“That was Walt’s first big job.” Recalling the history, Adam muttered more to himself than to Lance. “Their offices were rented upstairs in a huge building with skylights. Ah, the McConahy Building. That’s right. This was in Kansas City.” His recitation finished, he looked at Lance. “This is what you found? What does the number we found have to do with it? 1127?”
“That, my friend, is the address of the building. 1127 East 31st Street, Kansas City, Missouri. Sorry, I don’t know the zip code.” Lance grinned at the look that came over Adam’s face.
Adam didn’t hear the last part. He would have ignored it anyway just on general principle. An address. What a sly dog! “How long did it take you to find it?”
“About two days more than it should.” Lance gave a sigh. “I wasn’t being literal enough when I started looking. I was trying numerology, dates, safety deposit boxes, phone numbers, you name it.”
Adam was impressed. “Good job. What did you mean when you said you’d need my expert skills?”
Lance indicated the picture of the building in the book. “You see what the building looks like there.” Adam nodded, waiting. “Well, that building was pretty new when the animators moved in and started work. As you probably know, that was in 1920 after Walt got back from France the year before. So, to put a fine point on it, the building is approximately eighty-two years old now.”
“There are plenty of old buildings from that era that not only survived but thrived and are the focal part of many cities.” Adam gave a shrug, not seeing any significance in Lance’s point.
Lance reached over and turned a few more pages in the book. “But not this one.” He held open a new page for Adam. The picture showed devastation. Shoring held up the outside brickwork. The roof, if it could still be called a roof, was either sagging or completely gone. “I think this is what you contractors would call a real fixer-upper.” Lance could tell Adam agreed as he frowned at the dilapidated structure in the photograph.
Adam’s contracting skills took over and he mentally evaluated the time, cost, and effort needed to fix the problem. “It would take hundreds of thousands to fix it up to its former glory. I’d have to see the condition of the roof and the flooring.…”
Lance chuckled. “Adam, we aren’t assigned to rebuild it. We just have to find whatever it is Walt left for us. I would guess it would be inside—where his office used to be.”
Adam was silent as he thought what Lance just suggested. If the conditions of the building were as bad as this undated photo showed—or worse—it would be dangerous for someone unfamiliar with construction to poke around inside. It would be bad enough for Adam—and he knew what he was doing. He stared at the photo as his mind went over the possibilities. “You would probably break that pretty neck of yours if you went in there alone.” Adam handed the book back to Lance’s outstretched hand.
“Rose would be very irritated at you if I did. And, Rose aside, I am quite attached to my neck just as it is.” He knew Adam would go with him. He knew it all along, even to the point of telling Rose not to expect either Adam or him back for a few days. She pouted rather prettily, but agreed if it had to be done, it had to be done.
Lance handed Adam his cell phone. Adam noticed Scott’s number was already punched in.
1127 EAST 31ST STREET
KANSAS CITY, MISSOURI
Lance slowly drove around the dilapidated neighborhood. No matter which angle they looked, the building looked bad. The picture they had seen must have been taken years earlier. Even the braces looked wobbly as they sat across from the red brick front. There were no “Keep Out” signs posted. The owners probably figured no one would be dumb enough to risk their lives going inside. And now these two were planning on doing just that.
“The front doors are blocked with boards. Most of the windows are broken and boarded. Did you see anything around back?”
Lance drove around to the building again. “I think those two windows are the only access. They seem low enough even for your tiny legs.”
“Five eleven, buddy, is not short.” Adam was distracted by what he saw in front of them. How in the world would they find anything from Walt inside that mess?
“What do you think we’ll need? We’ll have to go somewhere else to get tools. This area doesn’t seem to have a home-improvement store on the corner.” Lance frowned as he looked down the street and saw nothing but litter-strewn empty lots and other old, run-down structures.
“A bulldozer comes to mind, but that isn’t exactly helpful.… Wow, what a mess.” Adam’s words were punctuated with a heavy sigh. “Do you want to try to go inside now to scope it out? We still have some daylight left.”
