Kansas, Harvey Houses, and Books

Residents taught me the history of the small Kansas town of Horton during a recent visit to the town library, where I helped present a check from Sisters in Crime and give a book talk about my Psycho Cat and the Landlady Mystery series. The town’s recent population is around 2,000, but in the 1920’s, it held 5,000 souls, all because it sat at a junction of the Chicago, Kansas, and Nebraska Railroad.

Soldiers on horseback, cattle drives, wagon trains on tall-grass prairie trails, river barges, and pony express riders evoke images of nineteenth-century Kansas. However, that era had a short-lived existence. The Pony Express, for instance, lasted only eighteen months. Like black and white TV and eight-track players in the Twentieth Century, new technology took over faster than our forebears of one-hundred-fifty to two-hundred years ago could have imagined.  Railroads brought goods and people along with the new technologies into the Sunflower State and caused a demand for new services.

Entrepreneur Fred Harvey saw the need and developed a vast network of eating establishment and hotels at train depots across the state and beyond. In 1875, he opened a café in Wallace, KS on the Kansas Pacific Railway.  A year later, he contracted with the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe Railway to build restaurants at its depots. He opened a restaurant in the Topeka train depot in 1876. It did so well that Mr. Harvey opened a Harvey House Restaurant/Hotel combination at the Florence, Kansas train depot.

With Harvey’s strict oversight, Harvey Houses provided good food, large helpings (pies were cut in fourths rather than sixths), fast service, and reasonable prices. More depot restaurants were built, and by 1883, there were seventeen along the train route.  A Harvey House with ornate architecture built in Chanute, Kansas, the Santa Fe’s southern Kansas headquarters, opened in 1896 and now serves the town as its public library.

Nine million dollars are being spent to renovate the grand El Vaquero Harvey House in Dodge City, originally opened in 1900.  By 1901 there were forty-seven Harvey House Restaurants, fifteen hotels, and thirty dining cars.

One of the reasons for Fred Harvey’s success was his decision to replace rough, western male waiters with young females, later including Hispanics and American Indians, who became crews of well-trained waitresses.

They were known as the Harvey Girls and are said to have brought a civilizing effect to the west. They were provided uniforms, room and board, and a better wage than many men of the day. In return, they gave fast, friendly service that drew customers.

At the Harvey Company’s peak, there were eighty-four Harvey Houses at depots along the railway from Chicago to California plus service on the trains and tourist destination hotels and eateries in Indian country, the most famous being at the Grand Canyon. The company was sold by a grandson in 1964, but the legend lives on in the grand old depot buildings that now serve as museums, restaurants, libraries, and town show places. The Harvey House at Union Station in Kansas City is gone, but hasn’t been forgotten. Photos are abundant. Also, Harvey’s Café in the station is named in honor of the former bustling Harvey House.

I live on the Kansas side of the Kansas City metro where my cozy mystery series is set. My husband and I take trips across Kansas in our fifth-wheel RV, with our cats in tow, and we’ve visited many of the towns that had Harvey House train depots. One can travel from the northeast to the southwest of the state and see some of the renovated buildings or the spots where they stood. The town, Harveyville, Kansas, sits along Route 335 between Topeka and Emporia. Landscape changes from the woodland east through the Flint Hills and tall-grass prairie to the rugged west makes the drive even more worthwhile.

Fred Harvey’s family settled in Leavenworth, Kansas. His home is now a museum.

The Arcade Hotel in Newton now hosts a law firm in the old Harvey House Restaurant area.

The original Harvey House Hotel in Wichita was most recently used as a Cox Cable office.

A hotel sits where the beautiful Harvey House in Hutchinson once stood, but the original is gone.

My current work in progress is set in part along I-35 in Kansas and Oklahoma where the railroads grew towns in the 1800's. The first three books of my Psycho Cat and the Landlady Mystery series are: CATastrophic Connections, FURtive Investigation, and Nine LiFelines. The Audiobook of CATastrophic Connections is available here or at your favorite audiobook site.

A Little Magic: A Happy Holiday Story for Writers

      “How’s your book going?” my writing group buddy, Chris Elfin asked.

“I almost finished the final chapter, but I got stuck and had to go back and revise parts of the first few chapters because of the ending. It’s like working a puzzle that sneaks in another twist after you think you have it solved,” I said with my nose wrinkled and my brows knit as I remembered the knot in my stomach when I realized all the rewriting my new ending necessitated.

“It’s a lot of work.”

Deep sigh. “Yeah, but it’s the most fun kind of work I’ve ever done.” I grinned at the small, white-whiskered man who slouched back in his chair with an echoing grin and crinkled hazel eyes.

“If it’s a labor of love, you’ll succeed.”

“What’s the status of your book?” I asked him.

“What book?”

“Your Kansas City mystery—the one we critiqued for the past two years.

