Local resident embarrassed to discover that the place he lives and works has been declared dead.

Local resident Jared Witt experienced quite a shock this week.  Scrolling through hundreds of comments on a Facebook post, he came across troubling news.  “Fort Scott is dead,” one of the commenters bluntly announced.

“I just feel like such a fool,” Witt said.  “All this time I’ve been living, working, and raising my family here in Fort Scott as if it were alive.  What can I say?  I feel like a laughingstock.”

 

Asked why he was in the dark about the city’s death, Witt responded apologetically.  “It’s true.  I should have spent a lot more time on Facebook.  Especially the ‘you know your (sic) from Fort Scott when . . . ‘ thread.  There are some really sophisticated people on there, people who courageously escaped Fort Scott to fancier places like Nevada, Joplin, Overland Park, and Texas.”

“I guess I just got wrapped up in silly stuff like going to work, volunteering, reading novels, and spending time with my wife and three boys.  Also, I’m ashamed to admit that some of my time surfing the web isn’t on Facebook – I squander time on the New Yorker, New York Times, Harvard Business Review, Fast Company, and Medium.”

“Have other people heard the news?” Witt asked, somewhat bewildered.  “It was difficult enough to adjust to news that I live in a sad little town, a backwater, a place with no jobs and no future, a place that’s fallen into disgrace and shame.  But to actually read the announcement that ‘Fort Scott is dead’ – wow, that one sent me reeling.” 

“The really bizarre thing about this whole deal is that my week seemed so normal,” Witt continued.  “This past weekend our leaders at First Presbyterian discussed plans for $200,000 worth of tile roof work on our historic 1925 building, plus plans for a new landscaped parking lot and green space across the street to accommodate our growing congregation.  What a colossal waste of time!  And to think, we blew a ton of money this past year putting four new roofs on homes.  That money could have been used to relocate our congregation to a town that’s still living.”

“On Monday evening my family drove to the beautiful Ellis Fine Arts Center for a spirited celebration of the life and legacy of Martin Luther King, Jr.  Then Tuesday after work I ran to a board meeting for the public library where we discussed our plans to spend over a quarter million dollars to renovate the library (I’ll call my fellow board members later to let them down gently; they’re kind of excited).”

“On Wednesday I went to Rotary and it seemed like business as usual – roasted chicken, vegetables, etc.  My wife - an amazing educator who has worked in some of the most prestigious schools in New York City – was our guest speaker.  She’s working hard in our local school district alongside lots of other good teachers to provide excellent opportunities for our kids.  (Last night she spent two hours baking for her colleagues.  I hate to even tell her about the city’s death.  I talked her into moving here.  She’s going to be pissed.)”

“Thursday was the usual – a boisterous, energetic group of sixty or so Chamber of Commerce members gathered for a coffee to hear about new and growing businesses and share news of all that’s going on this week.  (Our Economic Director announced this week that Bourbon County’s job growth were third highest among Kansas rural counties in 2013.  We should tell her soon that the city is dead).” 

“That night my wife and I had a house packed with fifteen avid readers who’d gotten together to discuss what they’d all been reading lately.  I shared my recent reading: Peter Gay’s biography, Freud: A Life for Our Time, Alain de Botton’s art history book Art as Therapy, Zadie Smith’s new novel NW - about her immigrant neighborhood in London, and Dave Eggers new novel The Circle, about a Google-like tech company and what befalls its employees and users.” 

“I’m sure our little group can’t hold a candle to the sophisticated get-togethers that happen in places that are still alive.  I’m dying to know what people in Johnson County are reading,” Witt added wistfully.

“Because we had a busy week, we ate out more than usual.  La Hacienda, Nu-Grille, Nate’s Place, Papa Don’s Pizza, Lotus Chinese, Sharky’s and Holmtown Pub are all close to downtown and our house.  For special nights we walk two blocks downtown to Crooner’s for dinner and a drink (where everything is good, but the buttery sea bass, cooked sous vide, is amazing).”

“I kind of dread all the work ahead,” Witt noted with melancholy.  “There are a lot of ongoing projects that we’ll have to wind down.  The new dialysis center and new hotel downtown will need to have plugs pulled.  Construction plans to remake the Marmaton River area just North of downtown into a biker’s and hiker’s dream will need to be scuttled.  The school board’s plans to renovate or build brand new schools can be wadded up and tossed.  The talented and civic-minded Young Professionals League will need to cease and desist.  The Fort Scott Foundation will need to stop giving grants to local organizations.  The Beacon can stop worrying about providing food and clothing to our struggling families.”

“I suppose more than anything else, I dread telling my kids about this,” Witt sighed.  They love our family walks downtown, the new skate park a block from our house, playing with the other neighborhood kids, and their swim team practices in our state of the art pool.”

Turning to his three boys, Witt said, “It’s all a mirage, kids.  And I’m sorry I made you pick up trash in our neighborhood as if it mattered.  And I apologize too for all the time we spent improving our flowerbeds.”

“What will we do, dad?  Where will we go?” Witt’s young son asked. 

“Fort Scott just takes too much work.  Besides, it’s dead.  Let’s find a place where all the work’s already been done by others,” Witt said.  “Maybe we can find a place in a subdivision with row after row of identical houses in a vibrant place where nothing is required of us.”