Waldo

A few weeks ago, our brood met at Kennedy’s to watch a basketball game between MU & KU.  My brother’s son, along with about half the crowd, cheered for the Jayhawks while the rest supported the Tigers.  The game was gilded with every kind of meaning and importance that any game could muster.  The game fulfilled the hype but could not displace memories that are longer and larger than any momentous game.  I had parked on the side street where there was a side story tapping at the edges of my mind.  Walking from the car for only a half a block was like stepping through a half-century of memories.

Before the fire fully consumed it forever, on this block stood the Waldo Astoria Theater.  The last show had played there some years earlier as the market drew new theaters to Johnson County.   The original building, the Westmoreland Theater, was built in 1924 to bring Vaudeville to Waldo.  But from 1939 until 1973 it was a magical movie house simply called the Waldo Theater in the heart of the Waldo section of Kansas City.

On most Saturday mornings, Gerry and I would walk from our house on 85^th to 75^th on Wornall Road.  These were the days after the flood of ’51 and before we moved to Texas in 1955.  My older brother and I were about the age of my grandsons now. There were businesses and houses along the route and the sidewalk rose and fell like sea waves where the roots of the big elm trees had let the concrete know who was boss.  Tracks ran along east of Wornall and sometimes that’s where we walked kicking stones between the ties.  Nothing moved very fast through that stretch and, like every other kid, we believed we were invincible.  This was the Country Club Line – a railroad track that carried this new urban invention, the streetcar.

On Saturdays the Waldo always showed cartoons like Tom & Jerry or Daffy Duck.  The double feature usually included Buck Rogers, Captain Midnight, Gene Autry or the Lone Ranger and Tonto.  No matter what was playing, we were out on our own with as much as a quarter or two in our pockets.  A movie and some Milk Duds was a perfect morning outside of school.  As I recall we were admonished to come straight home after the movie, but the rule had quite a bit of wiggle room.  Kids were safe in Waldo.

The most fun of the day was catching the streetcar and riding it home.  A token or two would pay the fare and you could sit in the seat and watch the sparks as the whip sticking out of the roof slid along the overhead wires to power the machine.  The ride was quieter than a train and the windows were nearly always open.  The breeze through the windows accompanied the clicking of the wheels making the music that sang an allure to travel on.

After riding those ten blocks, most of my dreams of growing up included getting started by riding the streetcar all the way to downtown Kansas City.  That’s where you’d find the giant department stores like Macy’s or Emery Bird Thayer.  On the corner there was Woolworth’s 5 and Dime just up the block from a drug store named Katz.  But for a boy, freedom in Waldo was better than downtown because we could go – just Gerry and me.

All younger brothers idolize their older brother especially when they’re young.  Probably, every older brother wants the runt to quit tagging along but there is that cool feeling that goes with being idolized.  As I watch my grandsons, I see the bigger ones take care of, and sometimes, boss around the smaller guys.  Even though one pair of them lives in Waldo, they won’t be walking to the site of the old Waldo Theater any time soon – even though it’s only about half as far as my brother and I traveled.  The route is shorter but there is more at risk than childhood antics when a couple of kids are walking alone.

Matt plays his music in Kennedy’s or the 75^th Street Brewery - places where his dad and I walked to see Buck Rogers or the Lone Ranger some sixty years ago.  Only a few weeks before that basketball game, Matt played his drums in Kennedy’s making music with his band mates while an artist painted in harmony with the beat.  As I watched my brother's boy add his rhythm to the flow of history on this street, I was young again and had my brother’s hand.

--td