“Oh. That book.” He shrugged.

I looked at Chris over my glasses and raised an eyebrow while a surge of warmth from my heart area threatened to turn up the corners of my mouth. This guy had given each of us good feedback on our chapters, asked questions that made us think about how to improve, and supported us on social media with “likes,” comments, and links to helpful sites. His chapters submitted for critique were so well-written that we needed only to enjoy the story and praise his use of witty dialogue. Now, we were reading a second entertaining story of his, chapter by chapter, but what had happened to the first?

“Did it get scooped up by an agent or a publishing company?” I probed.

“Why do you ask?”

“I like that story. It’s good. Should be published so lots of people can read it.”

“We should all be published,” he said.

“I want us all to be published by the end of the year,” I said looking upward with a melodramatic “wishing on a star” demeanor.

“Publishing contracts for all during the holidays—a time of miracles.” He nodded with a serious expression and regarded me with eyes that now looked golden brown.

~~~

By the end of September, everyone in the writing group, except for our newest member, had written and sent out multiple query letters. While helping to critique the queries, Chris had declined to share one. My head reeled with imaginings of my letters sitting unread at the bottom of great piles on agents’ desks or in their e-mail accounts. I’d received a few flat, generic replies telling me the agencies weren’t accepting new clients at this time or said, “You story does not fit our criteria.” What were the criteria my story didn’t fit? What criteria would my story fit if not those stated in the agency and publishing house Websites? Other group members had similar experiences, and it helped little when we told each other that some best-selling writers had tried for years before they were published.

In early November, I got an e-mail from an editor at a local press asking for a summary and the first three chapters of my book. The poor editor probably heard my whoops and squeals all the way downtown in her office. A couple weeks later, the editor asked for the entire manuscript. 

~~~

     I floated into my critique group meeting on the third Thursday of December and tried to remain calm as my fellow writers straggled in and took seats. My toothy grin and triple-enthusiastic greetings to each of them may have been a clue that something was up.

“I have a publisher! They offered me a contract this morning.” I proclaimed without preamble and then sat back expecting open mouths and astonished congratulations.

