Memories

I had the pleasure of working with Ken Stevens at Central Michigan LIFE and again at the Muskegon Chronicle. Later, we found ourselves on the Michigan Stadium field in 1991; he was shooting the UM-Notre Dame game and I was doing some kind of color piece for the Ann Arbor News.

When the announcer shared scores from around the Big 10 and the update included CMU’s stunning upset of MSU, the crowd went understandably nuts. But no two people were louder than Kenny and me. We looked at each other (what?!), screamed (the Chips beat MSU?!), hugged (yes!!), and screamed some more.

That’s how I’ll remember this wonderful, kind, talented man – laughing, hugging, and jumping up and down out of sheer joy. He was a gift.

Like everyone else I am shocked and very sad to learn of Ken Stevens sudden death yesterday. My heart is with his family, and those closest to him. I am one of the lucky ones to have gotten the chance to work alongside him at the Muskegon Chronicle. I don’t think they come nicer than Ken. I couldn’t have dreamed up a more supportive environment than working with him, Cory Morse, Kendra Stanley Mills, and Greg Dorsett. Such sad times. I’m glad to have known him.

My favorite Ken Stevens story came when he and I traveled to Park City, Utah, in 2001 to cover Muskegon’s own Mark Grimmette in a World Cup race one year before the Olympic Games. The practice/availability schedule of Mark and the rest of the U.S. team turned out to be completely different than we were told (of course), which meant the first day we were there was basically the only day we had much access.

But, in typical Kenny form, rather than complain he got busy shooting, and shooting and shooting – and it was FREEZING. Everyone knows Ken was a peach of a guy, but he was also a consummate professional. He must have stayed outside for 10 hours straight as I kept going in and out to warm up and eat (which he never did). Each time I talked to him, we would laugh about getting out of the cold and into the sketchy hot tub at our sketchier Best Western.

When we finally got back to the hotel, we made a beeline for the hot tub to thaw our frozen toes, but I will never forget his face as he rounded the corner ahead of me. His eyes got big and he ran his hand through the part in his hair (as he was known to do), and said: “It’s not looking good, Tommy K.” I caught up with him to see for myself what can only be described as a grisly scene – the entire Italian men’s luge team and coaches and team officials, each one more woolly and Carmine Ragusa-esque than the one before – dominating the tiny tub, complete with cigars and bottles of wine and more hair than the barbershop floor.

So we headed back to the room, cranked the wall heater, and enjoyed a cardboard pizza and 2-liter of Sprite as we watched the Utah Jazz play a meaningless NBA regular-season game. Kenny-Bob, enjoy that soothing Best Western hot tub in the sky, my friend, sans two-time Olympic Gold medalist Armin Zöggeler and his Italian teammates, of course …

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.

I worked with this talented man during my college years, and we were fellow “Boothies” during my newspaper career. In a business where trials, tribulations and cynicism tend to wear people down over the years, I can’t remember a time when Ken Stevens wasn’t wearing a sincere smile and greeting me with a friendly word. His smile, talent and — perhaps most — his humanity will be sorely missed.

The world lost a great man yesterday. Ken Stevens was the most genuinely nice and caring person I have ever met and will ever meet.

He believed in me much more than I believed in myself.

And he took a chance on me and hired my for my first photo internship. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have the faith in journalism that I do now. We miss you Ken.