SHIFT IN THE DEMOGRAPHIC MAKEUP OF KANSAS UNDERWAY, MORE AND MORE COMMUNITIES ARE WRESTLING WITH THE CHALLENGE OF BRIDGING ETHNIC AND LINGUISTIC DIFFERENCES. IN EMPORIA, A SMALL GROUP OF RESIDENTS IS WORKING TO MAKE THE COMMUNITY MORE COHESIVE AND WELCOMING TO SPANISH-SPEAKERS AND IMMIGRANTS BY PRACTICING SPANISH TOGETHER, LEARNING THE LANGUAGE ONE PHRASE AT A TIME, IN SOME CASES. BUT AS SOME MEMBERS OF THE COMMUNITY SAY “¡SI, COMO NO!” – “YES, OF COURSE!” – TO A BILINGUAL COMMUNITY, QUESTIONS REMAIN ABOUT WHAT’S NECESSARY TO TRULY BRING PEOPLE TOGETHER.

On a blazingly hot June evening at Emporia State University, LeLan Dains led a tiny group of community residents in a game of 20 Questions.There was a twist to the contest: It was being played in Spanish.

Or mostly Spanish, anyway. The participants weren’t native speakers – not on this night, anyway – but they gave it their best.

Dains let one of the participants, Patricia Riley, pick a slip of paper. She examined it to discover the object she would be playing in the game, then started taking questions.

in a language they’re just starting to learn? Because they are part of Emporia Spanish Speakers, a group founded by Dains to adapt to – and be more welcoming of – the community’s large and still-growing population of Spanishspeakers and immigrants.

More than a quarter of Emporia’s residents are Hispanic, and nearly 13% are foreign-born, according to the U.S. Census Bureau.

“The best way to do it is to dive in,” Dains says, explaining the group’s immersive, conversational approach.

At most meetings, that effort is aided by some of Emporia’s many native Spanish speakers. (The June meeting happened after school got out, and the heat may have kept people home.)

At a May gathering, for example, Sally Sanchez and other members of the local Hispanics of Today and Tomorrow group were on hand to lead a Spanish-language lesson in tortilla making.

Dains “makes it fun,” says Sanchez, who has participated, off and on, in the ESS gatherings for several years. “He just doesn't make it just a book and pencil. No, he has conversations. He has activities for them.”

“¿Estás vivo?” Are you alive?

Yes.

“¿Eres tu planta?” Are you a plant?

No. And not an animal either.

That perplexed one questioner, who lapsed into English. “You’re not a plant or an animal, but you’re alive?”

The answer, it turns out, was a mariposa, a butterfly – el insecto, neither animal nor plant, precisely, but definitely alive.

So why was this group of people spending their evening struggling through a simple party game

The point isn’t just to learn a language: It’s to make connections, and to transform a community Dains believes has sometimes only haltingly welcomed its new neighbors over the last few decades.

That task, he says, “begins by learning how to communicate with one another.”

A CHANGING STATE

Emporia isn’t the only community in Kansas with a substantial Latino population, of course. The 2020 census found that the state grew by just 3% over the previous decade, but the number of Hispanic residents grew by an astounding 27.5%. Put another way: The state’s entire population rose by 84,762 people during the decade – and 82,561 of those residents were Hispanic.

Where the Hispanic Population is Growing in Kansas

The Hispanic population in Kansas grew by nearly 28% between the 2010 and 2020 Censuses. But the biggest rates of growth were seen in small, rural counties where the overall Hispanic population remains relatively small. The Hispanic populations in six counties – Decatur, Logan, Chase, Nemaha, Mitchell and Russell –more than doubled.

“So, Hispanics are disproportionately driving Kansas’ modest population growth,” Patrick Miller, a University of Kansas political science professor, pointed out last year in the Topeka Capital-Journal.

That’s a process that has been underway for decades, spurred early on by the rise of the meatpacking industry during the 1980s. (Emporia has been home to a large plant, now owned by Tyson, since the 1960s.) Those new plants attracted a number of new immigrants – not just from Spanish-speaking counties, but also Asian and African newcomers – and transformed southwest Kansas towns such as Garden City and Dodge City from largely white to majority Latino communities.

The country is home to more than 40 million Spanish speakers, including 22 metropolitan and micropolitan areas that have more Spanish speakers than English speakers. For the most part, those communities are in the places you might expect – along the U.S.-Mexico border in Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and California. But a few are further north, including Liberal, Kansas, where 58% of residents speak a language other than English at home, according to the U.S. Census Bureau. (In Emporia, the percentage of residents speaking a language other than English at home is 21%.)

The pace of change has sometimes challenged cities as they sought to accommodate and serve their new residents.

“It put strains on social services, on infrastructure,” says Don Stull, a professor emeritus of anthropology at KU who has been studying the changes in Garden City since the 1980s. The communities weren’t always ready for the change “because most of those (social services) providers were – and to a large extent still are – monolingual English speakers.”

