From the Alvin and Rosalie Sara Check studio.

PBS Kansas Presents Hatteberg's People The True History of Kansas is written in the memories, trials and triumphs of its everyday people.

So on this edition of Hatteberg's People, we look back at a devastating natural disaster in 1974 that forced hundreds to flee and swallowed entire neighborhoods.

Plus rescuing a magical piece of Americana.

Step inside the old litho workshop that brought classic antique popcorn wagons back to life.

Also, the invisible scars of Battle won World War two veteran opens up about his deeply personal decadeslong search for peace.

And it is the invitation of a lifetime.

We meet the Salina woman who turned down a trip to the white House.

Stick around to find out why.

Hello, I'm Susan Peters, and I'm Larry Hatteberg.

Join us for these stories and much more on this edition of Hattebergs People.

These stories are like old friends.

Their lives radiate from the screen like prophets of the past.

They were teachers, but not in a classroom.

Instead, they taught about life to those around them who cared to listen.

And I was their student.

Nature has a way of reminding us who is truly in charge.

And few events leave a more lasting, devastating mark on a community than massive flooding.

That's right.

And in 1974, relentless heavy rains across Kansas and Oklahoma pushed rivers far beyond their banks, sending muddy waters pouring into the streets and homes.

Now, the epicenter of that disaster was Bartlesville, Oklahoma, where residents were forced to flee the rising tide and then face the daunting task of starting over.

A Caney River crested in the Bartlesville, Oklahoma, area tonight, but not before heavy damage was inflicted by the floodwaters.

Unofficial estimates of the rain north of Bartlesville over the weekend ranged from 4 to 9in.

Cities on the for Husker River near Tulsa and south of Bartlesville were also affected by the rising waters.

But the old timers in the area say it had been worse.

It's about the highest.

You've seen it out here.

No, actually, back in, 26, it got up right at the bottom windows of that, near Lebanon in 57.

It, it didn't get up in this quite this high.

He didn't get into that house back behind here.

Even though the water closed many businesses on the east side of Bartlesville, the door was still open to friends who came to help.

Say.

He's getting a little water in here to learn.

Well, see, it's running out.

If we keep seeing them cars all by, it runs out every once in a while.

It's sloshing back and forth.

Yeah, yeah.

Front door had to it way.

Though.

Please.

On the local radio station for assistance.

And sandbagging did not go unheeded.

Even though the crest was expected in late afternoon, students attempted to save homes by manning the shovels in an attempt to stop the rising waters for 40.

Two although there was no estimate on how many homes were damaged in the area.

The sheriff's office tonight said, quote, there was a bunch of damage.

Volunteers assisted regular rescue personnel during the day, evacuating stranded homeowners, and although there were no injuries here in Bartlesville, other areas were not so lucky.

In Parsons, Kansas, the search continues tonight for an elderly man reported missing after his saddled but riderless horse was found.

The full fury of the raging waters will probably not be known until tomorrow, when residents start moving back into their mud filled homes.

Larry Hattiesburg on the scene.

Well, during that 1974 flood event, the Caney River crested at dangerous levels, swallowing entire neighborhoods, displacing hundreds of families and causing millions of dollars in damage.

Now, it remains a defining disaster for the region, one that ultimately helped shape modern flood control and emergency management systems still in use today.

I remember that story like it was yesterday and it was 1974, right?

And I remember I came across this older man in this store and the water was just washing up.

Rolling.

Yeah.

And it was one of the first times we started using microphones for natural sound.

The sound of the elements, the sound of the wind, the sound of the water.

And prior to that, it really hadn't been done that much.

And it was television was changing.

And so this was one of those stories that, you know, we were breaking new ground for the sound.

And when people would watch it, nobody else think of that.

But I thought of it.

But you thought of putting the microphone down to catch the rushing water.

That's correct.

And the sound of the rushing water?

That's correct.

And back then it really was not.

You didn't you didn't do it.

Sound wasn't important.

Yeah.

And you won an award for that story?

I did, yeah I did.

That is so cool.

So but that was fun.

But I remember that.

I like to see the whole thing very clearly.

