It was a Friday afternoon. A small piece of family business needed some attention in KC. Taking Highway 20 east to I-29 south and setting the cruise control, I'll be there in five hours.
The meeting was scheduled to begin at 9 a.m. on Saturday morning and lasting until 12 p.m. If everything went as planned, I’d make the return trip immediately thereafter and be back in time for supper that evening.
Several offers for lodging were given, but an agenda had been set and I needed a clear head. Accepting one of the regular spots would undoubtedly include a little libation and long conversation into the wee hours. I choose to stay at a hotel near the airport.
I checked into my room with only a small bag holding a few personal items and a rectangular cardboard file folder box. A local food delivery service was called and my meal would arrive in approximately an hour. It was time to begin the chore I’d delayed doing at home all week.
A stack of papers were spread along the edge of the bed, more were laid across the coffee table, even more within easy reach on the sofa. Organization was the key. There were many questions to ask and many more to possibly answer. I reread and rewrote the notes I had scribbled from previous phone calls, alphabetized documents for quicker access and reference, and highlighted essential points of discussion. I wanted to be razor sharp.
Several hours passed and the completion of the task at hand was finished.
I condensed the needed documents into a brief case and gathered up the unnecessary piles, returning them to the cardboard box. The two empty Styrofoam containers and plastic utensils from dinner made their way into the trash and I could retire for the night, pleased with my studiousness and for not caving into the available social opportunities.
With a precautionary dial to the front desk for a “wake up” call, I reclined on the king size and starting surfing channels. Scrolling up and down for something partially interesting but not overly so, I came across the Missouri affiliate of the PBS station; this should do the trick.
It quickly dawned on me that three of the six guests were old acquaintances from back in the day. Forty years give or take since we were fairly familiar with each other; it was nice to see their faces.
The lone female among the group was a journalist, rising from the ranks at the Kansas City Star newspaper and now a free-lance writer. She graduated college with a former roommate of mine in Los Angeles and would come visit from time to time. Always pristine in grammar and gown, she enjoyed letting loose at the Whiskey A Go Go on the Sunset Strip.
The panelist to her left was a guy we called Jesse, although his actual name escapes me. We called him that because he came from Kearney in Clay County, home of bank robber Jesse James, and a little rough around the edges. He was a regular at our poker game and never carried cash, always wanted to write checks; kind of an odd fellow, but funny nonetheless. His checks always cleared.
To her right was Peabody. He had the look of a Harvard professor specializing in ancient languages and dialects; his actions however were quite different.
In short, he was a wild man on steroids. He loved field parties and bonfires; intentionally falling asleep under a tree so as not to get run over.
And there they were in a roundtable format discussing fiscal matters pertinent to the city; subjects like tax levees and bond initiatives and other legislative types of things. It was informative and entertaining at the same time.
Before dozing off, I remember thinking how funny life can be and the different roads we all travel. I was also a little satisfied that I hadn't entirely grown up yet like the others. Never mind the briefcase sitting on the desk, it’s just for show.