There have also been dramatic moments of backlash. In 2019, three men were sentenced to prison after they were convicted of plotting to bomb a Garden City apartment complex where a number of Somali immigrants lived.

Emporia has a somewhat different history: Spanish-speaking immigrants aren’t a recent phenomenon here – a century ago, Mexican laborers flocked to the city to work on the railroad. Those newcomers “slowly blended into the community and have been referred by the locals as ‘old-guard Latinos,’ accepted and respected in town,” László J. Kulcsár and Albert Iaroi, a pair of Kansas State University researchers, noted in a 2013 examination of the city.

“I think Emporia is a very unique city, where we’ve always been a melting pot of cultures with our industries,” says Mayor Becky Smith. “There’s really not an ‘us and them’ anymore. It’s everybody.” If there’s a community backlash to immigration, she says, “they’re very much in the minority.”

But the town has seen occasional antiimmigration protests when the issue has flared up nationally. And the 1990s saw a new and more diverse wave of Latino immigrants – not just Mexican, but also newcomers from El Salvador, Ecuador and Guatemala.

“I think in all honesty, that the community for the most part did not think too highly” of the Latino immigrants coming in, one anonymous Emporian told the K-State researchers.

For some newcomers, that aloofness was obvious.

“It was a little tough,” says Sanchez, who moved to Emporia from south Texas in the 1970s. “It was a little hard to deal with that. But luckily the Hispanic community grew.”

Sometimes, Sanchez says, conflicts in the community have centered on language.

“You live in the United States, you speak English, which I have no problem with that,” she says. But there have been times when “I'm at an establishment or a restaurant and I'm speaking Spanish (to a friend) and somebody tells me, ‘Hey, you need to be speaking English.’ Why? This is my language. I'm speaking to a friend of mine. So I do what I want. That's when I get a little bit perturbed about it.”

Emporia resident Patricia Riley is the daughter of Spanish-speaking parents. But she didn't learn the language at home, so the opportunity to learn Spanish is allowing her to reclaim a part of her heritage. Photo by Jeff Tuttle

Stull says some communities have done a better job of welcoming immigrant workers than others.

“It’s what’s called ‘the context of reception,’” he says. While it’s hard to say why some towns did well with the transition and others have not, those that did tended to have a group of leaders “who saw the need to welcome these new people who were culturally very different.”

Which, as it happens, is what Dains is attempting to do in Emporia.

FIGHTING IGNORANCE

Dains wears a number of hats around town. He’s the director of Visit Emporia, the city’s tourism bureau, co-owns the Gravel City Adventure & Supply bike shop, and for a number of years was

part of the ownership group for the Unbound Gravel bike race.

It was in that last role that he was part of the process for changing the race’s name from its former moniker, the Dirty Kanza, after complaints that the label had also historically been used as a slur on the state’s native tribes.

“I really equate it to something as simple as: We're all ignorant,” he says. “But once you become educated, you're no longer ignorant. And once we became aware of the situation many years into operating the bike event, we had an obligation to do better.”

That same approach – getting educated, fighting against his own ignorance – helped bring about the creation of Emporia Spanish Speakers.

“Like most people, I had an up-and-down relationship with the Spanish language,” Dains says. “I took a course in high school, then had no use for it.”

That changed after he graduated from college and started traveling internationally.

“I began studying from a lot of my own textbooks that I had had and my wife's textbooks that she had had for college,” he says. “And after about nine months, I realized I could read and write extremely well.”

Speaking? Not so much.

When he tested his newfound skills in public, “it became very apparent to me that what I was missing was a speaking component,” Dains says.

And so, in 2017, Emporia Spanish Speakers was born.

“There has to be other people in the community who are in the same boat, kind of the same realization in their language-learning journey that they're not able to speak very well and listen when native speakers talk,” Dains says of his thought process. “And so I put it out there as a community group. And I had some people join me.”

A typical gathering can involve 10 to 20 participants – learners and native speakers both. Many of the learners practice and learn between meetings on the Duolingo app, but when they get together it’s all interaction: the games, the activities and the conversation.

“This is a free opportunity for anyone from the community to join us and practice speaking if they would like, or simply practice listening if they're not ready to talk,” Dains says.

The group relies heavily on the participation of native speakers like Sanchez to help the learners get the hang of Spanish as it is actually spoken. That’s conceivably a burden, but Sanchez doesn’t see it that way.

“I make it a point to learn something, no matter how big or how small, to learn something every day,” says Sanchez. “So, I mean, it's our way of giving back to the community, by helping out with the Spanish Speakers.”

And at least one participant has made a new connection to her family history. Riley, a longtime Emporia resident, says her parents were both Spanish-speaking Mexicans – but they refused to teach their American-born kids the language.

“My dad wanted to assimilate,” she says. Over time, though, Riley came to feel that something had been lost. Learning Spanish, and participating in ESS, has helped her start to reclaim that. “I know my mom and dad would be proud.”

THINKING BIGGER

The discussion group forms the core of Emporia Spanish Speakers, and Dains hopes it can serve as a model for other communities adapting to new immigrant populations. But that’s just the start: ESS is also widening its range of offerings.

