Steal the Rhythm While You Can

One of Jeff’s best friends reached out to Kris, wondering if I’d like to include any thoughts from friends of his back in the day. Would I like to offer another view of Jeff’s World? Obviously.

First, meet Zach Jones, center of the group, in the “featured image” for this post.

A lot has been said about Jeff’s amazing sense of humor, but that boy had rhythm. In middle school, Jeff played drums in the band and every week the band teacher held a competition called “dollar day” where the best student would get a dollar.  Jeff won dollar day.  Every. Single. Time.  It came easy to him.  

I first met Jeff in 1994 when my family moved to Plano, Texas from Madison, Wisconsin.  As the new kid entering 4^th grade with two weeks left in the school year, I was worried about making friends.  A summer vacation alone in a new city and state was a scary thought at 9 years old.  However, Jeff immediately welcomed me, creating a lasting impact in the short amount of time before summer vacation, and we became close friends.

As we navigated our way through childhood into adolescence, music was one of our strongest connections. What you listen to during your formative years sticks with you, and some of my most vivid memories from my time with Jeff involve music.  One song in particular, Spoonman by Soundgarden, became our anthem.  I will always love this song because it reminds me of Jeff.  A grunge masterpiece, it has a hard-driving intro, catchy melody, and a percussive theme throughout.  The opening lines are “Feel the rhythm with your hands.  Steal the rhythm while you can.”

Between sleepovers and Blockbuster, swimming pools and the occasional POG game… these were the dollar days of our lives.  But Jeff and family moved to Mobile for Tom’s job, and change was about to happen.

Things happened very quickly once Jeff got sick.  My mom hurriedly told me beneath a mantle of tears that the Koenigsbergs were moving back to Plano and Jeff wasn’t well.  I was happy to see Jeff again, but life was not the same.   Soon after returning, Jeff’s head was shaved due to the surgery on his brain stem, leaving his long red hair to cover the new scar on the back of his head.  Ever the jokester and optimist, he said “lucky for me, undercuts are IN” – and he was right.  The fad at the time for middle school boys was shaving your hair short on the sides, letting the long hair on top fall over it.  That was one of many times he made the best of a bad situation. 

As the winter holidays continued, so did Jeff’s decline.  We went to the movies one day and it was snowing.  Jeff was now in a wheelchair.  I so badly wanted to play in the snow with Jeff, so we all helped him out of his chair on the sidewalk and made snow angels in the grass.  I know many readers from Jeff’s family will be unimpressed with the half inch of snow we got in Texas that year, but it’s a big deal for us.  This particular time, perhaps the biggest.

With the snow came Christmas.  Jeff’s house was as warm and inviting as a Hallmark movie.  Tom and Kris had a way of making all the neighborhood friends feel welcome.  Tom rigged up a sky-diving Santa on a pulley system with a spring that would plunge from the bannister upstairs right in front of your face when you opened the front door.  I always thought that was the coolest thing.  We all had a great time hanging out with Jeff that winter, thanks to his parents, who shouldered the enormous burden of his declining health with a grace that is heroic in every way. 

I remember the evening my parents told me about Jeff passing.  I was in the mud room of my house taking off my shin guards after soccer practice.  The next day at school, the student body was quiet and morose.  I remember our lunch table where Jeff used to sit, a few of us simply covered our heads in our arms and quietly cried. 

I needed a fresh start, so I enrolled in an academic program at a different high school.  I buried myself in my classwork and found a knack for biology.  This became my major in college, culminating with an acceptance to medical school.  Jeff’s unwanted journey into the world of health care played a large role in my decision.  Every step of the way, I kept his memory.  I did not bring up Jeff on application essays or during interviews.  His memory is deeper than that, a secret between the shadow and the soul.  A core aspect of me deep inside.  

After medical school, I trained to become an Anesthesiologist.  I like to think the sense of humor Jeff and I shared helps put people at ease before the stressful experience of surgery.  I typically get five to ten minutes to meet someone before putting them to sleep in the operating room.  I’m reminded of when I moved to Plano and needed a friend before summer vacation.  Like Jeff, I strive to create a lasting impact in a short amount of time.

My wife, Glynna, and I have two boys — Travis, 4, & Austin, 3, and live in Frisco, Texas. We are expecting our third child, a daughter, in July, 2021. I finished College at UT Austin, and did Medical School and Residency training in UT Houston before moving back to the Dallas area where I have been a private practice Anesthesiologist for the last 7 years.  We live in Frisco, which borders Plano.  My parents still live in the home I grew up in near Jeff, and one of the several area hospitals I work at is in Plano, which brings me back there often.

Here are more friends of Jeff who would like to offer their memories…

Jacob Brown

In 1990, my family moved to Plano. The first person I met was Jeff. As I approached his house, the first thing I noticed was a skateboard on the front porch. Based on that, my 7-year-old brain instantly formed an image of who Jeff would be. I hadn’t seen the movie, but I was picturing someone along the lines of Tom Cruise in Top Gun. I’ve always been shy, and now I was worried that I’d soon be face-to-face with the epitome of cool. Would I be cool enough for this Jeff guy? Then the door opened, and behind it was a skinny red-haired kid with freckles and big glasses.

