White City

White City is surrounded by prosperous farms, as well as a few poorly-aging homesteads. The town is rich in modest, well-maintained homes and lawns.

One of our favorite things about this town was the fact that there are two museums downtown, one in a one-room schoolhouse and the other in an old railroad car across the street. They are run by twin sisters, and they are only open on the second Saturday of the month. 

Girard

Girard is the county seat of Crawford County. Out in front of the county courthouse is a nice big lawn, complete with a gazebo and a helicopter on display honoring the town's veterans. 

Downtown are some shops and a bar called "Bender on 7." The town also has a park, a swimming pool, and a lovely sesquicentennial display of decorative quilt squares.

Perhaps surprisingly to those who know Kansas as a solid "Red State" Republican party holdout, Girard used to be a bastion of the Socialist Party, especially from the 1890s through the 1920s. Fred Warren, a citizen of Girard, commissioned Upton Sinclair to write The Jungle, and the notorious Socialist politician Eugene V. Debs lived in the town in the early 1900s. 

 

Filler

 Filler didn't have much besides a fire station, a cell tower, a water tower, and a lot of cattle, dirt roads, and fields. We did enjoy seeing a red-tailed hawk swoop down over the winter-dead prairie in search of a tasty snack. Sadly, it seemed that he did not have much success.

Cherokee

 

Just outside of Cherokee, we crossed some dead train tracks, where I found two beautiful ladies posing, so I figured I'd snap their picture before we moved on.

A little further on, we saw some cats crossing the road, whereupon they turned to each other and began to lick one another diligently. "Look, Daddy!" the kids said, "Kissin' kitties!"

Cherokee itself boasts several churches, a cemetery, a downtown area with some thriving shops, a school, a city hall, and a number of small houses (some in good repair, others not so much). 

We were surprised at how busy First Baptist Church was in Cherokee -- It seemed like there were more people in that parking lot than lived in the whole town.

Kramer

Kramer is a dead end road near a railroad crossing. There's a towing service nearby. I got out to take a selfie and the family up and abandoned me! It's a good thing it was a dead end road and I could catch them when they doubled back. 

 

Kirkwood

 Kirkwood was a group of houses in the woods. Some of them were really nice homes! We saw a dead skunk on the road, as well as an owl swooping down into the low brush.

This seems like it was probably another of those towns that were created when the railroad first came through and have been in gentle decline ever since.

Atlas

Atlas was a railroad crossing in the midst of cattle ranches and farms. We found some railroad spikes just lying around, and so, of course, they became weapons in the hands of small boys.  

 

Kniveton

The fields around Kniveton are sown in winter wheat. When we came through, we saw carpets of green stretching out to the horizon on either side of the gravel road. We also saw fields of haybales with a "for sale by owner" sign offering them up to any willing bidder.

Kniveton itself was hard to find; it was really just a few farms strung along the gravel road adjacent to the highway. There was an old railroad depot, and we think the old cemetery we saw down the road used to be called Crocker Cemetery.

In so many of these small dead or dying communities across the state, we see markers of former glory slowly fading away. The farm where we stopped to take our picture had a sign on the fence boasting that it had won the Kansas Bankers Association Award for Soil Conservation in 1983. It felt a lot like the towns that have signs by the road boasting of their winning basketball team in the 1970s. 

Baxter Junction

 

We found Baxter Junction on our map of Kansas, and even on Google Maps, but when we arrived at the spot, it was little more than a stop on the railroad, with a grain elevator near the tracks. We were lucky enough to see a train come through while we were there. This was pretty fortunate, since it seems like that's about all there is going on at Baxter Junction!

Empire City

Empire City was a famously iniquitous town, according to these contemporary newspaper comments from Legends of America:

Such a motley collection of houses, men and women…The town looked as though volcanic convulsions had heaved it up. Houses had been erected with no regard to architectural beauty, the regularity of line, or locality. The streets are as crooked as illicit distilleries, and from morning till night, they are filled with people and teams. Saloons and gambling houses are the most frequent objects. Gambling quarters are in such great demand that several members of the profession are compelled to conduct their operations in the open streets. (Topeka Daily Commonwealth)

The principal thoroughfare was known as Red Hot Street. It became so true to the name that all legitimate businesses withdrew and left the street to saloons, gamblers, and dance halls. For several months the orgies that held sway on Red Hot Street were perhaps never exceeded in any other frontier mining camp. (Kansas City Star)

In 1877, the town council built a stockade blocking off commerce with Galena, a town just to the south. You can read the full story here, but the short version is that an armed posse from Galena surprised the stockade guards and burned it to the ground, thus reopening trade between the two rivals. Ultimately, Galena won out, and Empire City was annexed to its rival in 1910. 