Isn't that weird?

We can remember 1974, but we can't remember yesterday.

That's right.

Okay, we're going to go back to the Civil War, now, because it wasn't the Civil War that General Sherman said.

War is hell.

And that has proven to be so for generation after generation.

Now, post-traumatic stress disorder is well known and it is treated.

But in the past, it wasn't acknowledged.

And that caused lifelong trauma for military veterans who couldn't erase the memories of what they'd been through.

Such was the case for World War Two veteran Benny Jeffries.

There's no way.

I can get it out of my memory.

Benny Jeffries was a tail gunner on a B-17 in World War Two.

He proudly served his country.

64 years later, the war he fought may be over for history, but not for Benny.

I think one of the worst things for me right now is, what's more, I've grown up.

I hate going to bed at night.

A lot of times I'll.

I'll stay up till 2 or 3:00 in the morning.

In the early 1940s, Benny was a newlywed.

Twila Marie was his wife.

The day after they were married.

Benny received his draft notice a few days later.

He left for the war.

He married, kind, loving, you know.

And she didn't marry a soldier, but, come back.

She said I was still fighting the war.

And she wondered, kind of loving husband back.

And to this day, he is still fighting the shadows of history and the horror of war.

Oh.

My position was right back here, and I sit with my legs doubled up under me.

On one mission, they had part of their wing shut off.

But what bothers him most is that once they had to drop their bombs in order to maintain altitude, where those bombs went has haunted him for over half a century.

They could have landed in a farmer's open field, or they may have landed in a hospital or schoolyard.

I know that I survived the thing.

By the grace of God.

I pray God will forgive me for my part of it.

The young tail gunner from Kansas still fighting a war that for him will never end.

When it's over for me.

Will be the time I'm laying in a coffin.

Now Benny finally found the peace that he wanted so much in 2018, when he died at age 95.

I remember that story very well, too.

And he was.

He suffered his whole life from traumatic stress.

Exactly.

You know, and and he he couldn't get away from it.

He told me that there would be times that he would wake up and he wasn't in his bed.

He was in another room.

He was in another.

Yeah.

And he had no remembrance of any of that.

But he got up because he was upset about something, right?

That's right.

It's so real.

It is traumatic.

It is.

It's absolutely real.

And and the thing is, is that he said everything.

When the trauma will be over for me, will be when I'm laying in a coffin.

And that was probably very, very true, for it was true for him.

And he was a very nice man, a kind man.

So rest in peace.

And he's in heaven now, so he is at peace.

Cemetery is supposed to be a place of peace, a dignified resting place to honor those who came before us.

But at one local cemetery in Wellington, years of overgrowth and neglect had slowly buried the memories of the people rusting there.

Yeah.

It was a heartbreaking sight that deeply troubled old ramble.

Now, armed with a simple yard, tools and a tremendous amount of determination, she set out on a quiet, lonely mission to restore beauty and respect to those hallowed grounds.

The 101 stone markers that comprise this old cemetery on Wellington's east side were once abandoned and forgotten.

All the Randall changed all that.

Headed for a tombstone.

This retired Wellington businesswoman convinced others that cemeteries were for remembering, not forgetting.

At her direction, the cemetery became a project of the Women's Division of the Chamber of Commerce.

Because we've got grass here that needs cleaning off.

That's why you get this grass out of here.

After we started working on it and cleaning it up, then we've had lots of help because, people have appreciated the fact that the gateway to our city on the east is a respectable looking place.

It is because people like Olga cared.

It was 1967 when the cleanup project became a reality.

Crumbled stones were salvaged and cleaned, and flowers appeared.

Where weeds once grew.

Most important, though, the dead are now remembered with respect.

I really feel very much at home out here.

I mean, it doesn't ever bother me to even be out here by myself, which I do sometimes.

And, I just dig away like it was my place.

This grave is special to Olga.

It stands alone in a corner of the cemetery.

Thomas Dixon was probably a Civil War veteran.

Years ago, when a new cemetery opened in Wellington, all the other veterans were moved.

All except this one.

You can't be all nice and clean.