Instead, all four others who’d written queries announced that they’d also received offers from different local publishers, all in the past few days. Our new member was absent, and Chris Elfin sat with his arms folded on the table, his eyes twinkling in a brilliant blue color, and a smile under his whiskers as we all elaborated on our successes. Chris’s eyes returned to their normal hazel as we proceeded with our regular critiquing session, but I couldn’t help thinking he looked as if he knew more about this contract coincidence than he was telling.

~~~

“You haven’t told us if you have a contract for your book yet,” I said to Chris outside in the cold after class. “If any of our books deserves one, yours does. Maybe you should query one of these local publishers.”

“Maybe so,” he said.

“Remember when I wished that all of us would be published by the end of the year and you said the holidays are a time of miracles?”

He nodded with a secretive grin on his face.

“Well, the miracle isn’t quite complete unless you have a contract, too.”

“Miracle or not, you all deserve to have your hard work rewarded and your fine works published. By the way, I am self-published and starting to do well.” Chris Elfin walked away toward his parking spot. “Happy Holidays,” he boomed back at me from a golden sports car with a red hood ornament.

I stepped into my car, closed my eyes for a minute, and shook my head. When I looked again, I saw only a white Honda pulling away from under a light pole decorated with colored lights. I drove home looking forward to celebrating a special Christmas.

Thankful for Being Robbed?

My husband and I enjoyed all our major visits—Mesa Verde National Park in Colorado,

Antelope Canyon,

Horseshoe Bend of the Colorado River,

and friends in Arizona, and Big Bend National Park in Texas.

 

All the RV parks we found for camping in our fifth wheel had supply stores, full hook-ups for water, electricity, sewer lines, and television stations we could access for news, sports, and movies.

Nothing fell off the RV, no tires shredded, and the refrigerator hung onto its cooling system on this trip. We were on a roll (literally) compared to previous trips. But we still had a few stops left. What are the sayings? It ain’t over till it’s over. It’s not over till the fat lady sings. Don’t count your chickens…

In San Antonio we left our movable vacation home at a delightful RV Resort in the south part of the city,

told the two cats to take care of it while we were gone, detached the Ford F-350 diesel pick-up, and drove to downtown. Our first time in San Antonio, we had to visit the Alamo and the River Walk.

After a leisurely afternoon of tourist pursuits, we arrived back at our parking lot around six o’clock that evening. Dinner fixings and a little relaxation awaited us in our RV.

Have you ever arrived at your vehicle and discovered it has been broken into? It’s a creepy feeling. The contents of our center console and glove compartment were either missing or scattered over the floor and seats. We searched to find out just what had been taken. As if by instinct, I cast glances around the dusky parking lot in case someone would poke out from behind a car or around a brick wall.

My husband gave me a look when I told him our camera, a phone charger, and a bag of snacks from the back seat had been taken. “We’ve got bigger problems,” he said.

I eyed him with skepticism. What could be worse than losing our best vacation photos? I’d once had one of my photos chosen for the cover of a Kansas City Star vacation photo supplement, for heaven’s sake.

He stuck his key into the ignition. The truck didn’t start.

“Oh no, they tried to steal the truck.” I have this tendency to state the obvious, but such nefarious designs against my property didn’t easily cross my mind. And I write mysteries!

“You call the police, and I’ll call the insurance company.” My husband got busy while I fumbled with how to call the police for a case like this. Was it an emergency? Yes, I decided, and dialed 911. Have you ever tried giving a 911 operator the address of a parking lot in a strange city? It took a walk to street signs and a detailed description of our parking spot and truck.

After that, I spent many minutes on the phone with a locksmith trying to determine if someone could repair our ignition that very evening. A police officer came, and I gave him all the details for his report while Hubby continued his phone conversations with insurance claims people and a tow company receptionist.

Officer Morales stayed and gave me moral support while we waited to find out how we’d deal with a truck that wouldn’t start on a Saturday evening in a gritty parking lot after dark, miles from where we needed to be. He told me stories about robberies in the area and how crooks targeted Ford F-250’s and F-350’s pick-ups because they were good for smuggling and usually contained guns.

“Guns!?”

“In San Antonio, everyone who drives a pick-up has a gun in it,” the officer said.

“We don’t have a gun. We have an RV,” I said with a crooked smile on my face, thinking those idiot crooks should have picked a truck with Texas plates.

“Always park near the street, not back by a wall, in a tourist area,” he said. Too late for that advice.

In the end, the locksmith started the truck and had us drive to his shop in the far northern part of San Antonio where he installed a new ignition. Hungry, tired, and three hundred dollars poorer, we returned to the RV by ten o’clock that night. It could have been worse. Thank goodness, because of the security key fobs we carry on our key chains, the crooks were unable to start the truck. Thank goodness for the friendly, skillful, twenty-four-hour mobile locksmith who welcomed us to his shop as if we were cousins.

This was an experience we’ll always remember, and I’m using part of it as the basis for my next Psycho Cat and the Landlady Mystery. You’ll meet the good Officer Morales in that book and the locksmith of Middle Eastern descent. Can a person be thankful for being robbed while on vacation?

Now, as for the truck breaking down on the highway near a small town in Oklahoma on the way home… I’m only thankful that the town had a tow service open on Sunday and a Ford dealership that could fix the truck in only two days.

Collaboration

This morning, as my husband and I mowed, trimmed, and watered our yard, I started thinking about how much more people accomplish when they work together. A couple of weeks ago, my husband rented and ran a verticutter, I bought and laid grass seed and starter fertilizer, and we both kept the lawn moist for ten days. As a result, we have a lush, green carpet surrounding our house. And I don’t think either of us would have done as well all alone.

“No one can whistle a symphony. It takes a whole orchestra…” wrote H.E. Luccock.

Ken Blanchard said, “None of us is as smart as all of us.”

“In union there is strength,” Aesop contended.

John Donne, of course, wrote, “No man is an island.”

I like this one, credited to Chuck Page: “A single leaf working alone provides no shade.”

One leaf affords a tiny spot of shade, you might argue, and that’s enough for an ant. Some writers want to do it all alone. “Oh, no,” they say, “A critique group will try to change my style.” I’ve found, however, that collaborating with other writers improves my work as well as my promotional efforts. When I wrote my first book, the vision dancing in my head was my lone self, working in a lonely room, editing and formatting over and over and over, with no input from anyone else. (The term dark garret comes to mind.)

That first book, CATastrophic Connections: A Psycho Cat and the Landlady Mystery, was born with many flaws that I later revised with the help of many others.

Since then, I’ve joined a critique group. Its members have provided invaluable suggestions and proofreading expertise. I belong to mystery writers’ groups, book promotion groups, and several online author groups that share tips and answer questions. I post on blogs that help me promote my identity as an author.

FURtive Investigation, the second book (for which I used a photo of my attic garret for the cover) turned out better because I collaborated. Nine LiFelines, my most recent book, turned out even better from the start because of all the unselfish writers I’ve encountered in these groups.

Sharing promotions is a great way for authors to help one another. Book signing events, Facebook promotions, and giveaways are more fun and often more successful with fellow authors. Read what Olga Núñez Miret had to say about multi-author promotions. Authors can collaborate in blog tours, such as those arranged by Great Escapes Book Tours, or host other authors on blogs like James R. Callan’s Authors Blog or Chris the Story Reading Ape’s Authors Hall of Fame. “It takes a village” may have been an old African proverb, or it may have come from a Native American tribe. Those old folks knew.