Ch. 7 Million Dollar Speedway -" Kern knocks down the curbs"

CHAPTER 7 KERN KNOCKS DOWN THE CURBS Spring 1979 Kol Nidrei: Ve'esarei, Ush'vuei, Vacharamei, Vekonamei, Vekinusei, Vechinuyei.

D'indarna, Ud'ishtabana, Ud'acharimna, Ud'assarna Al nafshatana Miyom Kippurim zeh, ad Yom Kippurim haba aleinu letovah Bechulhon Icharatna vehon, Kulhon yehon sharan Sh'vikin sh'vitin, betelin umevutalin, lo sheririn v'lo kayamin Nidrana lo nidrei, V'essarana lo essarei Ush'vuatana lo shevuot.

George Kern’s ancestors completed their second émigré sojourn by

relocating to the Guinotte manor set near Kansas City’s downtown.

They left the patronage of a Brugge nobleman, Charles Jeffreys, for that provided by the descendants of Liege, the Guinotte’s. The Kerns were engravers and watchmakers, skills honed in Brussels.

Lacking more permanent digs, they homesteaded in informal accommodations, referring to shacks. But rapid growth in timecritical jobs expanded both time-keeping and engraving opportunities, tasks originating near 12th and Baltimore. Although aware his older brother would inherit the engraving shop, George stayed, coordinating engraving duties with Postal Telegraph messenger service.

Belgian and even east coast letters inquired whether Kansas City cousins had perhaps been consigned to a revised Jewish desert.

Where was Kansas exactly or had they actually been dispatched to Missouri, both largely unknown places whether in Philadelphia or Baltimore. The Kansas City Kerns' had assisted in the construction of a large Moorish-appearing temple at 34th and Paseo.

The cycling sons of Kansas City, including champions Schultz and Kern were dispatched to Ft. Dix, New Jersey and then ordered to the Army European theater, both serving there honorably. Four years past miserable Ft. Dix train rides, Kansas City’s cycling champions fortunately returned.

George was grateful for wartime prayers originating from 34th and Paseo. But ahead of his return, he was stunned to learn his friend Robert had passed into history. He wept for the war’s fallen but more so for Robert, his friend and advocate.

All vows: Prohibitions, oaths, consecrations, vows that we may vow, swear, consecrate, or prohibit upon ourselves - from this Yom Kippur until the next them henceforth.

They will all be permitted, abandoned, cancelled, null and void, without power and without standing.

Our vows shall not be valid vows; our prohibitions shall not be valid prohibitions; and our oaths shall not be valid oaths.

Upon leaving his McGee apartment, Kern-the-retailer shielded himself from intrusive wartime memories, finding shop time therapeutic. Once inside the store, he reviewed his greatest accomplishment, a panoramic shot featuring two images. Schultz angled his head slightly to the right, his square jaw open and nares flared, eyes defining astonishment. Kern’s gaze was less visible leaving an impression of eyes fixed on his wheel’s leading edge, elbows tucked and arms set low, an illustration of perfect form.

The photo also depicted a short mustachioed man leaping as if he were a human exclamation point. A partition separated a backroom mechanical space from the general sales floor. It supported an ancient sign, one with an outdated message.

THE MILLION DOLLAR SPEEDWAY

THE GREATEST DISPLAY OF SKILL, NERVE AND DARING

The partition also featured a smaller photograph of the short man, its lighting enhanced by reflections from many small glass jars.

K-L-W was actually K-L-Wheel goods, a source of wagons, pedal cars, bicycles and wheelchairs, the latter differentiating it from sports retailers of the era.

Every K-L-W customer received a well-practiced greeting.

Needs were efficiently assessed and customers dispatched, trading repairable bicycles for stiff-carded claim checks. Front-to-back ordering began with kiddie bikes, followed by balloon tire models, both of those preceding a few full-on racing entries, all accessible via a tracked ladder.

George Kern was less than a mile removed from events affecting both his shop and personal life, ones originating in the Muehlebach, a hotel visited by every American president from Theodore Roosevelt through James Earl Carter. A young matron there was

seated there in an unwanted Cadillac, an Everest & Jennings wheelchair. Courtesy of a muscular doorman, her lobby entrance featured an energetic curb bounce.

Mission Hills Margo arrived early, anticipating meeting Hillary for early afternoon Manhattans. The Mission Hills aspect of her nickname arose during the six-weeks Margo rehabilitated from Guillain-Barre-associated paralysis.