He was put over here in a corner all by himself, just like nobody cared.

So I guess we're trying to join the time.

But I did care.

Each spring, Olga organizes a cleanup day.

Trees and flowers are planted.

And the cemetery, a symbol of death, is surrounded by life.

Life given by Olga Randol from Wellington.

I'm Larry.

Had a bird.

Now, Olga continued the work for a good number of years down there.

Of course, she's no longer with us today.

We're told the cemetery is now getting topnotch care from the city, so volunteers aren't required for routine maintenance anymore.

But boy, do I admire people who see a problem and see something that should be changed and something that isn't right.

So what are they going to do?

They're going to take it upon themselves to go out and make the problem better.

And I love them.

Better make it go away.

And if it wasn't for Olga, perhaps the city would not be taking care of it now, because they would have given up and you know.

So thank you, Olga.

She made a difference.

Long before modern concession stands, the sound of a tiny steam whistle and the warm smell of fresh popcorn drew crowds to street corners across America.

Those distinctive glass sided wagons were once a magical part of Main Street.

You can taste the popcorn, can't you?

Well, as the decades passed, many of those beautiful machines were simply abandoned and left to rust.

But in 1982, I met a master craftsman in Aletha named Bob Pearson, who turned his workshop into a time machine to rescue that unique slice of Americana.

You've seen his work before, the old style popcorn wagons that were popular at the turn of the century.

Hour and a half.

You can't make it.

This small one is located in the lobby of the Fourth Financial Center.

This large one is not an original 1921 Ford chassis.

Houses Bob Pearson's latest creation.

Bob has the only company in the world that makes popcorn wagons.

Some are replicas, others are not.

This one is original from the ground up.

We're the only ones in the United States crazy enough to be doing this type thing.

Bob's crazy like a fox.

You'll see as many styles of popcorn wagons at Disneyland, worlds of Fun, the Playboy clubs, and in amusement parks throughout the world.

This truck is being built for an eastern oilman because most of it is original.

The truck sells for $55,000.

And to make that type expenditure, they're going to need a top location.

So you might say it takes more than peanuts to sell popcorn.

Well, I like popcorn and so does everyone else.

People think I seem to play all day.

It is work, but it's something I really enjoy.

To derive satisfaction out of seeing a finished project is, It's really satisfying.

Next time you get a chance to see one of Bob's popcorn wagons up close, take a look at that solid oak that stained, sanded, painted and finished in his own woodworking shop.

Reproductions of the wagons take three months to build.

Original equipment models take longer.

The Wheel of Fortune smiled on Bob Pearson the day he decided to give America back the popcorn wagon.

Now, not only does he build a product out of wood, steel and glass, but he also builds memories.

From a Life of Kansas.

This is Laurie Hattiesburg.

Over the decades, Bob gained national recognition for his incredible replicas and restorations through his business, Pearson and Company.

Bob spent nearly six decades preserving that unique slice of history.

Before he passed away in 2026 at the age of 89.

But you can still find his popcorn wagons in communities all across America.

Every time we talk about that story, I can taste the popcorn, I can smell the popcorn, and I can see him working on.

And you can see him working on and on.

And he just passed away this year.

Right?

Amazing.

Well, as the decades pass, the buildings and places that once to find our communities often disappear into a memory.

But one Augusta man found a way to bring those lost pieces of history back to life.

In 2002, Bob Stanley was busy recreating the past, building meticulous miniature replicas of long gone homes, businesses and train depots.

Now they look amazingly like the real thing.

And capturing that kind of precise detail.

Hey, it's no easy task.

Piece of history you can take to a school or set uses, and show the kids how the horses ran around the barn, or what the man did.

You look at these old outfits here, and you can just see the man coming in or dying in the day, and sitting down and enjoying me.

Yeah, that's good stuff.

No one loves his retirement more than Bob Stanley.

This is fun because it's not a job.

I mean, you know, it isn't something I have to punch into the morning and got to have it done by noon on an old creek bed in Butler County.

Bob picks out rocks that will soon become part of his old time home.

It's help being get him like work as a grain run in one way or another.

