Author: Jeff Maddox

Life is truly worth living and this is how I choose to live mine.
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Days of Demolition

Sunday, while out and about I drove by the house where I grew up. It must have something to do with mirrors and shadows, the house, while growing up was big, but today seems small in comparison. The pasture next to it that separated Green Acres from our house also seemed small. This is where we rode our motorcycles before venturing down the side streets to get out to the Katy trails. Lawless, I tell you! The yard appears to be smaller or was I just complaining about the size of it as we used push mowers to cut the grass? Regardless, as I passed by I realized that for about twelve years of my life, things were pretty simple.

Sure, school took up most of my time, but there were always the summers. We had a barn in the back yard that we hung out in and plenty of stuff to climb around on. Bicycles to get up-town to the Vicker’s station or the pool hall and then there were all the yards I mowed for money. My dad painted houses with Sammy and sometimes I would help. So as kids, we were constantly in motion.

One summer, Lacey Mahon asked me to tear down a two-story garage/shed that he had in his back yard. Lacey Mahon owned The White City Register which was the local newspaper. The paper office was only about three blocks from his house and he was a hard-working man who was dedicated to providing our community with a valuable piece of information and historical journal every Thursday in the form of a newspaper. I already mowed his grass and apparently the look or eagerness on my face told him I would do it. It was a big  job as he expected any good lumber to be saved, cleaned of nails, stacked and covered and the rest of it to be hauled away to the dump. I was about fourteen years old and looking back it was probably a little bigger project than this guy should have taken on. Remember the look of eagerness?

And so the roof starts to come off. Wooden shingles and nails falling to the ground. My brother Danny is helping and my dad provided the tools and the ’67 Chevy truck. We were making it happen! I was actually surprised how quick it was coming along. My brother and I found out that if you stayed on the roof with the truck below, we could toss the scraps into the bed saving all kinds of time. Only later did we find out (from our dad) that all the lumber that missed the bed of the truck… those boards that just fell short, might have left dents in the side off the truck. Might? They did. Oops.

Through the hot summer days we worked. We knocked down boards and pulled thousands of nails, some of which we straightened and saved, and it all took time, but we got it done. Many loads to the dump, lumber sorted and stacked and in between days of demolition I was mowing yards around town. I had been keeping track of my hours and figuring in my brother Danny’s help, for that day to finally collect. As a young man walking down the street with my hours figured on a piece of scratch paper, I was nervous that the total was going to be too much. After all, we tore down a two-story garage! When I asked my dad what he thought about how much it totaled he said, “is that how many hours you worked?” I guess that meant that it wasn’t too much.

I remember the day I walked down to the newspaper office to collect. We had just finished up and I knew Lacey was there. Of course he was there as he was always there. I walked in, stood at the desk where Lacey was sitting and told him I was finished. He pulled out his check book with his ink-stained fingers and asked how much. I explained how much work it ended up being and that it took a little longer than I thought. He said he appreciated the cleaning and stacking the lumber and that the rest was hauled off and to tell him how much. “$167 dollars” I said. He wrote me a check and I walked out a much better man than when I walked in. I cut Lacey’s grass for several years and always thought a lot of him for letting me do this. And I was always proud of myself for taking on a project of that size at that age. But I still feel bad about the dents in the side of the truck. Sorry dad!

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Thanks To My Mother

I have to give thanks for the lessons my mother taught me. As the youngest child, most would think I got everything I ever wanted and could get away with anything I ever did. Ok, so maybe that’s true. But it doesn’t take away from things I learned from my mother along the way.

She’s a pretty special gal, my mom. Looking at some old pictures of mom and dad you have to appreciate the difference in what a photograph meant to them compared to what they mean to us today. Sunday best, or jeans and t-shirts. There was usually a car in the background, standing on the steps of the house or they were at an event or going somewhere. Today, we take pictures of everything but it usually isn’t choreographed. In most of these pictures my mom stands the same way. One foot slightly in front of the other, turned a little to the side and hands together. Very feminine and elegant, she always takes a very good picture.

