Good Bad Things

 60 years ago today, on August 1, 1964, the course of history changed. Evans Dunlap, one of the two brothers who owned, managed, and worked the Dunlap & Co empire, was killed alongside his wife in a car accident. They were headed for Michigan when a drunk driver slammed into their vehicle. Evans and Isabel, both in their 40s, were killed instantly and left behind four children ages 12 to 20. And everything that could have been, was no more.

Dunlap & Co was a business that America needed, and a business that has never since come about. Imagine Sears - where you could order a two story 1,900 square foot home. But add the layer of you could customize many more aspects and a crew would come and build it. And build it well and build it fast. And imagine it’s the 1950s. That was the vision and path Dunlap & Co was on. Land leveling and clearing, foundations, lumber, finish work, contractors, to tacking the letters on the mailbox… They. Did. It. All.

But then… in a blink of an eye, in the early morning hours excited for a trip up north, a chance to get away from the business… it was all over. And the vision, had to or just did, change.

The lone brother was left to make tough decisions.

What little information I have says that Dunlap & Co was sold rather quickly in late 1964 to two men who worked the Batesville yard - Dick and EJ (better known as Moon). These men didn’t set out to be owners of a business nor were they looking to be business partners together. I would argue that that they weren’t business men. I would argue they felt their way blindly through many of the legalities of owning a business. I would argue their eyes opened pretty quickly to some of the not so great moments there is in owning and operating a business. They were much more interested in cattle and ranching and their eyes were set on the wide west. Dunlaps was a job - probably a decent one - that allowed them to eventually chase their dreams. By the mid 70s they were on their way to Texas and held the title of ranchers soon after. Their short 9 year stint was probably perceived as luck coupled with a sad situation of events.

I was recently presented with the phrase or idea “Good Bad Things.” Are there good bad things in our world? That bad things - at some point - can become or create or transform into good. The “rise again from ashes” idea if you want to go religious. And it’s made me think deeply about my own journey and my personal life alongside my business life. And, with that, I can’t help but go back to teaching. I love American Realism. It was my favorite course in college, it is an “utter joy” (what an oxymoron) to read and discover texts, and it lit my soul on fire to teach it. American Realism - in terms of literature - is Willa Cather, House of Mirth, John Steinbeck, Mark Twain, maybe a bit of Hemingway to a degree… the grab your soul and squeeze it literature. The kind that makes you question everything long after the reading is over. I lived for it. I still do. I think the best part of taking in American Realism is what happens after you read it. It’s sad, it’s constantly being beat down, it’s glimmers of hopes and dreams that never get to be, it’s something that was or a moment that should have been, that was taken away because real life - often harsh real life - got in the way. I take that idea and I apply it to the new phrase shared with me - “Good Bad Things.”

Evans Dunlap died suddenly. It was bad for his children. It was bad for his extended family. It was bad for Dunlap & Co. It was bad for a Midwest community. It was bad for - thinking of what could have been - the American economy. 

So what comes after the story is over? The company is busted up, sold to different people, the name is gone, the vision is gone, time and old wounds divide and then eventually heal, his children pass away, and nobody thinks on it anymore. So where’s the good?

As conceited as it sounds, I think it’s in me. And being honest, I sometimes wish it wasn’t. But, nevertheless, I feel a responsibility because the odds of me ever making it to the doors of Dunlaps as an owner were essentially 0. The full story of how we got here and shouldn’t had ever made it has been shared slowly and not publicly. So it begs the question: Why? Why am I here? Why did Evans have to die 60 years ago? Why did the realism once again get in the way of a beautiful and doable and heartfelt dream? Because what happens after the sad and bad story is sometimes finding the good that can come. For some reason, Samantha Giesting, a child born 27 years after the passing of a patriarch of a company, was supposed to have this place. She’s supposed to do something with this. An old building with the ugliest color siding and old sloping floor… there’s more to be written. There is more to be written in my story and in the story of what was Dunlap & Co. 

I didn’t know Evans. I wish I did. I wish I could talk to him. To know what goals he had for this fast moving train… I think of it often. 

I parallel his life with my family life too. A patriarchal team of two brothers farming together, keeping a family farm going as best as they can. Suddenly, it is split up after the tragic passing of one of the brothers. What’s the other half to do without that shared vision? Without a shared passion or a purpose? Without his best friend? With the notion that perception is reality, with the potential for hurt feelings and misunderstandings over position or power or control of things that they knew nothing of, of things that meant nothing to them days before? How awful… How do you mend the broken circle? How sad… How bad… how can anything good come from this? 

I ask myself it every day. And I ask myself this especially today as I think of Evans. It’s a funny thing to mourn someone you didn’t know or mourn what could have been or should have been. But it is a very real feeling. 

My dad and grandpa taught me in not exactly these words that wisdom - when really boiled down - comes from being empathetic (not sympathetic) to your not living history. A lot to unpack there. Read it again and slowly. 

Wisdom comes from being empathetic to your not living history. 

When we can truly place ourselves where others were in the moments of their decision making, we can gain wisdom. To become their age, in that time period, to unpack the family dynamics, to place ourselves in the culture and societal norms, to comprehend the amount of work or stress of the time period, to view the politics of the area and the country, to feel the relationships they held and the weight or lack there of of those said relationships, it’s then - and really only then - that we can gain true wisdom.

 It’s not enough to put on someone else’s shoe and find out only then that there’s a rock in it. It’s more and it right back to American Realism - To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee, Atticus Finch: “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view... Until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.”

It’s easy to say things like “Grandpa was an idiot for not buying that 160 acre farm for $12,000.” It’s easy to say, “I bet Dick and Moon had everything fall in their lap.” It’s easy to say those things. But it’s not said with any wisdom. 

I pray every day that God gives me the wisdom to keep this place together. In good times. And in bad times. And in good bad times too, I guess. 

Rest in peace, Evans. 

I hope this little old place makes you proud.

I love it a lot. And I promise to do good to others who grace our doors. Maybe that is the good after the bad that I am supposed to find… “The chain of love didn’t stop with me” kind of thinking… and whether you knew it or not, the waves you made in the industry and just in our small Indiana community decades ago, are still being felt today- in a silly little blog post about a sleepy little store that was once yours that is now, because good bad things exist, is mine. 

Fly high. And I’ll try to do the same. 

Love always,

Samantha