Mid-Missouri History Associates

11/14/2025

Another article on it.

11/14/2025

Nearly 200 years ago. This would have been something to see.

In the Miltonian's Historical events, listed on November 13 1833:
"Marvelous shooting stars, many feared the world was coming to an end."

See more here - https://susquehannavalley.blogspot.com/2020/11/the-night-stars-fell-november-13-1833.html

11/13/2025

The Story of Professor C.E. Chrane
Part VI – The Trial of Tony Vriski

By the spring of 1931, Boonville had been waiting eight long months. The community that once spoke of Curtis E. Chrane only in sorrow now spoke his name with resolve. The man accused of his murder—Tony Vriski, twenty-one years old, an escapee of the Boonville reform school—would finally stand before a jury.

The Courtroom and the Opening Day

When the trial opened in Jefferson City on May 18, 1931, the courtroom was packed shoulder to shoulder. Reporters from St. Louis, Columbia, and Kansas City filled the press benches. Mrs. Chrane sat quietly near the front, her two young daughters beside her, the baby—born weeks after the murder—cared for by relatives nearby. The Boonville Daily News described her composure as “the kind of courage only duty to the living can command.”

Judge W. S. Stillwell presided. Prosecutor W. D. Semple led the state’s case, assisted by E. C. Lynch, Nile Bagby, and Mike Sevier. The defense, Lionel Davis and James Blair, seemed uneasy; rumors of an insanity plea had come to nothing. The trial would hinge only on the facts.

In his opening statement, Semple told the jury that Chrane had been murdered “while on a mission of joy”—driving to obtain a cradle for the baby soon to be born. The line brought the courtroom to silence. Even hardened deputies turned away to hide their tears.

The State Builds Its Case

Over the next two days, witness after witness retold the horror of September 9, 1930.

Henry Arpe, the gardener working near Sixth and High Streets, testified that he saw Vriski approach Chrane’s car, gun drawn, shouting, “Drive me quick to St. Louis!” Arpe pointed across the courtroom. “That’s the man,” he said firmly.

Joe Schultz, a neighbor of the reform school, followed. He described meeting Vriski that same afternoon:

“That’s a mighty fine gun you’ve got there,” I told him.
He pointed it at me and said, ‘Yes—and you’d better get along.’”

The jurors leaned forward as Schultz, reliving the moment, rose from his seat to demonstrate—until Judge Stillwell gently ordered him to sit.

Then came Colonel Theodore Ziske, superintendent of the Missouri Reformatory, who identified the weapon recovered from the scene as his own revolver, stolen from his home the night before. His testimony gave motive and means, painting a picture of betrayal from a boy he had once trusted.

The state’s most dramatic witnesses appeared on the second day. Wilbert Morrow, a farmhand near the highway, told how he saw the car veer into a clover field and heard the gunfire. And Harry Huckabay, the truck driver who captured Vriski, described the fight that ended the manhunt:

“He jumped on me and began choking and hitting. The car was going fast. He yelled, ‘Here’s where we both go to hell!’ ”

Huckabay struck him twice, dragged him back toward Boonville, and disarmed him at a filling station.

When asked what the prisoner said after being subdued, Huckabay replied calmly, “He said, ‘I did it. I’m in for it.’”

Defense attorney Davis pressed him—why hadn’t he mentioned that earlier? Huckabay’s answer brought laughter and applause from the gallery: “That was my privilege.”

Vriski’s Demeanor

Throughout the testimony, reporters noted that Vriski rarely showed emotion. The Daily News described him as “slouched and sallow, his eyes shifting nervously from juror to juror.” On the final afternoon of testimony he grew pale and blinked rapidly when witnesses pointed him out. The arrogance he had shown in early hearings had vanished.

The prosecution closed on May 20, its final image seared in the jurors’ minds: the cradle Chrane had never brought home, the gun that stole his life, and the students who found and avenged him.

Closing Arguments and Verdict

The defense offered little more than an appeal for mercy. Blair called Vriski “a victim of the slums,” pleading that “he is more a child than a man.” Semple’s rebuttal was sharp and unrelenting: “Justice to society at last demands that you find Tony Vriski guilty of murder in the first degree and assess his punishment at death.”

