LIVing the Dream | The Story Behind the Painting and the Chiefs Incredible Run to the Championship

“The game is over. And the Chiefs Kingdom has finally planted its flag on top of football’s highest summit!”

“LIVing the Dream” by Ken Wilson. Oil painting on birch wood panel. 24” high x 48” wide, 2” deep. Limited edition prints available.

That emotional exclamation from Chiefs radio announcer Mitch Holthus at the end of Super Bowl LIV was music to the ears of long-suffering Chiefs fans. Kansas City, for the third time in three games of the 2020 postseason, had come from double-digits down to win a game, culminating as NFL Champions. Fireworks erupted across the Kansas City metro and beyond. The blasts were so prolific they showed up on local weather radar. Grown men and women wept tears of joy. There was dancing in the streets. Patrick Mahomes was going to Disney World.

In just two years, Mahomes had become a legend. The 24-year-old wunderkind had won the NFL MVP award in his first full season and was the Super Bowl MVP in his second. Tight end Travis Kelce shouted to the world, “You got to fight… for your right… to Lombardi!”

It was the end of a 50-year drought for the Chiefs, who had last won the NFL’s biggest game in 1970. I’m one of the fans who lived through every win and suffered through every devastating loss of that half century. This was a moment to savor.

It wasn’t an easy ride, this 100th year of NFL football and 60th year of the Chiefs (and former Dallas Texans) organization. The defense struggled the first half of the season to adapt to new defensive coordinator Steve Spagnuolo’s scheme. Patrick Mahomes suffered a grewsome-looking dislocated kneecap in Week 7, on a Thursday night in Denver. The season appeared to be lost with their young star appearing to be gone for the season. Injuries to several key players added up. The Mahomes injury, fortunately, was not season-ending. He returned a few weeks later for the Tennessee game and although he played well, a loss left the Chiefs with a 6-4 record.

Three of the many sketches I drew planning this painting. Pictured, top to bottom: Travis Kelce, Patrick Mahomes, and Tyrann Mathieu.

Head Coach Andy Reid had brought in Spags to turn around a group that had been at the bottom of the league the year before, when the offense carried the team within a play of going to Super Bowl LIII. An apparent game-winning interception was nullified when defensive end Dee Ford was called for lining up offside and the Chiefs fell to the Patriots in overtime. I was one of the 78,000 fans in Arrowhead Stadium that night. The Patriots went on to win the Super Bowl and the Chiefs chalked up another heartbreak.

Mahomes was back at nearly full strength soon after his return and the defense suddenly began to gel. The Chiefs rolled off six straight wins to finish the regular season. But those early losses looked costly. As the final week began, the Chiefs appeared to be the fourth seed in the playoff picture. That meant if they won in the Wild Card round at home, they’d likely have to win road games at New England and Baltimore to get to the Super Bowl. A tall order, to be sure.

Fate had other plans. On the season’s final Sunday, as the Chiefs were defeating the Los Angeles Chargers, the Patriots inexplicably fell at home to the lowly but determined Miami Dolphins. That combination vaulted Kansas City into the second seed, meaning they got to rest the first weekend of the playoffs and then host someone in the Divisional Round, probably New England. Win that game and they’d still have to travel to Baltimore to take on the Ravens, the top seed in the AFC.

Again, destiny had a different story to tell. The Houston Texans knocked out Buffalo and headed to Kansas City. And the Tennessee Titans shocked the defending champ Patriots and earned a date against the Ravens in Baltimore.

On Saturday night, January 11, the Titans pulled a second straight shocking upset. This time, they eliminated the powerhouse Ravens, 28-12. The following Sunday, Chiefs fans packed the Arrowhead Stadium parking lot, reveling in tailgate festivities, knowing that if the team could beat Houston they would again host the AFC Championship Game.

The Texans came out of the gates like a house afire, scoring 24 unanswered points in the first quarter. The rout seemed to be on and most of the football world thought the outcome had already been decided. The smattering of Houston fans in our section were celebrating like they had won. Some Chiefs fans in the seats next to us had looks on their faces like Santa Claus had died. I told them, “Hey, get ready, because you’re about to witness the greatest comeback win of all time!” They said they wanted to have some of whatever I was drinking. I told them they could buy me some of what I was drinking when we won.

