Visiting Home: Dunkirk Ohio Three Decades Later

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Can you really go home?

You can’t go home again was Thomas Wolfe’s second novel and the quote most often attributed to him. Critics, reviewers, philosophy aside, I can say that statement is largely true. Particularly when ‘home’ has been somewhere else for twenty-eight years since my father’s passing. Despite being the eldest of six siblings, and none of us still living in the community where we were raised, I always saw my father as the paste that still stuck us together in this place. 

Dunkirk Ohio is a sleepy little community on Route 68 north of Kenton in the middle of Ohio’s cornbelt. If there weren’t two stoplights on Main Street most passers-by would never stop at all on their way to Toledo or other points north. 

As I write these words sitting on a park bench in the Dunkirk Community Park and have taken the penny memory tour down most of its streets and down memory lane, I am reflecting how very little remains of the village I once knew. I knew it intimately once. I was a paperboy here from the age twelve to the age of eighteen, delivering both a morning and evening paper from two rival newspapers to all points in and around town on bicycle. I wonder now as I sit here if there are any paper boys left in this digital age. 

A bright sunny August Saturday morning with a gentle cool breeze, and yet at nine thirty I am alone, waiting on a meeting with my youngest sister. Three baseball fields, mowed and groomed, sit idle. Swings, slides and other recreational toys stand quiet flowing with a gentle breeze. No children anywhere. In the distance I see three industrial wind turbines quietly generating energy. These are new to the landscape. A row of them leads west to another sleepy town of Dola. The town’s water supply stands proudly in the park. Another change as the Iconic tower on the south side is gone, for I don’t know how many years. The park has three playgrounds, a basketball court and has quadrupled in size. Yet stands empty on this pleasant Summer morning. Gone is the old army tank. All that remains in its place is a sign that says keep off the tank. It has been moved downtown in what looks like a Veteran’s Memorial that remains unfinished. 

Inappropriate sign
The army tank is gone. The sign is still there. Many a time have I climbed up underneath this tank and got inside.
Town Bell Memorial
The old town bell painted silver and set on a concrete memorial is gone. All that remains is a patch of rubble. My very first charcoal drawing was of this memorial.
Newer Water Tower
The water tower now stands in the Dunkirk Park. The old pointed water tank visible on the Southside is no more.

The Familiar and the Strange Coexisting

As I drove here from the majestic mountains of central West Virginia which has been my home since I met my pen pal and married her in 1974, I saw more and more sky as I reached the flat cornbelt country of Hardin County. And I was comforted in this post-Covid crisis year as I saw mile after mile of field of corn and soybeans, alfalfa or hay between the straight highways. Comfort indeed. Many friends had discomfited me telling me that last year many Ohio fields had gone unplowed, or since Marajuana legislation had passed last year, many farmers had elected to plant a more lucurative crop. It is comforting to know that corn is still king in the cornbelt. 

I swung by the old home place at 259 West Patterson street. Looks strange now. The shrubs and trees that framed the property are all gone now. Gone is the more than two hundred year old black walnut tree that stood gigantically over the property and was there even before the house was erected in 1803, a year before Ohio was even a state. The grape harbor of Concord purple and white Niagra grape vine imported in from the early 1800’s and so tenderly kept producing by my father are all gone. A cheaply erected vinyl swimming pool in a metal frame stands where they used too. The allys behind the properties all gone now as homeowners have reclaimed them. Home doesn’t even look like home anymore and has changed ownership at least thrice since my father passed. 

The Homeplace from the front
No shrubs. No rock garden. No walnut tree. No trees. No sidewalk. Almost unrecognizable Homeplace from Patterson street.
The Homeplace
The shrub trees that fram the property are gone. So is the 200 year old walnut tree that dominated the front yard.
Basement Entrance
I helped my father dig out this old basement entrance buried for a hundred years until 1966. In 1969 I carved the names of the X-Men into the new cement basement walls.
Gary’s home
This is a view of my homeplace from the side. My bedroom shared with three other brother is the top window this side on the right.
My Fathers Garage
The garage my father and I built still stands on the old home place. It is now framed in metal.
My Fathers Grape Arbor
A temp swimming pool sits where a nearby 200 year old grape arbor stood. In 1804 Niagara white grape and Concorde Purple grape were planted in this arbor and carefully nurtured by my father in 1962 until his death three decades later.