That night, the jury deliberated barely two hours. At 8:30 p.m. on May 21, they filed back into the silent courtroom. The foreman read the verdict:

“We, the jury, find the defendant, Tony Vriski, guilty of murder in the first degree, and assess his punishment at life imprisonment in the Missouri Penitentiary.”

A low murmur passed through the crowd. Five jurors had favored hanging, seven life imprisonment. In the end, mercy prevailed by a single vote.

Vriski laughed aloud—a short, harsh sound that froze the room. “Better for what?” he sneered to a reporter. “I had about as soon stretch a rope as rot in the pen here at Jeff City.” When Sheriff Prenger ordered him silent, he muttered curses under his breath.

The Boonville Daily News called it “a ghastly, peculiar laugh… as if the strings of his will had suddenly snapped.” For the Chrane family, it was the sound of justice unfinished but finally achieved.

The Attempted Escape

Barely three days later, on the evening of May 23, 1931, Vriski made one last bid for freedom. Guarded at the old Cole County Jail, he waited until a deputy opened the bull-pen door to remove ashes. Then he darted past and disappeared into the alleys of Jefferson City.

Deputy Dave Wright fired a warning shot as Mrs. Prenger, the sheriff’s wife, shouted the alarm. Vriski sprinted toward a creek north of town and vanished for half an hour. He was found crouched in an abandoned garage, hiding in the seat of a wrecked car.

“We ordered him out,” Wright said later. “He raised one hand, then the other, and said, ‘Don’t shoot! Don’t kill me!’ ”

His only weapon was a broken saw blade. Officers believed someone had slipped it to him during the trial. Within an hour, he was back behind bars. The next morning, he was transferred to the Missouri State Penitentiary under maximum security.

Sentencing and the End of the Case

Formal sentencing came in early June 1931. Standing before Judge Stillwell, Vriski was asked if he had anything to say before sentence was pronounced. “The jury said it all,” he muttered. Gone was the smirk, replaced by a dull resignation.

“The heavy locks have clicked behind him,” wrote the Boonville Daily News. “The gates are closed and the stone walls pocketed with machine guns rise before him as a relentless bar to his freedom.”

Officials doubted he would ever be paroled. Sheriff Prenger told reporters, “He’s where he can harm nobody.”

And with that, the case of State of Missouri v. Tony Vriski came to its close. The reform-school boy who had shattered Boonville’s peace was now confined behind the same walls he once fled. For the Chrane family and for the town that loved its superintendent, justice had not come swiftly, but it had come at last.

11/13/2025

The Story of Curtis E. Chrane
Part V – The Road to Justice

The Murder of Superintendent Curtis E. Chrane sent shockwaves through Boonville. In a random act of violence, an escapee from the reform school had completely shattered a quiet community built on faith in its schools and in the man who led them.

For weeks afterward, Boonville and nearby Howard County lived in a fog of grief, curiosity, and anger. By mid-September 1930, the Fayette Democrat Leader reported that the young fugitive Tony Vrski—a twenty-year-old reform-school escapee from St. Louis—had confessed to the killing and been moved under heavy guard to the jail in Fayette, the county where the murder occurred. Crowds gathered outside the courthouse hoping to glimpse the killer; law officers hustled him through a side entrance to prevent mob violence.

A Town’s Fury and a Reform School Under Fire

The Boonville Daily News and the Daily Republican Sun filled their September editions with every new rumor and official statement. Columnists blamed lax discipline at the Missouri Training School for Boys—the state reform school just east of town—for creating the conditions that allowed the escape. Within days, the institution’s administration was under intense scrutiny.

On September 22, the Daily News noted that legislators and educators were “turning a sharp eye toward Boonville,” questioning whether the state’s system had failed. Stories of prior escapes, unsupervised outdoor work crews, and lenient parole policies surfaced, painting a picture of neglect. Governor Henry Caulfield ordered a full review of the reformatory’s practices.

Letters to the editor followed. On September 24, one Boonville resident wrote angrily about the transport of the prisoner, urging that no more “half-hearted” security measures be tolerated. Another letter accused the reform school of “coddling criminals under the name of boys.” Public outrage was so fierce that armed guards were placed around the school grounds at night for weeks.