Lance hit the door lock of the rental car. It seemed prudent, especially in that neighborhood. They walked along the cracked sidewalk that bordered the building, coming up to a large rectangular section of heavy plywood that would have been the main entrance decades earlier.
Adam tugged on the boards blocking the doors and saw he could easily rip them off. Preferring to find a more non-intrusive method to get inside, he hoisted himself onto the first window sill. The glass was long gone so he brought a leg up and jumped inside. Lance followed and they both ignored the scurrying noises in the debris littering the floor. In the dim light they could see a few walls still standing. Most of them had holes knocked in them—whether from fists or from a sledgehammer didn’t really matter at this point. A few tatters of posters and some old newspapers were tacked to what walls were left. Without a flashlight, Adam didn’t want to venture too far from the light of the window. Holes in the flooring could be hidden under plaster pieces that had fallen from the ceiling. There were remnants of a staircase leading up into darkness.
Lance’s voice seemed overly loud. “What do you think we’ll need?”
Shaking his head, Adam thought out loud. “Flashlights, broom, snakebite kit, hammer, ladder, rope?”
“Rats, maybe, but not snakes.”
“Okay, then, a ratbite kit.” He looked back toward the window and the welcome light and air. “Let’s get out of here and come back early tomorrow.” Carefully retracing their steps, the two men climbed back out the broken window.
Once outside, drawing in deep breaths of fresh air, they looked back at the building. “Do you know where Walt’s office would have been?”
Lance nodded and pointed upwards. “That wall for sure. Exactly where inside is a little vague.”
A voice startled them. Being so concentrated on their endeavor, they hadn’t seen the man as he came down the street toward them. “You boys going to fix this place up?” The old man stopped his daily walk, glad at the chance to talk to somebody. A little black and white Boston terrier obediently sat at his feet and waited, looking up expectantly at her owner.
Always quick on his feet, Lance gave him a friendly grin and extended his hand. “Nice to see you, sir. Quite an old building, eh?”
“Nice to see some interest in it.” The old man returned the smile. “Been that way a long time.”
“It’s all right if we poke around inside, isn’t it?” Lance asked his question as if the old man was the owner.
The old man just chuckled. “Well, considering I just saw you two come out of that there window, I guess you don’t need my permission. Hey, it’s okay with me. Probably okay with everyone around here as long as something gets done. Fine old building in its time. Fine old building. You just do what you need to. Nobody’ll bother you.” Clive gave a gentle tug on the dog’s leash. “Come on, Mazie. We’ve kept these young men long enough. Y’all be good now, ya hear?” He gave a final wave as he walked off.
Flashlights didn’t help much. At least the brooms cleared the area. And Adam had been right. On the bottom floor were holes that dropped down to the sub-floor supports and concrete support columns holding up the floor trusses. As a path was cleared to the stairs, the brooms caused a cloud of dust to rise. Eyes watering, both were glad to be wearing the protective masks that Adam had sugges
ted. The use of asbestos was common in those days and who knew how much lead paint was floating around in that dust. When the way was clear enough, Adam started up the stairs first, testing each board before putting his full weight on it. Waiting below with a ladder, Lance let him get all the way up before he followed Adam’s dusty footprints. The upper floor was even more ravaged. The skylights—once such a boon for the animators—had leaked for years. Some had even fallen in. The roof sagged so badly that Adam figured it wouldn’t last many more years—not with Missouri’s usual snowfall. Actually, he was surprised there was any roof left at all.
With part of the roof open, it was lighter than they had anticipated, so they shut off the flashlights. Adam was even more careful with each step he took. Wood rot could be hidden under any normal-looking board. One false step could take him down to the first floor the hard way.