But there was so much to the making of Jeff Maddox than meets the eye. From an early age I picked up on little things that made me who I am today. For instance, a man always carries the heavy packages. A very simple rule I know, but valuable to say the least. It IS my responsibility after all and I do it willingly. Also, a man should always hold the door for a woman. Of course! We should hold the door for anyone, agreed? But always for a lady. Another is walking on the “street side” of a woman. As you are walking down the sidewalk, it should always be the man walking next to the curb. I’m good with that. Alright, so far I’m walking along the curb carrying the heavy packages, hands full and getting ready to hold the door…

Next, it is the man’s responsibility to pay for the meal. This too is something I agree with. And while you’re there, the woman orders first. Always. So, where are we now? Walking, carrying the heavy packages, holding the door to the restaurant and then paying for the meal. I like it so far!

But there is so much more to it than that. Watching my mother and father dancing down the aisle at Gibson’s to the elevator music playing in the store is priceless. In her eighties, she still has a sense of humor and makes me laugh. And she knows that it’s good to laugh at yourself. I’m lucky as both my mother and father have a great sense of humor.

Through the years, these little things have stayed with me. I still believe in the lessons learned, but find them harder and harder to do. Mostly, because people just aren’t used to the way it used to be. People don’t make eye contact any more and if you hold the door they seemed surprised. Things have changed, people have changed and they look at me funny when I talk about this. But it’s who I am and I’ll never change. I have my mother to thank for that, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I hope my boys heard me when I spoke of these things. It is important to me that they uphold the gentlemen’s way. After all, it’s a dying art and as a man, we have our responsibilities. I love you mom!

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Hard RD.

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Every morning  on my way to wherever I go I pass HARD RD. It’s a southern Geary County road that runs North and South, into Morris County. A quiet country road that looks interesting enough, but the name changes the perception just slightly. From the Seat of my Road King  it’s a beautiful area and would be even more so if it was called “UNICORN RD” or something along those lines. But HARD RD it is. We have all passed this road at one time or another and sometimes we’re even on it. I know from time to time we’ve all experienced our own hard road. A time in your life when you think to yourself  “this road will never end”. But we hit the next intersection in life, gas it, and we find our way on to a better road. I haven’t found EASY ST. yet, but someday!  There really isn’t any guarantee that we won’t be back here making the same tracks we’ve made before, but we have to remember that it’s up to us to turn the corner to get off the hard road when we find ourselves on it.

I’m pretty optimistic about life in general, but it’s things like this that make me think. So many times we take the path of least resistance and that works for a lot of people. It’s easy and convenient and requires so little effort. It gets us to where we are going and in most cases it’s where we want to be. It’s usually when we find ourselves on the hard road, we automatically think it’s a bad thing. We all know that it’s the difficult things in life that make us stronger and maybe we should approach those particular roads with this in mind. Even as we travel down this rough road, there will be those who are also rolling down the same direction looking for the exit. Stop and give them a hand. Just because you find yourself on it, doesn’t mean you can’t stop and help someone else who also finds themselves there. It’s the hard roads and “uphill both ways” that makes the rest of life enjoyable and rewarding.

Asking directions, whether driving or life, may get you to HARD RD, and even without help we can end up here anyway. That’s when we need to think about who is giving us directions and how reliable they are. Listen to your heart, trust God and your instincts and obey all laws. But remember, this road will end and then it’s back on the pavement until the next bumpy road comes along. If you are like me, you’ll enjoy the scenery on any road, watching the world go by. Watch the signs and you’ll be fine! Just try to avoid DEAD END.

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Seat of Your Pants

Over time I’ve come to notice that all of my bikes have improved through the years. Suspension, handling, fuel injection and looks to name a few. Style and appeal are a matter of taste, and if I do say so myself, mine is about average. I have taken it for granted that the next bike will be better than the last in terms of reliability and ride ability, so it’s always been onward and upward when a trade happens. And as the bikes get better, the ride and experience should get better as well. And it does. But the fun we have as we ride really hasn’t changed that much over the years. The wind in your face and the sounds made as you crack open the throttle give you the seat-of-the-pants thrill we all seek.
 
