By Mark Buckley
Through My Eyes
It was 1960-something, and that fall I had the best adventure of my life. My best friend, Buddy Keil, and I decided to explore the Missouri River bluffs around Atchison. As we planned our adventure into the great unknown, we added a third party to our exploration team, Rick Harris. We were known as the fearless threesome as we did everything together.
We had heard from other boys in town that there were bears roaming the bluffs. We weren’t sure if they were black bears, brown bears or grizzly bears, but we had heard they attacked other young explorers. We were going prepared for bear. We equipped ourselves with the latest bear-defense weaponry. We broke sticks off the Harris’ oak tree (because everyone knows oak is so hard it can kill a bear) and we sharpened them to a precision point in case we needed them for defense. Next, we borrowed some string from my mother’s junk drawer to make bows for the marvelous arrows we made. We then dressed in our best exploration gear, which consisted of blue jeans, T-shirts and PF Flyers (for a speedy exit in case a bear chased us).
I broke into my Popeye bank so we could secure provisions at VanLews grocery store, as a young man cannot survive without proper rations (candy bars and Twinkies). Now we were equipped and ready for our trip into the woods on the side of the Atchison bluffs. The entry to the bluffs was near the St. Benedict’s Abbey over a mile away. As we approached the entry, we made a pact that if one of us did not make it back, the other two would make sure the bear did not eat him or drag him away. So off we went into the unknown.
The air was crisp and the leaves were falling, giving a feeling of walking in a movie. Halfway down the bluff, we heard voices, so we crouched behind some bushes to see who it was. It was a group of college students playing football in a clearing near the base of the hill. They were friendly and offered us something to drink. It took a sip and spit it out: it was beer and we all know that beer will stunt a young boy’s growth. We ran away and further into the woods. We came across the “bear cave,” which was a small indentation in the side of the bluff not hardly large enough for one of us to fit in, but no bear. We walked for what seemed miles, until we came to the base of the hill and onto the river road. In those days, the river road was not much more than an unpassable county road that went from Atchison to Doniphan, Kan.
We came upon the Burlington Railroad rail yard and started walking on the rails. Then it happened, we saw a group of dirty older men in tattered clothes huddling around a campfire, cooking something unrecognizable, sharing a bottle in a sack. One saw us and called us over. He was a rather slender man with a raspy voice and asked if we had any money. I said no, even though I still had five cents in my pocket. Another asked us to join them and offered us some of their “soup.” My mother always said, “do not talk to strangers,” and we knew these strangers were highwaymen who would slit our throats for the money in my pocket. So, we did what most young boys would do, we ran.
We ran as hard and fast as we could. I shouted to Buddy and Rick that we did not want to run home, as I was sure that if the strange men recognized where I lived, they would creep into my room one night, slit my throat and steal my valuable rock or marble collection. We instead hightailed it to the local newspaper office where my father worked. Sure enough, my father was there, and he offered to take us home in his 1956 Ford station wagon. We lowered ourselves into the seats so that no one could recognize us. When we arrived back to the “nationhood” we scrambled to our clubhouse where we made a pact to never reveal to our parents the undertakings of the day. Well, the rest of that fall was typical, filled with football, school and adventures of all kins. And to this day, there has never been a real bear sighting in the Atchison bluffs.
Mark Buckley is the president of Toy Depot. He can be reached at 620-474-6100.