Lance pointed out the side for Walt’s old office and they made their way slowly over to that section. Any remaining lath on the walls was long gone. The flooring seemed more stable the closer they got to the outer wall. Adam’s broom cleared away the birds’ nests, paper litter, and moldy somethings they didn’t want to explore too closely. Once he declared the floor safe, they walked over to the brick wall, only to jump back when one of the floor boards squeaked. Testing it with his broom and then with his foot, he ignored the squeak as he put his weight on it again.
“Ok, now what?” They both had the same thought, but Lance voiced it first.
Adam just shook his head as he surveyed what had been an animator’s office eighty years ago. “No clue. But then, we didn’t really have much of a clue when we were in Marceline, either. He would have to have left us something to go by. There is no tree growing here—yet—so that is out.” He broke off as Lance went over to the window opening and looked out. “Anything?”
Lance shook his head. “I doubt the view’s the same. It would have to be somewhere inside. We have walls, ceiling and floor to work with. Which one do you want?”
Adam set the ladder in place. “I’ll take the ceiling. What’s left of it.” He climbed up the first three rungs and got to work.
Lance backed up a few paces and stood on the squeaky board. He bounced up and down on it a few times. Adam warned him that might not be a good idea and the squeaking stopped as Lance went over to examine the brick wall. They were silent as they each went about their business. Starting at the far edge of the wall, Lance ran his hands over every brick and checked the condition of the mortar. Adam started at the opposite end of the wall doing side to side sweeps with his eyes. After finishing one section, Adam came down and moved the ladder to the next spot. They slowly made their way to the center of the room.
Adam was about finished with his sweep when Lance called him. “Hey, Adam, come and see this.”
He climbed down and went to where Lance had his finger on one of the bricks under the window. “What did you find?”
Lance moved his hand to the side. Adam got down on his knees to look at it better. It was faint, but he could make out the WED chipped out of the brick. It was like the Dreaming Tree in Marceline. Walt had given them a starting point.
“Do you think we should remove the brick?” Lance sounded doubtful. The mortar around that particular brick looked the same as all the rest. It didn’t look like it had been removed and repaired. He wasn’t an expert, but it looked identical. He voiced his thoughts to Adam.
After his own examination, and chipping away a little of the mortar there and over a few bricks, Adam agreed with him. “No, I don’t think it is the brick itself. Look at the way the letters were formed. To me, it looks as if the initials were put in after the brick was already in place. The ‘D’ looks too awkward to have been done on a level surface. I think we need to use it as an indicator.”
Lance backed up a little to look at the whole wall and bounced up and down again. Adam wondered what it was about squeaky floors that little boys liked so much. Lance didn’t ask Adam about his sudden grin. He was wondering which direction they needed to go. Up or down?
1964
He stood on the sidewalk outside the familiar red brick building. Have I been gone that long? he wondered to himself. The crisp painted trim was gone. Some of the windows were blocked up with wood. Awnings, name signs, the hustle and bustle of a busy intersection were all gone. The photographer’s studio was gone. The Forest Inn Café was gone. No lunch on credit today. He gave a chuckle in spite of the feeling of loss that had swept over him.
Looking up and down the street, there was no one else to be seen. The entry door now marked “Pool Hall.” Guess that means the drug store is gone too. Well, let’s get doing, he reminded himself.
Pushing the door open, he paused for a moment to allow his eyes to get accustomed to the dim, nondescript interior lighting. His hesitation allowed the patrons within to scrutinize their unwelcome visitor. They looked over the old man. Gray hair, thin mustache, slightly slouched shoulders. His clothes were unremarkable—from his dusty black shoes up to his old Fedora. Non-threatening. Still, he was trespassing on their turf.
The old man wasn’t aware of their scrutiny. He didn’t see the smoky interior of the pool hall or hear the soft clink of the pool balls as a shot was made or smell the alcohol being served. He didn’t see the nervous owner trying surreptitiously to get his attention. He was seeing the Café, the soda fountain, the photographers, the artists and the messenger boys running in and out. He was hearing the ideas being bandied around the office; he could smell the black India and Iron Gold ink. He even envisioned the permanently stained fingers of his artists.
