Foreign-sponsored terrorist attacks aimed at conquering American communities and US territory have not yet become a reality. Such attacks, though not probable, are unfortunately not impossible. Actual events and even fictional stories about terrorism, both domestic and foreign, are often far removed from American communities and the reality of most people's everyday lives. The Ghosts of Gaylord challenges that reality by dropping the devastation of such attacks onto an otherwise normal, peaceful American community. This troubling narrative is told through the actions of people--active military and veterans, law enforcement, and civilian groups--who unite and fight to preserve their way of life, all while reaffirming their belief in freedom.

Foreign-sponsored terrorist attacks aimed at conquering American communities and US territory have not yet become a reality. Such attacks, though not probable, are unfortunately not impossible. Actual events and even fictional stories about terrorism, both domestic and foreign, are often far removed from American communities and the reality of most people's everyday lives. The Ghosts of Gaylord challenges that reality by dropping the devastation of such attacks onto an otherwise normal, peaceful American community. This troubling narrative is told through the actions of people--active military and veterans, law enforcement, and civilian groups--who unite and fight to preserve their way of life, all while reaffirming their belief in freedom.

Gaylord Brewer's ninth collection of poetry, Country of Ghost, is by turns harrowing, haunted, and darkly humorous, and always deeply felt. When the figure Ghost appears--crossing a bridge in Spain, beside a river of the dead in France, across a midnight lake in Finland--our speaker follows into a ravenous geography of longing and regret. In this astounding sequence of poems, who has summonsed whom? Brewer's folie à deux explores both the worlds of the living and of the dead, worlds alternately aching and tender, and of the spirits caught between them.

The chaotic Pentecost home is thrown into further turmoil by the arrival of three young visitors. Then, without warning, a threat from outside enters their lives. The idyllic countryside surrounding the Pentecost's home holds an unknown danger as fear takes a grip.

Who won the first Daytona 500? Fans still debate whether it was midwestern champion Johnny Beauchamp, declared the victor at the finish line, or longtime NASCAR driver Lee Petty, declared the official winner a few days after the race. The Ghosts of NASCAR puts the controversial finish under a microscope. Author John Havick interviewed scores of people, analyzed film of the race, and pored over newspaper accounts of the event. He uses this information and his deep knowledge of the sport as it worked then to determine what probably happened. But he also tells a much bigger story: the story of how Johnny Beauchamp—and his Harlan, Iowa, compatriots, mechanic Dale Swanson and driver Tiny Lund—ended up in Florida driving in the 1959 Daytona race. The Ghosts of NASCAR details how the Harlan Boys turned to racing cars to have fun and to escape the limited opportunities for poor boys in rural southwestern Iowa. As auto racing became more popular and better organized in the 1950s, Swanson, Lund, and Beauchamp battled dozens of rivals and came to dominate the sport in the Midwest. By the later part of the decade, the three men were ready to take on the competition in the South’s growing NASCAR circuit. One of the top mechanics of the day, Swanson literally wrote the book on race cars at Chevrolet’s clandestine racing shop in Atlanta, Georgia, while Beauchamp and Lund proved themselves worthy competitors. It all came to a head on the brand-new Daytona track in 1959. The Harlan Boys’ long careers and midwestern racing in general have largely faded from memory. The Ghosts of NASCAR recaptures it all: how they negotiated the corners on dirt tracks and passed or spun out their opponents; how officials tore down cars after races to make sure they conformed to track rules; the mix of violence and camaraderie among fierce competitors; and the struggles to organize and regulate the sport. One of very few accounts of 1950s midwestern stock car racing, The Ghosts of NASCAR is told by a man who was there during the sport’s earliest days.

Who's that? Is someone there? A whisper of air brushes your cheek. Then all is still. Maybe it was just the wind. Or maybe it wasn't. . . . Maybe you've just been visited by the late Ida Day lurking in the basement of Hutchinson's public library or the widow Tarot staring forlornly from an upstairs window at Fort Scott, or the phantom Earl floating behind the scenes in Concordia's Brown Grand Theater. And maybe the horrific Albino Woman truly does haunt Topeka, turning romantic nights into nightmares. . . . maybe. Pursuing the stories behind these and other spectral manifestations, Lisa Hefner Heitz has traveled the state in search of its ghostly folklore. What she has unearthed is a fascinating blend of oral histories, contemporary eye-witness accounts, and local legends. Creepy and chilling, sometimes humorous, and always engaging, her book features tales about ghosts, poltergeists, spook lights, and a host of other restless spirits that haunt Kansas. Heitz's spine-tingling collection of stories raps and taps and moans and groans through a wealth of descriptions of infamous Kansas phantoms, as well as disconcerting personal experiences related by former skeptics. Many of these ghosts, she shows, are notoriously linked to specific structures or locations, whether it is an eighteenth-century mansion in Atchison or a deep--some have claimed bottomless--pool near Ashland. The evanescent apparitions of these tales have frightened and at times amused Kansans throughout the state's long history. Yet this is the first book to capture for posterity the lively antics of the state's ghostly denizens. Besides preserving a colorful and imaginative, if intangible, side of the state's popular heritage, Heitz supplies ghost-storytellers with ample hair-raising material for, well, eternity. Maybe that person breathing softly behind you has another such story to share. Oh, no one's there? Perhaps it really was just the breeze off the prairie.