Kenneth "Kenny" Wilson will always be the farmer at the edge of town who drove me to school. For 42 years this friendly man drove a school bus out into the countryside. An hour and thirty minute round trip twice a day to drop off and pick up the country kids from the little farm houses spread all over the Vermillion County countryside. Unlike the big city school I work for now the North Vermillion School Corporation does not own the buses it has driving its routes. That honor belongs to drivers who purchase or rent their own buses and bid on the routes they drive each school year.
Each year for most of my school career I would get up at 6:30 in the morning and around 7:10 I would be looking out the back window for the flashing red lights that signified my cousins being picked up down the road. As a kindergartener on that first day I remember trying to run from my mom when the bus pulled up. Kenny patiently waited until I could be gathered up. He placed me in the first row to his right and assured me that everything would be fine. He would take care of me. Every year as I grew he would do the same thing with the little ones. Putting them up close so that he could keep an eye on them. He didn't want them sneaking off. Many a little one would fall asleep on the long trip home and this way he could make sure they made it safely.
The front seat was also the place where Kenny would chat with you should you be a little out of control. He shared stories of your parents and grandparents with you. An easy way to let you know behavior issues would be shared with those who might not approve. He carried a paddle for many years. Right up front by the door. It was permissible to paddle children back then. He would tell many stories about what that old board could do. I never saw him use it for anything other than an implied discussion with your pants.
Summer days I would often stay with my Grandpa Sare and he would take me to the Perrysville Cafe for breakfast. We would sometimes see Kenny stopping in for coffee or across the street at Rex's Gas Station. Grandpa would get to talking and I would hide around behind him. Kenny would always say hello as I cringed at the thought that Grandpa was talking to the bus driver. Would he tell him about the paper wad I threw?
As I grew older I would often be riding through town with Grandpa Sare on my way to the field when I would see Kenny hard at work on an old Oliver tractor making hay for his cattle. I was glad I was allergic to hay and grass. It sure looked like dirty work bucking those bales. Don't get me wrong, I was often going to hook weeds out of beans or pick up rocks but that was some back breaking, bug infested work that I am sure my friends Pat and Erik could attest to.
This man had an impact on my life. I don't know much about his home life, his family or even what he had been up to for the last twenty years. (Other than driving a bus and farming.) He was the kindly neighbor who helped out his community, the bus driver who got me to school even in the snow, and the visitor who came when I lost my grandparents to pay his respects. Kenny was a community man. Someone the whole town will miss. A person that many children from route 8 will fall silent over in thought as another little piece of our childhood moves on.
Time to park the bus Mr. Wilson, you earned your rest.