Remembering Mike McDonnell

A longtime best friend, Mike McDonnell, age 67, died over the weekend at Emporia of an apparent heart attack. Although Mike had not been in great health for some time, his death was nonetheless a shocker.

We had texted each other earlier on the day he died, like we have been doing most every day for several years. We had planned to meet up in Topeka that day but he had to cancel to help watch grandkids. That evening, he died.

Our friendship spanned 61 years - all the way back to first grade at Holy Angels parochial grade school in Garnett.

Back then, it did not take us long to figure out that we had everything in common, especially loving every sport known to man. We played basketball in and out of season at various basketball goals around town and in each other’s neighborhoods, and in all kinds of weather, often taking on older kids who figured they were better than us. 

We collected baseball, football and basketball cards in the packages with the sticks of bubble gum and spent time hanging out together at the neighborhood grocery store - Bernie’s - across the street from the school and church - discussing our then new favorite team - the Kansas City Royals - with store owner Bernie Ohmes.

We served as altar boys together at Holy Angels where we were required to attend mass each weekday morning before school started, played on the same bitty-basketball league town team (with the eight-foot goals) and spent entire summers at the local swimming pool.

When I started mowing yards to earn some spending money, he took a job at Elliott’s Dairy helping the milk man deliver milk on his early morning route.

In sixth grade, we both started the junior high basketball season on the bench. In the first game of the season, however, the coach put Mike in the game and he hit a long shot. The arch on his shot was so high that the basketball struck the ceiling tile on the gym ceiling before it swished into the goal. Later in the same game, the coach put me into the game. 

After that, and for the next three junior high basketball seasons, Mike was the guard for the team on the right side of the court and I was the guard for the team on the left side of the court and we rarely lost a game.

We had a special tip-off play that never failed. We always had a tall player who could get the tip. The tip would either go to Mike or to me and whoever did not get the tip would fast break to the opposing team’s goal to receive a long bounce pass that we could turn into a layup and two points. 

When he took a part time job in his early teens at the Kerr McGee filling station along the highway in the evenings, I got a job there, too.

When I got a job at Pence’s IGA grocery store, he got a job there, too.

When he got another part-time job at Merman’s Conoco filling station, I got a part time job there, too.

When a farmer called me to haul hay in the summer and earn three cents a bale, I always called Mike to join me. He did the same when a farmer called him.

We loved the same fast cars and the same country-rock music. We made each other laugh all the time. We played football together. He was the tight end. I was the fullback and middle linebacker on some very good Bulldog teams.

We both started and played on the freshman basketball team and even moved up to the junior varsity team as freshmen, and got to play some extra games, too.

We both lost starting roles on the JV and varsity basketball teams as juniors and seniors after the team got a new young coach,  so we had that in common, too.

Our friendship continued through our college years and settling down. 

When I took a job as a roughneck on an oil rig near McLouth during college, he took a job around Garnett in the oil fields, too, and became a driller.

We were in each other’s wedding parties. He was smart enough to marry a local gal, and I was, too. He ended up in Emporia with a long and successful career as a maintenance tech and then a maintenance supervisor, a real self-made man.

I ended up in Yates Center and eventually Holton. Neither one of us really liked to ever change jobs. I named my son after him (and some other good friends and family named Mike).

Cell phones, and the ability to send texts, no doubt, contributed to keeping our long time friendship going.

Over the past several years, we texted each other, and another buddy, nearly every day.

When a long time friend of yours dies, part of your life history dies, too, you know. They aren’t around any more to help tell your stories.

Not only could Mike McDonnell remember every stupid thing I ever did since I was age six - and remind me of it endlessly - he could also remember every good thing I ever did, too - and that was priceless.

Everybody should be so lucky as me as to have a long time friend, like Mike McDonnell, to keep you humble and to make you laugh.