What is it about the motorcycle that the automobile lacks? A true performance car can give you the kick-in-the-ass feeling of power and acceleration, but what about everything else? As cars have evolved, they have gotten quieter and more high-tech. They almost drive themselves. Designers have taken the car and turned it into an office or living room depending whether you are sitting in the front or the back. But a motorcycle gives you the elements. Weather, road conditions and even the sense of danger. Motorcycle manufacturers have also taken some models and pushed them to the limits of technology, performance and comfort without sacrificing the wind in your face feeling. Fast or slow, in a group or by yourself, that motorcycle feeling is always there.
 
 I guess you could argue that whether you are behind the wheel of your latest vehicle or hanging on to the handlebars of your new bike that there isn’t much difference from the previous one. And I would agree. Usually the new one has a little more power, the handling is a little better, and you look cooler on it. But it’s the “fun factor” that I’m struggling with. Old bike or new, the fun is about the same to me. I would almost go as far as saying that back in the day of  low-power, worn out tires and soft suspension, the fun level was a little higher. You had to compensate for what the bike didn’t have in those categories, and in the mean time you could see the smiles from miles away. The seat-of-the-pants meter was pegged out!
 
The roads are all the same and the dirt hasn’t changed. The trails are a little steeper to ride and the ground is a little harder. But when it comes to my pants…the seat that is…the fun is always the same!
 
 
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“License and registration, please”

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So a few days ago I see a fellow biker’s helmet resting on his seat as I park next to him. I climbed off mine and glanced over again at his helmet only to see the sticker on the side that read “Ride it like you stole it!” Now, I don’t know if this individual was just making a proclamation about the enthusiastic way he rides, or if he was advertising how he acquired his motorcycle. Either way it made me think about the way we promote ourselves and the sport we love so dearly.

Now I can be as rambunctious as the next person, and I have been known to ride hard and fast, but the reality is when I make a major two-wheeled purchase, to a certain extent I need to take care of  it. My motorcycles come with a title and sometimes a payment. I keep the proper insurance and registration within easy reach in case I need it. So when it comes to the “stole it” part, I just don’t fit in. Also with the high cost of getting bikes fixed due to the lack of maturity or some other reckless act, breaking it is not an option.  And just my luck, if I “ride it like I stole it”, it would end with me “getting a ticket”.

As I ride off I had to ask myself…what if you “rode it like you financed it”?

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Sea Shells and Flying Squirrels

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I’m sure, much like a sea shell from the water’s edge, while held to your ear, you can hear the ocean. Likewise, if you picked up my helmet and held it to your ear you would hear the sound of me screaming like a little girl. Why, you ask? When riding along, we bikers encounter things that might evoke a scream or reflexive body jerk to avoid what may or may not be there. A bird flying up from the road as it hears you coming can cause you to duck even though it wasn’t going to hit you anyway. A dog or other predatory animal running out on the road can also cause an uncontrollable sound to come from my mouth-as I react in an un-cool manner. Even the bug that is coming straight at my head, only to miss me after dodging it with cat-like reflexes can cause a reaction that can be embarrassing to me and others if I know there might be a witness. And those witnesses are usually the ones riding behind you. A bug? It can’t hurt you, right? Of course not…

The ride to work this morning is why I bring this up. It was a beautiful fall ride in, although a cool and windy one. The trees are changing their colors and I know that I’m in the midst of a change in seasons. Stunning. When out of nowhere, a bird, bat or flying squirrel, comes from above, flying directly at me with very high velocity! I was traveling slightly above the posted speed limit due to two cups of coffee, and I realized an impact was going to happen. Everything went to slow motion as I weighed all my options in a nano-second. Swerve or duck? Accelerate or hit the brakes? Take the full hit? So many options in such a short time. Decisions, decisions.

So here is what went really went down. I’m riding along, and out of the corner of my eye I see a flying animal of some sort coming at me with a death wish. Start slow motion cameras and scary music. In a split second, I duck, scream in my helmet, close my eyes while bracing for the impact, and realize that a leaf doesn’t hurt as bad as you think…

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Rubber Bones

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When did I grow up? To be honest, I really don’t think I have. Certain things have changed as I grow older, like not coming home with holes in the knees of my jeans. Remember when your mom would sew patches in the holes in your clothes? I do. Do you remember when they came out with “iron-on” patches and they didn’t seem to work as well? I do. Now we pay money for clothes with holes and tears in them and my mother just shakes her head. If by chance we do put those holes or tears in them we throw them away. Do you ever wonder where retailers get those clothes that are pre-abused? Is there a department somewhere with people of all sizes (s-xxl) that are just out playing for days on end like we did as kids to get the right look in the jeans we want? I want that job!