A Community Still in Mourning

While investigators reconstructed Vrski’s escape route and the events leading to Chrane’s abduction, Boonville itself tried to recover. The Daily News continued to chronicle the quiet heroism of Irma Chrane and her daughters, noting that “Mrs. Chrane remains prostrate with grief, yet composed before her children.” Churches in both Boonville and Fayette held memorial services; a local teachers’ association established a scholarship in the superintendent’s memory.

Meanwhile, prosecutors in Howard County began building their case. Witnesses were questioned throughout September and October: the truck driver Harry Huckabay, whose quick courage ended Vrski’s flight; Joe Schultz and Henry Arpe, who had seen the armed youth near the reformatory; and Colonel Theodore Ziske, the institution’s superintendent, whose revolver had been stolen and used in the killing. By late September, every piece of evidence pointed squarely to Vrski.

Toward Indictment

On October 31, both the Boonville Daily News and the Daily Republican Sun confirmed that a grand jury had handed down an indictment for first-degree murder. The News described Vrski as “apathetic, pale, and seemingly indifferent,” while the Sun called him “a sullen boy-man whose expression betrays not remorse but resentment.” Prosecutor W. D. Semple announced that he would seek the death penalty.

The following week, on November 4, the Daily News published an explanation of the state’s case and the legal process ahead, assuring readers that “every safeguard of justice will be preserved,” even for one so despised. The tone was firm but measured—proof that Missouri’s courts, not a mob, would decide the killer’s fate.

Yet public patience wore thin. By November 7, editorials demanded that the trial be set quickly. “Boonville waits,” wrote one columnist, “not for vengeance, but for order to be restored in the name of law.”

Winter Delays and Docket Troubles

The winter of 1930–31 brought a long stretch of waiting. Cold weather, crowded dockets, and the slow mechanics of transferring a high-profile capital case from Howard County to Cooper County stalled proceedings. For a time in December, the Boonville Daily News noted that Vrski was moved from the Fayette jail to Boonville for safekeeping, then quietly transferred to Jefferson City after rumors of possible mob action. “Authorities are taking no chances,” the paper reported on December 9, describing extra guards and reinforced cell doors.

By mid-January, the case had officially shifted venue to Cooper County, with Judge W. S. Stillwell presiding in Jefferson City. But the court’s docket was jammed—“clogged with Prohibition cases,” the News and Advertiser observed—and the Chrane case was postponed once again. The January 16 edition quoted a court official: “It will be February before the Chrane case can be heard. There is no room on the present docket.”

When the Daily News revisited the story on January 19, it painted an image of anticlimax. “The slayer of Professor Chrane waits,” the headline read, as Vriski sat silent through yet another procedural hearing. His attorneys—Lionel Davis and James Blair—hinted they might explore an insanity plea, but neither had evidence to support it. That indecision would later echo during the trial itself, when Davis abruptly abandoned the idea and offered no mental defense at all.

The Long Wait for Justice

Through January and early February, the Boonville papers kept the community informed with short updates: “Hearing Deferred Again,” “Witness List Expands,” “Sheriff Reinforces Jail Guard.” The Boonville Daily News of January 9 captured one scene vividly: Vrski, thin and pale, shuffling into court between two deputies, eyes downcast, saying nothing. The January 17 issue carried a gentler human note—Mrs. Chrane, after months of mourning, had attended a teachers’ meeting for the first time since her husband’s death. “Her courage is the talk of the town,” one editor wrote.

Finally, the February editions brought movement. On February 16, the Daily News reported that the court had begun ruling on preliminary motions. The defense asked for another delay; the prosecution pressed for a spring trial. Two days later, Judge Stillwell denied most of the defense motions, formally clearing the way for proceedings. On February 20, both the Daily Republican Sun and Boonville Daily News carried the same headline: “Chrane Murder Trial to Open in May.”

The relief was almost palpable. “The people of Boonville ask only that justice be done, and done swiftly,” the Republican Sun wrote. After half a year of grief, rumor, and delay, the road to justice was finally open. The stage was set for one of the most closely watched trials in mid-Missouri’s history.

