1 to 148

1 to 148. Miles per hour? No, but it sure feels like it some days. We celebrate our first anniversary today. Year 1 is in the books. But today we also celebrate the Governor's Century Business Award after submitting information regarding how long we have been under the same type of business and showing how and when it transferred ownership. I like what Gov. Halcomb said, "As we continue to attract new jobs and  investment to Indiana, these well-established businesses  will set the tone for a Hoosier economy dedicated to hard  work, constant improvement and strong community roots.  I’m confident these businesses will continue providing  great service for the next 100 years and keep Indiana on the  path to success for centuries to come."                       As far as longevity goes, Dunlaps made the top 10 of 101 Indiana businesses (and most of the "in business longer than us" places were funeral homes. Makes sense, really.) Dunlaps has a long history. A long lonnggg history. And the more I dig in, the more I begin to realize - in some regards - Dunlaps was too ahead of it’s time. (Funny to think about considering we bought this place before it used WiFi and our current cash register doesn’t run on electricity.) But I digress. Dunlaps - in what I would call the “peak years” of the early 1900s until about 1950 - was even more than a Menards, Home Depot, and Lowe’s combined. You could walk in the door, tell the man at the counter you needed a garage - from the gravel driveway to the shingles on the roof - and the man would get the necessary supplies (gravel, gutters, rafters, screws, AND THE CREW OF MEN) and they’d be at your house later in the week to do it. It’d be up in a jiffy and you could simply pay your bill at Dunlaps. It was a chain store that had 12 locations before chain stores were really much of a thing. And in the late 1940s, it was thriving and on target to become one of the biggest chains stores America had ever seen. Owned jointly by two brothers who bought it from their dad and grandpa, the Dunlap family was on top of the Midwest... and eyes were just starting to pick up on this efficient process of bulk buying, warehousing, and transferring product from warehouse to warehouse/ store to store in a timely fashion. In fact, in the late 1940s, Dunlaps started to follow and deliver supplies to the interstate crews up and down this great state of Indiana who were paving the interstates and highways we drive today. Back then, there were miles and miles of seams in the pavement and concrete. There was hundreds of thousands of board feet of forming lumber. And guess who got the bid for the seam paper and much of the lumber? You guessed it. Big Dunlaps. They had a great reputation for getting it done. However, in the early 1950s, one of the two brothers who owned Dunlaps died tragically in an automobile accident alongside his wife. Trust me, I can very much imagine his brother thinking about 1 thing at a time to 148 things at a time after losing his business partner and brother. In a word, things became strained. It was decided by the Dunlap family to sell the least profiting location in hope to salvage the rest of the business locations. The least profiting store: The Batesville Store at 13 S Smith St. But, that plan of selling the least profitable store turned into selling yet another lesser profiting store and then another. And, sadly, in a matter of about 15 or so years, Dunlaps - as everyone knew them to be - disappeared from the scene altogether. Our store sold in the 1950s. To whom, it is unclear; it would appear that not great records were kept after the tragedy in the Dunlap family; with a little more digging, I know someday I will be able to find out more about the real lineage. Sometime around 1965, Dunlaps (which still bore the name maybe out of hasty decisions or hurt hearts) was sold to EJ ("Moon") Wenning and Dick Prentice. Though I have no pictures of these two men, I have Moon's signature in my office desk drawer. From the stories I hear, they were children of the depression and rough around the edges. What I wouldn't give to talk to them and to share our crazy pricing stories with them... to just walk around this place - when the train cars of lumber ran right by our store... back when the people were made differently and could unload an entire train car of 100 pound bags of something comparable to sakrete... back when the steam engine ran the line shaft that powered the mill... I'm reminded of a novel I taught for many years, A Day No Pigs Would Die. Classic and easy to read, I ADORE this novel (and the author, Robert Newton Peck). When I look at our mill, which hasn't had tons and tons changes to it over the course of time, I can\"t help but think of a passage of this novel: "Before I walked  out of the tackroom, I noticed something I’d not took note of previous. It was the handles of {the} tools. Most of the tools were dark with age, and their handles were a deep brown.  But where... hands had took a purchase on them, they were lighter in color. Almost a gold.  The wear of... labor had made them smooth and shiny, where...fingers had held each one.  I looked at all the handles of the tools. It was real beautiful the way they was gilded by work."          Moon and Dick sold the store to Paul and Dorothy Fullenkamp in 1973. And the stories of them and their children are the ones I know more than any others, and I will do my best to preserve  much of what I am told through them here in this blog as time allows. But those stories are  for another day. 1 of 148 years. Not even a scratch of the surface. Not even enough to get out the  touch-up paint for... yet, it's been such a trip. I won't be here to know if we have another 148 years left in us. But I do hope that we can continue to serve those who build for the rest of our lives. Always with love, Samantha