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Photo of the piece in progress. The background became very challenging at this point and required a comeback effort on the part of the artist.

But the Chiefs were to prove that this is a new era of Kansas City football that will not be defined by history. In a dazzling array of offensive firepower and defensive grit, they answered the Houston call with four second-quarter touchdowns and took a 28-24 lead to the locker room. Arrowhead Stadium was channeling Stevie Ray Vaughn’s “The House is Rockin.” The seat neighbors were so thrilled with my comeback call they bought Sara and me halftime drinks! We fans sensed this game was far from over. But the hometown heroes came out and continued the assault, stretching their run to 51 straight points. A meaningless late touchdown by the Texans made the final tally Chiefs 51, Houston 31.

Bring on the Titans!

The next Sunday, Kansas City was a hub of excitement as Arrowhead Stadium was the site of the AFC Championship Game. But the Chiefs again found themselves on the wrong end of the scoreboard early. The Titans jumped out to a 10-0 lead and their defense seemed to be confusing Mahomes. The Kansas City crew would not be daunted. They fought and clawed back. After trading scores with Tennessee, the Chiefs notched two second-quarter touchdowns to claim a 21-17 lead at the intermission. And just as they had in the Houston game, they continued their mastery in the second half, stretching the lead to 35-17 before recording a final 35-24 victory. The Lamar Hunt trophy, named after the Chiefs founder and awarded to the AFC Champions, was finally coming home to Kansas City.

The two weeks leading up to the Super Bowl were a blur for this fan. I had decided I was going to do a painting to honor this team, win or lose in the Big One. I was already getting calls, texts, and emails from people hoping to buy a print. I had lots of Chiefs sketches in my book already. But none of them were of these guys playing in the Super Bowl. I knew I’d be doing a new round of drawings after the game.

And what a game it was! The first half was a back-and-forth heavyweight fight dominated by two powerful defenses. But unlike the previous two games, the Chiefs did not take the game over in the third quarter. It was the opposite, with the San Francisco 49ers delivering hooks, jabs, and body blows. By the end of the quarter they held a 20-10 advantage.

The Chiefs drove deep into San Francisco territory to open the final stanza of play, but a 49ers interception with just over 12 minutes left in the game appeared to put the Chiefs on the ropes. Mahomes seemed to be struggling, at least by his lofty standards. However, the resolve of this tenacious team in the face of adversity will forever be its legacy.

The “23 Jet Chip Wasp” play that saved the Chiefs.

The Kansas City defense forced the 49ers to punt the ball back to the Chiefs with nine minutes to go. A determined offense, led by Mahomes, marched 62 yards in 10 plays for a score that cut the lead to a field goal. The key play of the drive came on a third and 15, when Mahomes called the now-famous “23 Jet Chip Wasp” play, a 44-yard rocket hauled in by Tyreek Hill. On the next sequence, the Chiefs held San Francisco to a three-and-out fizzle. The Chiefs took the punt and again the offense shifted into overdrive. A 38-yard pass from Mahomes to Sammy Watkins sparked a seven-play, 65-yard drive. It was capped by a third-and-five pass to running back Damien Williams, who stretched over 49ers defenders and held out the ball, hitting the end-zone pylon with it for the go-ahead score. The Chiefs led, 24-20, with less than three minutes remaining in the game.

San Francisco responded quickly, driving the ball across midfield. But after throwing three incomplete passes, 49ers quarterback Jimmy Garoppolo was sacked by Chiefs linebacker Frank Clark, turning the ball over to Kansas City. The Chiefs, trying to run out the clock, went to the ground game. After two short-yardage gains, Williams broke free of San Francisco defenders and romped 38 yards for the Chiefs third and final score of the remarkable fourth-quarter comeback. A late interception by Kendall Fuller sealed the 31-20 victory to crown the Chiefs as NFL Champions.

Super Bowl parade party at our place!