Oh to be sure, some things have remained. The little Methodist church on Walnut where I attended Sunday school with my family is still there. The old Rail Road control building is still there at the intersection of what was the New York Central and the Pennsylvania Railroads. The campground for many decades of revivals stands, freshly painted and property groomed. The Dairy Dream still stands next to the Masonic Temple, an icon deserted now. Even the K-12 school I attended for 12 years stands where it always did, but the Hardin Northern school like a modern movie monster has blossomed, exploded all over itself in new growth completely engulfing the original familiar structure. Park in the back I am instructed for my 50th Class Reunion and come into the cafeteria. Wonder which of these doors that is?

Dairy Dream and Masonic Temple
The only icons still recognizable after 50 years is the Dairy Dream and the now vacant Masonic Temple next to it. If it weren’t for the stoplight here would many stop?
Business strip
The Post Office is still on the business strip but that is not Meeks’ Drug Store next to it. There is a bank still on the corner.
Oldakers is gone
Oldakers is gone. Sinclair Gas across from it is now an equipment supply.
Southside.
Southside. The first thing you encounter coming into town, across from the McCleese home. Some images never change.
The McCleese Home
Gloria McCleese, seven years old, gave me my first kiss under the window sill outside my house. I was six.
Methodist Church
The Methodist Church where I got my foundation. I was brought here every Sunday morning from age six to the age of thirteen.
The Dunkirk Quarry
The Dunkirk Quarry a staple of my youth and the favorite fishing place of all my friends and family is now inaccessible. Privately owned it is completely surrounded by miles of fence. Privacy fence. You can’t even see into it.
Fire Department
While the Fire Department and EMS still exist they are in separate buildings now.

I took time to visit the Dunkirk Cemetery. No one there has moved. Sorry. Couldn’t resist. My father and mother are buried next to one another. So is my maternal grandfather and grand mother buried not far from them, also together. Next to them is my sister Linda’s child stricken shortly after birth. 

Grandparents Grave marker
My maternal grandparents John and Orthello Fout are buried in Dunkirk.
Parents Grave marker
My parents Leo and Wanda Stuber are buried in Dunkirk.
The Drive-In
Located midway on Route 68 between Kenton and Dunkirk is the Drive-In that still operates. Screens have moved. Two of them on opposite sides like football goalposts. You can watch either screen but not both.

Except for a few strangers who stopped at the Dairy Dream that morning and early afternoon I encountered no one. No homeowners, neighbors cutting grass, no teens on the streets or children playing in yards. Like a moment stuck perpetually in time: buildings, empty streets and quiet houses. No dogs barked.  No cats wandered about. Only a gentle breeze moved leaves about on the trees. 

The Stuber Siblings
This photo was taken at the Washington Street home months before we moved into the Patterson Street home in 1962. The three older siblings in the back are left to right (and Chronologically): Gary (me), Linda and Mike, all a year apart. Then our parents took a four year break, after which they had the three little children in front Robert, Jean and Joe also a year apart.