Up Next - Part VI - The Trial of Tony Vriski; Justice for C.E. Chrane

11/11/2025

The past week or so I have been researching and telling the story of Curtis E. Chrane, the long time superintendent of the Boonville public school system.

Today, I visited his gravesite at Walnut Grove Cemetery to pay my respects. It's amazing how educational accountability has changed in the last 100 years. He truly was an educator who cared about his students and improving the school system.

His loss was deeply felt by the community. Around 3,000 individuals from the town and surrounding communities attended his funeral.

I've said it before, when you tell these stories - you get to know the people. Visiting their final resting place serves as a connection to their life. I can't talk to them, but I like to think that by telling their story I allow them to live again.

I do think that Professor Chrane would have been a fascinating man to get to know.

11/11/2025

Part IV – The Murder of Superintendent Curtis E. Chrane

The summer of 1930 was typical for the Chrane family. May closed with the daughters participating in a piano recital, followed by a trip to Richmond to visit Irma Chrane’s mother and brother. In June Professor Chrane gave a well-received address before the Rotary Club and later the family traveled north to Moberly to see his parents. Through July he and other school officials supervised maintenance and repairs to Boonville’s school buildings. The family hosted and attended summer socials and began the 1930–31 school term on September 1 as usual. Attendance during the first week showed a modest increase over the prior year. By all appearances, life was steady and contented—until the late afternoon of Tuesday, September 9, 1930, when tragedy struck both the Chrane family and the community of Boonville.

The Abduction and Killing

At approximately 5:00 p.m. on Tuesday, September 9, 1930, Professor Curtis E. Chrane, superintendent of the Boonville public schools, was downtown preparing to drive home after school. His Buick sedan was parked on Main Street near the store of Henry Earp, an employee of the Missouri Training School for Boys and a neighbor of the Reformatory superintendent, Colonel Theodore Ziske.

Earp later testified that earlier in the afternoon, a trusty named Tony Vriski, aged 20, had been seen standing near the Ziske residence. He had been assigned to work duties on the Reformatory grounds but had left without permission. Earp recognized the young man but assumed he was on an errand for Colonel Ziske. In reality, Vriski had taken a revolver from the Reformatory premises, was armed, and had been drinking heavily from a gallon of homemade wine he later admitted brewing from grapes in the superintendent’s cellar.

As Professor Chrane approached his car between 5:00 and 5:30 p.m., Earp saw the convict step out from the shadows and climb onto the running board of the vehicle. Brandishing the revolver, Vriski ordered the educator into the driver’s seat and pressed the weapon to his ribs. “He waited until the professor was in the seat,” Earp recalled, “then he climbed to the running board and forced him to drive.”

Chrane was compelled to steer the car east out of town, crossing the Missouri River bridge on U.S. Highway 40. Witnesses along the road reported the Buick moving at a cautious but steady speed as it left the city limits, with the armed youth visibly clinging to the side of the car.

Roughly three miles east of Boonville, in the flat fields near the highway’s bend toward Columbia, Vriski forced his captive to pull off onto a side stretch of gravel near a clover field belonging to Fritz Klusmeyer. There, Wilbur Morrow, a farmhand employed nearby, observed the scene from a short distance away. Morrow testified that he saw the car stop and the young man order Chrane out. After a brief struggle, a single shot rang out. Chrane collapsed beside the car.

Morrow later recounted that he ran toward the vehicle and saw the convict dragging the lifeless body into the weeds beside the road. When Morrow reached the car, the armed youth turned toward him and shouted,

“Help me get him out!”

“I won’t do it,” Morrow replied.

“Then you’ll stand still and watch while I do!” Vriski threatened, drawing the revolver on him.

Morrow froze as the killer heaved the superintendent’s body fully from the car. After concealing it in the grass, Vriski leapt back into the Buick, slammed the door, and sped away eastward toward Columbia. Morrow, still in shock, ran to the nearest farmhouse to summon help.

Within minutes, Boonville officers and citizens were on the road, but the murderer was already gone. When they reached the field, they found Professor Chrane lying on his back beside the road, a revolver wound through his chest. He was dead at the scene. The coroner’s later report confirmed that the bullet had pierced his heart. His watch had stopped at 5:40 p.m., marking the approximate moment of death.

