Death In A Small Town

     A nineteen year old man died this past Saturday in my mom's hometown.
     But I bet you didn't hear about it.
     It's not like a ton of news comes out of Deshler, Nebraska, truth be told.  Occasionally the local high school produces a team that makes it to state competition but that's about it, really.  Not long ago Reinke Manufacturing built a world-famous headquarters and manufacturing base for farmland irrigation and certainly that was a big deal.  Life in a small town is what it is:  Quiet.

     Mom subscribes to the hometown paper there:  The Deshler Rustler.  It arrives through the mail at her home every Thursday and I'll always flip through it.  I don't read it cover to cover, but I do like to sort of keep up on things there.  One can read up on the local police happenings, consisting mostly of speeders but occasionally including - gasp! - a writer of bad checks.  One weekly column looks back at "Pages Of The Past" revisiting the same time frame from 10, 20, 30 years ago and so forth.  The menus for the local senior centers are dutifully noted and recorded - tater tots being a staple - and the winners of the local football contest are also announced.  It's typical small town stuff.
     The same names keep popping up though, and over time you start to get to know them like family.  One local high school girl who was talented enough to make it to the state track meet recently lost her mother, and you couldn't help but feel sad for her above and beyond that no one so young should have that happen.  I felt like I knew her and her family after reading about her athletic exploits over the years.  
     Taylor Horsechief was one of those people.
     He made a splash or two with the Deshler High School basketball team, not being by any means a star but making varsity, playing, and scoring a few points.  His name is also a  memorable one, so it easily caught my eye when I saw it in the headline in the local paper.  Taylor had been found early last Saturday morning at the base of the still-standing water tower that belonged to the old Deshler Broom Factory.  Presumably, he had climbed atop of it and jumped to his death.

     Why?  Was he despondent?  Done with life?  Broken heart?  Fearful of the future or, worse yet, fearful that he had none?  Did he stare off towards the west over fields that my mother walked across heading for school all those years ago?  Did he stare up at Orion hanging in the western sky and contemplate the figure of the ancient hunter just prior taking his final step towards eternity?  What were his thoughts?  Who knows.
     The first published Rustler post incident arrived at Mom's home just yesterday, and I expected a large story on the suicide.   There was barely a ten paragraph story on it and even at that it was combined with a story of another man who had been found dead in his Deshler home at roughly the same time, but not related to in the sense that foul play was not suspected in either case.  Were they trying to hide this story as to not mess up the idea of perfect small town life?  Too early after the finding of the body?  I expected more of a tribute to one of the city's youth is all, something even remotely hard-hitting as to youth suicide.  I expected something....else.
     So one of our youngsters is gone.  Another gunshot, another drug overdose, another leap, another finding, more questions.  Taylor will be buried in the small cemetery next to Highway 136, probably not far from my maternal grandmother and within an easy walk of the broom factory and the old tower.  There he will rest in the shadow of ancient cottonwoods, and the stress of four unforgiving and beautiful Nebraska seasons will impose their will upon his stone.
     And:  Just across Highway 136 and not far from Taylor's grave is a sign that points visitors towards Main Street.  It is in the form of a huge metallic broom with the words "Welcome To Deshler" on it, and it points towards the old and ancient water tower, a tower with yet one more story to tell.