Photo and story by John Schlageck

McCRACKEN Downtown McCracken looks like something out of an old-time movie black and white you know. Come to think about it, this small Rush County farming community was in a movie once upon a time.

Back in 1973, McCracken and several other west-central Kansas towns served as a rural backdrop for the movie, "Paper Moon." This movie featured such stars as Ryan O'Neal, daughter, Tatum, and Madeline Kahn. It was flawless entertainment and told the story of a depression era con artist who sold bibles supposedly signed and ordered by late husbands to bereaved widows.

Not much has changed in McCracken during that nearly 30-year period since "Paper Moon" was released. For that matter, not much has changed in McCracken since the '30s.

Today a few less people inhabit this little community 200 depending on whom you can find willing to give you an estimate. There are also fewer stores on Main Street, if you can call the one-block street "main" any more.

Downtown businesses in McCracken can be counted on one hand an insurance agency, library, post office, fire station and grocery store. Rarely are there more than two or three vehicles parked on the street at once.

Just like in the movie "Paper Moon," McCracken has its stars. They perform on creaking oak floors instead of the silver screen.

And while the Hollywood cast in "Paper Moon" was bent on entertaining, these local heroes have a much higher calling. Their mission is to keep the doors of the grocery open. If the grocery should close, the town will fold.

That's the consensus of the five central cast members including Signe Barnes, manager; Roy Conrad, meat cutter; Phyllis Conrad, store cleaner; and Gladys and Wendell Hinman who stock shelves and place prices on products.

Three of the five are paid minimum wage and work approximately 50 hours a week. All volunteer their time along with two other key individuals, Bob House and Addie Mills. Addie clerks and helps stock while Bob drives to LaCrosse for bread every Monday and drinks coffee.

"The bread man doesn't stop here any more," Bob, a 70-year-old retired farmer, says. "They've got a minimum we have to buy, and we can't sell that much, so we go after our own."

A couple of other volunteers follow Signe into the store every morning to turn on the lights, flip on the "open" sign and start the coffee pot. These tireless volunteers choose to remain anonymous.

Shopping at McCracken Grocery, Inc. is like stepping back in time. Inside the old, two-story brick building a tin-pressed ceiling towers at least 15 feet above the black floor. Fans whirr and florescent lights buzz overhead.

Built in 1919, the store sports five, wide spacious aisles and shelves stacked with all sorts of groceries. Near the far, right-hand aisle is a row of five floor freezers stocked with vegetables, pizzas, orange juice, ice cream and other frozen products. The constant droning of these white, aging dinosaurs combined with the lights overhead would seem to have the necessary electricity to power the community and then some.

A 4,000 pound safe, early 1900s vintage, locks away the total earnings of the store $1.98 it's an inside story. Weekly specials are hand written on five by eight white cards and taped on one of the large glass windows at the front of the store.

This aging community grocery has no name above the door to welcome shoppers. It sports no blinking lights or flashing specials. The sidewalk in front of the door is cracked and crumbling.

So why would anyone venture inside?

For one thing, this grocery store is open five-days-a-week and a half-day on Saturday. It provides the community of McCracken with essential food staples. It is convenient the nearest competing grocery is located in LaCrosse, a 34-mile round trip drive from McCracken.

Maybe just as important, this store remains one of the last gathering spots in McCracken. Here, friends and neighbors can say hello and catch up on news while stocking up on food supplies for their families.

It's a recipe for community success, but one that is holding on by a thread in this central-Kansas town.

Life moves at a slower pace inside the walls of the McCracken grocery. While regular shoppers may only stop in to pick up a handful of items, the time spent in the store is relaxed and civil. Speeding shoppers with hurried looks on their faces aren't part of the decorum in this grocery. Never have been never will be.

One Monday afternoon in late April, Signe had just finished ringing up a gallon of milk for Valerie Rogers and her one-year-old daughter Lexi. Like many other customers, this young mother stops by the grocery several times each week.

"When I need something, I come by," Valerie says. "My daughter drinks a lot of milk."

As Valerie turned her child's stroller and headed toward the door, Signe waved good-bye to Lexi.

"Bye, bye," she calls. "You're much happier today than the other day when you stopped in. I'm glad to see that."