After getting over my initial shock, I quickly made my first new friend. I can’t remember the name of the street that house was on anymore, but I can still tell you where it is because I was there all the time (it was Brouette Court. You’re welcome.) I don’t have my own mother’s cell phone number memorized, but I can tell you what Jeff’s old number was because of how often I called it. It also didn’t hurt that it wasn’t far off from Tommy Tutone’s hit song, but still.

Jeff was a nerd. And I either didn’t realize it or didn’t want to admit it, but so was I. One year for Halloween we went as Wayne and Garth from Wayne’s World. The costumes couldn’t have been more perfect – two nerds dressed as two nerds, shamelessly celebrating something we loved together as we said to everyone who gave us candy, “Party on! Excellent!”

And party on we did. Swimming, playing basketball, listening to the Spin Doctors, riding bikes. He rode an Awesome Giant so I wanted to get a bike that was like his, but not exactly the same: a Boulder Giant. It’s hard to believe that all happened in only about five years. I had to double check the math.

Suddenly, Mobile took him away, and the last night I saw him before he left, I cried. Then months later, Mrs. K called the house. I answered and was so excited to hear her voice. She asked to speak to my mom and that I not stay on the line. When my mom wrote down the reason why, I cried again.

At least Jeff was coming back. Of course things would be different. The treatment physically changed him, but his sense of humor – one of the greatest of his many great qualities – didn’t go anywhere. He wasn’t skinny anymore, and when I made a joke asking when the baby was due, he laughed. His red hair was gone, and in its place was a smiley face drawn in marker on his head. When Jeff was taken away again, there were so many tears at his memorial service, but afterwards, there was so much laughter as we reminisced. For a second I wondered if I should feel guilty, but that was silly. The best way to honor him was by laughing.

Saying Jeff was taken away may not be accurate. Parts of him will always exist in those whose lives he touched. He was smart, loyal, and so creative. And he was the star drummer in sixth grade band. During this pandemic, I’ve gotten really into playing Wii Rock Band drums. My lack of rhythm is apparent to anyone who’s seen me dance – or more accurately, try to dance – but I’ve managed to achieve perfection on every song in the game. On Medium level. There’s still Hard and Expert to conquer. I wonder how silly Jeff would make my achievements look if he could pick up those sticks.

Looking back to that first day we met, I think Jeff actually was too cool for me. He may have been too cool for all of us. But he never would have let anyone feel that way.

One time I made an 11-cheese sandwich and I also rode an ostrich in Vietnam. Attached are four photos so I can try and keep up with Zach. One is me with my dog Biscuits, one is on the New Girl set with my slightly more famous friend Max Greenfield, and the other two should be self explanatory. 

I got a degree in journalism from UT Austin and was a sportswriter at a newspaper for two years before going to Boston University to get a masters in screenwriting. Since 2009 I’ve been living in Los Angeles where I’m trying to make it as a television writer, with credits on New Girl and Last Man Standing.

Curtis Brooks

I still remember his face. I remember his dignity and how mature he was when he was going through his illness. He wanted us all to get along and be nice to each other. It’s weird to think it’s only been 25 years since Jeff passed, but I have good memories of him. We shared good laughs together. I miss my friend Jeff.

He used to call me Chocolate Man. 😁

Leah Cardy Bomgardner

Jeff was always such a kind and sweet friend. We shared a birthday and we thought it was so funny to ‘jinx’ each other while saying Happy Birthday at the same time! He was so encouraging in band when I just couldn’t figure out how to play the oboe. He introduced me to percussion and helped along the way. My memory from middle school is not so sharp, but I will never forget his stunning red hair! 

Storey Wilkes Cook

It is an honor to be part of remembering Jeff. I hold him so dear to my heart, along with the whole Koenigsberg clan. 

Twenty-five years. I remember the cold February day I learned Jeff was no longer on this side of eternity. I vividly remember the drive to the church for Jeff’s funeral, not knowing how to wrap my 7^th-grade mind around losing a peer. A friend.

What I choose to dwell on, though, is the hilarious red-headed Simpsons fanatic who I had the pleasure of being friends with, even in the pre-adolescent years where boys and girls weren’t always friends. The closeness of our families was a true gift to me during formative years of my life. Whether we were eating at Tia’s after church with our families or drawing and laughing in my dad’s office at the church while our parents were in meetings, Jeff had a way of making everything feel lighter.

The summer before his passing, my family had the honor of receiving Jeff’s family’s hospitality while we were in-between houses during a move. Jeff was heavily medicated during this time, in and out of treatment and not fully Jeff as I had known him in many ways. He remained powerfully positive, funny as ever, and inspirational as he managed his situation with Herbert the Hedgehog by his side. I cannot see the Simpson’s logo pop up on Disney+ without thinking fondly of Jeff and his quick wit and humor.

I am so thankful Jeff was a part of my life, even though it was too short. 

Lindsay Hold

When I moved to Plano in fifth grade, Jeff was one of the first real friends that I made at Wells Elementary. I had lived in another city all my life, and the move to Plano was tough for a quiet, shy person like me. Leaving behind my childhood friends and school that I loved dearly, I landed at a new school that intimidated me.

