Max Heim, 91, died June 9, 2026, in Hutchinson. Max checked into Hutchinson hospice on Saturday and checked out on Tuesday, June 9. When the nurse asked if he wanted something to eat, he replied, “I didn’t come here for a picnic; I came here to die.” Always in charge, always with a quip.

Little “Maxie” Heim was born to Marie and Sam Heim, and while it was November 28, 1934, and not December 25, to his mother, that was close enough for at least sainthood. Although Sam died when Max was ten, Sam and his brother Johnny would be big characters in his life, well remembered as ranchers and well-drillers, but also for racing cars, riding motorcycles, and raising hell in eastern Russell County. Through it all, Marie exalted her only child and always knew he was bound for great things.

After a rocky period in life as a single mom in the 1940’s, Marie married John Letsch, a gentleman farmer/rancher, and moved into a pastoral place tucked into a bend in the Smoky River south of Bunker Hill. Little Maxie’s new life included the addition of two stepbrothers, Howard and Albert Letsch, and a foster brother, Robert Kluesner, all of whom preceded him in death. Johnny Letsch accepted Maxie into his life and sparked in him a lifelong love of that little farm on the Smoky.

Maxie’s academic career was less than stellar. He struggled with letters and numbers that seemed to move around on the page. We now call that dyslexia. After Sam died, he moved among various relatives’ homes, attending several schools and struggling in each. When life settled down, and he proudly rode his horse to Pioneer School near his new home, he repeated 8th grade and failed the test to advance to high school. Details are sketchy, but he credits a kind Pioneer teacher with a big eraser with helping him matriculate to Bunker Hill High School.

Max took to farm life and, while still struggling academically, enjoyed his time as a Bunker Hill White Owl. His admitted lack of pitch didn’t keep him from singing in the choir (or later embarrassing his children while singing loudly off-key in church). A wise band teacher handed him some drumsticks to keep playing in the right register. Max enjoyed playing football and basketball in high school, but it was probably his mother’s devotion to hyping Max and contributing to the Methodist Church that earned him a football scholarship to Kansas Wesleyan College. The only tale of athletic prowess family members ever heard him tell was when he swished a two-handed set shot for the Dorrance High team while suited up in Bunker’s purple and white.

College was not much different for Max with the exception that he learned his real name wasn’t Maxie upon enrolling at Kansas Wesleyan. After picking up his books before classes started and opening the math book, he made a quick calculation that Bunker Hill’s curriculum and the dancing letters and numbers had not prepared him for college academics. Without informing his family, he packed up his things and skedaddled. The lure of the bright lights of the Kansas State Fair drew him to Hutchinson, where he began working at Dr. John Blank’s farm.

It was not long before his mother tracked him down and escorted him back to Bunker Hill. While no doubt a tense time, the move turned fortuitous when Max was attending a show at the Bunker Hill outdoor movie theater. (This entailed projecting a movie from the fire station driveway onto the side of Bronson’s Grocery.) It was there that he saw a hot little number whose family had just moved to town, walking down Bunker’s main street with her sisters.

Wisely ignoring his doting mother’s wishes (no one was good enough for Little Maxie), Max worked up the courage, and the 71-year partnership was on. Predating Jack and Meg White by decades, but not in spirit, “I can tell that we are gonna be friends, Yes, I can tell that we are gonna be friends.”

People of a certain age will remember a school film about hurricanes that was shown in science classes. The film depicted brave pilots who would fly through the wind, hail, and torrential rain to the eye of the hurricane for science. For 71 years, Mary Rachel (Boltin) Heim piloted that plane in the eye of Hurricane Max. She was a calming force, a wise counselor, and a trusted confidant, showing a quiet strength she had learned while shepherding a brother and three sisters in the house of a testy roughneck.

Back to school for a history degree at KU, then setting up shop across the street from the Gorham Schools, Max took his first teaching job. Meanwhile, Diana, John, and David arrived on the scene. Henceforth, time could best be measured by job changes or vehicle purchases. Max loved trading up in both.

From Gorham to a principal position for the Clifton Cardinals, then a stint as a Colby Eagle. Next, Max returned to the University of Kansas, where he overcame his fear of the dancing letters and numbers and earned his PhD in Educational Administration. Dr. Heim was then hired as an assistant superintendent for the Manhattan School District. A few years there and a short stint teaching at Emporia State, the family moved to Olathe, where Max served as assistant superintendent.