 Even grand-daddy long-leg spiders were huge back then! Now they seem more like distant-uncle long-legs.

I do remember a lot from growing up that doesn’t have much to do with the actual event, but are still good memories. Like the wooden screen door that made the “bang….bang, bang!” sound as you ran through it. Shortly followed by the sound of “don’t run in the house!”. And of course we were on our way outside to search and explore everywhere. To find a weird bug, toad or an ant hill to watch until we got bored with it. Or after a rain, to stand in the water running through the ditch, all the while throwing sticks and leaves or the occasional weird bug in the water to watch them go to wherever they would go. Nowadays, we watch The Discovery Channel to see the exact same thing. Even grand-daddy long-leg spiders were huge back then! Now they seem more like distant-uncle long-legs. Just not the same, right? As kids we could smell mud from a hundred yards away and as if in a trance, we would run to it like we were lost in the desert and just found water. If every crime scene included mud, a kid could solve the mystery. If nothing else, we could bring the crime scene home on our clothes. One thing is for sure, we didn’t leave one stone un-turned. In fact, we didn’t leave one stone where it was. We threw them as far and as hard as we could. All day.

Once in a while we would dig a hole just to dig. It would start out looking for worms and turn into some archeological find. A broken piece of glass or piece of metal that held all the answers to questions our young minds didn’t even know to ask. But it was history we held in our hands. Now we watch The History Channel…

When did we stop climbing trees? It was easy and fun and while you were up there you could see forever. Or as far as the leaves would let you. We would spend hours up in a tree just looking around and waiting for someone to come along looking for us. When we needed to get down you just swung on a branch and then jumped. I guess back then kids had rubber bones, because today would yield different results. And yelling! When did we stop yelling at the top of our lungs for no reason? We communicated with Todd or Alex and Evan who lived in Green Acres by yelling back and forth. Sadly, today you would be told to shut up.

Whatever happened to just coming home sweaty, tired and dirty all in the name of having fun? I can still see the cloud of dust when I took off my socks. Scrapes covered with a days worth of dirt and sweat would heal I know, but back then it took longer because we wouldn’t leave the scab alone. Blisters from riding a bike with no hand-grips or from swinging from the monkey bars at the grade school hurt for sure, but it didn’t slow us down. We were balls-to-the-wall, who could ride or run the fastest, drink from the hose kids. Now, as an adult I still do some of the things I did back then, like drinking from the hose and yelling. And I still find weird bugs pretty entertaining. Running fast? Oh, I could if I had to. Climbing trees? That would cause the neighbors to call the cops. But it hasn’t stopped me from wanting to, and deep down I think it’s something we all want to do. Just make sure you have a spotter when you jump out of the tree!

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White City, Ks. 66872

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Driving down the old brick main street of White City, it dawned on me how much everything has changed. As a kid growing up here there was so much going on in a town where not much goes on. The pace is slow and the town is small, but when you’re a kid in the 60’s and ’70’s all you had to do was ride your bike down the sidewalks past Anderson Lumber and Hardware where my mother worked part-time. You could walk in and buy a Daisy BB gun right off the wall behind the counter. I wish I would have paid a little more attention to my mother while she was working. Funny and graceful I’m sure, but I would like to go back in time and see her in action. She is still very funny, but age and health has taken the grace from her step.

On the same side of the street was the White City Register. The local and surrounding newspaper, where Lacey Mahon did it the old school way. I can’t imagine what it took to do a weekly paper but he and his son John did a great job. My sister Jan worked there part-time and I’m sure at a time in her life that carries a lot of memories, she will smile when reminded of this.  Next door to the newspaper office was the KP&L office and the Phelps Agency. Clarence Phelps sold insurance and it wasn’t a building I needed to walk into much as a young boy but I did on occasion. But mostly I remember the air conditioner that was above the door that dripped down outside on the sidewalk. Being a kid on a bicycle you tend to notice that kind of thing.

