I grew up in a time that today seems a lot slower, a friendlier and happier time in so many ways. It was the 1950s, and, oh sure, there was the Cold War looming. We were all told how to ‘duck and cover’, and, yes, my perspective is jaded by my age, with everything looking better through the prism of youth and fond memories. But I know that it was better.

When the telephone rang, we picked it up without thought as to who was calling or if we wanted to talk to them or not. We would drink water from the garden hose in the summer and play outside for hours, both summer and winter, with our rootin tootin cap guns ablaze, with no thought or fear to our safety. Now, yes, my perspective is colored by these fond memories, however, I sincerely believe it was a better time for both grown-ups and children.

We also lived in a neighborhood of families that knew each other, looked out for each other, and cared about their neighbors and the kids. It was a community of older homes, with small front yards and long extended back yards with clothes lines, swing sets, and gardens with flowers that were carefully taken care of, where you could hear conversations over the fence that usually involved gossip of some form or another.

My house was a three-story affair with a large front porch, and yes, we had a porch swing, and smaller back porch. Our next-door neighbor was my mother’s sister, and I grew up with family coming and going every day. My grandparents on my mother’s side lived with us. I would spend hours with grandpa playing checkers (I know that seems corny, however, I wouldn’t trade those memories for anything.) I loved ‘helping’ him with projects around the house, or so I thought I was doing. I’m sure I was mostly in the way, but grandpa never let on. There were so many places of interest and fascination in the house like the basement with all the nooks and crannies. In particular was the area under the basement stairs. For a kid it felt like a tunnel and seemed ideal to explore. I discovered wiring that was hanging down and discovered when I touched the two wires together the front doorbell would ring. Just use your imagination! I had a lot of fun until one day grandma figured it out. The first floor was massive with a front reception area, a living room and adjacent dining room, kitchen, and pantry. The second floor was occupied with our bedrooms and bathroom. The third floor was the playroom and took up the entire area of the house. I could ride my tricycle in bad weather, skate, and, in general, have the time of my life, all on my own.

There were small doors that opened to the rafters of the house, but I was specifically told that this area was off-limits. Well, you know what’s coming next. One day I summoned my courage and opened one of these small doors and, with flashlight in hand, peered in to see what was so elusive. All I saw were the rafters that supported the house, nothing more, I didn’t realize that the danger would be if I would step off one of the beams and appear all of a sudden in Mom and Dad’s bedroom. As the light surveyed that area, I caught a glimpse of something tucked away under one of the beams, so carefully I balanced myself and reached for the treasure that I knew was waiting to be discovered.

It was an old cigar box covered with the dust of decades and was heavy. I took the box out, carefully closed the door and sat down at the table that rested against the wall. My heart was pounding. What could be in the box? Maybe old money, or jewels? I just knew that it had to be something special. As I opened the lid, I discovered that the box was crammed with old letters, with envelopes and stamps. I carefully took the first letter out and began to read. It was dated 1865 and was a soldier’s letter home from the Civil War. He told of the ending of the war and even mentioned the Lincoln assassination, incredible! It was a gold mine of letters to and from a soldier and his family from the beginning of the war until he came home. The contents were so personal that you felt that you were there with him, through the battles, the conditions of camp life and the emotions that ranged from happiness to despair. For a kid it felt that you were intruding and somehow eavesdropping on his life, but they told a story, a story that we had begun to learn about in school, and it made history come alive. I summoned the courage to tell my mom about the discovery and I was reprimanded for exploring the attic, however, she too was fascinated with my discovery. I would share my find and the history with my classmates and teacher and through the years would take the box out of the closet from time to time and relive my discovery and renew my love of the Civil War. From that day to this, I have been a student of history, with a special fondness of Abraham Lincoln and his times.

As a result of my childhood discovery, I have always loved old things - antiques, collectibles, and anything associated with Lincoln and the Civil War. Fifteen years ago, by accident, and encouraged by my best friend, I discovered the small-town opera houses that dot the landscape of Ohio and virtually every other state. They were built in the late nineteenth century and are usually a two-story affair, with the ground floor being devoted to retail or local government offices. The second floor was a theatre, with seating anywhere from one hundred to sometimes five hundred seats, and they served as the community gathering space - where the high school would hold graduations and concerts, where you would hear the results of elections, and where traveling performers would entertain the community. It was the community center and would remain so until the early twentieth century when the advent of movies and radio would open new worlds to all areas of the United States. Fortunately, a great number of these jewel boxes have remained and are suitable to be restored. Today with a focus on restoration and reclamation, projects throughout the country are preserving the opera houses of a bygone era and they are once again becoming a gathering place for their respective communities with entertainment and civic activities.

