My dad started building a fleet of school buses in the early 1960s. We quickly outgrew the Sunoco station on Madison Avenue and relocated to the automotive repair garage where Long’s Bakery is now. 

One of our drivers, Ralph  Niehaus, who had worked for the railroad, explained to me an interesting and sneaky way to activate the red lights and bells at a crossing. I appreciated that information but had no need for it at the time.

As fall approached a few months later, we were informed that a Halloween parade would take place on Southport Road. It would start at Madison, proceed east across the railroad tracks and end at Pine Street. Southport High School’s band was going to participate. This sounded like an ideal opportunity to pull a prank ... so a plan was put into motion.

I purchased a reel-to-reel tape recorder and spent several days rushing to the tracks as a train approached to record the warning whistle. We borrowed a battery-powered spotlight and already owned jumper cables. One of our buses was equipped with a public address system, including an exterior speaker.

As the band crossed the tracks at Southport Road, three things happened: Someone with the proper knowledge activated the red lights and warning bells like a seasoned professional; someone started the tape player; and a person stood in the middle of the tracks while slightly wiggling a large light pointed toward the crossing.

This was only done for about five seconds, but it had the desired effect ... the band vanished, and so did we after shutting off the lights and bells, the recorder and the spotlight. We stowed our equipment and were seated in lawn chairs at the front of our building when the reassembled band, under the direction of Bill Schmadfeldt, came marching  past.

We waved and gave him a thumbs-up. We could tell he was certain that he knew exactly who was responsible for the fiendish activity, but he also had no idea how it was pulled off. 

It was some 25 years later that I went to Barringer’s Tavern for lunch and saw Bill at the bar. I took a seat beside him and placed my order. After chatting for a while, I said I had a story to share with him.

“It’s about that damned railroad crossing, isn’t it?” he snarled.We laughed long and hard and agreed that there are some things that you never forget.
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Shonk is a 1960 graduate of Southport High School, a ’63 grad of Indiana Central College (now the University of Indianapolis) and a retired bus driver from Beech Grove Schools. 

A couple of weeks ago I was invited to a breakfast at Perry Township Schools transportation office. This is something that is done for the bus drivers, mechanics and office staff a few times each year.
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This one was special because one of the district’s senior drivers, Annie Singleton, was in the process of retiring. I first met her when our family moved our auto repair shop and school bus businesses to Southport.  

Our small fleet of buses that were contracted to Perry Township had grown to the point that we needed more room to park and secure them. It wasn’t long after we relocated from our Sunoco station on Madison Avenue to the building on Southport Road (now Long’s Bakery) that Annie came to drive one of our buses.

One of my duties during the school year was to be in our office to answer any telephone calls that might affect the morning routes. I remember Annie bringing her two oldest children into the office each morning. They quietly waited for the driver who would take them to school.

When the school system purchased our fleet, Annie and most all of our other drivers became employed by Perry Township. I think she took a few years off before returning and finishing her career. 
There were a couple of “Annie stories” shared by the speakers at the breakfast; I’m sure many more were privately shared at the tables.

A few years ago I was invited to attend the monthly breakfasts for current and retired Perry Township bus drivers. Annie is a regular and the official photographer. She ensures that the waitress tip bowl is passed around the table for everyone to leave a tip.
Annie’s students and fellow drivers are going to miss her.

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I was thrilled to spend an evening last week at the Stacked Pickle, where my wife, Lyn, and I listened to Carly Brooke, a young country singer who is on her way to a promising career.

We have become acquainted with Carly, 14, over the past few years. She has an impressive resume, having sung the national anthem at various sporting events around the city. She has also performed at the Beech Grove Fall Festival.

She has sang at The Southsider Voice’s cruise-ins, and I hope she will do the same this spring. If you want to know where this amazing singer is performing, check out her Facebook page.

I had a chance to visit with Carly and her mom a couple of times during her performance last week. They told me about the possibility of moving to Nashville, Tenn., next summer. They have visited the city several times, and Carly has made some connections.

Shonk is a 1960 graduate of Southport High School, a ’63 grad of Indiana Central College (now the University of Indianapolis) and a retired bus driver from Beech Grove Schools. 

I love it when something happens that causes me to remember special events. For several days my wife, Lyn, and I have been hearing two great horned owls flirting with each other in our backyard.

One evening I stepped outside and listened for a while. I remembered a few years ago when we were honored to get to know a great horned owl family. 

The following is a column I wrote in 2013 about that family.