On the corner was Herb Funk’s Vicker’s Station. Herb had the air lines out across the driveway and we couldn’t resist every once in a while to ride across and make the bell ring. An old Pepsi chest vending machine and two old chairs inside for the regulars to sit on, the place was small enough that you had to step outside to change your mind.

On the next block was the laundry mat where many a day was wasted sitting outside on the steps. Not much to report here mostly because there never was much going on. It was a laundry mat for crying out loud! Next door was a church and Kohler T.V. and Appliance. John was a very public guy and was the Mayor for many years. I can remember riding by and looking in the windows at all the inventory. If memory serves me correctly, my folks bought our first color T.V. there. The RCA that changed the way we watched Gilligan’s Island and Big Valley. Amazing.

A little further down was a phone booth where a call could be made for ten cents. Or you could dial home and hang up when you needed a ride, without putting a dime in. You could hear the person who answered but they couldn’t hear you, so you would often hear from the other end of the line when calling from there or from the payphone at the high school “is this Jeff?” “If you need a ride home, hang up”. What a world we lived in back then…

The Jones’ had a clothing shop and there was a barber shop next door to it. Erichson had the pool hall and Perry Moore had one of the two grocery stores. I spent a lot of time in both the pool hall and the grocery store. Pool tables and pinball machines along with some locals playing dominos was a way to spend a few hours on a summer day between mowing yards. And Moore’s Market was a place to pick up a few things for my mother and have Perry “put it on the ticket”. Great to be a kid in a small town.

On the other side of the street was the Standard Gas Station and Spohn’s Repair Shop. Ash’s Repair shop was just a door or two down from Spohn’s and Buck’s Service station. Again not someplace a kid needed to go but it always seemed there was a lot going on there. The Post Office and Ken and Barb’s Cafe was next door to them. Ken and Barb’s was a neat place to go and how I wish we still had a Cafe or Diner like that. Ken and Barb did a great job. Vernon Rose had the other grocery store and it too was a cool place to walk into as a kid. Vernon’s Market was in the biggest building in White City and to this day is still a pretty neat old building. Like all of the business owners in town, Vernon was a good guy.

The White City Bank where Boone Scott took care of all my mowing money is on the corner across from Vernon’s Market. Can you remember a time when a bank didn’t have an ATM or drive-up window? I do. There was a Masonic Lodge, a bar called “Walt’s” and a farm implement dealer that was owned by Russell Brown. Did you blink? All of these and a few more business’s were located within the two blocks of main street. Since those days there have been many more people involved in the local business’s like Christlieb’s, Parker’s, Guimond’s, Fielder’s, Wood’s and Debbie Blythe. Bill Hickman and both Keith and Joann Kahnt, Rusty Rice and Ingmire’s to name a few. Lee’s Plumbing and Jamie Schmidt with Town and Country Beauty Shop and Alan Scott with The Katy Grill. I know I haven’t named them all and believe me there are more. Bill Calvin was a local welder, Bill Hare worked on small engines behind Vernon’s Grocery, the Mor-Kan Elevator, Barber and Son Construction, Junior Hultgren moving houses, Robert’s also owned a gas station, Keith Barber had the pool hall, Wayne Hultgren still has a repair shop and Frankie Nelson runs the library. Leo Hultgren sold Ohlde seed and Dale Scott with his NC+.

Life in the fast lane I know, but you had to be there to understand the impact all of these business’s and great people had on the community. They managed to provide and thrive in a small town and keep it all wrapped up in a town of about five hundred. You didn’t need to leave town for anything and I would give anything to have that back. But the amazing part of this is we still have the “small town” thing going on. That’s why in my mind, I can still drive down Main Street and see the drip from the air conditioner at Phelps Agency.

