JimmyCsays: At the juncture of journalism and daily life in KC

I meant to write earlier about the death of Lloyd “Jim” Kissick III, president of Kissick Construction Co., but got sidetracked on other things.

Yesterday, though, after running into his nephew and business partner Pete Browne, whom I’ve had the privilege of getting to know in recent years, I came away knowing I had to pay written tribute to Jim.

This is a two-part story. The first is about Jim; how I met him; and his rise as a contractor. The second is about my final “encounter” with Jim. It occurred, oddly enough, after his death. (I know it sounds crazy but, please, read on.)

**

Like everyone who knew Jim, I was shocked to hear he had died suddenly on Saturday, Dec. 8, at his Leawood home. He was only 68 and had been in good health. (Pete says he has not heard if a specific cause of death has been determined.)

I met Jim when I was a young reporter covering the Jackson County Courthouse from 1971 to 1978. In the mid-70s, Jim, an MU graduate, became Jackson County Public Works director, which meant he was in charge of all county facilities and oversaw county infrastructure projects, such as road and bridge construction. At the time, he was in his mid- to late-20s and was overseeing a staff of more than 100 people.

I recall Jim as friendly, handsome and modest. He carried himself with confidence, and he was serious about his work. A lot of good-looking, smart women worked at the courthouse, and such a one was Cece Ismert, an animated blond, who was a receptionist in the county executive’s office.

Cece hadn’t been at the courthouse very long before Jim moved right in on her. They were an instant match; they married in 1979; and they remained married for the next 39 years. Along the way, they had three sons and six grandchildren.

Jim Kissick (left) and Pete Browne

On the career front, Jim took a pivotal step in 1994, when he and Pete started Kissick Construction. Jim’s obit says, “Taking a gamble on himself, he decided to take a leap of faith and invest nearly every dollar he had into starting the company, despite having three young children at home.”

The gamble paid off. Over the years, Kissick Construction expanded steadily. It is now a $100-million-dollar-a-year firm with more than 400 employees, specializing in earthwork, utilities, structural concrete and foundation piling.

From a distance, I admired the growth of Kissick Construction. Whenever I would see a Kissick truck, with the strong and distinctive, black and gold logo, I would think about how far he had come as an entrepreneur.

**

That brings me to my final encounter, if you will, with Jim.

I knew from the obit that the funeral was taking place at 10 a.m. last Saturday at St. Peter’s Catholic Church. I flirted with the idea of going but ended up not going. So, I forgot about it.

When Saturday came along — warm and sunny — I decided to play golf at Swope Memorial.

About 11:30 I started from home, going east on Meyer Boulevard. When I got to Holmes Road, where the church is, barriers were blocking passage on Meyer, police were standing around and a funeral procession was getting started.

‘Kissick!” it dawned on me.

Briefly I felt guilty about going to play golf when Jim was being hauled to his grave. But my thoughts quickly switched to surmounting this unexpected inconvenience. (Funny thing about golf…Once you decide to play, you become 100 percent consumed with getting to the first tee and sticking the tee in the ground.)

In seconds, I came up with Plan B. I knew this was going to be a long procession and didn’t want to wait. So, I went north a block to 63rd Street and headed east, planning to take that a few miles to Swope Parkway and then go south to the Meyer Boulevard entrance to Swope Park.

I raced along (by my slo-go standards, anyway), convinced I was going to outrun the procession. But — confound it! — after making the turn onto Swope Parkway I saw the funeral procession. It had beaten me to the park entrance by a minute or two.

Now, I was really up against it. But knowing that area like I do, I was determined not to be thwarted. A new plan quickly came together: I would retreat to 63rd Street and take it all the way to I-435. Then I’d go south on 435 to Gregory and then enter the park through the “back door,” going west on Gregory.

Off I went, really speeding now, going all of maybe 40 to 45 miles an hour…Got to 435; made a right; got off at Gregory and headed west.

I hadn’t been on Gregory for 15 seconds when I saw, straight ahead of me, coming eastbound — YES! — the damned funeral procession. (Sorry, Jim.)

It was the very front of the procession, and a motorcycle policeman was energetically waving me and a few other cars to the shoulder of the road.

At that point I surrendered. I relaxed in my seat and thought: I am destined to watch Jim Kissick’s funeral procession…So be it.

In short order I was most grateful I had lost my race against the procession. Leading the procession were big, white Kissick construction trucks — some GMC, some Ford, but each one big, powerful and impressive.

One after another they came. Most carried several people, a few had one or two. I was counting at first, and then I quit counting. There were 60…80, maybe more. The stream of white trucks went on almost 10 minutes. What a testament, I realized, to what Jim had accomplished — along with the entire Kissick team, which he so valued and loved.

In a minute, I had gone from a frustrated driver to a humbled admirer of Jim Kissick’s legacy. As the last cars came by (several regular vehicles brought up the rear), I pulled back onto the roadway and slowly headed the last mile to the golf course.

Minutes later, I was standing on the first tee, breathing easily on a beautiful, Indian summer afternoon. About the same time, a fine man whom I had met more than four decades earlier was being laid to rest in Mount Olivet Cemetery on Blue Ridge Boulevard in Raytown.

It was good to have known you, Jim. I’m still racing, and, in the scope of things, not very far behind you.