As for me, I feel that I was the beneficiary of a little part of the Chiefs destiny. I got married in 2019 and my wife, Sara and I moved to the Western Auto Lofts in September. Our real estate agent, knowing I’m a huge Chiefs fan, half-joked that our balconies overlooking Grand Boulevard would give us a great vantage point for the Super Bowl parade. As fate would have it, we braved the cold and reveled with family and friends that day as the victory parade rolled past. Two months later, we still enjoy a flash of memory when we find a piece of celebratory confetti that reveals itself from some nook or cranny where it’s been hiding.

The day after the game, I started looking through photographs and my DVR recording for moments to capture in my painting. The Damien Williams end-zone dive. Tyreek Hill’s reception of “23 Jet Chip Wasp.” Chris Jones chasing down Garoppolo. Which moment to pick for Mahomes, the team’s and game’s MVP, was a tough choice. In the end, I decided on a scrambling play, because it just exudes his confidence, toughness, and leadership. I wish I could have put every player in the picture, but hopefully the ones I selected will be seen to represent the entire team. One of my favorite additions was Andy Reid getting doused in Gatorade. Big Red is the mad scientist who pushed all the right buttons and brought all of the elements together at the right time. He is so widely loved and respected, and he finally has the Super Bowl ring he so deserves. I could not be happier for him.

The family tailgate crew.

Executing the painting itself was a bit like the Chiefs playoff run. There were some early setbacks that I had to overcome. The background was a particular struggle, because I wanted it to reflect the feeling of celebration in Kansas City but with a tip of the cap to Miami. Not only for hosting the game, but also for the Dolphins part in helping the Chiefs gain a more advantageous spot in the playoffs. The palm trees proved the right addition, with five on the left and four on the right representing the 54th (LIVth?) Super Bowl.

So, this painting is dedicated to everyone in the Chiefs Kingdom who made it happen and all of the fans who get to revel in the glory. With a special shout-out to my “brother” cousin Mark and the entire Wilson tailgate gang (including my daughter, Bailey, who, despite growing up in California is a huge Chiefs fan). We have laughed and cried and lived and loved together with our team over these past 50 years. I wouldn’t trade those memories for anything. We are truly LIVing the Dream.

The Longest NFL Game Ever Played & Oh, What Might Have Been | The Story Behind “A Tradition in Red”

I’m not old enough to remember the first Super Bowl. It was actually called the AFL-NFL Championship Game and later became known as Super Bowl I. That was January 1967 and the Kansas City Chiefs lost to the Green Bay Packers. But I remember the rest of them, from II to LIV.

“A Tradition in Red” by Ken Wilson. Oil painting on birch panel. 24 inches x 48 inches.

1968 is probably when I did my first sports drawing. I think it was in colored pencil or crayon. Probably on ruled paper with a ragged edge from being pulled out of a spiral notebook. I recall it was of Bart Starr leading the Packers down the field against the Raiders, who I had already labeled evil (I was right). My mom hung it in the kitchen above our little table the week leading up to Super Bowl II, which Green Bay won. The following year I got caught up in Joe Namath fever and was elated when the Jets shocked the world and beat the heavily favored Colts. I had drawings of Broadway Joe all over my room.

But everything changed in this fan’s life in 1969. The Royals began playing in Kansas City that summer and I became a die-hard fan of the boys in blue. When summer rolled into fall I tied my loyalty to the Chiefs, which also began a lifelong journey.

Len Dawson and the Chiefs huddle during Super Bowl IV. Graphite on paper.

It was January 11, 1970. My family was visiting my grandparents. Two television stations had broadcast towers near enough their farm in southwestern Kansas that their antenna could pull in a signal. I know one was NBC, because I always loved getting to watch Johnny Carson when I stayed with Grandma and Grandpa. The other, fortunately, was CBS, which broadcast Super Bowl IV that day.

I watched, spellbound, as the Chiefs dominated the fiercely favored Vikings. A Len Dawson pass to Otis Taylor, who knocked over a Viking defender on his way to the end zone. The Chiefs defense—Willie Lanier, Bobby Bell, Buck Buchanan, Curley Culp, Emmitt Thomas—shutting down the Minnesota offense. Jan Stenerud deftly soccer-style-kicking field goals through the uprights. Johnny Robinson, picking off a Joe Kapp pass in the fourth quarter and signaling with an index finger, “We’re Number 1” as he sat on the Tulane Stadium turf. Hank Stram being hoisted on the shoulders of his jubilant, victorious players. What a day to be a Chiefs fan! It was obviously going to be a long, glorious run with many more championships ahead. Or so I thought.