A Family Shielded from the News

Back in Boonville, the Chrane home on South Sixth Street was preparing for an ordinary evening. Mrs. Irma Chrane, then expecting their third child, was at home with their teenage daughters Jacqueline, seventeen, and Barbara, fifteen.
When the first word reached town that Professor Chrane had been shot, friends and neighbors hurried toward the house, but for a time the family was shielded from the truth.

Local physicians and close friends feared the shock might endanger Mrs. Chrane’s health. They quietly arranged for her mother, Mrs. Harriet Griffith, and brother, Dr. Harry Griffith, of Richmond, to be summoned at once by telephone and telegram.

Despite efforts at restraint, the awful news could not be contained for long. When confirmation came that Professor Chrane had been killed, the scene inside the home was heartbreaking. According to newspaper accounts, Mrs. Chrane was prostrate with grief, unable to speak or stand without assistance, while her two daughters were described as “hysterical with sorrow.” Friends and colleagues remained through the night, tending to the stricken family and trying to keep away the growing crowd that gathered outside in stunned silence.

By the following morning, relatives from Richmond had arrived, and the Boonville community—students, faculty, and citizens alike—had begun to rally around them.
The church bell at the Methodist congregation tolled at noon; the flag over Laura Speed Elliott High School was lowered to half-mast.
Within twenty-four hours, the Chrane home had become the focal point of the town’s grief—a place where sympathy cards, telegrams, and flowers arrived faster than they could be acknowledged.

The Capture of Tony Vriski

Shortly after 7 p.m., the Buick was spotted east of Boonville near Rocheport by Harry Huckabay, a 22-year-old soda-truck driver who had once been a student under Professor Chrane. He noticed the car had run off the road into a ditch and stopped to assist. Inside he found the young convict, dirty and disoriented, fumbling for something beneath the seat. When Huckabay recognized him as an escaped inmate, he attempted to question him. Vriski tried to run, but Huckabay knocked him down and subdued him with his fists. He placed the prisoner in his truck to take him back to town.

During the drive, Vriski regained consciousness and attacked again, grabbing Huckabay around the neck and shouting, “Here’s where we go to hell!” Huckabay slammed on the brakes, fought him off, and rendered him unconscious a second time. He stopped at the Carson Service Station, secured a revolver from the attendant, and waited for officers. When the authorities arrived, Vriski was still stunned and quickly taken into custody.

Upon his arrest, the youth collapsed to the ground and cried out, “I did it! Go ahead and shoot me! I’ve done something and I can’t face it!” He was rushed under heavy guard to the Cooper County jail, where he later gave a full confession to Prosecutor W. D. Semple and Sheriff Clay Groom.

Threat of Mob Violence

Word of the murder spread rapidly through Boonville that night. Businesses closed, crowds formed around the courthouse and jail, and there were open threats of lynching. To prevent violence, Sheriff Groom ordered Vriski moved in secret to the county jail at Warrensburg, and when mobs were reported on the road there, he was diverted to the state penitentiary at Jefferson City under es**rt by Reformatory officials and deputies. The transfer was successful, and Vriski was received there before dawn on September 10.

A City in Mourning

News of the murder left Boonville in shock. Flags were lowered to half-mast, and Mayor H. D. Quigg ordered business houses closed during the funeral. On September 11, three thousand people gathered at the Kemper Military School gymnasium for the services conducted by Rev. H. J. Rand and Rev. H. C. Clark. The ceremony was attended by Governor Caulfield, members of the Missouri Prison Board, and educators from across the state. Burial followed in Walnut Grove Cemetery.

Pallbearers included fellow educators and Knights Templar: Major H. C. Johnston, R. C. Turner, T. S. Simrall, Dr. F. L. Shields, Albin Schmidt, and John Windsor. Honorary pallbearers were Dr. R. L. Evans, T. F. Waltz, O. F. Kelley, G. W. Morris, F. G. Lohse, E. G. Lannon, W. L. Barrett, and Major A. B. Bates. Every school in the district closed for the day as the town mourned its superintendent.

