Nelle was lifelong friends with Truman Capote, an author I grew up hearing about because he came to our little patch of dusty earth to write In Cold Blood. He’s the father of the true crime genre and his book brought the Clutters to life (and death) for me and even though I grew up driving right past the house where the murders took place, his words are what I remember and they still give me chills when I recall them. Nelle traveled with Truman out to Holcomb, Kan., (home of the orange and black-colored longhorns. All my memories of that town are wrapped up in sporting events because I’m from neighboring Hugoton of the red and blue eagles, the mighty, mighty eagles). Well, maybe not all my memories are sports rivalry related. I can see the Clutter house with its long driveway and rows of trees, as well. Truman, while at the same time making me weep for innocent lives lost, made me question the executions of their murderers. It was a difficult book to experience.

The museum paid homage to Truman, as well and while he’s not my hero the way Nelle is, I still greatly benefited from learning about him and particularly enjoyed letters he wrote to a beloved aunt though his handwriting was obscene. Man. Thank God for typewriters.

Although reading (and watching, they had an engrossing video on loop which shared interviews of townspeople who knew Nelle or who are currently engaged in keeping her story alive) were enough to feed my word-hungry soul for a year, I was further blessed. A man named George Jones was four years ahead of Nelle in school and caddied for her golf-loving father as a child. He volunteers at the museum each Saturday despite being in his nineties. I watched him drive away, his loyal dog by his side, after quizzing his still-sharp mind for details of Nelle’s life and Monroeville’s reaction to her book. It was amazing in every way. We talked about the obvious but also everything from Billy Graham to RV life to his wife’s dementia and how much first edition copies signed by Lee are going for these days. Though, who would ever sell one? He shared how much of a tomboy Lee was and then she hit high school and suddenly started wearing skirts and just blended in with the other teens. No one knew she’d be an author, it was assumed she would join her father and sisters in their law firm. George shared how a man bought the old Lee house (the family had moved to a different spot in Monroeville), tore it down and built an ice cream shop long before Nelle’s little book hit shelves around the country. “Oh, if he’d only known!”

The museum closed for the day. I helped them turn off lights and check the women’s bathroom for stragglers and then reluctantly, I stepped outside.

One day, our girls are going to discover Scout and Jem and Dill. They are going to run in fear of Boo and struggle to understand how the plight of Tom Robinson could even be a viable plot point because none of it makes the slightest bit of sense to children raised outside segregation. They are going to love the book and maybe the movie, too and I’ll bring them back to this place. We’ll walk through the town together and climb the steps into the courtroom balcony and they won’t even come close to being bored. Maybe we’ll let Danny come, too if he’s very lucky.