LeLan Dains, the founder of Emporia Spanish Speakers and the father of 4-year-old Adella and 2-year-old Jack, turns the floor over to Daphne Mayes (overleaf) of the Prophet Aquatic Research and Outreach Center at Emporia State University during one of the group’s Spanish classes. Photos by Jeff Tuttle

The group now also runs Los Puentes –Spanish for “the bridges” – to offer instruction to elementary school-age children: Nearly 30 students graduated from the most recent class at a Cinco de Mayo ceremony. And recently, ESS started an eight-week program to offer instruction to Emporia retailers interested in being more welcoming to their Spanish-speaking customers. There were 14 participants in the first program, Dains says, and another is being planned. If the amount of programming by ESS has grown, so has Dains’ perspective on how Emporia has accommodated its Latino population.

“I think I had this naive viewpoint that, Oh, everything is harmonious and everyone can function within our community and everyone's just an English speaker, regardless of their ethnicity or heritage,” he says. But as the group grew, he began to realize that “the reason I wasn't having diverse language experiences is because the Spanish-speaking population didn't feel … welcome or invited into predominantly English-speaking spaces.”

There’s probably a reason for that, says Ernestor De La Rosa. He came with his family from Mexico to Dodge City as an undocumented migrant in 2004, and – after earning official

status under the federal Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program – now serves as the assistant city manager for his hometown.

“You already have a challenge of fitting in into a new culture, a new home, a new country, if you will, once you decide to move to the U.S.,” he says. “But also in my case, as an English as a second language person, you have to work twice as hard to compete with the average English speaker – and not only orally, but written.”

COMMUNITY CONVERSATION

With that realization in mind, ESS in late August sponsored a community conversation on “Latinx leadership” featuring De La Rosa, assistant city manager in Dodge City; Huascar Medina, the poet laureate of Kansas; and Daniela Rivas, assistant city manager and finance director in McPherson. There were a few dozen attendees, mostly a mix of older white community leaders and younger Latinos.

Perhaps inadvertently, the event highlighted a tension inherent in Dains’ efforts: If he’s successful, Dains – a white man trying to

plant the seeds for full Latino participation and leadership in his community – will at some point have to become less prominent as others step forward into leading on the issue.

Despite growing numbers, participants pointed out, just a precious few Latino Kansans hold local or state leadership roles.

“Latinos are the fastest-growing group in Kansas. But we don’t have any representation,” De La Rosa said during a Q&A session. “That’s an issue.”

Medina agreed, saying Latinos in Kansas should aim for more than just getting a seat at the proverbial table of community leadership. “We should be setting our table,” he says.

Getting to that point might force community leaders to rethink their old approaches.

For example: While ESS’ small conversation groups encourage participants to immerse themselves in Spanish, the August community conversation was held entirely in English. That led one participant to question whether a discussion on Latino leadership was closed off to some community residents who still feel more comfortable in Spanish.

Daniela Rivas, Huascar Medina and Ernestor De La Rosa all say they've been affected by imposter syndrome. “Speak your voice. Empower yourself. Imposter syndrome is a barrier you put on yourself,” Medina says. “You gotta take a shot! If I can do it, others from my background can do it too.” Photo by David Kaup

“How can we involve more Spanish speakers at events like these, to give them more of that power, the voice to actually be involved?” Maria Solis, a 24-year-old Emporia accountant, said afterward.

“I just wish to see more people at events and share what they want, to share their experiences, but also share them in the full spectrum, not just hindered with the language barrier.”

Dains says he recognizes the need to eventually make way for others to lead on the issue.

“Already in my heart, I desire for what Ernestor said, which is for the Latino community to be the driver of these things,” he says. For the moment, Dains says, “I believe right now the best thing I can do is use my privileges and inspire and motivate others.” When the time comes to step to the side, “I have the full confidence that I will absolutely do that and I will remain to the side as an ally.”

WHAT’S NEXT

For now, though, there seems to be appreciation in Emporia for the work that Dains is doing.

Yahaira Ibarra, a 24-year-old Latina community leader who emceed the August event, says Dains has done “a great job of just evolving and getting the Latino community just more involved” in the Emporia community. That effort is “much-needed just so people can see that there are people trying and that there are people out there who want to expand that knowledge, expand the diversity,” she says.

Daniela Rivas, the assistant city manager and finance director for McPherson; Kansas' poet laureate, Huascar Medina; and Ernestor De La Rosa, the assistant city manager for Dodge City, shared experiences and ideas at the LatinX Leadership Community Conversation in late August at Emporia's Granada Theatre.

Photo by David Kaup

And Dains remains enthusiastic about his big goals for the community.

“My vision,” he says, “is to see a truly bilingual Emporia.”

That means “not just that native Spanish speakers are being somewhat required to learn English, but that native English speakers are choosing to learn Spanish because it enriches their own lives, opens more doors for themselves and connects them to a part of the community that they wouldn't otherwise be connected to,” he says.

