The Good Fortune of Knowing Charles W. Gusewelle
July 22, 1933 – November 15, 2016
Just a short way from his cabin in the Ozark woods, Charles takes the boat out on Lake Katie, named for his beloved wife.
Michael Murphy is KCPT’s Vice-President of Programming. Here, he remembers his colleague and friend.
He used to speak to me of his good fortune — adopted by loving parents from an orphanage in Kansas City, Kansas; the love of his life Katie saying yes to his proposal—“you know, she had been the winner of the beautiful baby contest in Appleton City,” he’d say — and his eyes would light up whenever he spoke of her. His was the good fortune to have not one but two incredible daughters — Anne and Jennie. These were the most important things in life, he’d say, and I knew he meant it with all his heart.
There were other good fortunes in his life: a career of writing that spanned continents and kings, a cabin in the Ozark woods, the simple joy of calling turkeys in the morning cold, the sound of baby foxes under his cabin in the spring, the joy of a large-mouth bass at the end of his pole, and the mother-load of morel mushrooms found with his daughters one year — oddly enough a location never shared with me! And always, there was the incredible string of dogs and cats that shared his world—those of us who read his columns, religion for some by the way, knew the joys and the heartaches that go with a life shared with good animal companions. While Rufus will always lie along a fence row at his farm, his hunting exploits will live forever in the words that were left behind.
He used to speak to me of his good fortune — adopted by loving parents from an orphanage in Kansas City, Kansas; the love of his life Katie saying yes to his proposal—“you know, she had been the winner of the beautiful baby contest in Appleton City,” he’d say — and his eyes would light up whenever he spoke of her. His was the good fortune to have not one but two incredible daughters — Anne and Jennie. These were the most important things in life, he’d say, and I knew he meant it with all his heart.
There were other good fortunes in his life: a career of writing that spanned continents and kings, a cabin in the Ozark woods, the simple joy of calling turkeys in the morning cold, the sound of baby foxes under his cabin in the spring, the joy of a large-mouth bass at the end of his pole, and the mother-load of morel mushrooms found with his daughters one year — oddly enough a location never shared with me! And always, there was the incredible string of dogs and cats that shared his world—those of us who read his columns, religion for some by the way, knew the joys and the heartaches that go with a life shared with good animal companions. While Rufus will always lie along a fence row at his farm, his hunting exploits will live forever in the words that were left behind.
My good fortune was that he entered my life in English 101, my first semester in college, where he came to read some of his work and to discuss how lucky he was to be able to put word to paper, day in and day out, for a living — “They pay me for this, you know,” he’d said matter-of-factly. And I’m pretty sure he’d have done it even if they hadn’t.
.jpg)
Many years later, he came to KCPT with his project on the Lena River in Russia, A Great Current Running. KCPT’s general manager at the time, Bill Reed, learned of his work along with old-hand John Masterman, and between them they found a way to make it possible for us to put this intriguing project together. My job was editing it, and every evening for three or four hours, Charles and I would sit in a dark room, looking at images, painting a portrait of his great journey down the Lena River. He brought a manual typewriter to the task, and night after night he’d peck the keys, telling the story, manipulating the canvas just so — making a piece of art in the process. It was pure joy to play any kind of a supporting role, and I remember that image of him typing away as if it were yesterday.
Other projects followed, and along with co-producer Randy Mason, it was my good fortune to work on these as well. This Place Called Home mined the rich memories of 35 Kansas Citians, as they remembered the city they’d come to love. I have, over the years, watched as several people passed away who were interviewed for that project, and in their obituaries, mentioned their joy at being part of that project. Water & Fire: A Story of the Ozarks was a natural extension of the countryside he’d spent so many years writing about, and again it was my good luck to spend hours and hours and hours in a van, alongside cameraman Dave Burkhardt, with Charles as we traveled the backroads of the Ozarks Highlands. “It’s an uplift you know, not really mountains at all,” he’d say, and he’d teach me as we drove. By the way, it wasn’t just one-sided — I taught him to wear a seat belt!
Awards were won, regional Emmys, among others, and the projects continued to flow. Stories Under the Stone, Stories from the Heartland, The Heartland Encore, and most recently Away from it All. I’ll admit I was a little jealous watching other producers work with him on these projects, but I also knew the joy they felt, and one doesn’t want to appear greedy.
For me, there’s truth in the old adage of a “life well lived,” and I’ll take great comfort in thinking of his life, as I know I’ll do for the remaining years of my own. Humble, happy, fulfilled and as comfortable in his own skin as anyone I’ve ever met, be he with heads of state, or just me, opening a can of pork and beans at the cabin, and relishing our good luck to have caught some fish. On behalf of Randy Mason, Dave Burkhardt, Angee Simmons, Pam James, and the countless other lives he touched here at KCPT, thanks will never be enough.
Godspeed to our old friend.
Other projects followed, and along with co-producer Randy Mason, it was my good fortune to work on these as well. This Place Called Home mined the rich memories of 35 Kansas Citians, as they remembered the city they’d come to love. I have, over the years, watched as several people passed away who were interviewed for that project, and in their obituaries, mentioned their joy at being part of that project. Water & Fire: A Story of the Ozarks was a natural extension of the countryside he’d spent so many years writing about, and again it was my good luck to spend hours and hours and hours in a van, alongside cameraman Dave Burkhardt, with Charles as we traveled the backroads of the Ozarks Highlands. “It’s an uplift you know, not really mountains at all,” he’d say, and he’d teach me as we drove. By the way, it wasn’t just one-sided — I taught him to wear a seat belt!
Awards were won, regional Emmys, among others, and the projects continued to flow. Stories Under the Stone, Stories from the Heartland, The Heartland Encore, and most recently Away from it All. I’ll admit I was a little jealous watching other producers work with him on these projects, but I also knew the joy they felt, and one doesn’t want to appear greedy.
For me, there’s truth in the old adage of a “life well lived,” and I’ll take great comfort in thinking of his life, as I know I’ll do for the remaining years of my own. Humble, happy, fulfilled and as comfortable in his own skin as anyone I’ve ever met, be he with heads of state, or just me, opening a can of pork and beans at the cabin, and relishing our good luck to have caught some fish. On behalf of Randy Mason, Dave Burkhardt, Angee Simmons, Pam James, and the countless other lives he touched here at KCPT, thanks will never be enough.
Godspeed to our old friend.