It was in the next job, Superintendent of the Independence School District, that Max truly found his calling. The early seventies were a time of civil unrest, and Max became a courageous advocate for disadvantaged students who had been overlooked or deliberately excluded. Diana, John, and David found themselves with an extensive collection of Historically Black Colleges and Universities swag as Max traveled the country recruiting African American staff to come to Independence. He was instrumental in improving services for special education students, leading the establishment of Kansas’s first special education cooperative.

Next stop, Hutchinson. The previous long-tenured and beloved superintendent had been caught and convicted of stealing the children’s lunch money. One might say there was a lack of trust in the system and its leadership. Stymied by local nattering nabobs of negativity, Max decided to try his hand at higher education again as Dean of the College of Education at Mississippi State University. Diana met and married Brad Johnson and stayed in Hutch, while John continued his “studies” at the University of Kansas. David rode shotgun in the U-Haul truck to Starkville while Mary drove escort in a badass red Buick Century coupe with a white vinyl top.

Max and Mary enjoyed their time in Starkville, MS; David, maybe not so much. But when Johnny Letsch died, and Marie was left to run the farm alone, duty called. They returned to Kansas, where he began his longest tenure as superintendent of Geary County Schools. It was there that Max embraced a philosophy of reviewing student data to determine if students were actually learning while at school.

What seems obvious now was a revolutionary model that transformed Kansas education, morphing into a new accreditation model for schools based on student outcomes rather than the height of the flagpole and the number of books in the library. He was recognized as a fierce and transformative figure for student learning, leading the creation of a system that continues to ensure that disadvantaged students across the state are an educator’s responsibility, not a burden.

One thing Max will never be accused of is laziness, so on the weekends and what normal families call “holidays”, he mixed the roles of John Dutton and Rip Wheeler on that little farm on the Smoky. The views were not as majestic and the scale much smaller, but the unpaid hands of John, David, and son-in-law, Brad, were pressed into service with similar vigor.

The only thing Max ever failed at was retirement. He “retired” from Geary County and went to work at his beloved University of Kansas, preparing young wannabes for the world of educational administration. But the need to be closer to the farm and have a direct impact on students called him back to a short stint in superintendency at Lyons, Kansas. Retirement number three took him from Lyons to the Kansas Association of School Boards, where he worked as a Western Kansas Field Agent and finally moved back to the place where he spent his formative years.

Max served in that role for a decade, happily serving districts and managing the farm and ranch operation. Fans of Yellowstone who watch cosplaying cowboys ride, and rope and work cattle might be shocked to see Max and Mary, in their seventies and eighties, working cows, goats, and sheep with a pickup, a bucket of cubes, and a college-educated border collie.

Once again, duty called, and Max had to retire from KASB (rumors that he was put out to pasture by his son at KASB cannot be substantiated) to take a position as President of Colby Community College. He served there as interim president on two occasions, which brings the reader to a fifth, then a sixth, and final retirement.

From that fateful day on the main drag of Bunker Hill to his last day on earth, Max was supported every single day by Mary Rachel Heim. Diana, David, and John were his pride, as were his grandchildren, Sarah, Taylor, and Austin Johnson, Sam and Jack Heim, and Erin Heim. Ninety-two years means you get to meet your great-grandchildren, too! Lily, Drew, and Julianna Stivers, Tate and Mayer Collins, Ashlynn and Amelia Johnson, and Elliott and Max Josephine Heim bring it full circle.

Max will long be remembered and revered for over 60 years of service to Kansas public school students. He devoted himself to helping others who, like him, struggled in school due to circumstances beyond their control. He was a proud husband, father, grandfather, and great-grandfather, whose life stands as a model for us all.

Private inurnment will take place.

In lieu of flowers, memorials donations may be made to KU Endowment (in support of the School of Education & Human Sciences) at the University of Kansas. Memorials can be sent to Elliott Mortuary, 1219 N. Main, Hutchinson, KS 67501. Or, you may send your memorial to KU Endowment, P.O. Box 928, Lawrence, KS 66044 or give online at www.kuendowment.org/givenow.