Our family moved to Manhattan from the northwestern part of Illinois in 1975 when my husband accepted a job at a local bank. Ken and I were excited about the move, our 3-year-old daughter wasn’t actually aware of what was happening, and our Golden Retriever was happy to go wherever the family went.

It was our son, Kirk, who balked at the move. He was part-way through first grade, and he didn’t want to leave his school or his friends. He turned 7 only days before the movers arrived. Even a birthday didn’t soothe his ruffled feathers. His world had been turned upside down.

We left Illinois on a cold February morning, Ken driving one car with Karen and the dog. Kirk and I followed in our second car. It concerned me that we might run into bad weather, but Ken promised we’d stop somewhere if that occurred. Heading south from Des Moines on I-35, we ran into a snowstorm. The large flakes came fast and furiously. I could barely see the road, or the shoulder—and definitely couldn’t spot Ken’s car ahead of me. Panic time!

Right in the middle of the snowstorm, Kirk piped up from the back seat. “I’m sick, Mommy. I think I’m going to throw up!” I kept driving through the storm but gave him directions. “Empty the toy bag, and use it if you get sick.” He followed my instructions, then laid on the seat and fell asleep.

I knew that he was not truly ill, just so upset about his life turning upside down that he literally made himself sick. My heart ached for him as I continued to drive through the snowstorm, thinking unkind thoughts about my husband who had promised we’d stop if bad weather occurred.

Finally, the snowflakes got smaller and fewer, and I could see Ken’s car ahead of me. He signaled that he was going to pull off the road into a small rest area. My first words, once out of the car, didn’t seem to bother him at all. “You promised we’d stop if we ran into bad weather!” He just grinned at me and said he couldn’t see anywhere we could pull over.

By then, Kirk had crawled out of my car. Looking for a bit of sympathy, he told his dad he’d been sick. I feared the transition to new surroundings would not be an easy one for him.

The snow had stopped, and once I’d tossed the ruined toy bag in a trash receptacle, we continued our trek to Kansas, staying in a hotel north of Kansas City for the night. Kirk continued to be a sad little boy, and I didn’t know what to do to cheer him up.

Once in Manhattan the following day, Ken drove our family around to orient ourselves and show the kids their new town. I tried to be cheery and point out something nice or of interest, but Kirk, looking glum, sat in the back seat with his sister and dog. We drove past City Park, and I pointed out the big statue. Ken slowed down, and we all gazed in wonder at the towering figure of a man who looked like a pioneer, holding a big scythe. Kirk sat up and moved close to the window. “Wow!” he said. “This place might not be so bad.” Ken pulled the car over to let Johnny Kaw work some magic on our young son.

Later, we learned more about this cultural landmark in Manhattan’s City Park. Johnny Kaw had been created by a horticulture professor at Kansas State University. George Fillinger wrote the tale of Johnny Kaw after the city’s centennial celebration. He was a Paul Bunyan kind of character created to honor the settlers of Manhattan area. Professor Fillinger wrote many tall tales about Johnny Kaw—he gave Johnny credit for inventing the sunflower, stopping tornados, and wringing water out of the clouds during a drought. He was born 6-foot-2. No wonder he grew to 24 feet. Johnny carved rivers and canyons with his mighty scythe. Yes, they were based on other tall tales featuring Paul Bunyan and Pecos Bill, but they had a Kansas twist.

The stories about Johnny Kaw led townspeople to raise funds to erect the giant statue in 1966 at a cost of $7,000, which would be more than $65,000 in today’s dollars. City Park was the perfect spot. The statue is concrete over steel, made to withstand all kinds of Kansas weather.

Children still enjoy playing close to the amazing statue of this Kansas legendary figure, and like hearing the amazing feats of this man.

Even now, when I pass by the park and see Johnny Kaw, I look at him with a grateful heart, for he was the one who made a sad little boy decide that this town called Manhattan wasn’t so bad. Once Kirk started school and made friends, he was the same boy we’d known before. Johnny Kaw started the transition.