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The Dip in the Road

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Ah, the small town life. Not too exciting but every once in a while, there will be something that happens and we all take note. Back when the Council Grove Drive-in was open it was not uncommon to go to the movies with six or more of your friends. It was cheaper that way as you could pay by the car load instead of by the head. Now I don’t know about you but it only made sense to do it that way. It was like the box store philosophy of the more you buy the more you save! But sometimes you just wanted to go with your date and it was worth a little more for that. In what day and age would it be acceptable to have bodies in the trunk of your car except to go to the drive-in? Today, you would go to jail…

 In what day and age would it be acceptable to have bodies in the trunk of your car except to go to the drive-in? Today, you would go to jail…

For those of you that grew up in similar communities, you also had those places you hung out at. In White City, we had the “Y”, which was just a mile North of town where there was a fork in the road at the rail road crossing. We would hang out here when you just needed to get away from all those “city lights”. All ten of them.  There was the church parking lot, right on Main Street, where you could sit and watch everyone cruising the four blocks of Main to the point of nauseum. We also had the “dip road” South of town about a mile which as you can imagine was a road with a dip in it. It was a dirt road, and a great place to go out and drink beer with you friends and not have to worry about much. The mixing strip, the Parkerville bridge, Effland’s hill, Blythe’s hill and the cemetery were some of the places you could just name and everyone knew where you were talking about. Burton’s grove, the “crooked bridge” and Maloney’s pond were a few more that should be mentioned for the record, and all were just a few minutes from the city limits.

Things were different back then as we didn’t have cell phones or cable TV. But some had CB radio’s and of course a  few calls to “Red Dog”  which would quickly be answered, and the evening would be off to a great start. We miss you Earl! It was a simple time with 8-tracks and vinyl seats, windows down and waving at the car coming down the road from the opposite direction. Making u-turns at the locker plant and then again at the old depot. Then a run out to the mixing strip, turn around and back to town. Repeat. That was a Saturday night in White City. Stop at the pool hall for something to drink and to show someone who didn’t know any better, how air was blowing up from the bar stool stands. Yep! Lift the stool off its stand, have them place their hand over the hole to feel the air, then slap the back of their hand down into the grease and leave a circle of grease in their palm. Good Times. Even a local guy like me has had the old grease trick done a time or two. You never knew, maybe the second time there WOULD be air coming out of it.  But we didn’t care, it was just a good time to be hanging out with friends in a small town.

I wouldn’t change a day of it. It is who I am and probably always will be. Kid’s don’t cruise much anymore and the pool hall and locker plant are closed. Those of us that remember, still refer to the landmarks by their old names. Mainly because Effland’s and the Blythe’s still live out there and the Parkerville bridge is still, well…how you get to Parkerville. So next time you pass through any old town that looks like it has seen it’s better days just remember, somethings you can’t see.

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It’s Never Too Late

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Yesterday a friend of mine mentioned of having thoughts of mortality because of the loss of a close friend. Along with other things going on in and around her life with family, my only comment was “this is what makes us realize how precious life really is”. I too, have had these thoughts the last couple of years with the loss of a couple of friends. Both losses didn’t make much sense and to this day still don’t. But every day I get up, do my best, be myself and carry on with the day-to-day stuff. While most of the “stuff” I refer to is pretty meaningless in the big picture, it needs to be done. But more importantly, it needs to be done. It is the “stuff” we do that gets us through every day, whether it’s dealing with mortality, or stress or whatever. So we do it. Sometimes begrudgingly, but we do it all the same.

My approach to the last couple of years of dealing with these thoughts have been simply to tell those around me how important they are in my life. It’s not something we usually do, I know, but think about it. A few simple words of encouragement, a random message that you are thinking of them, or better yet a “thank you” for being a person in your life can give both parties a clear understanding of where we are in this world. I may not see you or talk to you again before something sudden happens. But if something does, if nothing else, I know we both know. Realize, that if you volunteer to someone what you think about them, and you don’t get the same response, it’s ok. Just know that when they walk away they will be thinking about what you said.

There are a lot of inspirational quotes to fall back on that can bring reassurance and peace to our lives, but the impact of a few original words from your mouth can change people. And the feeling it gives you is the same peace in our lives that we need. Outcomes in life can’t always be changed. And we can go through life thinking people know how we feel about them. Maybe they do know, but what better way to make sure than to tell them yourself?

Live your life and enjoy even the bad days. It’s ok to feel the way you do and to open up your heart even if it hurts. Easier said than done, without a doubt, but today is the day someone may need to hear how important they are to you.  So tell them.