Mark and me, still huge Chiefs fans 50 years later.

Christmas Day 1970 the entire family came to our house. There may have been dinner and presents, I don’t know. They didn’t have my attention that day. I settled in with my “brother” cousin Mark, whom to this day is the biggest Chiefs fan I know, to watch the Chiefs take on Miami in the AFC championship game. A trip to Super Bowl V was on the line, and we just knew our team was on its way to a second consecutive title. We were giddy with anticipation.

The Chiefs, behind Len Dawson and running back Ed Podolak, scored on their first two possessions to go up, 10-0. But the Dolphins, led by Hall of Fame quarterback Bob Griese, tied it at halftime. Late in the fourth quarter the Chiefs took a 24-17 lead. But with just under a minute and a half to go in the game, the Dolphins scored a game-tying touchdown. Ed Podolak took the ensuing kickoff 78 yards to the Miami 22 yard line. We were jumping up and down, screaming with excitement. After three more plays the ball was on the 15 and only 35 ticks were left on the clock. The crowd in Kansas City’s Municipal Stadium (the final game the Chiefs played there) roared as Jan Stenerud trotted onto the field for the apparent game-winning field goal to send the Chiefs back to the Super Bowl. A chip shot, for sure. This game looked to be over. But the kick sailed wide to the right and the game went into overtime. Both Stenerud and the Dolphin’s Garo Yepremian missed possible game-ending field goal attempts and the contest, which remains the NFL’s longest game, moved into a second overtime. Halfway through the period Yepremian got a second chance. This time, he made it count. The Dolphins were headed to the Super Bowl and Chiefs fans got their first taste of what would be a nearly fifty-year cycle of hopefulness followed by heartbreak.

Derrick Thomas. Graphite on paper. One of the sketches I used for the painting.

I often wonder “what if”… what if Stenerud’s kick had been true? What if the Chiefs had won that game? It would have been their third appearance in the first five Super Bowls. Could they have beaten Dallas? If so, what might have come after that? Instead of being a historical footnote as the losing team in the longest game ever played, they’d be back-to-back NFL champs. Maybe they go on to be one of those teams that goes on a run of titles like the Steelers, 49ers, Cowboys, or Patriots. But “what if” didn’t happen. What happened was a five-decade run of heartbreak.

There have been disappointing losses, and a remarkable run of playoff futility at Arrowhead Stadium. But the greatest heartbreak was the death of Derrick Thomas following a car accident in 2000. D.T. was a Chiefs icon. He is still today one of the greatest pass rushers of all time. He was and remains beloved in Kansas City where he was involved in a seemingly endless array of charitable causes. Twenty years after his tragic death, his and Neil Smith’s Third and Long Foundation continues to change the lives of countless urban children facing challenging and life-threatening situations. The NFL named him Man of the Year in 1993. He was posthumously enshrined in the Pro Football Hall of Fame in 2009.

When I decided to create this painting in 2016 I set out to select ten players that I thought represented the greatest Chiefs of all time. Some were obvious: D.T., Lenny the Cool, Bell, Lanier, Buchanan, and Tony Gonzalez. Then there were others to consider: Will Shields, Emmitt Thomas, Culp, Robinson, Stenerud—all in the Chiefs Hall of Fame. Some greats I didn’t consider include Joe Montana, Marcus Allen, Warren Moon, and Mike Webster, because the greatest parts of their careers are associated with other teams.

What made it tougher was that none of these great players every played for the Chiefs in the Super Bowl. This team knocked on the door, and had great opportunities, but heartbreak just seemed to always lie in its path. It’s a lot easier to identify sports heroes when they wear rings.

