Amor omnia vincit
I was searching for items to add to my series of reminisces about the Old Man when I had a flashback to the sixties and WDAF radio in Kansas City. They had a DJ called Skinny Bobby Harper who, as the Aussies say, was as mad as a cut snake. (Mad here means crazy in Aussie-speak)
https://www.legacy.com/us/obituaries/atlanta/name/-skinny-bobby-harper-obituary?pid=1183696
He was famous for doing crazy things on the radio. I can vividly remember one day when he got Buckingham Palace on the phone and demanded to speak to the Queen as it was her birthday. He failed, but his witty attempts to get the English operator to put him through had the entire community of Kansas City in stitches.
Sometime in the mid to late 60’s he organised a 50 mile walk in aid of some charity. The plan was to walk from Higginsville, Mo. to the Radio station in KC., a distance of about 50 miles if you follow the old Route 40 which was the main drag before the Interstate highway system was built and Interstate 70 became the most travelled and direct route between the two.
For some unknown reason me and some buddies (including Larry Stoner at least) decided we would do this walk. We were young, fit and remarkably stupid. So, we thought this would be a doddle.
Skinny Bobby had arranged this fiasco so that the walk started at about 23:00, his thinking was, I believe, that the walkers would get to KC proper in the morning when he was on the radio. Good plan.
50 miles in 9 hours would be about achievable at about 5 m.p.h. - a good brisk walking pace; so, we were supremely confident that we could do it and achieve some, yeah even small, notoriety at least. Maybe get interviewed on the radio or make the Independence Examiner as a human interest story.
Firstly, we had to get to Higginsville for the start of the walk. There would be no point in driving there and leaving a car by the side of the road cause we’d just have to go back and collect it later (if it managed to survive without vandals having their evil way with it) Somehow, I managed to persuade my OM to drive us to the start and leave us there.
It was an easy drive; this I know as we had driven there many times in our illustrious Go-kart racing days. There was a good dirt track in Higginsville where I won many races. From Independence it is about 38 miles. Takes about 40 minutes the way the OM drove.
Off we went and were duly deposited at the intersection of US 40 and Missouri 13 full of youthful anticipation and verve. The OM returned home; I think he had to work the next day, but it may have been a Saturday and so he had the next day off. He’s not here to ask and I doubt anyone else will remember?
At the appointed hour we set off. Such was the organisation of this epic road trip we kinda assumed there would be “marshals” there to see us off and log our progress. We were fools. There were only a couple of people around and so without further adieu we just set off.
A word about the weather; I think it was late spring; but again I may be way out. My best recollection is that it was cool, especially at 11’oclock at night but it wasn’t cold. It was dark. We didn’t walk on the road. In those halcyon days of almost no traffic, there were large trucks that whizzed by every so often and a few cars. We walked on the left side of the road and 10 to 15 feet off it. (We were not entirely stupid; as we realised walking facing the on-coming traffic was preferable to having a 50 ton semi truck smack into the back of you - like all young folks we were invincible of course - or so we thought.)
After about an hour’s walking we had slowed considerably. We became aware that it was getting cold and we were thirsty. On reflection I would like to think that we came prepared with such things as food and water, but in truth I can’t remember. I suspect not.
We were smart enough to realise that we were falling seriously behind schedule. We plodded on. Cresting a hill (US 40 was unlike an Interstate as it was quite full of small rises) we saw the dim lights of Odessa Missouri in the distance.
Despondency at our foolishness had set in big time. The realisation that we had bit off much more than an Apatosaurus could chew dawned - even though the real dawn seemed a life-time away. Our pace slowed as our hearts sank with the realisation that we were not going to walk to KC and receive the cheers and glory. We might, just might, make Odessa Missouri with sore feet and in a sour mood with the bitter taste of defeat in our mouths instead of food or a drink. At that time of night, it was well past midnight by then; Odessa, still a few miles distant; was dead, no lights anywhere and not a sign of life. No welcoming crowds, no cheering compadres, no sign of liquid or solid sustenance: in short, no nothing. (Even that double negative fails to convey our mood which was lower than that of the 7th Cavalry at the Little Big Horn) i.e. lower than whale manure!
Nevertheless we trudged on towards a dim light in the distance. It was a gas station. It was closed but with some lights on.
As we reached the forecourt I saw what I thought was the Old Man’s car. I dismissed this as a mirage.
Don’t forget we are talking about a time when mobile phones, indeed almost every modern communication device had yet to be thought of - even less invented. After he had deposited us near Higginsville he just drove off. I got closer. Sitting in the driver’s seat was indeed the OM. He said nothing except “get in”. I firmly expected him to say “You Omadoms have really outdone yourselves this time”, but no, he was silent as he calmly drove us back to Independence.
Loving your parents is considered obligatory, but it is not.
There at that closed gas station in Odessa, Missouri I loved the OM more than I can say.
