Monday, July 20, 2020
In 1970, I lived in the apartment building Ken managed, Lincoln Village, near Southern Illinois University (SIU) in Carbondale, Ill. I was fortunate to become one of his friends, along with several other Lincoln Village residents who, like me, were graduate students at SIU.
Ken had such empathy for others. For example, he knew that I was going through a rough patch at SIU, and he wanted to lift my spirits. So one day, after I returned from a Christmas break, I opened my apartment door and found a 3-foot-high, artfully crafted candle holder (with scented candle) standing in the hall. Ken had made that gift, and it meant to world to me. I toted it with me whenever I moved anywhere, considering it my symbol of light overcoming darkness.
Ken also was so generous. I mentioned one time that I loved his bluebird houses. A month later, UPS delivered a huge, heavy box with two birdhouses inside. Ken paid $60 (in the 1970s!) to ship those birdhouses.
Over the past 50 years, Ken and I, along with our mutual friends Patty, Jeanette, Stan, Margaret and Mareile, have met periodically around the U.S. — including Oklahoma, Maryland, Kansas, Iowa, California and Minnesota — as a way to stay in touch.
Last fall, we met in Des Moines, Iowa, in part to mourn for two of our friends: Patty, who died in 2018, and Jeanette, who died in May of 2019.
Ken always urged us to have these get-togethers and would scold us if we dragged our heels making them happen. “You never know when this will be the last time we see each other!” he would say. How profoundly and sadly prophetic those words would be.
My deepest sympathy, Cindy. I know Ken loved you with all his heart, and I know you felt the same about him.