I consulted friends and family members for input. I read every website or op-ed I could find to get other opinions as to who should be in the top ten. Two things were bothering me, though. First, all of the players I had selected were from the distant past or, in the case of Tony G., retired. I felt the painting needed a shot of current blood. Two then-current members of the team, Jamaal Charles and Tamba Hali, I think are locks for the Chiefs Hall of Fame. So, I put them in and expanded the painting to 12 players. Second, I was hungry. So I made a Chiefs-inspired flapjack (this video shows why I work in oil paint, not pancake batter).

Unfortunately, not every deserving player made the cut. In fact, a few Chiefs fans have asked why I included Otis Taylor, who is not in the Chiefs Hall of Fame, but not Jan Stenerud, who is. The short answer is, it’s my painting and I get to decide who’s in it. But the real reason is purely emotional. Otis Taylor caught that pass and ran over that Viking on his way to paydirt in Super Bowl IV. The Chiefs didn’t get a chance to face the Dallas Cowboys in Super Bowl V because Jan Stenerud missed two potential game-winning field goals. So, Otis in, Jan out. And that’s my final answer.

As with all my sports composites, this one began with a series of sketches of the players. Sometimes I have to make two or three sketches of a player to decide which is the right pose for the painting. Next, I make photocopies of my drawings in the proper scale and lay them out on my board to design the composition I want. I determine the background I want to use. Then I sketch the figures on the board. I typically paint the darkest outlines first, to make sure the perspective is correct. If I need to make changes or adjustments at this point, it’s fairly easy to do. Then I start adding thin layers of color, followed by thicker layers of paint.

“A Tradition in Red” is different from most of my sports composites as I used palette knives and heavy paint in the final application. The result is that the piece has less precision but more texture than normal. I chose the Kansas City skyline for the background and added the goalpost because I wanted to have Tony G. “slam-dunking” a touchdown pass through it.

It’s been a lot of fun to get reactions from Chiefs fans to this piece, and I love getting photos of them with their prints. Last I counted, the prints of this piece are in more than 10 states and two countries outside the US.

When I painted this piece in the 2016 NFL season, the Chiefs hadn’t drafted Patrick Mahomes and the Legend of Zoom had not yet been born. Little did I, or any fan, have any idea that in just over three years the Chiefs would win the Super Bowl. But that’s another painting, and it’s the rest of the story (to be continued)…

Murder and Mystery: The Story Behind the Painting "Early Birds"

“Early Birds” by Ken Wilson. Oil on birch panel. 48” x 24”

It was a dark and stormy morning (hey, I’m a painter, not Raymond Chandler). Grabbing my sketchpad, an assortment of pencils, and a freshly brewed mug of joe I headed out in search of inspiration. Little did I know that I was also about to uncover a murder.

I pulled up at the corner of 14th and Baltimore. There she sat, resplendent in the glow of the streetlamps, the Hotel President. Fifteen stories of Jacobethan architecture wrapping her sleepy arms around the Drum Room, once a hopping little joint that was played by icons including Frank Sinatra, Benny Goodman, Patsy Cline, and Sammy Davis, Jr. But this story isn’t about the death of live music at the Drum Room. Yes, the music is no more, but they do serve gnocchi for dinner. Try as I might, I can’t imagine Sinatra ordering gnocchi for dinner.

The nascent two-year-old hotel was the headquarters of the 1928 Republican National Convention. The delegates nominated Herbert Hoover who was elected president in November. In retrospect it shouldn’t be surprising that karma would exact revenge for that.

I pulled out my phone to read about the history of this place. What I discovered was that if these walls could talk… they might get whacked for the stories they could tell.

It was 1935. Kansas City’s political scene was controlled by Tom Pendergast. “Boss Tom” ran city hall, the police department, and the local Democratic Party with an iron fist. A fist that was mob-enforced by the likes of Joseph “Scarface” Giovianni, John Lazio, and Charles “Charlie the Wop” Carollo (ethnic slurs were quite the vogue in 1935). I don’t know why Lazio didn’t have a nickname. It wouldn’t have been that hard to come up with one. He had a face like a well-punched pizza dough and a brain to match. He was gunned down before he went to prison for not filing a tax return.