The spirit of the effort is reflected in a green T-shirt that Dains wears regularly to ESS events.

It featured a slogan: “¡Si, como no!”

“It translates to, ‘Yes, of course,’” he says. “Why wouldn’t we do that? We like to say yes to things.”

DISCUSSION GUIDE

1. What might it look like to let go of our power in a space? What are the benefits and potential risks of doing so?

2. What does setting the table look like in a community setting?

3. What does a trustworthy process look like when it comes to sharing pieces of culture?

4. Why might people not support the efforts of the Emporia Spanish Speakers? What values or loyalties might be getting challenged?

- By Julian Montes

The slogan on LeLan Dains' T-shirt translates to "Yes of course!" It's a reflection of how he views the possibilities if all of Emporia were to appreciate the range of human dif ferences and value inclusion. For now, his goal is modest: teach basic retail and service industry Spanish to businesses and interested residents. Photos by Jeff Tuttle

City official Ernestor De La Rosa sees a lack of Latino representation in state or local leadership roles as a significant issue considering the group’s growing population numbers.

Photo by David Kaup

UPHOLDING HIGH STANDARDS

A NATIONAL POLICE DECERTIFICATION DATABASE REPRESENTS ONE WAY FOR AGENCIES TO ENSURE OFFICERS WITH HISTORIES OF ILLEGAL OR UNETHICAL BEHAVIOR DON’T ENDANGER THE PUBLIC. ONCE LITTLE KNOWN, USE OF THE INDEX HAS BEEN GROWING RAPIDLY. BUT STILL, JUST 59 OF THE STATE’S 371 AGENCIES USE IT. AT A TIME WHEN LAW ENFORCEMENT FACES INCREASING SCRUTINY, THE DATABASE REPRESENTS A RELATIVELY UNCONTROVERSIAL WAY TO BOLSTER PUBLIC TRUST. BUT GETTING AGENCIES TO COLLABORATE WITH THE DATABASE REMAINS A CHALLENGE, AND MANY ARE WARY OF MAKING IT A MANDATE.

BY: ROXIE HAMMILL

The woman was going through a rough time and was worried when she went to the Gardner Police Station in 2020. After recently reporting being beaten by her husband, she was now afraid he may have hidden a GPS tracker on her car.

The police officer, whom she had never met, checked the vehicle out and got her contact number.

Things took a turn after that, according to the report filed with the Kansas Commission on Peace Officers’ Standards and Training on the decertification of Christopher White. She reported that he had come to her home after that meeting and had begun sending texts – 194 in one week. After he showed up at her house and they had sex, she reported feeling manipulated.

Eventually, she moved away and reported the events to the Johnson County district attorney on the advice of her therapist. There are no records that he was charged with a crime, but the standards commission found enough cause to revoke White’s police officer’s license for the relationship and for trying to cover it up.

The standards commission, otherwise known as CPOST, is full of stories of officers who lost their licenses due to misconduct. Reasons range from lying about hours worked to mistreatment of arrestees to domestic abuse. They are the outliers among policing agencies, but still a big problem because of the damage they do to public trust.

Things are changing, but until lately it was easy for these officers to pack up, move to another state and get a law enforcement job once again.

That happened in Cedar Vale. In 2005, Sean Sullivan, a police officer in Coquille, Oregon, was convicted of two counts of harassment for kissing a 10-year-old girl on the mouth.

The Oregon Department of Public Safety Standards and Training canceled his certification. He did not get a jail sentence, but a judge ordered him never to work in law enforcement again.

That didn’t stop Sullivan from trying, though. After applying unsuccessfully for a job in Alaska, Sullivan was hired in Cedar Vale – not as an ordinary officer but as police chief. On both applications, Sullivan falsely asserted he had never been convicted of a crime or had his law enforcement license revoked.

He remained in Cedar Vale until May 2006, when his revoked status was discovered by the Kansas standards commission. After another investigation indicated other crimes, his Kansas certification was revoked and he was charged with burglary and criminal conspiracy. (Cedar Vale’s current police chief could not be reached for comment.)

Kansas’ standards commission promoted Sullivan’s case as a reason law enforcement agencies should be using a national database that identifies decertified cops. In 2006 that database, kept by the nonprofit International Association of Directors of Law Enforcement Standards and Training (IADLEST), was not well known in the law enforcement community. But it was used by Kansas and Oregon and played a key role in getting Sullivan out of the police chief’s office, according to the agency’s published account.

Since then, its use has been growing in Kansas, with a publicity boost from recent attempts to make its use a hiring requirement. Just since March, 21 departments in jurisdictions that cover more than 400,000 Kansans have started using the database, increasing the total number of agencies in the state using it to 59.

The list of jurisdictions that recently began using it includes the Bonner Springs, Dodge City, Gardner, Lawrence, Topeka and Wellington police departments and sheriff’s offices in Crawford, Finney, Kingman, Seward and Wyandotte counties.

At a time of heated political debate over policing in communities, the widespread use of such measures seems like a relatively noncontroversial way to bolster public trust in law enforcement. Getting bad cops out of law enforcement is popular on the left, right and center.

