There will come a day, and it won’t be long, when all of those who knew George are gone.

George was the loyal brown dog who more than 50 years ago made his home at the Union Pacific Train Depot. A stone marker bearing his name remains on the property, a reminder of the life and friendships that flourished in the once-bustling station.

Today, the life behind that marker is something of a mystery to many.

“It’d be nice to know the real story,” said Sonia Reetz, a co-manager of the visitors center that now occupies the depot.

Reetz and co-manager Debbie White have heard different tales over the years. Some said George was a German shepherd. Some said he was the adopted dog of longtime stationmaster John Robinson. But many of the facts have been lost as those who knew George pass away.

The marker is a small gray stone, hidden beneath green bushes near the depot entrance.

It reads:

George

Died Oct. 5 1950

A Beloved Friend

In 1978, then stationmaster Bob Golden, told the Journal-World about the dog. Golden, an animal lover, has since died.

So there appears to be only one person still living who remembers meeting George, 94-year-old Norma Kampshroeder. She was a ticket clerk at the depot from 1942 to 1945.

“He was a good dog,” she said. “We all just loved him.”

The tombstone of George, a beloved dog who died nearly 50 years ago, is in the bushes outside the Lawrence Visitors Center at the Union Pacific Train Depot.

The memories of Golden and Kampshroeder produce the following account of George’s life. It is as factual as it can be.

George was a large beagle or a small Basset. Short-haired and short-legged.

“Really kind of squatty,” Golden said in 1978.

On a rainy night in the 1940s, George, cold and wet, strayed into the station. He found a home.

The station in the 1940s was a busy place. Lawrence was a town of fewer than 20,000 full-time residents. And, in those days, multiple passenger trains still ran through town.

The depot was one of the main points of entry for people coming into Lawrence, said Steven Jansen, a local historian.

In wartime, soldiers filled the trains. And when they returned after the war, they came in on the trains.

George had a routine.

“Every morning, he’d go to the restaurant that used to be around here, and he’d get his hot cakes,” Golden said in 1978.

And when the trains came in, George could pick out the dining car. The train crews would drop food his way.

Employees also brought in scraps from home to share with George. By all accounts, George was well-fed.

“He was a little heavier,” Kampshroeder said.

He got along well with children, Golden said.

During the day, he dozed beneath the feet of the ticket clerks.

At night, he slept under the counter.

“He was the only dog I ever knew who could sleep on his back with all four feet straight up in the air,” Golden said.

Workers kept a stash of money that they pooled for George’s care.

“We all just loved him,” Kampshroeder said. “He was a smart dog.”

At one point, railway higher-ups sent out a directive ordering there not be station pets.

“In that same envelope with the directive in it was a $1 bill from the superintendent – it was his contribution,” for George’s care, Golden said.

As he grew older, George became a bit more finicky with his food. They had to put a little butter on his pancakes. And then they started adding a little syrup.

One day, he got into something – some believe it was poison – and George passed on.

He was buried beneath a big tree.

Tammy Calkins, Golden’s daughter, recalls bringing flowers to George’s grave site as a child.

Every holiday “we would put flowers out in honor of the dog,” she said. “We did that for a long, long time.”

Calkins said her father was an animal lover. She grew up with myriad animals. It might have been her father’s idea to erect the grave marker for George, she said. But there were likely others with big hearts, too.

“They were just all a bunch of good-hearted guys,” she said. “The dog was just part of them. It’s a very special place.