On a cold afternoon on January 2nd, Roland T. Owen of Los Angeles checked into the President—room 1046, which was on the hotel’s interior, per his request. The room overlooked the courtyard rather than the exterior street. Well-dressed, sporting a dark overcoat, Owen carried no bags. The scar on his left temple and a cauliflower ear led staff to assume he’d been a boxer or wrestler. One who got punched in the head a lot, apparently.

There are some conflicting accounts of what transpired over the next 24 to 48 hours. The 10th floor was evidently quite busy the night of January 3rd. A party, a prostitute, and loud and profane chatter in the hallway seem to have been in the mix. And a meeting with a mysterious “Don” referenced in a note was later found in the room. A man matching Owen’s description, with a lacerated arm, had a late-night encounter on the street with a man in a car who gave him a ride to a taxi stand. Owen was visibly shaken and claimed he’d seek revenge on the man who attacked him.

Hotel staff discovered Owen, stabbed and badly beaten but still alive, in his room on the morning of January 4th. His skull was fractured, his lung punctured; he had been tied with cords around the neck, wrists, and ankles. His bruised neck suggested someone had attempted to strangle him. The attending physician who arrived asked who did this to him. Owen responded, “Nobody,” and insisted he’d fallen in the tub and hit his head. He was taken to the hospital but died of the inflicted wounds in the wee morning hours of January 6th.

The Kansas City police could not confirm the existence of any Roland T. Owen. Eventually, the search for the identity of the dead man went nationwide. It was a year and a half before Owen’s real name was discovered to be Artemus Ogletree. His mother, Ruby Ogletree of Birmingham, Alabama provided Kansas City police with enough information to confirm his identity. Oddly, Ruby received a couple of letters postmarked from Chicago and New York after his death. The letter from Chicago was typewritten, and was worded in a fashion of slang unlike Artemus’s typical style of speech. Ruby thought it odd that he’d send such a letter since Artemus didn’t know how to type. A letter from New York in May 1935 told her he was going to Europe. Three months later, she received a call from a man telling her that her son had saved his life in a fight. The man told her Artemus couldn’t call because he was on a ship to Cairo where he had married a wealthy woman and was “doing well.” He also said Artemus couldn’t write because he’d lost a thumb in the fight.

To this day, the mysterious murder of Artemus Ogletree remains unsolved. Theories abound. It’s clear that Ogletree didn’t want his identity to be known, but why? Some believe that the “Don” mentioned in the bedside note may have in reference to a mob figure. The Kansas City underworld had close ties to those in Chicago and New York, so were the letters written by mob associates in an attempt to thwart suspicion that Owen and Ogletree were one and the same?

As I sat in my car, sketching the scene that would become “Early Birds,” I sipped my coffee and contemplated the plight of Artemus Ogletree. Unable to unravel the mystery, I then imagined myself sitting in the Drum Room in 1935, sipping a whiskey, and listening to a bony kid from New Jersey named Frank Sinatra croon.

I went back to my studio, tuned in the Sinatra channel on satellite radio, and did this painting hoping to capture some of the mysterious history of this spot in a contemporary setting. It is part of my “Vertical City” series of 48 x 24 inch oil paintings that earned me the Featured Artist honor for an exhibit at the Jones Gallery in June 2019.

I’ll write about other pieces in this series in future blog posts.

A Pea at Your Knee

I'm going to tell you a bit about this painting and how it came to be. But first,  some background context is necessary. Because as much as this piece depicts the great Satchel Paige, it really isn't just about him; it's also about so much more. I hope you like the story. I think you will.

It's a rare and wonderful moment in your life if you get to meet someone famous whom you also admire and respect. For me, I've met a lot of people who are more famous than John "Buck" O'Neil. But none for whom I've thought of more highly.

You may not be familiar with Buck. He wasn't exactly an "A-List" celebrity. Which is a shame, because he was a great storyteller, a great ambassador, but most importantly he was a man with an enormous heart. I think his heart was so big that it left no room inside him to hate. 

Not that he didn't have reason to, because he did. His grandfather was a slave and Buck was born into poverty in Sarasota, Florida. He shined shoes and picked celery while other kids his age got an education. Buck wasn't allowed to attend high school because, after all, he was black.