These days, Empire City is a blue collar town. We saw a quaint old limestone antique store there, as well as lots of railroads. It also featured a number of white-painted water towers, a flood plain, some brick farmhouses, thick woods, road signs peppered with bullets, and a few yards filled with items that could charitably be described as "potentially useful."

A sign in town proclaims that Empire City is "The Oldest Mining Town in Southeast Kansas."

Strong City

Strong City is a small town that has been heavily shaped by the railroad. The park is railroad-themed, and city hall is housed in an old railroad depot, along with a museum.

The town features some older stone houses and many cottonwood trees. This is appropriate since it's a sister city to Cottonwood Falls, which is just a mile to the south.

Every June, the Flint Hills Rodeo takes place in Strong City, temporarily swelling the population of 485 by 20,000 people. 

Strong City is also located near the Tallgrass Prairie Preserve, which is definitely worth a visit if you'd like to see how the land used to look before humans lived here.

Edward

Edward is hard to find. So hard, in fact, that I'm still not sure I found it! My phone's GPS seems to think I did, though, and that's good enough for me. (From my later research online, it seems this town was probably never much more than a railroad branch.)

To get there, I had to hike about a quarter mile through a field of wildflowers and tallgrass and hop a barbed wire fence. There, I found a railroad junction, which seemed as likely a location as any for a mythical ghost town. I took a selfie there right as a coal train was coming through, then trudged back through the field toward the minivan and more adventures.

LeRoy

LeRoy is a modest little town with a library, senior center, cafe, bars, schools, shops, and a historic downtown area.

On our way into town, Magen took grim amusement in the fact that the cemetery was located right next to Reaper Road.

We were interested to see that an old church had been converted into a store called "Barbie and More."

In one of the parks, we saw a memorial building with a funny name. It turns out that it was a memorial to the Muscogee Creek chief and orator Opothleyahola. Pretty cool for a history nerd like me!

We also saw a beef jerky factory founded by a man named (no kidding) Martin Luther with some fascinating yard art outside. The boys especially enjoyed the enormous wooden rocking chair.

Downtown, they have a large, colorful mural. We've seen this in a couple of other SE Kansas towns, as well. It seems like a fun way to hark back to the town's roots.

LeRoy does have a small co-op, and of course the railroad also runs through town. Much of the farmland around here is peppered with small -- almost portable-looking -- oil wells, pumping slowly away. They look like they haven't changed much lately, and neither has the town itself.

Overall, I'd say that the cool-stuff-to-see ratio was pretty high in this fun little town. A great start to our Southeast Kansas trip!

Ridgeton

Ridgeton doesn't seem to exist anymore. At any rate, we couldn't find it, except for a single sign near the railroad track. We crossed over that track three or four times, driving along those country roads and trying to find any other trace of it. Alas, we had no success.

It seems that Ridgeton is another example of a town that once existed because of the railroads, but slowly petered out of existence, one family at a time. The big difference is that many other such towns have grain elevators, so at least some physical reminder remains.

I did find a web site that mentions the railroad location, as well as this YouTube video showing the actual train journey between Melvern and Ridgeton.

Much to our amusement, the roads here are laid out much as they are in Topeka, complete with the same names. It was funny to be driving around looking for a ghost town somewhere between Wanamaker and Urish.

One thing we did come away with was an extremely filthy van. The rains of the past few days had left the dirt roads pretty muddy in places.

Olivet

Olivet is a small town near Pomona Lake. (According to its Facebook page, there are about 64 residents.)

We saw a couple of storage facilities where folks were keeping their boats in the off-season, an old church with an outhouse, a community center, and a fire station. It was a pretty countrified town, and a few of the yards were packed with the skeletons of old cars and machines.

Perhaps my favorite part of the town was an amazing deer blind mounted atop a truck that had been painted olive green. It was a true testament to ingenuity and resourcefulness.

We did get out to see the train pass by, but that was about all we could find to do here. Also, Myrick did a great job of taking our picture in front of the outhouse behind the church!

Ellis

Ellis is a small, historic community with a finger on the pulse of the past. Although it has only about 2,000 residents, it is home to two museums: The Ellis Railroad Museum and the Walter P. Chrysler Boyhood Home and Museum. Regrettably, neither was open when we rolled into town.

