Friday, January 18, 2008

Goodbye to my friend, Ken Kelley



Early this morning, the sad news came that Ken Kelley died last Saturday. When I got off the phone, and got dressed, I went outside to take a long walk. While walking, I composed this tribute:

Ken arrived at the University of Michigan as one of those under-aged child prodigies. He must have been 16 or so. He was the living epitome of the Sixties spirit -- a radical hippie before we even used words like that.

To me, he was a kid with such infectious enthusiasm for everything around him that it almost wore me out to be near Ken for too long at a time. Ken never did anything in half-measures.

He would eat ravenously and balloon to a huge shape; then diet in macrobiotic mode, and become thin as a rail. His wild curly yellow hair was a white man's Afro. He started an underground newspaper and got in all sorts of trouble by portraying a local political figure in what was deemed, by the standards of the time, "obscene."

Ken seemed to know everybody. He was Minister of Information for John Sinclair's White Panther Party. Sinclair also was manager of the band, MC5, and when he was imprisoned for possessing a tiny amount of marijuana, Ken helped draw international attention to his case. Sinclair was released from prison days after John Lennon went to Michigan and held a huge concert in his behalf.

Ken was always this close to getting into serious trouble. He'd shoplift food, try to get away with not paying for gas at gas stations (this was long before credit cards), and exercise other types of petty crimes that were common among hippies of that time.

When unknown radicals bombed the CIA office in Ann Arbor, Ken said he knew who had done it. Whenever any demonstration or concert or wild event developed, Ken seemed to be at the center of it.

He was relentlessly enthusiastic, a natural promoter of other people's careers, but never really of his own. A typical experience was when excitedly told us that a wandering theatre troupe called the Living Theater was on campus, and dragged me along for a look.

Sure enough, led by a free-spirited middle-aged couple, this "theater" amounted to a roomful of students (including Ken, of course), getting naked and jumping into the crowd below, who obligingly caught them. I watched for a while, and couldn't help thinking that the outright glee on Ken's face as he jumped somehow exhibited his identity in a way that I could never achieve for myself. It all seemed rather, you know, unsanitary, to me, but I knew that really I was way too inhibited and simply not cool enough to join in.

The same with drugs, alcohol, sex, and every other outrage of the era. Ken did everything to excess, with an unbounded appetite to live as if there was never going to be any sort of tomorrow.

At that point, I could not really imagine him ever growing old.

***

After our hiatus in the Peace Corps, my wife and I returned to Ann Arbor to figure out what to do with the rest of our lives. Ken was still in town, larger than life, a constant blur of excitement, danger, and the art of the outrageous. He always had the Next Great Idea, and this time, it was to be a magazine called SunDance, to be published in San Francisco.

He urged us to come and be the journalists who could anchor the publication in place. Of course, we said yes, and that's how I arrived in this town, in the fall of 1971, driving our old van across the country, crammed with magazine production gear Ken had produced at the last moment for us to deliver to what was to be our new office, at 1913 Fillmore Street.

As we drove into town, it was apparent that Ken had relocated to the ground zero of the Sixties' Revolution. Here was a much bigger stage, with many more players, but Ken plunged into it all with the same gusto as always.

By now, it was clear he was gay, and maybe sometimes bisexual, and as ever, Ken couldn't be that way quietly, either. His younger sidekicks seemed to be naked more often than clothed, but, what the hell, when it came to lifestyle, Ken was a true original.

I've written about SunDance before; one memorable day a well-dressed man appeared at the door inquiring about obtaining a copy. Ken raced to the front, and held up a copy of our first issue about three inches from the guy's face, and while jumping up and down like a maniac, yelled at the top of his lungs: "Isn't it the greatest magazine ever, huh? huh? the greatest ever? yeah!" The man fell back, mouth agape, but he handed over the few coins necessary to get his copy and rapidly disappeared.

(Later, when I obtained the SunDance FBI file under the Freedom of Information Act, it became obvious that this man was an undercover informant or agent, since his report of the incident, with his name blacked out, reported the facts much as I've recounted here.)

We never had any money in those days, and eventually SunDance died an inevitable death, punctuated by the unfortunate spectacle of all of us fighting among ourselves over pennies in Small Claim's Court.

Ken and I were on opposite sides in this fight, which ruptured our relationship for a while.

But somehow we got back together, forgot past sins, and resumed our friendship. Ken was the major driver in the effort that exposed Timothy Leary as a government witness in grand jury "witch hunts" of the time conducted by the Nixon administration. As always, Ken introduced me to excitement and opportunity and danger I never would have generated on my own.

