Wayne D. Powell

Funeral services for Wayne D. Powell, 94, Eudora, formerly of Lone Star will be at 10:00 a.m. Saturday at Rumsey–Yost Funeral Home. Burial will follow in Memorial Park Cemetery.

Wayne D. Powell was born September 16, 1920 at Lone Star, Kansas, the son of Bradford H. and Lola Eaton Powell. He attended Lone Star and Colyer grade schools and graduated from Liberty Memorial High School in Lawrence, KS. He had two brothers, Bradford Jr., and Dale (Barbara) of McPherson, KS and two sisters, Shirley Harrell (Alvin) and Nell Trefz.

Wayne married M. Joanne Powell on May 4, 1964 in Miami, OK. She survives of the home. Other survivors include a son, Rex R. Powell (Marie-Alice L’Heureux) and a daughter, Taunya Sue Reusch (John). Two step-daughters, Janet Spring (Dennis) and Pam Hadl both of Eudora, KS. Thirteen grandchildren, Darren Waisner (Fitz), Devin Waisner (Amy), Cicely Thornton (Andy), Alexis Powell from St. Paul, MN, Damian Powell, Anthony Powell, Jerry Hadl (Annie), Brad Hadl, Kari Hadl, Kelly Long (Derrick) and Matt Spring (Sarah) Scott Reusch (Christine) from Lansing, KS and preceded in death by Robert Reusch. Wayne and Joanne had been married for 52 years and loved their 18 great grandchildren.

Wayne farmed and milked cows until he bought the Dari Treat in Eudora, KS in 1965. He sold the restaurant and bought land and built the Grandview Trailer Court in Eudora, KS in 1970. He was a member of the Eagles Lodge in Lawrence, KS.

Wayne will be missed by many in the Lone Star and Eudora, KS areas.

The family will receive family and friends on Friday, February 20, 2015 from 6 – 7:30 p.m. at the funeral home. The casket will remain closed. Memorial contributions are suggested to Visiting Nurses or Hospice Care in care of the funeral home, 601 Indiana St, Lawrence, KS 66044.

Messages & Condolences

From Alexis Powell...

Some memories of Grampa Wayne from my childhood.

I know that there is much more to a person than our memories of him. And probably the memories that serve best to convey something about who a person was to himself and to others are those of adults. I could write some things about who I knew my grampa to be based on my time and conversations with him after I grew up, but that’s not what I want to do here. Grampa Wayne was my grampa, and I will always think of him first and most vividly as I knew him when I was a kid. Put on paper and critically examined, I fear those childhood memories might prove to capture nothing but apparently trivial details, and I’m sure they are a poor guide to who my grandpa was as a person, but they are my memories, they are what I am made of, and so I guess they can be no more or less profound than that.
I don’t remember grampa as the sort to announce what he was going to do, to give instructions for things that didn’t need explaining, or to avoid silence by being chatty or giving speeches. When I was little and we went somewhere together, I always tried to read his face, I watched his hands on the steering wheel, and I wondered which way we would go and what we would do next. He never said. Sometimes, when my dad had to work late, grampa would pick me and my brother Damian up from school to take us to his house for the evening. He’d pull up in front of the school, pop open the car door, and gently say, at most, “get in.” Sometimes we’d go straight to Lone Star. Other times we’d stop by the shop at the trailer court, or drop a length of chain or some tools by someone else’s workshop. Sometimes he’d pull into Kentucky Fried Chicken to get a take-out order for dinner. Otherwise, he’d make sandwiches for us out of what were for me exotic ingredients—bologna, Wonder Bread, processed American cheese, and Miracle Whip— with Kool Aid or ice tea to drink, always out of a Tupperware cup. We usually sat on the living room floor and got to watch TV while eating dinner and afterwards. I especially remember getting to see the pilot episode of “The Greatest American Hero”, and that we always had to go to bed after the opening credits of “Quincy”.
It wasn’t that grampa was uncommunicative. I think he just liked to keep kids wondering, and that he liked surprises without fanfare. He could get quite excited sometimes when sharing observations of things that impressed or otherwise amazed him. I always liked how he started off talking about such things with the declaration “Now I mean to tell you!…”
Grampa quit farming before I was born, but he never left the land. As far as I could tell, his love was for the land itself, as the incarnation of place. For example, if he had an interest in hunting or fishing, and as such the recreational value of land (apart from mowing!), I never knew of it. Even though I’m sure he saw land differently than I do, I think we may have shared an orientation rooted in that “sense of place”, and perhaps that is something that I got from him, both directly and passed down through my dad. I’ve always known that no place will ever feel like home as much as does Douglas County, where I grew up nestled in the oak-hickory woodlands south of Lone Star village surrounded by land farmed by my extended family, and where my connections to family, the community, and the land extend back at least six generations. Although I’ve lived in other states and countries at various times in my life, I’ve never left Kansas with the purpose of getting away, and I’ve always intended to return, as I still do.
When I was a kid, it seemed like there was a bigger separation between the people in town and the rural community than there is now, at least spatially. I always perceived grampa to be from the countryside, and that my immediate family was too, though I could tell we were a step removed since I went to school in town, my parents worked there, and that is where our friends were. But grampa was a true citizen of rural Douglas County. Just how well known he was within that community, I learned in the summers of 2004 and 2005 when I worked for the Kansas Biological Survey. That job had me drive literally every road in Douglas County and hike many miles in search of remnants of native prairie and ancient woodland. Before conducting surveys on private properties, I always contacted the landowners for permission. Initially, my requests sometimes met with skepticism, but in almost every such case, when I went on to introduce myself as a grandson of Wayne Powell, their attitude immediately shifted to recognition and acceptance.
What I remember best about my grampa Wayne was his positive and generally patient and gentle outlook, and how much we could rely on his help, whether for a ride into town when our driveway was too snowy to get out, or with construction projects around my dad’s house and property. As a kid, it seemed to me that grampa must have had a particular fondness for pouring concrete, because he was always there when we did anything with wet cement. I’m more confident in saying that he was fond of motorized vehicles, and as a kid I was always impressed that he seemed to own or have access to just about every type of truck or other construction-related heavy machinery that we ever needed. Certainly, he liked cars. When I was really little, I remember most distinctly that he drove an El Camino, and later he drove the yellow MG. Looking back on it, some folks must have considered him quite a character, with his darkly-tanned skin, stout figure, stiff short-legged walk, rural Kansas accent, and cowboy boots driving that little yellow British sports car, but for me he was just my grampa and it made perfect sense.
Alexis Powell
20 February 2014

From Brenda Long...

My thoughts and prayers are for all of you.
Wayne was the best boss. We would play tricks
on Wayne and when he found out he would just laugh. What a good guy. I will always remember him and his great personality.

From Rhonda Ables...

So sorry to read of the loss of your Father.
As you know words at this time seem correct.
Just know that your family is loved. Will keep you in my thoughts.

From Carlene Blackburn...

Wayne will be missed. Such a great guy. Prayers to all the family.

From Lisa Denise Leak...

My love and prayers to my lifelong friends. Thank you so much in sharing your life with me.
I remember all the ice cream cones Wayne let me
make at the Dari Treat. Such a special time in my life growing up with the Powell’s. Wayne use to ride me around on his mower. Many fond memories. I LOVE YOU!!

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