We stopped here for fuel. We started out at the Love's, but upon seeing a severe gas leak at one of the pumps there, we promptly decamped to the Kasey's General Store across the street.

After filling up, we took a look around downtown. There was a large, well-maintained park behind the railroad museum. There were also a train car and an old wagon, which we promptly climbed all over.

My biggest disappointment here was that the railroad museum wasn't open, so we couldn't let the boys ride on the BK&E Miniature train. All the same, it was a very pleasant little town with lots of character. The fountain downtown was beautiful, and it seemed like it would be a great place to visit again someday.

As we drove out of town, I found myself reflecting on I-70. So far, we had driven more than 200 miles on this highway, which runs through Kansas on its way between Utah and Maryland. A hundred years ago, this journey between Topeka and Ellis would have been long and arduous. Now, it's a few hours of smooth driving.

It occurred to me that I-70 is a lot like an artery. It flows through grasslands, over and under and mountains, and across mighty rivers. It is a manmade marvel, engineered to provide a smooth surface over unforgiving terrain. And what flows through this artery? Our automobiles. (Thanks, in part, to Mr. Chrysler, of Ellis, KS.)

The interstate was created specifically to provide a hospitable environment for the soulless servants with hearts of wrought metal and feet of rubber that whisk us from place to place beneath this endless blue sky.

We cannot forget, of course, that our servants must eat. Every so often along the interstate, feeding stations pop their heads up by the roadside. We insert plastic pledges into these stations, promising to pay them half a day's labor if they will feed our hungry automatons. Once satisfied with our promise, the stations disgorge the remains of creatures long-dead into the waiting stomachs of our servants.

After this great automotive thirst is slaked, we drive on, powered by a series of tiny explosions that our bondslaves generate and translate into angular momentum -- into hundreds and hundreds of highway miles.

And so we continue on west, along I-70, into the face of the declining sun...

Kiro

Kiro was hard to find. We tried to stop through on our way home from Silver Lake, but we just didn't see it. There simply weren't any signs marking this little town just off of Highway 24.

We found it the next time we passed through, with the help of our faithful friend, Google Maps.

We didn't see any signs on Highway 24 for Kiro, but it was mentioned on a couple of signs for a seed company and a fertilizer company near this railroad crossing on Huxman Road. There are also a few small houses in the area, as well as a daycare. A road named Kiro Court is nearby, too.

Next to the businesses by the railroad crossing, there's an old Union Pacific depot with an unused sidetrack nearby. our older boys had fun playing on the sidetrack, and our little one had fun eating his lunch in the van while they played.


It's almost as hard to find anything out about this little spot on the map as it is to find the town itself. According to Grain and Farm Service Centers, Vol. 31, The Kiro Mercantile Cooperative was admitted to the Kansas Association of Grain Dealers in 1913. Grant Elwood Kelsey was one of this company's organizers.

Besides the Mercantile Cooperative, Kiro's other claim to fame is that a proposed dam there sparked a controversy during the Great Depression, as mentioned on the City of Topeka's website:

The well attended meeting was then opened to public comment. Almost immediately, a question was asked by a member of the Kiro Dam Association, a support group, why no mention had been made of the Kiro Dam and reservoir. Col. Hodgson explained that under Public Law 308, the Comprehensive Planning Act of 1927, the Kiro location was investigated but that the rules established by the Congress in the Flood Control Act of 1936 requiring the project benefits to equal or exceed its costs, prohibited the Corps from considering Kiro. He said that the estimated cost of the Kiro Dam and Reservoir was $67,000,000 and the benefits to Topeka were only $2,600,000.

The transcript of the hearing indicated that some strong feelings were expressed about the absence of the Kiro Dam in the protection plan presented by the Corps of Engineers. R.M. Owthwaite, General Manager of the John Morrell Packing plant and President of the Topeka Chamber of Commerce apparently became concerned that the meeting was getting off track. He arose to recommend that the Corps had a plan (Plan "B") before the group which could be built immediately, even if not completely adequate, and that the community accept this plan. Finally a motion was made to accept the Corps' plan and the City and other public agencies involved, be urged to give the Corps the official assurances needed. The motion carried by the raising of hands and the hearing was concluded. It was evident that not everyone was happy with the outcome of the hearing.

It seems that Kiro, like so many old Kansas towns, was once the center of great hope. These days, the only remaining tokens of that hope are a few old buildings and a railroad crossing.