My father, Richard Ryan, was a novice entrepreneur and restaurateur.
With his brother Timothy and the help of former senator Phil Snowden, he started a franchise called Pizza Shoppe & Pub.
The year was 1967 and the original location was in Platte Woods. The building that was renovated to begin this first store was the former bowling alley, owned and operated by long time Platte County Judge Ward Stuckey.
Pizza was like a new food group in those days and restaurants were few and far between. Success was swift and the franchising aspect of the business boomed. Interstate 29 was not yet built, but it was in the final stages of planning. Kansas City International airport much the same. The sleepy, quiet little bedroom community located in the country north of the Broadway Bridge was ready to burst open and my dad was waiting for it.
Before his rise in the pizza sphere, Richard was an agent for General American Life Insurance Company. His charm and good fortune somehow earned him a meeting with another young entrepreneur, Lamar Hunt. I remember Lamar as being humble and kind, but mostly no nonsense.
Dad took me along on several quick trips to drop off or pick up papers from various clients, Mr. Hunt being just one. The two men had a mutual respect and understanding with each other and seemed to enjoy their short, articulate banter. It didn’t matter a great deal to me; I just knew I had a Royal Crown cola in my future and an afternoon buzzing around the urban areas of Kansas City with Dad.
With Pizza Shoppe location number two or three up and running, it was time to go east and establish a store in Liberty, home to William Jewel College. It also happened to be the training facilities for the Kansas City Chiefs.
As a young boy in the late 1960’s, all I knew of Liberty is that Jesse James once held up a bank there. From Highway 71 that ran through Platte Woods and continued to the north through the county, we would take Barry Road over to Clay County. It was a two-lane road then, undulating over creeks, cow pastures and the occasional planted row crop. There were certainly not any traffic lights betwixt here and there, nor a stop sign as I recollect. The journey to and fro was consistently without any encumbrance.
As the newest location opened in downtown Liberty, the restaurant quickly became a hangout for the players. The second story of the antiquated brick and mortar building was dry goods storage, the main level the restaurant and the open beamed basement was the piano bar. A couple of old whiskey barrels filled with peanuts were the only things that accompanied the Boston upright. Shells littered the floor. My mother played standard American sing along songs that everyone knew. The Schlitz Beer distributorship for much of the Kansas City metro was owned by Bill Grigsby. Bill of course was the play by play/color commentator for the Chiefs for decades, as well as a Parkville resident. Schlitz was also the only beer served on tap — in ice cold glass mugs or glass pitchers. This is also about the time that Dad became the statistician for Mr. Grigsby and Dick Carlson. Needless to say, we were very thick with the guys.
During the summers of the late 1960’s, my brother Danny and I were ‘unofficial’ gophers at the training camp. We’d chase down wayward punts or dropped passes, gather up or pass out towels and ‘go fetch’ whatever it was we were told to go fetch. All the players were addressed as Mister. All the players said not to call them Mister. We still called them Mister. We couldn’t say Buck — or Willie — or Lenny — or Otis. That was much too informal. Odds are that if my brother and I were still in Liberty after practice, we’d be seeing them at the Pizza Shoppe later, still saying Mister. If we weren’t at the restaurant, it wasn’t uncommon for Dad to bring a player home to go fishing — we lived on Lake Waukomis — and then have a home cooked meal. It was ordinary for us to have a Chiefs player hanging around the house for an afternoon. We practiced field goals in the back yard to show Jan Stenerud or punts to show Jerrell Wilson our talent. We had no talent so we never bothered them with it. Jim Lynch and Bobby Bell were always very pleasant to be around — off the field. At practice or game day, their intensity was unnerving. Hank Stram was intimidating, I think it was the title of coach; coaches always scared me.
But times changed and people did too. Additional restaurants took us away from much time in Liberty after the 1970-’71 season. The Chiefs were moving from Memorial Stadium to Arrowhead, I-29 and the airport were in their infancy and us boys were big enough now to mow lawns, bale hay or make pizzas (do dishes.) Dad was still very tight with the Chiefs organization, remaining as Grigsby’s statistician and on some board of directors for the Red Coaters.
We had five or six school buses — complete with a keg of Schlitz, taking fans to the games from Platte Woods. A block of 80 seats wrapped around the tunnel at Arrowhead that we sold and/or gave away to family or customers. For a few years after Arrowhead opened and the players would exit the field, they’d occasionally look up at us. When recognized, they’d point, smile and throw us a chin strap or elbow pad.
It was wonderful being a Chiefs fan then. And it’s wonderful now.
Bill Ryan is a former county resident now living in Osmond, Neb.