The Hundred

A coming-of-age saga in five parts

In part one of this five-part series, Dr. J. Russell Felker, MD, shares memories of the summer during his adolescence he and his friend, Tom, walked from Sikeston, Missouri, to Farmington, Missouri. The saga will be continued in subsequent issues of TBY.

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It’s barely in the grasp of my memory, floating at the edge of maybe.

There are two young boys in early pubescence, their backs three–quarters turned to the camera lens, focused intently on something of importance to them. It’s not clear what it is, but perhaps it should be a map. They sport shorts and white tees with small packs slung across their backs.

J. Tom Critchlow and J. Russell Felker in a photo taken by Felker's mother before the boys set out on their expedition to Farmington, Missouri.Submitted photo.

With boys of this age, their attention could be drawn to a wart on one of their hands or a mantis that had not preyed enough. A couple of years prior, it might have been an unusually large booger.

Now, it would be a smart phone.

I want it to be a map.

There is a sign in the background of the sepia memory that says:

Sikeston

Pop. 14,347

Documenting for posterity — which then would be now.

It is the outskirts of this town, and I am one of the boys, the other an adventurous friend, Tom. Probably adventurous. The boundary between adventurous and foolish can be difficult to know with certainty, although I recall adventurous. Just not with certainty.

What must have once been a black-and-white Kodak Instamatic photo, likely taken by my mother, marked the end of months of planning and crossing into execution. The physical photo has disappeared, and all that remains are a few circuits between my aging neurons.

This was the beginning of our hundred-mile walk from Sikeston, Missouri, to Farmington, Missouri, home to my favorite first cousin. For months we had plotted, cajoled and researched. Now we were ready to begin our trek. It was a beautiful June morning, the sun melting the dew off the grass and perhaps our childhoods.

The route had been planned for months, with timing set for school’s end and availability of accommodation along the way. We carried no camping gear, for that was not our plan. Tom remained a Boy Scout, but I had drifted away, finding no redeeming grace in voluntary deprivation. In fairness to me, I recall the organization being more para-military in those days, less than two decades after WWII, and tents did not have bookshelves. In fairness to the Boy Scouts, I was more comfortable in a library than a wilderness.

Months before, Tom and I had hatched the idea of walking from our town of Sikeston to Farmington — a journey of 100 miles. We decided to pitch the idea to our parents as a way to get in shape for football.

It is difficult to imagine today how that could possibly be an effective argument, but in those days Sikeston was a football-crazed town, we both really were going to play football and walking 100 miles did require some physical effort. We reasoned that as long as we could link it to football, there was a shot, albeit long.

We did not approach them empty-handed. An uncle that worked for the Missouri Highway Department provided us with county maps: Scott, Cape Girardeau, Bollinger, Madison and St. Francois. We plotted our course, covering the distance in five days. We secured lodging along the way, after a fashion. Armed with maps, enthusiasm and hubris, we approached our parents.

The details of Tom’s plea to his dad have vanished from my memory. Perhaps I never knew them, but he does — allegedly vividly. He walked into the living room of his home where his physician father was relaxing after a long day with a newspaper. A print newspaper that could be read, saved, read again, passed to someone else and subsequently discussed. Perhaps it would eventually be used to start a fire, smack an errant dog, make paper hats, line the bottom of a birdcage. Newspapers were useful objects, even if they made your fingers a little dirty.

Tom said to his dad, “Russ and I want to walk to Farmington.”

He recalls his dad looking over the paper and saying, “OK,” and going back to his paper, something important.

A physical newspaper could also be used as an augmentation of verbal expression. Tom’s dad had three other sons. What was one more or less, anyway?

And that was it.

The particulars of my own efforts have faded over time. I believe I had an enthusiastic supporter in my uncle who had supplied the maps. A former Army major, he may have added the credibility I needed to secure permission. Perhaps our parents just laughed, wondered how we couldn’t come up with a better reason and figured we’d end up forgetting about the unlikely project.

But we didn’t forget. At any rate, turned out it was a go.

Dr. J. Russell Felker, a Sikeston native, received his MD in 1973 and practiced urology in Cape Girardeau, retiring in 2016. He and his wife of 50 years, Suellyn, raised four children in Cape.