A Mini-Stuber Reunion

The first to arrive to our pre-arranged meeting in the park was my nephew Jessie whom I had not seen since he was a little more than toddler living in downtown Kenton on Cherry street. We had met only hours earlier Friday night at his dad’s house (I will relate that story later in this missive). Next to arrive was my sister Jean whom I had not seen since we stood together at the graveside of our father. We had talked a number of times by phone, and I had seen her a number of times in other family photos and posts, but this is the first time we had actually got to sit face to face or hug in more than two decades. She had son Josh and a granddaughter, Sarah’s girl Jacquline (Jack) with her. She looked tired, but I knew why. She had gotten off a shift earlier and was expected to work again this evening and I had pulled her nearly 70 plus miles away from needed sleep. I would try to keep our reunion brief as I was aware my sister had places to be. Final arrival was Jean’s daughter Hannah whom was the most familiar to me as we have been following one another on Facebook for years. We may be opposites politically, but being a hard-working, old-school capitalist like myself working the American dream, she was a niece I was proud of, and come to know well. She had her daughter with her. Both teens soon wandered off on their own, being teen girls who had more in common with each other than any of us. We didn’t let a photo opportunity, however, pass us by. Jessie remarked that this was the first time he had seen some of his cousins, others not for years. It was a learning opportunity for all of us. I got a warm hug from both Jean and Hannah, but I got many warm hugs from Josh, Jean’s developmentally challenged son. He took to me quickly. Hannah assured me that he did this with most people. In fact, in many quarters both Hannah and Jean are known as: “that’s Josh’s Mom” or “that’s Josh’s sister.” Everyone who gets to met him, learns to know him and love him. One of those souls that no one cannot like.

Outnumbered
Poor Josh. The girls far and away outnumber the boys in Jean’s branch of the family.
Nieces and nephews
Nephew Jessie in the front. Right to left in the back are: Niece Hannah, her daughter Nixon, grand niece (Sarah’s daughter) Jacquline (Jack), and of course Nephew Josh on the left.
My Sister Jean and I
My sister Jean and I and her son Josh.

It was a good time. Too brief. But we had covered much and promised this would not be our last. Maybe we could actually pull off a Stuber reunion next year. After hugs and photos and a few hours that felt like minutes, we went our separate ways. I was alone in the park again. I wandered about the town once more, taking photos.

My Grandfathers Homeplace
My grandfather’s home place is just a vacant lot. The home and commercial garage are gone.
The field across from all the homes on Washington street
The field across from all the homes on Washington street where my grandfather John Fout raised acres of strawberry plants is no longer a field. The property along the railroad is mowed, groomed and lined with trees.
Wind turbines stretch toward Dola
According to fellow alumni Tony Good, who still farms the area. All electric generated here moved to New Jersey and Delaware.
Field Across from the Homeplace
The field across from the Homeplace is still a field along the railroad track. The wind turbine in the distance is the only thing new. The mulberry tree on the corner is gone.
Neighbor Jordons home
Our neighbors the Jordons still live in this home on the corner
My sister’s home
This house on Walnut Street was once owned by my sister Linda. A brouhaha started on this long porch in my presence that has lasted till this day. My brother Mike and sister Linda haven’t spoken to one another in more than a decade.

Fiftieth Hardin Northern Class Reunion

I would learn more about the town later that night at my Hardin Northern High School 50th Class Reunion. I learned many of my 47 classmates still lived in around the county. I got there earlier than any of the others. I straightened out the ‘Welcome Class of 71’ sign that had been wind blown off the fence at the entrance and was waving like a flag. I wandered about the property on the outside. All unfamiliar. The gravel playground where a rocket shaped monkey bars stood was all paved over. Tracks, sports fields all about me where rows of corn once stood. 

Fastened back on the fence, a banner greets alumni entering the parking lot.
Hardin Northern School
The Hardin Northern school bears no resemblance to its former self. It is a sprawling behemoth.
Playground is gone
Asphalt replaces the gravel playground and former gravel parking lot.
New School Front
New school front hides a new SECOND gymnasium inside.

Many of those arriving I recognized as I sat in my vehicle. I knew them from Facebook or from friends. Some looked familiar, just older. Others would floor me completely as I could not imagine that these were people I spent twelve years with in this very building fifty years earlier. 

Class Photo in 1971
50 year photo. Taken on the old rocket shaped monkey bars, no longer around. That is me at the top in the white long sleeve turtle neck sweater. The only face of us not visible in the lower left is the girl who has her back turned to the camera: Lynette Bushong. No way modern education would allow children to climb on a metal device like this.