Aftermath

In the days that followed, young Harry Huckabay was hailed as a hero for his bravery in capturing the killer. Citizens raised a reward fund in his honor — $147 was collected within a day. Witnesses recounted that had Huckabay not acted as he did, Vriski might have escaped again or killed others along the highway.

The murder also triggered a furious public reaction against the Reformatory administration and its trusty system. Editorials from the St. Louis Post-Dispatch and Globe-Democrat condemned the institution’s lax supervision and called for the dismissal of Superintendent Ziske. The Boonville Board of Education issued a formal resolution denouncing the policy of unguarded liberty for convicts and petitioned the Governor and General Assembly to abolish the trusty system altogether.

By then, Tony Vriski had been bound over for trial in Howard County, with Prosecutor E. C. Lynch vowing to seek the death penalty. The Governor ordered a state inquiry into the Reformatory’s operations and its failure to keep the public safe. For the town of Boonville, however, no official action could ease the sorrow of losing a man so widely admired as Curtis E. Chrane — teacher, administrator, and citizen — whose life of service ended in an act of unthinkable violence on a quiet September afternoon.

11/11/2025

Part III - C.E. Chrane: The Decade of the 1920s

The 1920s proved the defining decade in the long career of Professor C.E. Chrane, superintendent of Boonville’s public schools. It was an era of professional challenge and public recognition, of civic service and private accomplishment. Through it all, Chrane’s steadfast belief in education as both a moral and communal calling shaped not only the city’s schools but also the character of an entire generation of its young people.

A Family of Educators and Community Builders

By 1920, Professor Chrane and his wife were fixtures in Boonville’s civic life. Mrs. Chrane was as active in education and the church as her husband—serving in Sunday school leadership, community betterment efforts, and educational programs throughout Cooper County. Their daughters, Barbara Jean and Jacqueline, were well known in Boonville’s schools, church, and social circles, often accompanying their parents to community and religious functions.

The Chranes lived out the values C.E. preached in the classroom—discipline, cooperation, thrift, and devotion to public good. When not engaged in school affairs, the family could often be found working together in the garden or on their succession of home-building projects that, in many ways, mirrored their superintendent’s methodical and forward-looking personality.

Homes of Vision: From Center to Shamrock Heights to the Stone House

The Chranes had settled in Boonville early in the 1910s. At the opening of the decade, they held rooms on the second floor of a house on Center Street. That residence suffered fire damage in the winter of 1920. Seeking new accommodations, the family made their home in Shamrock Heights, an emerging residential district on the city’s edge. They lived their for a number of years until, in 1926, they took on an ambitious project that would draw wide local attention: the restoration of a long-abandoned stone house on Sixth Street, once a derelict property whispered about as “haunted” or “forgotten.” They sold their house on Shamrock Heights and relocated to the project on Sixth Street.

Under Mrs. Chrane’s artistic direction and Professor Chrane’s careful planning, the house was transformed into what newspapers called “a beauty spot.” A 1928 Boonville Daily News and Advertiser feature praised their ingenuity—“planning, not spending, has been the secret of their success.” Overgrown rock walls and crumbling rooms became a warm, ivy-draped home filled with light, gardens, and the laughter of children. It was a visible expression of the family’s philosophy: work, thrift, and imagination could redeem anything—be it a home or a school.

Faith and Civic Involvement

The Chranes’ faith deepened during this period, and they became prominent members of Boonville’s Methodist Church, often participating in Sunday school and regional gatherings. Professor Chrane’s sense of moral duty blended seamlessly with his public work. As a frequent speaker before the Rotary Club, the Boy Scouts, and civic organizations, he spoke not only as an educator but as a moralist and community builder. During the decade he served as an officer in many organizations - and was even President of the Rotary Club.

He lauded the Boy Scouts as “the greatest contribution made to general education in the last fifty years,” promoting it as a training ground for citizenship and leadership. His addresses before civic groups reflected his belief that schools existed not merely to produce graduates but to shape citizens—“to teach young people to work with head and hand alike,” as he said in one 1928 address.