Like when he was driving me in a Porsche to the mountains at high speed, so we could convince Leary's friend Allen Ginsberg to join in the anti-Leary cause. Allen whispered the terms to Ken and the two of them went off in the bushes for a while; Ginsberg returned smiling with satisfaction; Ken winking to me as if to say, "Whatever, mission accomplished!"

During these fast-moving years, Ken started and abandoned more creative projects than most of us will see our entire lifetime...books, movies, concerts, publications, conspiracies...In no particular order, he emerged as a brilliant interviewer of the famous, who were starting to be known as "celebrities" in the magazine business, i.e., a tool for selling issues.

One of Ken's most memorable interviews was with the anti-gay movie star Anita Bryant, a nice, married, Southern Christian girl who didn't even know the meaning of "69" until Ken drew a picture for her. Not yet "out" publicly, Ken traveled with Bryant all over the country as she crusaded against the evils of homosexuality.

One might have expected him to write a cruel expose of Anita, but, typical of Ken, his heart got the best of him. "I love her, " he explained to me. "I don't want to hurt her." The climax to this story came in the Midwest when a gay protester threw a pie in Bryant's face.

There, in the news photos, was Ken, shielding her with his jacket, in order to ensure that the embarrassing photos of her would not reach the front pages.

Of course, Ken himself was given to outrageous acts of public theater, many of which strained the patience of us, his friends and employers. I was an organizer of a group called the Bergman-Ramirez Defense Fund in the '80s, which sought to draw support for two reporters who were being sued for libel by the San Francisco Police Department.

Ken had somehow wrangled a job as a columnist at the Hearst-owned San Francisco Examiner at the time, and was "covering" the trial at the point it began to resemble a Kangaroo Court, with the judge and the plaintiff cops clearly (to our eyes) in cahoots.

During a short break, as a prank, Ken darted up to the judge's seat and placed one of those sanitary toilet seat covers on it; just as he started running back, the judge and the coops re-emerged from their break, their faces red with blistering fury at this unacceptable insult. "I didn't do it! I didn't do it!" Ken was screaming as he raced from the scene, but it was obvious to all that he was indeed the guilty party.

He was arrested, thrown in jail, and fired by the Examiner.

There were many other such episodes, too many for me to recount here and now, for I am weary. But the one last anecdote I must recount occurred after Howard Kohn and I had published our Patty Hearst stories in Rolling Stone, which caused a national media uproar of the sort that recurred years later in the O.J. Simpson case, et. al.

We, the reporters in this case, were the subject of hysterical media scrutiny because the aforementioned Hearst newspaper empire, fearing our article would damage heiress Patty Hearst's legal case, chose to print unsubstantiated allegations that we had unethically gotten our story by posing as "legal investigators." One of our sources, Jack Scott, joined in with a similar line of attack, conveniently omitting the fact that we'd been working on a book with him about the case.

Two famous left-wing lawyers called us at Rolling Stone and vowed we would "never publish again." The local head of the FBI told Howard he would "cut us off at the knees" if we dared to publish any more stories embarrassing the Bureau.

Left-wing "friends" all over the Bay Area denounced us in harsh terms. One of the girls I knew from SunDance days, had since gotten romantically involved with the domestic terror group that had kidnapped and converted Patty Hearst; she got through to me on the phone and told me that I would be shot and killed.

It was the moment that others considered my professional breakthrough, but I felt very lonely and scared. It seemed like virtually everyone I knew was abandoning me to the wolves.

Not everyone, however. Ken Kelley suddenly popped back up. "We've got work to do," he explained. "Let's get going."

And he proceeded to devise a brilliant counter attack against our enemies in the battle for public opinion. Damaging information about Jack Scott, the Hearst empire, and the FBI started appearing in Herb Caen's daily column. Pieces sounding at least faint praise for our reporting methods started finding outlets. A few supporters on the left (very few) spoke out somewhat on our behalf.

Over the subsequent months, I started developing thicker skin, and a more critical eye at the concept that I needed anyone else's approval to do what I thought was right. It was my dear and most loyal of friends, Ken Kelley, who helped me get myself back from that terrible feeling of being society's outcast. The irony in this, of course, is that Ken was himself always the consummate outcast; yet, as my loyal friend, he knew that this was not the right place for me.

When somebody passes away, I know that you are supposed to say, "May his soul rest in peace." But somehow that doesn't feel right in Ken's case. So I'll just close with this: "I loved you, my friend. May your soul be dancing happily out there, wherever you've gone to, laughing your loudest laugh, flying skyward at the speed of light."

Good-bye, Ken.





-30-

8 comments:

Anonymous said...

You made me cry, David. Ken was indeed always larger than life itself. May he be happy and free from scorn in the life to come. I feel sure he is indeed dancing and laughing on the streets of gold!
Kathy Weir Richardson

Anonymous said...