Several years ago I noticed a couple of large birds hanging out in the trees behind our house. After a few days of paying attention I figured out that the birds were a pair of great horned owls, which hooted during the night and in the early morning.

I did some research and discovered that their mating season was underway; their eggs would hatch in January or February. I noticed that the larger of the two owls sometimes sat in the same tree during the day. We didn’t see any owlets that first year, but the adults were always around.

The larger one was the female, and she would stare at me when I told her stories from under the tree. She listened to my tales, and I think we became  pretty good friends. One day during the late winter or early spring, I saw the female slide into a small hole in the trunk of a dead tree. I was amazed. She seemed to be several times larger than the opening that she wiggled through.

Later that evening I showed Lyn the tree, and we started paying close attention to the comings and goings. The owls were delivering food on a regular basis to that location. One morning we saw a baby owl on the ground. The male adult owl was with the baby, which had either fallen out of the nest or tried to fly prematurely.

A couple of days later we noticed that the father and baby were in a tree about 100 yards from the nest. A second baby soon emerged from the nest and sat on a branch next to its mother. This fledgling’s inaugural flight came a few hours later when it flew to a nearby evergreen tree. 

Because of our friendship with the mother owl, she allowed us to approach the tree and visit with her offspring. A few weeks later while walking in the field behind our house I came across the dead body of one of those beautiful baby owls. We contacted the Department of Natural Resources and were told that the owl had probably eaten a poisoned mouse. The DNR told us to bury the bird. 

Since our grandsons were visiting we planned a quick funeral. As the boys were shoveling soil on top of the owlet, I noticed that the mother owl was watching intently from the same branch where we previously visited her. She was gone when I returned later, but as I walked back to the house I saw her fly out of a tree; she was hooting and heading toward me. I had never considered that an owl would or could hoot while in flight. 

The owl swooped up onto her favorite branch, adjusted her stance and looked at me as if to say, “Thanks for taking care of my baby.”
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Shonk is a 1960 graduate of Southport High School, a ’63 grad of Indiana Central College (now the University of Indianapolis) and a retired bus driver from Beech Grove Schools. 

I was reminiscing with some longtime friends the other day, and we dwelled on some of the differences in how businesses operated then as opposed to now. 

My dad operated the Sunoco service station on Madison Avenue just north of Epler Avenue. We used a simple register that did not tell us the amount of change that should be returned to customers.

We ran out to the customers’ cars and pumped gas for them. We also washed their car windows and checked their oil, water and battery. We ran back into the building and made change if necessary.

Lots of stations at that time offered trading stamps as a reward for customers doing business with them, but my father never got involved with any of those programs. He always believed that providing a good product and exceptional service would attract and keep good customers. I think all of our employees were pleased that we didn’t have to mess with those stamps.

Over the years there were some changes in dealing with the cash when the station closed at 10 p.m. The crew that closed the business also opened it for business at 6 a.m. the next day. A fresh crew took over at noon and worked exactly the same hours until the following noon.

At first the senior crew member was in charge of the cash overnight. That seemed to work nicely for a long time. Then one morning I rode my bicycle to the station to open up with a couple of older guys. Our lead team member arrived from his home in Shelbyville. He started mumbling to himself and informed us that he forgot to bring the money. 

I recall that he departed the station for his home at about 5:50 a.m. and returned with the money at about 6:25 a.m. There were no interstate highways at that time. I heard him tell one of the other guys that he used Shelbyville Road. I had no idea how he could drive to Shelbyville and back in 35 minutes. 

Shortly after that, Dad changed what happened to the cash overnight: It was dropped off at our house. It was then retrieved by the lead team member the following morning. A few years later a small safe was installed at the station.

I was recently talking with a gentleman who was formerly employed at Indiana National Bank at the corner of South East Street and National Avenue. My dad always did business with that bank. The man told me something that surprised me at first, but as I thought about it I totally understood.

The man explained to me that it was easy for the bank’s employees to tell when we made a deposit because our cash always smelled like gasoline and oil.

We operated the Sunoco station and one at Carson and Hanna avenues for about a total of 15 years. We then moved to Southport for several years, where we ran a service station, repair garage and a small fleet of school buses. 

The things I learned and the friends I made are priceless. 

And looking back on my papers routes, that’s where I learned how to make change, which came in handy at the station and throughout life.
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Shonk is a 1960 graduate of Southport High School, a ’63 grad of Indiana Central College (now the University of Indianapolis) and a retired bus driver from Beech Grove Schools.