A diehard Wichita friendship tested through seven decades of life and, now, death

Gwendolyn Nevada Toney, 96, died last month. She enjoyed a lifelong friendship with Cindy Carnahan. (Photo provided by Cindy Carnahan)

Gwendolyn Nevada Toney, 96, died peacefully in her sleep the Sunday morning of Aug. 24.

Gwennie long had been the caterer of choice for Wichita’s elite. A mother of five who lost four before her death. A faith-filled Christian. A neighbor who offered children M&Ms from the candy dish in her immaculate living room.

According to Cindy Carnahan, the honorific “friend” offered the truest measure of Toney’s steady magnificence. Their friendship spanned more than 70 years of love and heartbreak and laughter, and perhaps most important, interdependence.

“I’ve loved Gwennie before I knew what love was,” Cindy said. “I considered her more than a friend. She’d been my closest confidante. I could tell her anything and blindly trust she’d never tell.”

I’ve juggled two book projects since 2025: A collection of my Kansas Reflector columns and a book built on the 70-plus year friendship between Cindy (who is white) and Gwennie (who is Black), where age and racial differences mattered not. The project became a friendship covenant, where precious memories would endure.

Cindy Carnahan (left) was 3 years old when she met Gwendolyn Nevada Toney. (Photo provided by Cindy Carnahan)

As Gwennie’s lifetime of memories dissolved like sand through an hourglass, Cindy worked to save all the memories she could.

Their story began with a mistake.

Gwennie worked at The Forum near downtown Wichita. Her supervisor loved her energy, and when Gwennie requested more work, this supervisor advised her on where to look. She told Gwennie to board the city bus headed east on Douglas, get off at Belmont Place, turn left, and knock on doors asking if anyone needed help.

She did everything correctly until she turned right instead of left. She landed at the Clarke home, where Cindy’s mother hired her. Cindy was 3.

Gwennie was born March 4, 1930, in the Dust Bowl’s murk and in the depths of the Great Depression, in historic Boley, Oklahoma. Black advocate and educator Booker T. Washington once visited Boley, calling it “the most industrious of all the Black towns.”

This might explain her astonishing John Henry work ethic. For virtually all of her adult life, she poured herself into at least two jobs.

She represented Black entrepreneurial grit, uplift suasion, but also proximity to high society. She prepared tasty desserts and delectable food, along with staging her work in colorful displays. She loved bright colors. She met the iconic Julia Child in Wichita, who entrusted her with a recipe sent with a signed card of good wishes.

She continued this work as her connection to Cindy bloomed.

What a pair. A little Lucy and Ethel, a little Thelma and Louise. As the saying goes, a good friend will help you move. A best friend will help you move a body.

Cindy remembered asking Gwennie to buy her a bra before she had much use for it. She playfully obliged, and facetiously said, looking at the loose straps on the sagging garment, “I sure am glad we got you that bra. We really needed it.”

They would listen to the Isley Brothers’ 1969 hit, “It’s Your Thing.” Cindy would ask Gwennie to dance with her, and Gwennie suggested, smiling, that Cindy practice with the door. Cindy did, hips swiveling, one hand holding the knob, the other hand waving over her head.

Gwennie also protected Cindy. She once rushed to East High to pick up Cindy when she heard a radio report about possible violence. She loved Cindy and wanted the best for her.

But those roles flipped.

It began when Gwennie opened a painful portal into her life of relentless tragedy as Cindy grew into a successful businesswoman. She asked Cindy to help arrange an emergency divorce. It was Cindy’s first inkling of what her lifetime friend endured privately. Later, she asked Cindy to serve as her power of attorney. Gwennie realized her memory had begun to fray.

Gwennie lost four of her five children, which entombed her in grief and guilt. She worried that years of multiple jobs might have harmed her children. Cindy asked during one discussion: “Aren’t you proud of me? You helped raise me.”

Gwennie smiled because for years, when shopping at Carl Bell’s Wholesale Meat, she’d been telling people Cindy was her daughter. She giggled at the confused expressions.

As Gwennie’s memory deteriorated, Cindy moved deeper into her life, eventually selling Gwennie’s car and home and admitting her into a memory-care facility. Gwennie had worked so hard for so long. Cindy wanted to ensure Gwennie’s last days were safe and comfortable.

Earlier this year, an employee at the care home punched Gwennie. At 95, she could no longer talk. Cindy arrived and cupped Gwennie’s face. Gwennie’s bruised eye was swollen shut. It broke Cindy’s heart.

The memory care home fired the aide, but there wasn’t enough evidence for prosecution. Cindy also routed a “relative” who demanded Gwennie’s power of attorney.

“Not gonna happen,” Cindy said.

Walter Winchell once said: “A real friend is one who walks in when the rest of the world walks out.” Henry Drummond once said: “Wherever we are, it is our friends that make our world.” George Herbert once said: “The best mirror is an old friend.”

Gwennie and Cindy meant all these things to each other. Gwennie’s deterioration proved painful. Cindy sometimes tried to reach her friend, through Gwennie’s fog, with a song.

She’d sing softly in Gwennie’s ear, “It’s your thang, do what you wanna do…”

Sometimes, Gwennie smiled.

Cindy felt prepared for Gwennie’s death. Though it would hurt, she wasn’t afraid. They would revisit everything saved in their covenant of memories.

“I know where she’s going, and where I’m going. I know I’ll see her again.”

Mark McCormick is the former executive director of the Kansas African American Museum, a member of the Kansas African American Affairs Commission and former deputy executive director at the ACLU of Kansas. Through its opinion section, Kansas Reflector works to amplify the voices of people who are affected by public policies or excluded from public debate. Find information, including how to submit your own commentary, here.