Some names fade with time, but Lonnie Parr’s never has. People remember him not for awards or fancy titles, but for how he treated others. If you knew him as a principal, a teacher, a neighbor, or a friend, just hearing his name can still bring back memories, a word of encouragement when you needed it most, fair guidance, or a smile that somehow made everything feel alright. And if you never met him, let me share why so many believe Lonnie Parr was truly one of the best among us. 

Lonnie Feron Parr, Jr. was born on November 18, 1911. Like many of his generation, he grew up during the Great Depression and learned early what it meant to face challenging times. But even then, Lonnie had a sense of purpose. “From the time I was a little boy,” he once said, “I always knew I wanted to teach. That was my ambition.”  

After graduating from Eastern Illinois State Teachers College, Lonnie interviewed for a teaching job in Chillicothe in 1939. The local newspaper announced that August that he had joined the high school faculty as an English and history teacher, already bringing seven years of experience with him. He took the job for $1,300 a year, a modest start that turned into something so much bigger. From that moment on, Chillicothe became his town, and its students became his life’s work.

Lonnie joined the ranks of those who left civilian life behind during World War II, stepping away from the classroom to serve his country. As a Navy lieutenant, he sailed aboard landing ships LSM 316 and 217, moving through dangerous waters with the same steady courage he brought to teaching.

When he came home in 1946, he did not rest. He went right back to helping young people grow, and within two years, he became Principal of Chillicothe High School, taking over for Orville Nothdurft in December 1948. 

To really understand why people cared so deeply about Lonnie Parr, you must look at how he led.

A Style of Leadership That Stuck With You
Lonnie Parr’s leadership was not loud. It was steady. He walked through the halls with purpose but never seemed rushed. Students remember quietly saying, “Hi, Mr. Parr,” and hearing his warm reply: “Good to see you. How are you doing?” He was not just in charge, he was present. 

He knew your name. He knew your parents. He understood what you were going through. And more importantly, he believed in you even if you did not believe in yourself.

“He was firm, but fair,” recalled Ruth Rumbold-Blaine. “He canceled school only when he could not get out his front door because of snow. That is the kind of principal he was.”   

Another former student remembered how Lonnie gave them career advice during a time of doubt, guiding them toward a better path. That was his gift, not to make speeches, but to make connections.

A Lesson in Silence
Sometimes, it was what Mr. Parr did not say that made the biggest impression. Brenda Hedden Fennell remembers one weekend during her senior year when she and her best friend Beth Parr O’Sullivan (Lonnie’s daughter) snuck out with a can of pink paint, leftover from a bathroom remodel at the Parr house. Late that night, they drove out to the viaducts on the Princeville Blacktop and boldly painted “Class of ‘65” across the concrete. 

Brenda borrowed her brother’s brand-new jacket that night and got paint on it. By the time they returned, the word had spread quickly. Mrs. Hedden was already waiting. One by one, the girls were told to call their parents and confess. Even Beth had to call her mom and dad.

The following Monday, they all braced themselves for a trip to Principal Parr’s office. It never happened.

Lonnie knew. He had surely heard the whole story. But he did not call them in. He did not scold them. He did not need to.

“He knew we had agonized all day Sunday and all morning Monday about what was coming,” Brenda said. “And that was our punishment. The waiting. He knew it would stick with us.”

It did.

A Family Devoted to Service
Lonnie’s wife, Elizabeth, known to most as Betty, was also an educator and remembered fondly by many as their second-grade teacher. The Parrs lived on Santa Fe Avenue, raising their three children, Lonnie III, Robert, and Beth in the same community Lonnie served. Neighbors like Randall Coon remember footballs occasionally flying into their yard, and how Lonnie’s presence always brought calm, never judgment.

Despite the admiration people showed him, Lonnie never wanted the spotlight. After he retired in June 1973, there was a push to name the junior high school in his honor. The community supported it. But those who knew him best remembered that Lonnie did not want that.

“He made it very clear that he did not want a school named after him,” they recalled. It was not false modesty. That was simply who he was. For Lonnie Parr, it was never about the name on the building. It was about the people inside it.

He retired after more than 30 years of service, but even after stepping away, his influence stayed strong. Lonnie passed away on April 12, 1979, just six years after leaving the school system. In that abbreviated time, the appreciation for his life’s work only grew among those who had known him. “He was my principal, and my mom’s teacher,” said one former student. “He was a great man.”

Even now, more than forty years later, his former secretary, Marge Schaffner Dell, still calls him a great man to work for. That is how so many remember him, not as a distant authority figure, but as someone real, decent, and kind.

Lonnie Parr did not need a statue or a school named after him to leave a mark. His legacy was never measured in headlines or awards. It lived in the quiet influence he had on the people around him. His name carries on in the lives he touched: the student who became a teacher, the kid who got a second chance, the neighbor who felt seen, and the community that still remembers him with respect.

The Lasting Tribute
On November 9, 1980, a permanent and heartfelt tribute was dedicated at Illinois Valley Central High School: the Lonnie F. Parr Library. At a ceremony attended by colleagues, students, and his wife Betty, a bronze likeness and plaque were unveiled to honor Lonnie’s 34 years of service. The plaque reads:

“In recognition of forty years of unselfish dedication to the ideals of education, with a true concern for the students, the staff, and the community.”

The dedication was filled with kind words. Former superintendent James Thornton called him a professional educator who had the greatest respect from his students. Gary McNaught, his friend and tennis partner, remembered him as having a contagious spirit and a deep commitment to education.

Lonnie Parr had a steady enthusiasm and a clear purpose to help young people grow. If you were lucky enough to know him, you already know the truth of that. And if you did not, just ask around. The stories come quickly.

In 1979, Dave Pfanschmidt, former editor of the Chillicothe Bulletin, wrote, “Lonnie, you were the best among us, and we thank you.”

All these years later, those words still ring true.