Customers who shop at the store often wind up at the coffee table. Such meeting occurs at least two times each day. The coffee is hot, complimentary and appreciated. It's also at this table that Signe often pays bills and orders future groceries. Both are increasingly difficult tasks. It has become harder and harder to estimate how much food people will purchase each week.

Because the building is so old, it's terribly energy inefficient. Utility bills in the summer and winter are staggering. The store is currently operating in the red. Two employees have several pay checks that have not been cashed.

While these dedicated volunteers understand how vital this grocery is to their community, they wish others would also realize this importance.

"At this point, our future is not too bright," Phyllis says. We can't order in quantity so we have to have higher prices for some of the products on our shelves. That's one of the main complaints. That's one reason we don't move as many items."

Some items are more than competitive. Milk is often cheaper in McCracken than anywhere within a 50-mile radius, Signe says. Whole milk sells for $2.06 a gallon.

Many town folks don't believe the store will close. They say it can't happen.

"If they don't want it to happen, I wish they'd come in and buy more groceries," Phyllis says. "They're just not doing it."

Three years ago, the grocery changed hands when approximately 100 community shareholders bought the store. Today, between 60 and 75 customers shop at McCracken Grocery, Inc. Sales total approximately 40 each day. Weekly gross sales average $2,000.

The main drawing card at the grocery is the fresh meat selection. Roy cuts the meat to order each and every day including homemade sausage. Customers receive their meat hand-wrapped in white wax paper one more personal touch that most folks never think about.

Another huge challenge facing the community grocery will be holding on to its current supplier, Affiliated Foods. Located in Abilene, Tex., this wholesale food distributor delivers grocery supplies once a week, usually on Monday afternoon.

Affiliated Foods requires a weekly purchase of $1,500. McCracken Grocery hasn't been able to purchase that amount several times, but the Texas-based supplier still delivers.

"For these little stores, we're their only lifeline," Delton Franklin, one of the tractor-trailer drivers for Affiliated Foods, says. "A lot of people take these small stores for granted. If people don't shop in their own hometown store, they're cutting their own throats. It's that simple."

Delton and his partner, David Breidenbach, leave every Sunday evening at about 7 p.m. from Abilene. Except when they stop for delivery they're on the road 24 hours a day five days a week. While one sleeps, the other drives.

During a two and one-half day period they travel 1,900 miles delivering groceries and produce to 11 small town groceries including McCracken. Ten of the stores are located in Kansas. One is in Colorado.

It takes about 45 minutes for the two men and five McCracken volunteers to unload the groceries. After carefully checking in all of the items, Signe is satisfied except for the green, bell peppers.

"I'm going to reject the peppers," she says. "They're too small and I wouldn't pay 65 cents apiece for them, and I don't think my customers would either."

Delton nods in agreement, signs the sales invoice and heads for his rig parked on the north side of the grocery. A few minutes later they were motoring west on the road to Ness City. The box of small peppers was still sitting in the back storage room in the McCracken community grocery.

In the retail portion of the store, the volunteers were busy worker bees pricing food items and restocking the shelves. Bob is finishing his coffee.

He doesn't talk much and looks forward to driving to LaCrosse for bread on Mondays, Signe says. It's his way of doing his part. She makes the same trip toward the end of each week.

"I don't have anything else to do," Bob says. "I tell people I have to pick up bread. I don't think they believe me."

Like the other half-dozen volunteers who keep the McCracken grocery running, Bob has a long history with this store. He remembers buying his first smoking tobacco here. It cost him a nickel back in the '40s when he rolled his own cigarettes.

The retired Rush County farmer also learned a long lasting lesson in the two-story brick building. Seems he snitched a piece of bubble gum from a counter in the store when he was a young lad.

The consequences

"Let's just say I always paid for it after that," Bob says draining the last sip of coffee from his cup. A couple minutes later he disappeared out the door.

But Bob will be back. So will the other volunteers. And hopefully so will more people who live in and around McCracken. They'll have to buy their groceries here if the store is to remain open.

If they don't, one day McCracken Grocery, Inc. will join the long list of other buildings that now sit vacant on Main Street. If that happens, one of the last remaining gathering places will be gone. The social soul of this community will die.