But although more agencies have begun to use it, many do not. A lack of awareness, concerns that the database might actually incentivize unethical behavior and the challenge of getting agencies to prioritize its use at a time when it can be very tough to find qualified candidates for police officer positions all play a role.

THE NATIONAL DECERTIFICATION INDEX

The database has been around since about 2000, says Mike Becar, the executive director of the standards and training group, an international association focused on supporting good criteria and training for law enforcement. The index was created as a way to beat the “wandering officer” problem that was gaining public attention.

That problem has been difficult to track. A Yale Law Review study published in 2020 of 98,000 full-time officers in Florida over a 30-year period showed that in any given year, 1,100 fired officers, including more than 800 fired for misconduct, were working for new agencies.

Authors Ben Grunwald and John Rappaport also found those officers tended to locate at agencies with fewer resources.

Becar calls the index a “pointer system,” meaning that a law enforcement agency that uses it as part of a background check will be told if a job candidate has had a decertification action taken and where to find out more. Only the certifying agencies in each state are allowed to submit information to the index and only cases in which an officer loses a license because of misconduct are included, though what qualifies as misconduct varies from state to state. It is not open to public viewing.

The standards and training group’s role is advisory. It has no power over the operations of individual states or the commissions that enforce their standards. They can recommend and encourage, but power resides with state-level commissions, as set by their legislatures. Peace officer standards and training commissions issue credentials and set requirements in individual states.

When Sullivan was chief of the Cedar Vale police, the database was still a relative startup. Few had heard of it.

There was no uniformity at the state level in the handling of officers’ credentials, Becar says. Some states, like California, could issue law enforcement licenses but did not have the power to revoke them. Others didn’t have a certification process at all.

Moreover, not all states that could decertify immediately decided to report their information to the index initially.

Even beyond its startup years, the database has grown slowly.

But the resource recently got a boost when California and Massachusetts started using it, Becar says. Massachusetts took it a step further and required all peace officer hiring to be checked against the index. “So that’s huge,” Becar says. Hawaii, New Jersey and Rhode Island are now the only states that don’t contribute to the list.

The public discussion about police reform after the death of George Floyd has likely influenced the growth, he says. Awareness got another

boost this year with an executive order from President Joe Biden to create a similar database applying to federal law enforcement officers, who as a rule are not licensed.

KANSAS SUPPORT

The Kansas law enforcement watchdog does not balk at decertifying officers when the facts support it, says Doug Schroeder, executive director of the state standards commission.

Compared with other states, Kansas may appear to be tougher, he says. Schroeder references statistics that show Minnesota, which has more officers than Kansas, took only about 10% of the decertifying actions that Kansas did over a 10-year period.

It isn’t that Kansas is hiring more bad cops, Schroeder explains. The rate is indicative of a rigorous and expanding set of rules for decertifying offenses.

“We're very proactive, perhaps aggressive, while still providing that due process that officers deserve,” he says. The state commission recently expanded definitions and added a rule that an officer must self-report after getting into legal trouble – for instance, a driving while intoxicated charge in another jurisdiction. The rule covers felonies, misdemeanors of domestic violence or other misdemeanors “that reflect on honesty, trustworthiness, integrity or competence.”

“I jokingly call it ‘go on vacation and come back on probation,’” Schroeder says.

Even some falsehoods – like fudging a time sheet – that might get a wrist slap in the rest of the working world are enough to get an officer decertified in Kansas.

That was the case for Terry Rose, a Butler County sheriff’s deputy who had been called as a witness in a criminal case in 2020. On his way to court, he learned that a plea deal had been reached and he wouldn’t have to testify. Instead of turning back to the office, he headed home, the commission’s investigation found. But he still charged the county for time worked.

Darin Beck, executive director of the Kansas Law Enforcement Training Center, says relatively few people that he addresses in his interactions with civic groups know there is an agency that oversees police licensing. Photo by Jeff Tuttle

President, Kansas Peace Officers Association

Lies – whether on time sheets or during internal investigations – are serious matters when it comes to keeping law enforcement credentials in Kansas, says Darin Beck, executive director of the Kansas Law Enforcement Training Center. “It’s absolutely a termination-level thing,” he says, because a record of lying can damage the officer’s credibility as a witness in court cases.

Still, the licensing agency can face criticism for not going far enough, such as this past October when it reprimanded but didn’t decertify an officer it found to have “used excessive force.”

KANSAS AGENCIES SLOW TO USE THE DATABASE

Although the national database is free to use, Kansas law enforcement agencies have until recently been slow to access it. In March, only 38 of 371 agencies in the state used the resource as part of their hiring background checks.

But use has increased 55% since then.

That still isn’t enough for Sheila Albers, who believes every agency should be checking it. Albers is the mother of a teenager killed in a police shooting who has since made law enforcement accountability her focus.