There were a dozen people whose images in the room were forever stamped with the familiar. There was a table in the cafeteria which held the senior photos of those who had passed. 1971 Alumni deceased include: Robert Curl, Robert Donley, Janine Fulton, Timothy Garman, Ronald Gerlach, Dan Minix, Mike Southward, Ruth Warmbrod.  Many of these relatively recently. The exception being Mike Southward who died tragically shortly after graduation.  Another student peer not on the table, because he was.not a graduate having quit school early in high school, was Daryl Lamb, who died in a train accident before all of us had graduated. 

Memorial Table
A memorial table was put up for those who passed before our 50th class anniversary.

Of those not in attendance, we had group prayer for Bob Bash, whom had recently successfully beat cancer and now was suffering from severe pneumonia in an era of a respiratory virus pandemic. Certainly he could not attend. 

Only 17 of us signed the register. In alphabetical order they were: Steve Baertche, Patty (Ward) Dysart, Max Garmon, Tony Good, Cheryl (Goddard) Good, Karen (Pees) Koehler, Sharon (Erwin) Lucas, Eldon Messenger, Joe Oman, Sharon (Frederick) Purdy, Barbara (Lenhart) Roberts, Fred Rush, Pam (Webb) Spangler, Gary Lee Stuber, Wayne VanSchoik, Jeff Wilson and Starla (Titus) West. Other alumni did not sign. However two teachers attended: James Steele and Bob McBride, as well as Principal Clay. Some spouses as well accompanied alumni.

The tour included sections that in our time were part of the parking lot. However, the Elementary wing looked much the same as we remembered it.

A young principal gave us a tour of the inside of the sprawling structure. Some sections, like the elementary hall, and the old gymnasium were familiar, other sections had not existed during our tenure in the school. The new office, the new basketball gym, practically any thing on the Dola side of the school which was a parking lot in our time. It was impressive. 

The student body however was much smaller. Less than 300 students from kindergarten through grade 12.  By comparison there were 47 of us 1971 graduates. We were told that the classes being smaller were more intimate, allowing all students, even struggling ones to succeed. Good. Something good. 

Catered food
Catered food from Dunkirk’s finest included pulled pork and pulled chicken.
School Cafeteria
The school cafeteria never looked this great.
Anniversary Cake
Why not cake? Even if our school colors are Black and White.
Hosts
Hosts for the event. Sharon, Karen and Fred Rush.

We had a delicious dinner and dessert on tables that allowed us to group and/or mingle. The event this year hosted by fellow 1971 alumni Fred Rush with assistance by the former Frederick twins, Sharon and Karen, also ‘71 alumni. Other classmates who lived locally assisted as they could. We swapped stories, family photos, laughed, hugged, shook hand and took a ton of photos together. 

Eating or meandering
Eating or meandering, two of my favorite things.
Classmates in 50th Anniversary Reunion
At least 21 of us in attendance, and some spouses as well. That’s me in the back nearly obscured by Sharon (formerly Erwin) in the blue dress in the front.
Classmate - Girls
The 1971 Women Graduates
Classmates - Guys
The 1971 Men Graduates

It was precious time I am glad we got to share. I am 68 years old. I don’t know how many more of these I could attend, certainly not in another 50 years. I am glad I got to be a part of this. Hopefully it will not be the last time I hear from my fellow classmates. We were still one of the few classes in our generation that were raised old school. Rural. With common traditional values about life, love, loyalty and American patriotism. Our stories vary, but few of our base values do. And we have passed these as we could onto a second and third generation. Which makes us all out of step with the current popular culture in our country. I hope my classmates know how much I appreciate them all for this. 

A Second Mini-Stuber Family Reunion

Friday night, and Saturday night after the reunion I spent at by younger brother Robert’s house outside of Kenton. That sound’s strange. Always called him Bob. So I got to share two evenings in great conversation with Bob’s youngest son Jessie. He is such a card. He’s funny, witty and has an opinion on everything. Reminds me so much of Bob when he was younger although both of them wouldn’t be able to see it. Bob, disabled now, walks painfully and for the most part is quiet and sober, serious. Jessie is bold and verbal, bubbly and optimistic. 