My involvement with these gems provided me an opportunity to apply my love and knowledge of history and theatre. I have been fortunate to be involved with ten restorations of these structures throughout Ohio and the United States, and I have assisted in charting a practical course for their restoration. It is truly a special event to walk into a restored opera house for an event. It takes you back in time and allows you to experience what your ancestors experienced over one hundred and twenty-five years ago. For a younger generation it is an experience they are likely not to forget.

Almost two years ago I received a telephone call about a theatre located in St. Marys, Ohio, and the caller asked if I would be willing to take a look. I receive phone calls and emails frequently about opera houses and historic theatres and, when I can, I am willing to travel to the community to discover yet another treasure. In 2009 I wrote the book, Ohio’s Historic Opera Houses that chronicled sixteen existing opera houses in the state of Ohio. I traveled throughout the state and found these sixteen in various stages of repair and disrepair. Since then, I have identified an additional sixteen, and today over fifteen are restored and operating once again. So, when the call came from St. Marys, I was anxious to discover one more.

St. Marys is located in the Northwest corner of Ohio and is known for the massive man-made lake that is located nearby. The town is one of the old canal towns with the Miami and Erie canal running through it, that originally connected Cincinnati and Toledo. The historic opera house/theatre sits in the heart of the downtown and is steeped in history. The building is actually a complex, with four store fronts and a massive second floor ballroom. The theatre is on the ground floor with a balcony, providing seating for approximately five hundred. When I arrived, it had sat unused for a number of years and displayed the typical ravages of time and neglect. What amazed me was that the "bones" of the theatre, and for that matter the complex, were all there and solid as a rock. The decision was made for the town to purchase the building in order to save and restore the theatre and ballroom. I was asked to be the consultant and aid in coordinating the initial construction of the foundational documents and help guide the project.

It has been an amazing journey thus far, the community has rallied with support, money, and in-kind contributions to the extent that the theatre is now habitable and has hosted numerous events, and while the restoration is far from complete, the citizens of St. Marys once again have their theatre and a place to share special events. There is a lot of work that is yet required, and not a day goes by without something being done inside and outside to the opera house/theatre. The target for being mostly restored and fully open is August 2023, and from everything I have experienced, it will happen. With all the projects that I have been involved with, I have never experienced such community support and dedication.

In conjunction with the August 2023 date, St. Marys will celebrate their Bicentennial and have decided to combine the restoration of the opera/theatre with a special theatrical event. Discovered several years ago were letters from a young man from St. Marys, Charles Kruse, a Civil War soldier, who entered into service in August of 1862 and served until the end of the war. Sound familiar? As a consequence of my involvement in the restoration of the opera house/theatre, I have been commissioned to create a play, and produce it for the Bicentennial celebration. What an honor, and what a task! Reading the translated letters has brought back the memories of that initial discovery and the world that opened to me as that young boy.

Charlie’s letters and life are both fascinating and tragic. He fought major battles throughout Kentucky and Tennessee and survived, only to be taken as a prisoner of war during the battle of Franklin and shipped off to the horrific Andersonville Camp in Georgia. Thousands of men perished there from malnutrition, the elements, abuse, disease, and neglect - and yet, once again, our young soldier survived. As the war ended, Charlie was sent to a processing-out camp and prepared to return to Ohio and home. He boarded a steamship on the Mississippi River in April of 1865 with other survivors and members of his 50^th Ohio Infantry Company. He was filled with joy that he had survived the war and Andersonville and was going home.

Early on the morning hours of April 27, 1865, as the steamship Sultana approached Memphis, carrying Charles and 2,400 other souls - soldiers, civilians, and crew (woefully overloaded, with a stated capacity of only 376) the recently repaired boilers exploded killing over 1,800 people in what has become the greatest Maritime disaster in American history. It is interesting to note that the Sultana tragedy was greater than that of the Titanic. The Sultana carried more passengers, and suffered more casualties, than the Titanic. Our soldier, Charles Kruse, the boy from the small town in Ohio, committed to serving his country - surviving incredible odds – perished. His body was never recovered. He rests now, with so many other soldiers – boys – in an unmarked grave in the National Cemetery in Memphis. His is the quintessential American story – of duty, service, and sacrifice – and it is a story that I am honored to tell and dramatize.

As I read through the letters, I was transported back in time to that day in the attic, and so many days that were to follow, when I discovered firsthand the history that I have lived with for over sixty years. The Civil War loomed large in my youth. In 1961 the country celebrated the centennial of the beginning of that conflict. The movie, Gone with the Wind, was re-released, and I captured a glimpse of my first Civil War reenactment. It is with that respect, enthusiasm, and childlike wonder that I tell Charlie’s story today. So, join us, next August, in the opera house/theatre when Charles Kruse’s incredible journey will come to life. Indeed, his was A Long Journey Home.