Albers began thinking about the challenge of keeping tabs on officers’ pasts after her son, John, was shot to death in 2018 by a member of the Overland Park police force. Officer Clayton Jenison fired 13 shots into the Albers family van, killing John, who was driving. He resigned shortly thereafter. The incident had begun as a welfare check on the 17-year-old, whose friends had expressed concern about him.

Albers learned of the international standards and training group’s database after a little research and became an advocate for a state law that would require all agencies to check it as part of the background process. A bill was introduced by State Sen. Cindy Holscher, an Overland Park Democrat, last session, but despite support

from the state standards commission, it did not get a hearing or a vote.

Albers questioned whether local agencies have pushed hard enough to influence their peers to use the database.

“Why don’t we have all the law enforcement agencies in Johnson County using this?” she asks.

But there’s a reluctance in many law enforcement circles to mandate use of the database. Some influential voices believe their missions transcend advocacy, and pushing for a specific solution isn’t appropriate.

Cindy Henson, president of the Johnson County Police Chiefs’ and Sheriff’s Association, says taking a position on a specific issue, like the use of the database, is not a part of the nonprofit’s mission. The association’s purpose is to foster cooperation among the many law enforcement agencies operating in the county and to encourage high professional standards, she says.

Law enforcement agencies contacted for this story were generally supportive of the national index, but were also careful about calling for restrictions on how individual agencies do their hiring. The Kansas Peace Officers Association, for instance, supported Holscher’s bill, says President Joby Harrison. But he emphasized that each agency has its own hiring policies.

As a result, legislators don’t hear law enforcement speaking with a unified voice, which can be an impediment in today’s highly politicized environment to moving legislation that affects policing.

The state commission on standards and training has taken the most visible role in promoting the database, through its publications and support of the bill. Holscher says the version of the bill introduced last session makes it easy for departments to use, since it would allow departments to make the final decision on who they hire. It may be reintroduced in the next session, she says.

The training center also has been a big supporter of the index, Beck says. In fact Beck was a member when IADLEST was new and now represents the Midwest on its board of directors.

“In all of our training, we’re teaching how to do background investigations,” he says. “We’re certainly getting information out there that (the database) exists. And that’s a pretty easy system to access as far as it’s free, it’s easily available.”

THERE ARE STILL HOLES

But the lists only work when officers are decertified, something that is comparatively rare. For instance, Jenison never faced decertification. He resigned under “normal circumstances,” according to the notation Overland Park officials submitted to the state commission.

Voluntary resignation is one of the circumstances the database doesn’t address. It’s also one of the things that makes Chief David Lathrom of the Medicine Lodge Police Department skeptical about the national database.

“I have seen very bad officers given the choice of resigning or being fired,” he wrote in an email. “If they agree to resign, the chief agrees not to report them to the state CPOST.”

Lathrom says the threat of being listed on the national registry has the potential to empower police chiefs into forcing an officer to do something unethical or illegal. “It creates a no-win situation for the officer. If they do as the chief says, they have no integrity and may have other problems later. If they say no, their job is gone and they are unable to get another in police work,” he wrote.

In the end, the database is only as good as the information going into it. Kansas officers’ names wind up on it because the standards commission has investigated and found enough evidence of misconduct to pull their licenses.

“Anytime there's an officer that conducts himself or herself in not a good light for the public and the citizens of Kansas or the nation, that gives everybody a poor reputation.”

Joby Harrison

WHY ISN’T USE MORE UNIVERSAL?

Becar says awareness of the index has been a problem in the past, especially when fewer states were using it.

“A lot of agencies didn't even know about the (national decertification index), and we've been getting the word out. We've done a lot of podcasts and things like that to try to let them know that this is a free service that's helped,” he says.

In Kansas, Holscher’s bill and promotion from the state commission has also helped.

The Riley County Police Department, for instance, learned about the database through a promotional email, says Nicole Douthit, the department’s human resources officer. The department started using it this summer, she says.

Absent use of the index, individual agency background checks remain the primary way that jurisdictions weed out problem candidates. Agencies contacted for this story all reported doing their own background checks on potential hires.

Those efforts typically include searches for criminal records, court records, school transcripts, social media and Google searches, says Gardner Police Chief James Belcher. Some departments also conduct polygraph tests.

The decertification list is generally described by those who use it as another useful tool to weed out undesirable candidatas.

In fact, the state commission provides some backup by checking new hires against the database as they are reported by police and sheriffs offices. If it finds a hired officer was decertified in another state, he or she cannot be certified in Kansas.

That’s not a perfect system, Schroeder says, because by then the officer already has been working.

Many agency heads agreed that it has been tough to find enough officers to fill their positions. “I think that things that would have been automatic disqualifiers in the hiring process in the

past are now being considered much more so on a case-by-case basis as to whether or not they should disqualify,” says Beck, of the training center.

But they disagreed with the suggestion that scarcity of candidates or resources affects their willingness to look in the index for fear of finding a bad cop. Officer misconduct is a huge liability to the community and a blot on officers who need the public to trust them, several said.