There were quite a few Jeff-s in our 5^th grade class so we referred to him as “Jeff K”.   I had a fun time learning how to spell his cool, unique last name.  We bonded over making jokes, made-up characters, and having too much fun during class. Jeff was so witty, smart, and he was different. I felt like I could be myself around him because we had similar personalities. We both liked to find the humor in things but were sensitive in some ways.

Living a few houses down the block from each other, we would take walks and sing along and air drum to Nirvana songs.  We’d quote lines from The Simpsons and crack jokes about things that happened in school that day.  I remember being incredibly sad when he had to move to Alabama, and when I saw the moving truck in his front yard from down the street, I felt like I had to say goodbye to a really special friend. 

When I heard from a mutual friend that Jeff was moving back, I remember being elated. I was excited, but that quickly turned to worry when I heard the circumstances of why he was returning to Plano. It didn’t make sense to me. Did they have the info wrong?  How? Jeff was young, vibrant, and most of all — kind. He didn’t deserve to go through that, and I had a tough time wrapping my head around why such good people go through such awful things.

I wanted to be there for Jeff.  I was prepared to be as understanding and aware of the new things going on with Jeff as I could, as I was no stranger to seeing someone struggle with their well-being.

My Mom had had some unexpected health issues after we moved to Plano and we had spent so many hours and nights in the emergency room wondering if she would make it. I was very accustomed to sleeping on hospital couches, waiting in waiting rooms during her brain surgeries, seeing my Mom look different than her usual self, and witnessing the ups and downs of her good and bad days.  But most of all, I was used to that feeling in the pit in my stomach from worry that never seemed to leave me.

I did not want my friend to struggle, and I was incredibly concerned about him after hearing what he was going through. I had that same pit in my stomach until I saw Jeff again and he was the same, bright spirit.  That made me hopeful that things would be okay, eventually.  Jeff was resilient and I prayed so hard for him and was looking forward to my friend being back in Plano.

I remember calling Jeff’s update line every day when I could not see him. I had the phone number memorized by heart. When I did get to visit Jeff, we would sit in his room and he would tell me stories about what he experienced in the hospital. We would talk about music again and his hedgehog, Herbert, would make appearances. I felt incredibly lucky to spend time with him, to laugh again, to see his smile and to just be kids. We would borrow each other’s CD’s and talk about which songs we liked the most and why on the albums. I really looked forward to those visits, even if they were different than our days at school and walking around the neighborhood. 

One day, when I called his line, like I had many times before, the update was that he had gone home to be with the Lord.  I remember being shocked. I called back several times to listen to the message and I wrote it down on a piece of paper.  I read it over and over to try to process it and just couldn’t.  At school we were grief stricken and in disbelief. 

I’ve kept a lot of my notebooks from this period. My friends and I would write each other notes and pass them back and forth during school.  They serve as windows to my memory years later.

An entry from a note I wrote my best friend, Ashley, on February 12, 1996: 

“Dear Ashley, What can I say? I can’t believe Jeff is gone.  I keep remembering every detail of our friendship and I am heartbroken.  One time that I keep thinking about was in the beginning of sixth grade I had to ride Jeff’s bus home and his stop was the one before mine.  I didn’t want to get off at the wrong one, so I got off with him and we started walking in the same direction home.  He asked if something was wrong when he could tell I was having a bad day, and I said “I am scared about my Mom” and told him a little bit about why I was worried about my mom. He had sympathy, real sympathy.  He listened to me and reassured me.  He was a wonderful friend, a good listener, a caring person. I miss him so much already”.

Reading that again brings tears to my eyes. That was Jeff, exactly. 

I recently had my first child last November. He is a red-haired boy that we named Oliver. After having a child, my empathy has grown so much for parents in general — but Jeff’s Mom, Dad, and sister, Lisa, have crossed my mind many times — as I cannot fathom what they have experienced as a family.

As I hold my boy, I dream big for what I hope he will become and contribute to the world. I hope that I raise a child who sees a new kid in school and befriends them, like Jeff did to me. I pray that he has a sense of humor and can be kind to others even if he’s going through something tough, like Jeff. 

I have caught myself wondering if Jeff and I would still be friends and make the same kind of jokes and still talk about current music and TV shows if he were still here. I bet we would be friends and that makes me smile.  I wish I could send him a text to heaven about something funny.  Oh, how my heart wishes that so much. 

But, I have found that with the grief also comes so much gratitude as well. I am so incredibly thankful that I crossed paths with Jeff when I moved to Plano. How lucky was I to get to know him and to connect with such a special person who had the same classes, at the same school, in the same neighborhood?  So lucky.   I am grateful for the moments in my childhood that we spent laughing, singing, and being happy even when things were tough.  Jeff will always be a bright spot in my life and memory, as I know he made that impact on so many others as well.  There have been very few people who have touched my soul in that way, even more than 20 years later. Jeff taught me so much in the little time I got the pleasure of being his friend and I carry this with me every day.   Thank you, Jeff.