Ken, Kenny, Kenneth Funk; however you knew him made no difference. He was a hard-working guy all of his life.
Sadly, he passed away on Saturday, Jan. 5, of complications of ankle surgery in Wichita.
I first wanted to be like him when I bought my ’56 Chevy from a local dealership that he and his wife Bonnie owned previously.
Next, I worked for him at his construction company right out of high school. The first job was making laminated rafters for a building that still stands on Jon Hefley’s place east and south of town.
It was back changing work as I had an extremely sunburned strip on my lower back from bending over and pounding nails all day for a week.
When the manager of the Herald Book and Printing company from Newton came calling and since I was already a printer, I switched jobs then and there. I was afraid to tell Ken I had taken another job, but he didn’t get mad.
I know he will be missed a great deal by his family, at our church and as a great friend to many.
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Sister Elaine’s email to me about little brother Mark and the highchair incident. “Do you remember this?” she asked
“One day—I don’t know where our supervisors were—Joel and I were rocking Mark back and forth in his high chair. Joel would pull him back onto the back two legs of the high chair and then push until he was on the front two legs of the high chair, whereupon I would catch the chair and push it back. Mark was laughing his head off and Joel and I were thrilled to be providing him so much fun until suddenly we lost control and the chair flung forward and Mark almost bit his tongue off. Screams replaced wild laughter and my mother picked him up, blood running everywhere, and ran to the ER, which was right next door. Joel and I were 4 and 5, not really old enough to know better. We were stunned and our parents knew we had no bad intentions. I think they blamed themselves for not having seen what we were doing. Before the accident our mother was probably delighted to hear us having so much fun together.
Miraculously, the doctors were able to stitch Mark’s tongue back together. Joel and I were pretty scared until we were sure he was going to be OK. I think our guilt and horror was enough punishment. His tongue healed up properly and he learned to talk, although kind of late. I think it had nothing to do with the accident, though; he was one of those kids who wants to have complete thoughts and sentences before saying anything.”
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In the latest joke book “Ozark Laughter,” by Bob Hinds, which I just latched on to is the following joke:
“The doctor said he would have me walking in 30 days. He kept his promise. I had to sell my car when I received his bill.”z
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If you wish to share your comments or ideas, my e-mail address is joel@hillsborofreepress.com.