“Anytime there's an officer that conducts himself or herself in not a good light for the public and the citizens of Kansas or the nation, that gives everybody a poor reputation,” says Harrison.

Dawn Layman, chief of police in Lenexa, says officers can be fired or leave for many reasons that don’t disqualify them for future work. But when it comes to misconduct, “trust me, if anybody needs to be on that list, we would report that,” she says. “We check every new hire with IADLEST.”

Public perception matters, Beck says, adding it may be one of the reasons it’s so difficult to find officer candidates.

Beck faults the negative portrayal of law enforcement in the media for some of the problems in hiring. “It's hard to convince a person to join a team that is being maligned constantly in the press,” he says.

Beck says that, judging by his audiences with civic groups, very few people know there is an agency that oversees police licensing.

“I know a lot of people think that law enforcement is untouchable and isn't being held accountable. But I can tell you certainly that's not a true statement,” he says. “Whether it's law enforcement officers who are being decertified for things they do on duty or law enforcement officers who are going to prison for things that they're doing on duty, they are being held accountable. And I'm a believer in the system.”

DISCUSSION GUIDE

1. How would you evaluate the success of the efforts to promote the national police decertification database? What is working and where are the barriers?

2. How would you evaluate the impact of a mandate in this situation? In what ways would it help or hurt the cause?

3. What do you see as the fundamental challenge here and what leadership might be necessary to address it?

- By Chris

Green

The majority of Kansas' law enforcement officers in the state train at the Kansas Law Enforcement Training Center near Hutchinson, taking in a curriculum that includes academics, fitness and firearms proficiency. Training runs the gamut from collision investigation to report writing. In late summer, three basic training classes were at the complex. Participants included (clockwise from top left): Brian Hampton of the Lansing Police Department and Christian Tucker of the Dodge City Police Department; trainees learning handcuffing; Marvin Reddick of the Goodland Police Department; and Melisa Simmons of the Caney Police Department. Photos by Jeff Tuttle

Ounces of prevention

By: KEITH TATUM

No one wants their school to be the next Uvalde. But a school board member’s conversations have led him to conclude that the route to preventing school shootings is complex and multifaceted.

I was stunned.

On May 24, 2022, I watched the aftermath of yet another school shooting, along with the rest of the world, after a lone gunman entered Robb Elementary School in Uvalde, Texas and murdered two teachers and 19 children. I was stunned, grieved and concerned, wondering how this could have happened – again – to another public school in an ordinary American town.

I felt the weight of this tragedy not only as a parent and as a concerned citizen, but also as a community member elected to serve on my local school board. Because of my role on Topeka’s USD 501 School Board, I have a fiduciary responsibility to help ensure the safety of our students, teachers and school personnel. And yet, school board members also must balance the competing values of school safety with those of establishing a conducive environment for productive learning.

I resolved to expend every effort to balance both values. These were adaptive challenges, for sure; technical fixes would not be enough. In order to fully grasp these adaptive issues, I needed to consult with a public education professional who is immersed in the struggle to balance both values every single day. So, I reached out to the USD 501 superintendent, Dr. Tiffany Anderson.

As a school superintendent, Anderson spearheaded a response to her school community in Virginia after the Virginia Tech shootings in 2007. She is someone who thinks both very deeply and continually about such seemingly intractable matters. To be fair, there are other perspectives regarding the school safety issue, such as gun control or police accountability, that are valid but are outside the

scope of this article. For this article, I chose to connect with Anderson as both a parent and school board member regarding the safety procedures and practices of our district.

In the wake of both the Uvalde shooting and a March 4 incident at Olathe East High School that left two adults wounded, Anderson admitted this is a frightening time to send our kids to school. There has been a heightened desire for USD 501 to engage in both proactive and reactive steps, including securing mental health services and increasing a police presence at elementary schools. Current procedures also include a focus on training, such as conducting building intruder drills, engaging in emergency plans, directing crisis teams and role-playing disaster scenarios. Anderson believes proactive approaches to safety have been successful for the district.

The Topeka Public School district has not experienced a school suicide in approximately four years, and she believes this is partly due to the district’s mental health services.

The shooting in Uvalde occurred the day after the Topeka school district’s last day of school. That meant school officials had limited opportunities to debrief students and teachers regarding the tragedy. Instead, Anderson initiated a district-wide listening tour, similar to her response to the Virginia Tech shootings. She began this process by setting up meetings in a variety of community venues and communicating to the public that these listening tours would be to acquire thoughts and feedback on the safety status of the USD 501 schools. Community members could show up at any or all of the available sessions to talk with Anderson and district staff about their concerns. (They could also apply for district jobs and enroll their kids for the upcoming school year.)

As a result of the tour, many people inquired about the district adding metal detectors. As a school board member, I recognize the line between making schools harder targets and turning them into fortresses. “It’s a careful walk,” says Anderson. “The key is listening.” She held that listening allows us to respond with facts about subjects like metal detector effectiveness (which could also be a barrier to learning) and bringing the issue back to training, communication and district safety procedures (like intruder drills and role-playing scenarios).