Forty years. Has it really been forty years? So much time. So much has happened since. So much progress and so much hope for the future. And this had been a starting place. He fondly remembered the little pet mouse he had fed. Who would have guessed that mouse would lead them to where they were today? He smiled at the memory. That little mouse had built a great empire. And now he had something he had to do to preserve that memory and continue the legacy.
His eyes came back to the present and focused on the now. He began to realize it would take a little more planning than what he had already decided to do. Too much had changed. Too much was gone. What would be left.…
“Hey, mister, you in the wrong place?”
The sound of the pool balls had stopped. The players had leaned against the beat-up tables to watch, their faces eerily lit by the table lights hanging just inches over their heads. Some of those faces were smirking. Others glared, irritated by the interruption of their game.
“You hear me, old man? You lost and deaf?” The leader leaned against the table closest to the entry door. He seemed to think he had made an incredibly funny joke. Two of his followers obediently laughed.
Walt looked at the young men in front of him with the eye of a storyteller. He already had them all categorized as the toughs in a story that automatically started to form in his head. They would be angry young men, unable to find work. All they needed was a job and some encouragement. There would be a cute leading girl in this story. She would find the leader charming when nobody else gave him a second thought. Her father, on the other hand.…
“Well?” The youth didn’t like the fact that he was being ignored. The old man looked at him oddly. He felt he was now being scrutinized and he didn’t like it at all.
“Hey, there, young fella.” Walt had a pleasant smile on his face. “How are you?”
Not receiving the reaction of fear he usually got, Kevin stammered and hesitated. Years of training hammered in by his mother pushed against the rebelliousness he was trying to hone to perfection. Still, the guys were watching. Mom was not. “I…I asked you a question, old man.” His flunkies snickered. This old man was toast.
“Sorry. I guess I didn’t hear it. I used to work here.” The old man gestured around the room, sounding cheerful about it. “Well, not here, I guess. Upstairs.”
“There ain’t nothing upstairs now.”
The n
ews seemed to deflate Walt. “Aww, now that’s too bad. How long has it been empty?”
Kevin didn’t know what to do. He was used to pushing people around. It boosted his ego when they turned and fled. Now this harmless old man wanted to chat about the old days. As he watched, the man walked past him and went to the front window. Kevin doubted he could see much. The window was filthy. He knew the man was still waiting for an answer and he looked at his friends. They shrugged. “Uhm, I don’t know. It’s a mess up there.” Even more so after they had torn it up just for something to do.
The bar owner edged over to where Walt was standing. He talked quietly so the wanna-be thugs wouldn’t hear him. “Mr. Disney….” He gave a nervous swallow as his eyes darted at the sullen teens. “I know who you are. I love Mickey Mouse.” The old proprietor had an awestruck timbre in his quiet voice. “You probably shouldn’t be here, sir. This ain’t so nice a place anymore.”
Walt smiled at him and shook his hand. “Aww, they’re just having some fun. Boys will be boys.”
“Well, these boys…well, they like to cause trouble. Is there anything I can help you with? If not, you might not want to stay too long.” His eyes swung nervously to the youths and then back to his honored guest. He didn’t want to upset Mr. Disney, but he wouldn’t be able to do much to protect him if trouble started.
Walt looked over at the young men. They were glaring at the owner’s interference and trying to look tough. Walt lit another cigarette, taking his time. Ignoring the silent plea of the owner, he ambled over to the pool table where the gang had stationed themselves. Standing on the opposite side, he mimicked their stance, leaning against the table, the smoke from his cigarette rising and mingling with their own. There was a seven-ball in front of his hands. He picked it up, looked at the number, and then set it back on the table, rolling it towards the far end of the table. All eyes watched the trail of that burgundy ball as it banked around the corner pocket and returned to the old man. He caught the ball and sent it on its way again.
Sometimes Dead Men DO Tell Tales! Page 9