Yes. Optimistic. Jessie has been wheelchair bound for more than ten years. And for the longest time was defeated, a victim, who had no future. Then, maybe because of family, friends and much prayer, Jessie stopped being a victim. He suddenly seized life. He began improving his health as well as his attitude. Now he is on his way to, well, everywhere!  I love this young man, my nephew. He has for the first time in many years a real future. Driving his own vehicle, living independently. Making a good life for himself and others. 

Robert and family
Bob’s Family: Tammy on the Left and Bob on the right. Youngest son Jessie in the front. Son Justin in the center back, Son John next to Bob. John’s wife Ashley next to John. John’s kids from front to back: twins Jaxon and Lennox, Clair in the center and Olivia in the back. Justin’s Valerie was the only member missing from the family photo I took that day.

Discovered sister Linda was in Tennessee this weekend, tending to son Glenn’s daughter they thought had Covid. Turns out it was just strep throat infection. Youngest brother Joe had attended his only son Jason’s wedding in Virginia. Congratulations Jason. So I was able to make contact with my only other sibling Mike, who agreed to meet at noon on Sunday at Bob’s house. He ran an hour late. But meantime Tamara, er Tammy, turned lunch into a feast with Turkey and more. And along with the feast came other son’s Justin and John with family in tow. Was a great time for all. Mike’s arrival was stunning to say the least. And familiar being that Bob lives in the cornfields only miles from the heart of Amish country in Ohio. You would have mistaken him for one. I certainly did. 

Mini-Stuber Reunion
Three Stuber siblings of six. Left to right: Gary (me), Robert and Mike.

Hated to leave but my home was calling. Joyce was waiting for me. And while granddaughters Akira and Chloe were keeping her company this weekend, I missed her as much as she missed me. So we promised each other we would try to convene a Stuber Reunion sometime in the summer of 2022. May God in his mercy keep us all alive and well to make such an appointment. No dates or places have yet been established. 

Lost photo
I have never seen this senior candid photo of me printed in our yearbook. Enjoy.

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7 thoughts on “Visiting Home: Dunkirk Ohio Three Decades Later

  1. Bob,I found your blog very interesting . I graduated in 1968,and I still live in the area,near Dola where I grew up. I will always remember your mother and her very large eyes. She was on the ambulance run when my wife went into labor with our first child. She kept looking at me in the ambulance and saying ” I don’t think we are going to make it to Findlay before the baby gets here” I said Wanda don’t say that. Luckily we did Make it. My wife was on the ambulance squad with her when they first started it.

  2. Although we have never met, I truly enjoyed reading your “Dunkirk” blog. I have lived in, and around, Dunkirk my entire life. Born in 1973, I was coming in as you were going out. I am the youngest of 5 children raised on South Buckeye street and can relate to your story. I too had a paper route, as did most of my brothers, back when kids were still able and willing to do so. I also agree that Dunkirk has changed so drastically over the past several years and is nearly unrecognizable. There are very few families left from my generation and even less of yours. I do remember delivering both the Forest Ranger( a free short lived news paper) as well as the Lima News to your mother on West Patterson st. She was a always very appreciative and friendly. And who could ever forget your neighbor to the south “Smitty”? And Chet Jordan was a great man as well. I believe Ed and Bert Huber would have been your neighbors directly to the East? Or maybe one house down? Anyway, thank you for the very interesting read on “our town”

  3. Enjoyed reading this story! My husband grew up in Dunkirk, Ohio. Frank Draper son of Dano and Inez Draper at 362 west Wayne street. We sold the house in the late 1990’s. We bought an old farm house in Wyandot county near Marseilles, Ohio but frequent Dunkirk quite often as Frank’s parents and our two youngest children are buried in Dunkirk cemetery in the old section “F” second lane in from state route 68 near the maintenance building! ❤️

  4. Thank you for the story of my home town, I born and live with my grandmother until I was 15. My family our the Hastings, Smith and McCann family. I went to school with your brother Mike. I get very sad when I go through there and see all the buildings gone. Thank you again for the story

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