My introduction to Buck O'Neil was watching the Ken Burns series, "Baseball" on PBS back in 1994. The stories he told of his days playing in the Negro leagues were absolutely captivating. I had grown up a baseball fan, and I knew the Jackie Robinson story (or at least I thought I did), but I truly knew nothing about the Negro baseball leagues.

Suddenly, I started reading everything I could get my hands on about people with whom I was previously, and unfortunately, unaware. Men such as Rube Foster, Josh Gibson, "Cool Papa" Bell, Gus Greenlee, "Double Duty" Radcliffe, and of course, LeRoy "Satchel" Paige.

One of my favorite Buck stories is how he became known as "Nancy" to Satchel. Here's how it went, according to a piece written by sportswriter Joe Posnanski, who is a national treasure in his own right:

[Buck] remembered playing with his friend Satchel Paige, the best pitcher he ever saw. Paige used to call him Nancy, and there’s a long story that goes along with that, a story Buck O'Neil would tell 10,000 times in his long life. Suffice it to say, Satchel had a woman named Nancy, and he also had a fiancee named Lahoma, and once Lahoma heard Satchel knocking on another hotel door shouting, “Nancy! Nancy!”

Lahoma opened her door. And at that very same instant Buck opened his.

“Did you want something, Satchel?” Buck asked.

“Yes, Nancy,” Satchel said. “What time is the game tomorrow?”

“And,” Buck would say, “I've been Nancy ever since.”

Another story, which as it turns out is the theme of this painting, is about a battle between Satchel Paige and Josh Gibson in the 1942 Negro League World Series where the Kansas City Monarchs defeated the Homestead Grays.

It's the bottom of the ninth, and... well... I'll let Buck tell the story in his own words.

Shows how awesome Satchel Paige really was....

"A pea at your knee." I love this story and love that line. Some say that the story was embellished over time, that it wasn't the ninth and that Paige didn't intentionally walk the bases loaded to pitch to Gibson. But I'll take Buck's version as the gospel truth, because, well... it's Buck.

The stories about these men, who lived in a segregated society, are both heartwarming and heartbreaking. It's hard for me personally to fathom how we in the United States, the self-proclaimed "land of the free," could inflict so much cruelty, punishment, and hatred on a group of people for no other reason than the color of their skin.

Buck O'Neil, along with many others, had every reason to be bitter, resentful, and yes I could even understand it if he felt hatred toward the people who so oppressed his.

But that just wasn't Buck. He played and coached in the Negro leagues, mostly for the Kansas City Monarchs. At an age when most people are enjoying their retirement, he toiled tirelessly to establish the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum in Kansas City in 1990. He served as its honorary board chairman until he died at age 95 in 2006. 

After the Ken Burns piece made Buck O'Neil a minor celebrity at age 83, he also became an unofficial ambassador for the game of baseball. This was during the steroids era, when baseball desperately needed good, honest people to represent it as its reputation became seriously tarnished. And yet when the Baseball Hall of Fame held a special one-time election in 2006 to enshrine overlooked or forgotten Negro leagues heroes, the voters couldn't find a place for a 95-year-old who embodied everything decent and good about the national pastime. In spite of a national outcry at this injustice, Buck took it all in stride. With class and style that opitimized Buck O'Neil's life, he went to Cooperstown for the ceremony of the 17 others who were enshrined and led the ceremony in song. 

I met Buck O'Neil at the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum in Kansas City in 2004. I was just some random guy from California who was there for a visit, but he made me feel like I was the most special person to ever step through that door. I told him how much I enjoyed hearing his stories and thanked him for teaching us about the Negro leagues. He just smiled, winked at me, and said, "I just started it. It's up to you to keep it going."

I cried the day I learned of his death. In the back of my mind, I've wanted to paint a picture of Buck for some time. Maybe young Buck playing or middle-life Buck managing or Buck in his later years as storyteller and statesman. Something to honor this wonderful man. 

But when I started contemplating it, and tried to sense what Buck might like this painting to say, all I could think about was "Nancy."

And Nancy told me, "Don't paint a picture of me, young man. You should paint a picture of Satchel. Nothing would make me happier."

So here's to you, Buck. Because I'm trying to do my little part to keep what you started going.