Today the wind rushes over the tablelands of Nebraska as it did when the Buffalo, standing knee-deep in Prairie grass and stretching farther then eye-length, turn their shaggy tails to windward. Only now corn rustles, cattle imitate the Buffalo, in the occasional grain elevator, white and monolithic, forces the wind to adjust its otherwise unrestrained course. Small towns, like islands in a sea of plain, have rooted into the soil, and the wind moves easily around them. Such a small town is Central City, and there such a writer as Wright Morris was born. This was in 1910, 20 years after the frontier in America was declared closed, and three years before Willa Cather published O Pioneers!
