My Dearest Friend

It has been a few months since you nestled into the comfort and peace of God’s
hands. Like many, I was both saddened and comforted by your journey knowing
that the joy you nurtured in all of us has no limit.

In the spring of 1955, the McKee family moved into a new home on 13th Street
so my father would be closer to work. It was exciting. I soon found myself often
staring from our back porch across the prairie. The grassland sloped gently down
and then gently back up on the other side. I had never seen anything like it.
A few months later I found myself in Kindergarten. 
 
Soon there was another visit from Santa. Followed by another birthday.
Then…first grade at Pleasant Run…it was huge and had two bathrooms!
I met a bunch of new kids and most of them lived nearby! I also met an instant
friend. His name was Marty. He lived on 14th Street. Tall kid for his age. 

As new friends, Marty and I soon learned that we really enjoyed each
other’s company. We both also realized that we lived directly across the prairie
and we could see each other backyard to distant backyard. We played and
laughed together while nearly inseparable for the next few years.
 
Sleepovers, ping-pong, spinner baseball, Scouting, grade school basketball,
Little League. We grew new lifelong friendships with neighborhood kids and
many of our new classmates. As well as new friends from the organization and
sports rosters. Many of you reading this know who you are!

It wasn’t long until we received permission to walk across the prairie. That 
convenience was relatively short-lived because of an encounter I experienced
with the wildlife. The prairie had snake. I use the singular because I only saw
one. One was enough and Marty took my word for it. Not long thereafter, the
prairie became Hiner Lane.

Let’s fast-forward a few years to the Fall of 1963. We are in the first
semester of eighth grade. The huge jump last year from four-room Pleasant Run
Elementary to seventh grade at Woodview Junior High was a major change in
every possible way. A much bigger school with so many more students and
faculty. Then you throw in puberty.

Marty is now playing for the second year with many of the athletes
we competed against during our grade school days. In retrospect, the whole
middle school experience was one of the major physical, social and
psychological adjustments during our lifetimes. We enjoyed meeting new kids.
Marty and I had no idea there were so many goofballs and we fit in perfectly.

I’m sure almost everyone remembers that day. Since seventh grade Marty and I
shared very few classes. Thank goodness homeroom kept most of the “M” last
names together. However, we did share Physical Education in the afternoon.
Of course, the class ended with showers. Then the students took a seat in the
bleachers to await dismissal to their next period’s class. The date was
Friday, November 22 nd .

Marty and I were the first students to take a seat and await dismissal. I sat on his
left. Once everyone sat down and calmed down, our physical education teacher,
whose name I can’t recall, said “…Gentlemen I have a very sad announcement
to share. Earlier this afternoon in Dallas, President John F. Kennedy was
assassinated.” The world changed that day for most of us and changed forever.

We were dismissed from the gymnasium. The hallways were heavy in sadness,
drenched in tears and posthumously quiet. Marty and I walked our divergent
paths each to our next class. My last class that day was Science with Mr. Meeks.
Why do I remember that?

Miggenburg’s Bakery – The Best Donuts in Anytown; USA
I don’t know when Neil Miggenburg started or purchased the bakery. I always
called him “Pappy” and he called me “McKeever” dating back to Little League
days. The bakery was a special place and everyone agreed that the yeast and
cake donuts were second to none. Particularly the applesauce cake as soon as
they were barely cool enough to eat. Nearly everyone I have spoken with
remembers the bakery and drools a little bit. I looked at a few definitions of
“drooling” and decided against sharing any of them here.

Marty was a key person at the bakery. He did nearly every aspect of the
business and did those things very well. Always dependable, good natured
and very good for the business community. I occasionally dropped by when I
wasn’t frying the Colonel’s chicken over on Arlington Avenue. Often my visits
were during the afternoon which were typically less busy during the week.

One summer morning, mid-week, Marty called me with a proposition. He said “I
have a great idea. I am cleaning the huge preparation table squeaky clean. How
about you bring your and Dan’s electric train set over and we’ll set it up?” I said
I’m on my way and indeed we did just that. We stepped outside and peered in
the main front window. It looked good…really good. We could almost hear
Boxcar Willie singing the Wabash Cannonball…

My employer moved me from Denver to the Kansas City area in the mid-1990s. I
soon bought a home in Shawnee on the Kansas side and quickly adopted the KC
area as home. I often went for an exploratory “Sunday” drive on any day of the
week. During one of those drives in Overland Park, I pulled into a typical
shopping strip where the stores are in a row with a sidewalk in front.
I parked. Got out of my car, looked around…and then up to my right. There was
“Miggenburg’s Bakery.” What? Yep! We’re in Kansas, Dorothy. I entered the front
door and immediately saw the familiar pastel plastic display trays. As I
approached the unmanned counter, I saw the old mop and bucket in the back
which looked just as it did 30 years ago. In my loud voice…”Hey Pappy.” Neil
replied “Is that you McKeever?” Marty was amazed when I shared this tale.

I cannot recall either when or how so many Eastside kids were drawn to
Marty’s “My Wiffle Ball Era.” As you can see in his notes dated June 6, 2022
accompanying this Celebration, Marty was preparing some type of memoir about
his self-described “A Childhood Dream” and/or “A Midwest Happening.”
The memoir lives on, unwritten, held in the memories and shared by all who
participated beginning circa September,1965. The Wiffle Ball venue known as:

MIGG’S STADIUM

The stadium was designed with near perfect dimensions honed by the eye,
assisted with a measuring tape and completed with teenage boy patience.
It was 95 feet down each line and 105 feet to dead center. The outfield wall
was made from exterior siding. Typically 8’ feet long by 12” tall sections.
The outfielder(s) were prohibited from jumping the wall to snag a homer.
There were the classic bases although seldom used except for home runs.
A team consisted of three or four players: outfielder or two, pitcher & catcher.
There were no throws to first base on ground balls. We played “Pitcher’s Hand”
which means the runner is out if the batted ground ball is in the pitcher’s hand
before the runner gets to first base. Any live ball situation at the other three
bases required a typical tag “you’re out.”

The pitching was classic curve balls or fastballs as fast as could be thrown.
The bats were thin and made of hard plastic. The balls were made of hard white
plastic, smaller than softball size and had holes. Without holes the balls will not
wiffle.

We identified some scientific research that suggested that Wiffle Balls were best
stored in the freezer. This apparently, or should I say obviously, enhances their
longevity. We were blessed that Marty’s mom, Greta, accommodated our request
in the Miggenburg family freezer.

There were other stadia that sprung up on the Eastside, some with lights, that
were utilized for road trips: The Torzewski’s and Bob Johnson’s. All excellent
venues and well coiffed. Rest in Peace my dear friend…

Presented with pride and fond memories by Rick McKee. Love you Marty !!!