A Turbulent Trial: The 1924–25 Rehire Controversy

The greatest test of Chrane’s career came in 1924, after more than a decade of steady service. That spring, the Board of Education unexpectedly delayed his reappointment as superintendent. No reason was made public, and newspapers offered little clarity. However, a paper from Chrane’s old home in Windsor, Missouri, hinted that lingering resentment from an earlier episode—his suspension of a student nearly a decade earlier during his first years in Boonville—had been quietly revived.

For months, the situation festered. The Board deadlocked through April and May, unable to reach a decision. Summer came and went without resolution, and by August 1924, Boonville entered the new school term without an appointed superintendent.

Community frustration mounted as weeks turned into months. Supporters of Chrane rallied publicly, praising his integrity, fairness, and the academic progress achieved under his administration. Still, the board remained divided, the controversy paralyzing the schools. The mayor of the community served as the lawyer for the anti-Chrane faction. In a community meeting, the crowd predominantly favored the rehiring of Chrane and - in a heated argument - a former principal and the mayor came to blows.

Finally, amid mounting pressure from the public and county officials, all six members of the Boonville Board of Education resigned simultaneously, forcing a special election. A new slate of members was chosen, and under the guidance of the County Superintendent of Schools, the reconstituted board voted unanimously to rehire Professor Chrane.

It was the only serious opposition he ever faced in his long tenure, and he met it with his characteristic composure—never speaking publicly in anger, but continuing to serve with the same quiet diligence that had earned the town’s respect. The episode, once resolved, seemed only to reinforce his stature. From that point forward, his leadership was never again questioned. The school year got underway - a week later than anticipated - but the controversy was past.

Philosophies and Educational Beliefs

Chrane’s public writings from the late 1920s provide insight into his educational creed. He believed learning required effort and order—“the pupil who does not do at least two hours of home study a day,” he warned in 1928, “is not getting the most out of his high school career.” He saw discipline and persistence as moral virtues equal to academic skill.

He urged cooperation between parents and teachers, calling education “a co-operative proposition involving parents as well as teachers.” He fought for regular attendance, arguing that absenteeism “wastes both money and character,” and he demanded fairness and preparation in all things. “Thoroughness, habits of methodical work, perseverance,” he wrote, “are formed only by practice.”

Traffic, Modernization, and Public Safety

As automobiles transformed Boonville’s streets, Chrane became a leading advocate for student safety. When U.S. Highway 40 was routed through town, he warned that the heavy traffic near the school buildings was a grave hazard. “The situation is now acute,” he told the Rotary Club in 1929. “I dread to think of it when Highway 40 passes the high school building.”

Under his urging, Boonville adopted new safety patrols and crossing rules modeled after those used in St. Louis—an early, locally-driven reform that foreshadowed Missouri’s later emphasis on school traffic regulation.

Recognition and Renewed Confidence

By the close of the decade, C.E. Chrane’s influence was woven into the fabric of Boonville life. In 1929, he sold part of a farm he owned on the Osage River farm to Union Electric for the construction of the Bagnell Dam, retaining several hundred acres and earning a tidy profit that helped secure his family’s financial footing. That same year, he was honored by the National Lumber Manufacturers Association with a souvenir timber from the White House roof, removed during renovation—an emblem of durability and history that he proudly displayed at the school.

In April 1930, the Board of Education elected him for the eighteenth consecutive time, praising not only his longevity but his enduring influence. “Few men,” wrote the Boonville Daily News, “have touched so many lives for good. His ideals of work, persistence, and fair play are bearing fruit in the way of true success.”

A Life at Its Zenith

Life truly was good for the Chranes. The family enjoyed deep respect—civically, spiritually, and professionally. Professor Chrane was a sought-after speaker and frequent attendee at educational conferences across the district, region, and state, and even at the national level. His career seemed secure, his influence unchallenged.

His rehiring for an eighteenth year suggested that he might hold the position for as long as he wished. The family’s home was flourishing, the garden thriving, and the Boonville schools were stable and admired.

And there was more joy ahead—Mrs. Irma Chrane was expecting their third child, due in October 1930. The family looked forward to a peaceful summer, full of plans for the coming school year and for the new life soon to arrive.

Yet no one in Boonville could have imagined that the summer of 1930 would be their last together, or that Curtis E. Chrane would not live to see the start of his eighteenth year as superintendent.