At this stage, the district is not utilizing metal detectors, but this could change in the future as the school board considers every available option for hardening schools.

Anderson believes our challenge is now. In working to solve issues of school safety adaptively, she maintained that two things will always be an issue: Not enough money and legislation that handcuffs schools from making local decisions to serve their students as they see fit, whether it’s a parents’ bill of rights or banning transgender students from participating in girls or women’s sports, neither of which became law this past session in the Legislature.

To Anderson, the path to solving these concerns is to ensure school policies are clear and enforced, and provide opportunity and access through use of surveillance cameras, mental health services and a variety of safety options. There’s the potential to engage in safety practices by virtue of being in public spaces, fueled by efforts to create change through legislation, activism and our school board’s policies.

“Not a one-and-done but a systemic issue,” she says, given that layers are progressively added to our system continually. She said many parents feel safe about sending their kids to school in the district because USD 501 has its own school police department. Importantly, as a result of the listening tour, Anderson will be sending out letters to parents outlining the consequences of students bringing firearms to school or otherwise infringing upon school safety. She is hopeful this will put people on notice and further strengthen the varied layers of protection surrounding each school.

After my discussion with Anderson, I am less stunned, still grieving the loss of life, still concerned, but absolutely stronger in my resolve to figure these issues out for the benefit of my school district.

Any efforts at promoting safety must be multifaceted, and there is no way to make any place totally safe. A focus on training, mental health interventions, activism, engagement with lawmakers and establishing open lines of communication with the public are all solid ideas for protecting our schools. Not that these factors are foolproof, but they can contribute to a powerful effort. The challenge to overcome these adaptive issues is ongoing. I’d recommend these practices to any school board looking to fortify spaces of learning for the benefit of their students and staff. With all that I have now learned, I feel cautiously optimistic that my children, and the children of my fellow citizens across the city of Topeka, will be safer at school because of the practices and procedures put into place at USD 501.

Keith Tatum is a native Kansan, born in Manhattan and raised in Topeka. Tatum has dedicated his career to public service and empowering every voice within our community. His professional experience includes nonprofit administration and 20-plus years of diverse leadership capacities in state government. He currently serves as the deputy secretary for the Kansas Department of Labor.

Tatum holds a master’s degree in public administration from the University of Kansas and a bachelor’s degree in psychology from Washburn University. He and his wife, Teresa, live in Topeka and have a blended family of 10 children and one grandson.

By: MARK MCCORMICK

Having lived in several states, having served on national boards and having participated in national fellowships, most of my colleagues along the way will tell you that they received from me more information about Kansas than they’d ever dreamed of asking.

My national Black museum colleagues weren’t aware of Kansas’ role in founding the Smithsonian’s National Museum of African American History and Culture. They are now. My Miami fellowship class wasn’t aware that Gwendolyn Brooks, Aaron Douglas and Langston Hughes lived here. They know now.

Though I’m usually frustrated that we aren’t living up to our “Free State” billing, I’m generally proud of Kansas, but maybe never more so than after the August special election, where voters here turned out in record numbers and, with the nation watching, acquitted themselves so well.

My pride stems not just from the result, but also from the way Kansans modeled the power of participatory democracy. Except for race, abortion might be the most volatile issue in today’s public square, yet we settled our bitter differences with ballots.

This is no small thing, particularly following recent episodes of hateful rhetoric aimed at the FBI and a deadly attack on an FBI building in Ohio.

I also delighted in Kansas leaning into its libertarian tendencies and temporarily shelving its tired and predictable brand as only red, conservative and marching in lockstep with the political right. We have had two Democrats elected governor in recent decades.

Just as with the issue of abortion, Kansans have depth and complexity, and we defy easy categorization.

We aren’t flyover country, either. Trends have originated here and spread, as opposed to trends arriving in Kansas 10 years after they’ve ebbed on the coasts.

It was historically fitting that we were the first state to take on the issue of abortion after Roe v. Wade was overturned.

My brilliant Journal colleague and Kansas historian Beccy Tanner taught me that Kansas was the first state to pass temperance laws and enter Prohibition and that we served as a petri dish for populism among a number of other “isms.”

Wichita was one of the first cities in the country to pass a gay rights ordinance, though entertainer Anita Bryant launched her successful overturn campaign targeting Wichita immediately afterward.

There’s more: Pizza Hut, Phillips 66, broomcorn, and a world-class aerospace industry. One of the first-ever lunch counter sit-ins.

And now, I can buzz in the ears of my east coast, west coast and Southern friends about that day in August when the Sunflower State zigged when America thought we’d zag. It was great watching and reading national pundits as they scratched their heads and tried to figure us out.

While they work through that, I’ll keep thinking about how we maintain and maybe even expand this level of voter engagement. With fissures snaking up the foundation of our democracy, we need that more than ever.

I’ll also reflect on Aug. 2 and how Kansans showed up and showed out. It’s truly something to be proud of. Mark McCormick previously served as editor of The Journal.

I’m really proud of Kansas, but not why you think

KANSAS