Why you hear the Wabash Cannonball
Local curmudgeon Andy Shank died this past week and I have to say I think I will miss him. He drove me crazy from time to time with his far-out theories of conspiracies, government incompetence, and willful disregard for the little guy.
He wrote long rambling letters to the editor, some of which I printed; some of which were just so slanderous, I couldn't. If he was on a tear about someone or something I would hear from him at all hours of the day and night. Then months would go by with no contact. He was a roller coaster ride of opinions. Sometimes it was tough to get a word in edgewise. Sometimes it was tough to even get the message. But we managed.
I have an envelope from a letter he once sent to the paper pinned to my bulletin board at the office. It is addressed to "Susan Marshall, public news to a good news hound, c/o her office, Peabody, Kansas." I don't remember what message he had to impart that time, but I thought the envelope was just great. He had his moments.
And there is something about an earlier Andy that the community should know. The reason that "Wabash Cannonball" has almost usurped "On Peabody" as the traditional school fight song is because Andy and his wife Virginia requested it many years ago. Andy was a railroad man and "Wabash" was a favorite tune. When daughter Andra signed up to play the saxophone as a fifth grader back in the 1970s, Andy was only along to write the check. I expect he thought the whole business of being in band was a bunch of hooey.
But Andra was a talented young lady and became a good musician. Virginia was the ultimate band booster mom. She dragged Andy along (kicking and screaming, I'm sure) to every concert, parade, performance, and contest she could. She volunteered to oversee the very first band barbecue fund-raiser, whipping parents into committees, donating side dishes, cutting meat, and cleaning up. She was rewarded, after having dropped numerous hints, by the combined bands playing "Wabash Cannonball," to thunderous stomping and clapping from the audience at the end of the evening concert.
Andy loved it.
Several days later he and Virginia showed up on our front porch with a six-pack of something and said they would keep bringing six-packs every time the band played "Wabash." But the bribe wasn't necessary. The song generated enough response in the community that it quickly became a standard, not only at the spring barbecue, but also at football and basketball games
Virginia died before Andra graduated from high school, but the "Wabash" tradition was established and continued without her. I don't imagine Andy ever went to a concert or a sporting event again after his daughter graduated. We never saw another six-pack.
Over the years since Virginia died I have heard several theories about why "Wabash" has become the PBHS fight song. Andy heard some of those stories too, and since I took this position with the newspaper he always was quick to let me know when one of them was floating around. He thought I should put a stop to such balderdash. Conspiracy, credit not being given where credit was due.
So there you have it. "Wabash" is a part of the past couple of decades of school spirit because Andy was a railroad man and liked the song, his daughter was a saxophone dynamo, and his wife wanted him on board. Plus it is a rousing number, gets the fans to their feet, and creates participation. And that is the story of that. I know because I was there.
And Andy, you owe us a lot of six-packs. Rest well, my friend.
— SUSAN MARSHALL
