JJ’s Miles 5915-5955 July 19

JJ’s Miles 5915-5955 July 19

Alex Moore takes a seat opposite me. I’ve just polished off their tenderloin sandwich and downed two glasses of iced tea. Alex moved to Plattsburg eight years ago. He and his wife, Julie, and her sister, Jennifer Turley, opened JJ’s Restaurant two years ago. I have brought a canister bank with me. It sits on the table between us. “We will be happy to put it on our counter.” Alex says. Then he is called away. He soon returns. "Ed, meet Jennifer, my wife’s sister.”

Jennifer says, “My sister showed me the card you left when you were here before. We plan to have a charity event this fall. We would like the money to go to your cause.”

“Wow! You’re wonderful! Thank you.” I get their snail mail and Email address and promise to send them more materials.

Prairie Home Baptist Church sits just off Plattsburg Road to my left when movement to my right catches my eye. A deer being chased by a bulldozer! The deer is running across open pasture toward a stand of trees. The dozer is scraping away grasses and plants to make roadway and places for homes. Where will wildlife make their homes when homes for people have spread across the land? Toward what end are we moving? Is this what we really want? What grand design prompts it all? If we ask these questions and nobody cares, have they really been asked at all?

Princess Laura and Papa July 20

She’s seven years old. I’m 67. She was born in China. I was born in Texas. Her government’s population policy made her an orphan. My daughter and son-in-law went to China when she was four months old and brought her home. They named her Laura. I call her Princess.

The three of them lived together in Macon, Georgia for five years while Laura’s mother, my daughter, Debbie, taught at Mercer University. Then two years ago Debbie joined the faculty at William Jewell College, and they all moved to Liberty, less than three miles from my house. The house where Bobbie and I have lived for 37 years. The only house we’ve ever owned. The house where Debbie and Dave and Brian, her brothers, grew up.

At Christmas time when Laura was three, she and I were building with Legos on the living room floor. The family sat watching. Laura looked up at me. “I love you, Papa. You’re so precious.” Everybody heard her say it. I remind them often.

Today Laura has come over after church to help me with a project. The MS Society found 37 canister banks in a storeroom. RC Printing here in Liberty made some peel and stick labels in the same bright yellow as the HateBusters T-shirt I always wear when I ride. The labels explain my Greater Liberty Bike Ride. I picked up the labels two days ago and tried my hand at putting them on. The first one went well. I ruined the next two.

Last week Laura showed our senior neighbor how to work her VCR. Even wrote down the instructions for her. She’s always drawing pictures and doing crafts. She could do these labels. She would want to help Papa.

I was right. Laura has them covered in no time. She works fast. And well. I praise her profusely. “What are these for, Papa?” Laura asks. “I’m gonna take them to places I ride so people can give money to help me help people.” I say. “Can I go with you?” She asks. I never say no to Laura. And who could tell me no if Laura is with me?

“What can we do when we finish?” Laura asks. “What would you like to do?” “Play with you.” Hours later we have played hide and seek in the basement. We’re building a fort under the table when her dad tells Laura they need to go home for supper. "I don't want to go,” says Laura. “Papa has other things to do,” her dad says. “No, he doesn’t!” Laura says.

When Debbie, Dave and Brian were home, they thought the same thing. I worked hard to make it so. Laura is starting the cycle anew.

The Chocolate Enchilada Miles 6100-6200 July 25

Julie Moore bubbles with enthusiasm, ideas and personality. She and Alex and Jennifer and all their staff at JJ’s regularly plan benefits for worthy causes at their restaurant. They’re erupting with intriguing and novel ideas to help raise money for my bike ride.

Alex is home this morning with his and Julie’s seven-month old son. It’s early and I’m having biscuits and gravy as Julie and I make plans. I’ve brought her a copy of my weekly Greater Liberty column from the Sun. The story is about my first visit to JJ’s that came just two weeks ago. “I’m gonna ride on to Stewartsville. Then come back for a chocolate enchilada.”

The place is packed when I return at exactly 12 o’clock. The chocolate enchilada is all I hoped it would be. A tortilla folded over milk chocolate and deep-fried. Piled high with vanilla ice cream drizzled with chocolate syrup and sprinkled with powdered sugar. Topped with whipped cream and a right red cherry. Sixty miles on a bike is perfect prelude to welcome indulgence.

Since breakfast, Julie has put my story and Jack’s editorial up on the bulletin board just inside the front door. Jack “Miles” Ventimiglia is Editor of the Liberty Sun. He has written in this week’s paper an endorsement of my ride and my life so glowing that even my mother would be embarrassed. The canister bank I brought earlier this week sits on the counter where customers come to pay their bill.

“Do you sell those shirts?” Julie asks, pointing to my bright yellow HateBusters shirt. “I don’t sell them. I give them away for a donation to HateBusters. That’s one way we support our work. We also have a book, How To Like People Who Are not Like You. We give that away for a donation. I’ll come in the car and bring you some to have here at the restaurant.”

Brother John Miles 6200-6220 July 26

Brother John asked me to come today. John Anderson is his name. He’s a professional storyteller. And our song leader at all Human Family Reunions. This is to be the First Annual Bike-Feed, designed to call attention and raise money for the food pantry that Mom runs for her church. I call her Mom. Most people call her Queen Mother. Hardly anyone calls her Maxine McFarlane. She’s a force. In her family. Her church. In the community.

We meet in front of the Bernard Powell statue that stands at the corner of 28^th and Brooklyn, at the entrance to Spring Valley Park. Bernard was a community activist in the 1960s. With his charismatic personality and his trademark slogan—Ghetto to Goldmine—Bernard was making a difference. When he was shot and killed, his life became a catalyst for Mom’s Social Action Committee. Her work through SAC produced the statue of Bernard Powell and brought together a wide cross section of Kansas City leaders to address inner city problems.

We are here today for a 10-mile bike ride through the heart of Kansas City. On this Saturday morning traffic is light. We ride for a few miles in the shadow of the recently completed Bruce R. Watkins Expressway. Bruce Watkins was a popular and effective political leader in the 1960s and 70s. He almost became Kansas City’s first black mayor. Bruce died about a year after he lost the election. Cancer, they said. A broken heart, I think. The road that bears his name was more than 20 years in the making. It’s beautiful and efficient. The scars it left will be visible for a long time.

The view of the Kansas City skyline as we come upon it from Hospital Hill on this bight morning is awesome. Then onto 18^th Street past the Jazz Museum and the Negro Baseball Museum and to Mom’s Church, Barker Temple, at 17^th and Highland. The church moved to Raytown two years ago when high rise apartments were built next door.

Then we are back at the Bernard Powell statue. A crowd has gathered. Prayers and preaching and singing and a few words from those who rode bring to a close an inspiring morning together. The spiritual presence of Dr. King is felt among us and given voice by several who address us. We go to our scattered homes in Greater Kansas City thankful for our time together, promising to come again next year for the Second Annual Bike-Feed. And in the intervening year to live higher and more nobly.

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