On my first day in Muskegon, I arrived at the hub and sat nervously at the tall table alone. A few people casually smiled and moved on with their business, before Ken walked in the room. Within moments, he noticed me and seemed to glide over, not hesitating for a moment to introduce himself. We talked for a bit – about college football, about journalism, about MLive – before he grinned and told me, “We’re glad to have you.” He had a way of immediately making you feel like an old friend and it took just 10 minutes for me to know that. And from there, he greeted me every single day with a boisterous “What up, DD?” and we’d share small talk of wherever the previous day’s journey took us.
I always loved going on assignment with Ken – to fires, to sporting events, to some goofy features thing – because he was a consummate professional but he was never too big for the moment. It’d be easy to gripe, as I sometimes do, but he appreciated the moment to moment interactions and seemed to live for the music of the conversation and the heat of a story. He was calm and polite and you’d never know he was stressed.
He’s everything that I appreciate in journalism – and in human beings. He works hard, he’s talented and he never was too busy to say hello. Whether it be in the company of World War II veterans or elementary age children, Ken was equally comfortable and knew it wouldn’t take long until they were comfortable with him, too. And as he left the hub each day, he’d always take time to say, “until next time, guys,” before hopping back in his SUV and on to the next adventure.
I’m still not ready to say “until next time” to Ken Stevens.
We all miss you, buddy.