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Gene O'Connor watched a crowd of children run around, looking for Easter eggs Friday afternoon on the parade grounds of the Kansas Soldiers' Home.
It's been a long time since O'Connor hunted chocolate eggs as a boy in Barton County, but the old fighter pilot remembers every detail of Easter in the town of Hoisington, near Great Bend.
"We always went to church very early on Easter. Services were at 6 a.m., and then we had breakfast at church," O'Connor said. "Later on, we would go to my grandfather's house for Easter dinner. We'd always have turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, dressing, pecan pie and pumpkin pie. After that, we'd head over to the town's Easter egg hunt — it was put on for all the kids by the Masons every year."
During the Korean War, O'Connor flew over large chunks of North Korea and some parts of China, photographing the terrain for U.S. intelligence. After the war ended, he remained in the Air Force, serving throughout the Cold War as well.
But eventually, O'Connor headed back to Kansas, back to his hometown and the people he loved.
"I still miss those people. I miss especially the people from my church in Hoisington, the First United Methodist," O'Connor said. "I wonder if any of them are still there, and if they remember me."
Two small boys careened past, their baskets loaded down with bright plastic eggs.
Christian Neyer, 4, bickered mildly with his 3-year-old cousin, Javer Loya, about who had found more.
"I found a lot of eggs!" Christian said. "How many? About 16, Mom?"
"Yes, you found 16 eggs," Felisha Neyer told her son.
"I also saw the Easter Bunny," Christian said before dashing away.
Neyer, who works at the Soldiers' Home as a dietary aide, said she decided to bring the boys to the Easter egg hunt after hearing about the festivities from the home's activities department.
She looked a little tired, but pleased, as she herded Javer and Christian into her car for the short ride home to Dodge.
Seen from above
Iola Carpenter, who will celebrate her 92nd birthday in July, peered down at the festivities from her perch in the second-floor lounge, high above the crowd of children.
"I've been watching since before the children came today," she said. "I watched the staff hide the eggs, so I knew where they all were.
"Then I watched the children racing around, like a crowd of little spring goats. They had to climb up into the trees to find some of those eggs."
Carpenter paused, and then she smiled.
"After the children finally left, the birds returned," she said. "And it was lovely to watch them peck around, investigating what the children had been up to. They found a couple of eggs the children had missed and pecked at them happily."
Carpenter knows children. For many years, she worked with disabled kids at the Orthopedic Institute in Wichita. Although her job description said she was a house mother, Carpenter had always longed to be a teacher. So she began teaching some of the children to read and write using her own methods, based on her observations of the kids.
"At first they told me I had to stop, because I wasn't a certified, trained teacher," Carpenter said. "But then they observed me teaching my little 'class' and they told me that I'd used real ingenuity, the like of which they’d never seen before. So, after that, I was allowed to keep up with my teaching."
Every week. Carpenter receives a letter from one of those children she taught long ago. Now in his mid-30s, Ricky Kryder writes to his old house mother — make that teacher — every Saturday.
Carpenter saves every one of Kryder's letters.
Gene O'Connor watched a crowd of children run around, looking for Easter eggs Friday afternoon on the parade grounds of the Kansas Soldiers' Home.
It's been a long time since O'Connor hunted chocolate eggs as a boy in Barton County, but the old fighter pilot remembers every detail of Easter in the town of Hoisington, near Great Bend.
"We always went to church very early on Easter. Services were at 6 a.m., and then we had breakfast at church," O'Connor said. "Later on, we would go to my grandfather's house for Easter dinner. We'd always have turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, dressing, pecan pie and pumpkin pie. After that, we'd head over to the town's Easter egg hunt — it was put on for all the kids by the Masons every year."
During the Korean War, O'Connor flew over large chunks of North Korea and some parts of China, photographing the terrain for U.S. intelligence. After the war ended, he remained in the Air Force, serving throughout the Cold War as well.
But eventually, O'Connor headed back to Kansas, back to his hometown and the people he loved.
"I still miss those people. I miss especially the people from my church in Hoisington, the First United Methodist," O'Connor said. "I wonder if any of them are still there, and if they remember me."
Two small boys careened past, their baskets loaded down with bright plastic eggs.
Christian Neyer, 4, bickered mildly with his 3-year-old cousin, Javer Loya, about who had found more.
"I found a lot of eggs!" Christian said. "How many? About 16, Mom?"
"Yes, you found 16 eggs," Felisha Neyer told her son.
"I also saw the Easter Bunny," Christian said before dashing away.
Neyer, who works at the Soldiers' Home as a dietary aide, said she decided to bring the boys to the Easter egg hunt after hearing about the festivities from the home's activities department.
She looked a little tired, but pleased, as she herded Javer and Christian into her car for the short ride home to Dodge.
Seen from above
Iola Carpenter, who will celebrate her 92nd birthday in July, peered down at the festivities from her perch in the second-floor lounge, high above the crowd of children.
"I've been watching since before the children came today," she said. "I watched the staff hide the eggs, so I knew where they all were.
"Then I watched the children racing around, like a crowd of little spring goats. They had to climb up into the trees to find some of those eggs."
Carpenter paused, and then she smiled.
"After the children finally left, the birds returned," she said. "And it was lovely to watch them peck around, investigating what the children had been up to. They found a couple of eggs the children had missed and pecked at them happily."
Carpenter knows children. For many years, she worked with disabled kids at the Orthopedic Institute in Wichita. Although her job description said she was a house mother, Carpenter had always longed to be a teacher. So she began teaching some of the children to read and write using her own methods, based on her observations of the kids.
"At first they told me I had to stop, because I wasn't a certified, trained teacher," Carpenter said. "But then they observed me teaching my little 'class' and they told me that I'd used real ingenuity, the like of which they’d never seen before. So, after that, I was allowed to keep up with my teaching."
Every week. Carpenter receives a letter from one of those children she taught long ago. Now in his mid-30s, Ricky Kryder writes to his old house mother — make that teacher — every Saturday.
Carpenter saves every one of Kryder's letters.
Thirty-two years in the Navy
James Rorick said he doesn't really remember his childhood Easters, but he doubts that anyone really does.
"I have a theory that before you turn eight, you can remember way back to when you were just a baby, but after eight, no one can really remember what happened before then," he said after the children had left.
Rorick sat back in a comfortable chair in his second-floor room and confided that he'd managed to steal quite a bit of candy while helping stuff the eggs for the hunt.
"I got into a little bit of trouble for that," he said with a grin.
Rorick served as a aircraft mechanic in the U.S. Navy for 32 years, attaining the rank of master chief petty officer.
"On holidays, a ship can get pretty lonely, but most of the time it was a great life," he said. "I have traveled every ocean and sea in the world, except for the Arctic Sea."
The children were all gone, and the Soldier's Home was quiet as people reminisced and prepared for dinner. From down the street, the joyful shrieks of Christian and Javer floated back and hung in the air, making the old soldiers smile again.
Reach Claire O'Brien at (620) 408-9908 or e-mail her at claire.obrien@dodgeglobe.com.