As if her Warm Springs companions cared, she favored the Mission Hills moniker, distinguishing her from Dallas Margo. As gal-pal Hillary handed car keys to the valet, Margo wheeled her chair toward the lobby’s entrance and that was when circumstances devolved given that curb trauma had likely loosened an axle retainer.

Margo’s collapsing wheelchair launched her well-coiffed, although weakened physique onto a soft Persian rug. If heart attacks arose from stress, the hotel’s general manager qualified. He was quick on the heels of the maître’, both trailing a doorman.

Ma’am, are you all right? Can we call a doctor?

Margo was fortunately uninjured yet angry. I’ve been paralyzed for five years. It’s a little late for doctors. What I need is a mechanic.

After multiples Manhattans and additional Margo – Hillary fun, the maître’ summoned the house limo to transport boy women home. Considering the Manhattans’ effects, a second driver drove Hillary’s de Ville behind the hotel’s house car.

The Muehlebach, in line with its excellent reputation, organized a wheelchair repair, selecting K-L-W as its vendor. Later that week Kern asked Racer to phone their newest customer to let her know her chair would be ready for a Saturday pick-up.

When her driver paused near the store’s side ramp, Margo found George there extending a welcome. Seated in the K-L-W loaner wheel chair, he rose to assist in Margo in the car seat-to-wheelchair transfer process.

Margo immediately knew the shop-built wheelchair was special, wheels fabricated from Vermont maple, interrupted thirty-six-times by washered spokes set inboard of oyster-hued tires.

While human anatomy permits downward gaze of 40-degrees lacking a chin tuck the upward counterpart of that is short of 12-

degrees. Kern’s breast pocket notebook contained scribbled entries, many of them adapted to wheelchair-fitting exercises.

Limitations or no, Margo craned her neck to absorb the photographic record of Kern and Schultz at speed, additionally noting an ancient-appearing disassembled bicycle frame. Running her down the loaner chair’s maple-rimmed wheels, she recognized them as the frame’s absent companions.

Liveries and stables were early roadhouses, succeeded by car barns and auto repair shops. Eclectic mixes of bicycle and, yes, wheelchair racers, viewed K-L-W as theirs, for rides, runs, and even wheelchair rolls. Newsletters originating with the Boston Athletic Association as well as others from the Amateur Bicycle League of America passed through multiple hands. Racers of multiple designations initiated run-and-ties, contests in which two runners shared a single bicycle for a 25-mile paired run-and-ride. Kansas Citians were amazed at marathon-grade distances in the saddle, much less half that on foot, or as otherwise described, jogging.

Wheelchair racers sought bib numbers, promoters warming only slowly to that idea. It took a champion, nearly a diamond, to advance their cause. Beyond Kern, E. Grey Dimond, cardiologist and Kansas City medical school dean, was their advocate. Scheduling a symposium on health and fitness for May 1974, Dimond broke new ground when he organized a joint running and wheelchair race.

Across the 1960’s, legislators attempted to enlarge access for the disabled, but few improvements emerged outside federal buildings, mainly in post offices. Public works departments continued their opposition to even curb cut-downs, citing water run-off issues. The disabled community waited on important, yet somewhat unheralded, features of the 1965 Civil Rights Act. When Kern presented Margo with her refurbished and certainly more durable chair, she glowed. This is nice, better than new, but how did you know? Also is there somewhere I could purchase maple wheels like those on your shop chair?

Kern grinned, furtively glancing at the wheel-less frame hung from the partition. There once was, but maple-rimmed wheels are a throwback, just like me.

George, you don’t look like a throwback. I need a reason to visit again but I don’t want to break another chair.

You don’t need a broken chair to visit K-L-W. Come see me soon!

To shop guys, Kern created the store rules. Perhaps most importantly, though, he was their champion. None had witnessed an exchange of this nature. However unlikely, the Kern - Margo duo connected.

Her driver appeared, placing Margo’s chair on its side in the car’s spacious trunk. From the car’s back seat Margo handed her business card to Kern, having the last word. If I can be of help, my family and I are in the construction business and we also sit on medical school and hospital boards. George, I’ll try to be more careful.

Kern used his front windows to identify customers, matching visitors against distinctive features of bikes or even automobiles.

The latest Chevrolet parked outside possessed a ready identifier, a corkscrew H-A-M antenna, its white-on-mahogany Missouri license announcing radio call sign - KO-W0Z.