You can cut them and do something with them and and those rocks become part of these hard time homes that Bob Stanley is so good at creating.

And this is what you do when you have time to enjoy your time.

So when he's not outside finding parts for his home, it's a good hobby and it's back to town.

Then he's enjoying his little old time home city on display in his living room.

Older people that grew up on farms and lived in country communities, they remember stuff like this.

There is the old Leon depot.

A little old building we've all seen with boards missing.

That old building on Main Street, someone's retirement haven and an old country church.

Part time buildings that come to life on Bob Stanley's watch.

My longest project took seven months, but, the depot in there.

And at most of the summer.

It's enjoyable.

And that's the main thing to me.

Now I'm 70 years old, so I got a lot to enjoy.

If there's work to this, I guess I haven't realized it as work yet.

Now, bobcat, building those amazing miniatures for many more years.

You can see some of his work on display at the Augusta Historical Museum.

The Kansas Oil Museum in El Dorado, and at Butler County Community College.

Bob Stanley just passed away in 2026 at age 93.

A lot of creators are leaving us this year.

A lot of people who made a difference in the community, but their creation lives on after that.

That warms my heart and I'm sure warms the audience's heart that those creations are living on through Harrisburg's people and through museums and and main streets where the popcorn poppers are everywhere.

And his little history museum presents and and Butler County.

And by the way, those museums in Butler County are great for Kansas Oil Museum and the Augusta Historical Museum.

Yeah.

Really good.

I would recommend them.

It is a once in a lifetime chance moment on the national stage, a moment most of us would grab in a heartbeat.

But for No-No Boyd of Salina, it was an invitation she had no problem passing up.

The year was 2006.

Nona Boyd lives in a house that looks like where a grandmother should live.

Not long ago, living a quiet, normal life in Salina, an unexpected thing happened.

I came home, I always check the machine to see if either one of the kids called or grandkids.

And here was this message.

So I punched it and listened to it.

This is Lou calling from the white House.

Mona, Mrs.

Bush has invited you to come to a reception.

And I thought, somebody is pulling my leg.

There's any way that you might be able to attend, or if we can help you with any more information, please call us.

And again, this is a reception for the 505 Triple-A Battalion.

That battalion was her husband, Clyde unit.

He fought in the battle of the bulge in World War Two.

He died a few years ago.

Well, come to find out, Mrs.

Bush's father was in the same outfit.

So not only did the phone call come, so did an engraved invitation from the white House.

That'd be hard for anyone to resist if he was here.

I'd be gung ho.

As I said, I'd probably be pushing him out the door.

But since he's gone, I have no interest to go.

What do they think of nuts.

This grandma isn't nuts.

She's grateful for the honor.

But sometimes you reach a point in life where home is simply more important.

Here.

Knitting in her favorite chair.

Surrounded by the memories of her life.

And there's one more reason why she didn't go.

Well, I couldn't wear my jeans to the white House, and I don't dress up that much anymore.

I'm not white House material.

That's all there is to it.

I just lived in Kansas all my life.

Okay, so Nona couldn't wear jeans.

I don't blame her.

She wants to wear her jeans to the white House.

That is so cute.

I can't wear my jeans, and my husband is long gone.

And God bless him.

No, no, no, it wouldn't be as much fun to go there without your help.

You know what I meant?

When?

Well known and said she never had any second thoughts about turning down that invitation to the white House.

She passed away in 2020 at age 93.

So many of our creators lived such great, wonderful, long and long lives.

Right.

I love it.

Well, that's our time for this week.

We have a short amount of time and we want to remind you now that federal funding has been taken away.

PBS Kansas needs your help to continue producing programs like Hattiesburg people.

Yeah.

Susan and I volunteer our time, but producing television shows is expensive.

Now, if you'd like to support the ongoing production of Hattiesburg people, you can go to kpt.org and make a $100 donation to help keep this show funded as a thank you.

Your name will appear before and after future shows as a valued supporter.

We thank you so much for watching.

I'm Susan Peters and I'm Laurie Hattiesburg.

We hope to see you again very soon.