Wilbur E. Smith's Obituary
Picture the rolling Flint Hills of eastern Kansas, located between the Missouri River
valley and the wide prairies to the west. Too rocky to plow, they're still an oasis of
undisturbed land with gravel roads and trees and cattle ranging freely.
Ray Smith was an oilfield worker in the 1920's, living with his wife Mildred and their
kids outside the little town of Reece. Even before the Depression they had to be
industrious to get by: growing a big garden, gathering wild berries and nuts, fishing the
local rivers and ponds. Their kids enjoyed the freedom of country living, riding horses to
school in the early days.
On the evening that Wilbur was born Ray was sitting outside on the porch, smoking his
pipe and watching the sky for funnel clouds. (He couldn't possibly have imagined a
television station in Wichita with weather radar.) Ray was a man of few words, but
when he saw a bad-looking cloud heading their way he went into the bedroom where his
wife was in labor. Mildred told him in no uncertain terms that she wouldn't be joining
him in the root cellar, but they were spared when the twister leaped over the house
before continuing its path of destruction. It seemed that the Lord had plans for young
Wilbur.
Though he loved the outdoors and learned many practical skills, Wilbur was also a
“bookish” boy who was writing poetry at the age of twelve. Because he was such a
promising student he went to live with his cousins in Virgil, Kansas (pop. 600 in 1930)
to finish high school. The summer before his senior year he walked the forty miles to
Virgil, and along the way he was noticed by a pretty girl named Charlotte Heidrick. By
graduation time they were devoted sweethearts.
Wilbur joined the Marines near the end of World War II, shipping out to Saipan where
he helped to secure the island's caves and waited for an invasion of Japan which never
occurred. He bought Charlotte a wedding ring in San Diego on the way home, and their
72-year marriage began. The next year Marsha was born, followed by Woody and Brian
and a little later Melinda.
Thanks to the G.I. Bill Wilbur attended Emporia State Teacher's College and began
teaching high school English in Newton. He enjoyed the work but had to supplement his
skimpy salary by counting railroad cars in the evenings. Somehow he heard about an
opportunity in California and was hired over the phone to teach at San Bernardino High
School. Along with another family they made the five-day drive, their possessions in an
old Army truck loaded to the gills and listing to one side.
Wilbur taught English for decades, grading papers in the evenings and working a variety
of summer jobs (at a Sears store, in a warehouse, for the Santa Fe railroad, even driving
an ice cream truck). They were able to buy a house on Elm Avenue and were active in
the First Christian Church, where Wilbur served as an Elder and Charlotte was the
Secretary for twenty-seven years.
By all accounts Wilbur was an uncompromising teacher with high expectations, not
afraid to stand up to coaches who demanded special treatment for athletes. He clearly
had a big impact on many students, dozens of whom reached out later to thank him. “I
loved every minute of it,” he said, “because I had thousands of young people share their
stories with me. To teach is to touch a life.” He also had a brief glimpse of celebrities,
when his honors class was seated in the front row at an assembly featuring a brand-new
British rock band. As soon as Mick Jagger began to sing Wilbur retreated to the
teacher's lounge.
Though well-settled in California, the family honored their Kansas roots by going “back
home” in the summers dozens of times, often in their Studebaker Lark. Despite kids in
the back seat asking “Are we there yet?” Wilbur loved those road trips and chose
different routes each time. When they broke down one year outside Tuba City, Arizona,
a group of Navajos helped them get back to town and found them a place to camp while
repairs were being made.
Years turned into decades as Wilbur continued to teach and the children grew into
adults. As they moved away and some had their own kids, Charlotte began welcoming
them back to the dinners for which she's well-known. Wilbur finally retired to write
family histories, do more gardening and make landscape paintings. In 1992, just as
southern California was erupting in riots, Wilbur and Charlotte moved into a peaceful
seniors golf community north of the I-10 in Cherry Valley.
After fixing up their new home Wilbur went back to teaching part-time at Mt. San
Jacinto College in Hemet. He said he liked that even better than high school because
“half the students drop out after two weeks and the other half really want to be there.”
He taught at the college for nine years while enjoying golf games and continuing his
creative work. He was an accomplished oil painter who completed almost two hundred
canvasses, mostly landscapes of scenes from Kansas to California. His final book The
Last Shepherd, an account of a disciple of Jesus who turned up at Starbucks, has sold
quite a few copies on Amazon.com.
Throughout these adventures Wilbur was above all a devoted husband, father and
grandfather. He and Charlotte were sweethearts for seventy-three years, and they loved
having family gatherings in their home. He continued to brave the freeway traffic to stay
active in their church but reluctantly stopped making longer road trips. It was clear to
everyone who knew him that Wilbur saw his life and family as great blessings. “Life is
an adventure,” he said. “Live every moment of it with enthusiasm.”
What’s your fondest memory of Wilbur?
What’s a lesson you learned from Wilbur?
Share a story where Wilbur's kindness touched your heart.
Describe a day with Wilbur you’ll never forget.
How did Wilbur make you smile?