Ken Kelley was also a very good reporter who had an amazing ability to do the impossible, break stories that no one else could get near. In 1968, when the University of Michigan Regents met to vote on the new president, Ken literally had his ear to the ground, or should we say door. He eavesdropped on the board meeting, heard that the choice was Robin Fleming from the University of Wisconsin, ran back with the news and raced into the editors office with the news. Thanks to confirmation from regents who were friendly to the Daily, his tip checked out and the story was printed. The next day at the press conference to announce Fleming's appointment, the Daily staff walked in with copies of the paper, an extra, scooping the campus announcement. Kelley was thrilled. It was typical of Ken's old school reporting techniques and they worked. A great friend, a very funny guy and as you point out Dave, an American original. Thanks for your wonderful tribute.

Anonymous said...

David, you captured Ken just as he was. Those of us who were lucky enough to be together at SunDance in 1971 will always have that memory and reality to draw from, as well as the incredibly persistent friend that he was through all the years since. I drifted away from him in the most recent years -- a separation like the one that you mentioned having gone through with him earlier -- but it doesn't alter a second of all the years of close and wonderful conversations he and I had almost daily at times which helped me to guide my life. We all have stories to tell about Ken Kelley. He was supportive like no on else. Thank you so much for writing this post about him. It's a first step towards grieving. Tamara

DanogramUSA said...

David,

Your sensitive and insightful eulogy of such a controversial man was so well done! You know, of course, that this comes from one who is quite conservative philosophically; indeed, a Ken Kelley persona would otherwise be anything but “worthwhile” in my mind.

But, reaching into your considerable experiences and using your writing talent, you brought out some of the best that was Ken Kelley. You underscore the fact that every human being has value if you can tolerate the looking. That's worth an underscore.

David Weir said...

Thank all of you for your comments. There are some questions about Ken's death that remain unanswered. I'll follow his family's lead in refraining from posting them for now. An investigation is under way, and we should know more soon.

One additional fact about Ken Kelley's life. He always knew how much his parents and siblings loved him. He felt well-loved. It may seem strange to some, considering his wacky life, that he was not an estranged, abandoned son, but a child of the heartland, with a huge heart.

As Roger says, he was also a gifted journalist, and perhaps the best interviewer of our generation. In the coming days, I will recount how Ken prepared for his celebrity interviews and how he always got his subjects to reveal new details, despite wide coverage by other, less talented journalists.

He was a pro, and I often had him as a guest speaker in my classes; students loved him, and he always made time to answer every last question they had, and offered to help on their projects if they wished him too.

urania235 said...

I just discovered your blog after following up on some questions I had after viewing the movie "20 To Life: The Life and Times of John Sinclair.

I'll have to dig into your past blogs, but any memoirs you would care to write here about your experiences in the Ann Arbor / Detroit radical scene would be enthusiastically encouraged and appreciated.

I have been leary of the legacy of Timothy Leary for many years - he pretty much admitted to working for "The Man" in at least one interview. All of the information on him, however, seems overwhelmingly worshipful. Was he a countercultural hero, or was he being used (knowingly or not) by the establishment? Inquiring minds must know.

Thanks for the thoughtful obit. of Kelley. I'm a product of the Punk generation that came afterwards and rebelled against the apparently failed revolution that preceded us. In retrospect, I can see how many of the revolutionaries of the 60's and 70's clearly laid the groundwork for the punk rage and rebellion I wass immersed in.

Both phenomena were eventually coopted and ruined by the establishment. Maybe this is the way the whole big shebang naturally cycles. ... Or maybe we can learn from this and stall the cycle in the future.

Roscoe c/o Johnson Tattoo

Anonymous said...

One of my favorite Ken memories is of driving him to his Fort Wayne Selective Service appointment in 1970. As Ken got out of the car dressed in a gold lame suit, my sister Susan and I knew he was not going to be army material. Ken and I spent years speaking in fractured French to each other and I credit him with saving my second language (such as it is.) Thank you, David, for your thoughtful writings.

jeff said...

I know I'm almost two years late but this news just made me sad. A little story about Ken Kelley. Several years back I was going through a really rough time in my life; health problems, depression, mid-twenties lost... when I missed the movie I'd gone to see so I wandered into a book store around the corner in the Mission. It just so happens that Ken was there watching the store for a friend. He immediately took good measure of me. He wanted to know my story, where my head was at. He was under the impression I was further down-on-my-luck than I was and wanted to help me. He handed me a book called "the art of loving" and told me to keep it. He was impressed I'd read Rilke, another one of his picks for me. I said I really could afford it and had a job etc but he insisted it was a gift. He closed up the shop (I'd snuck in just before closing) and took me out to coffee. We sat in the cold night for probably two hours and learned about each other. I soon discovered I was giving an in-depth interview to one of the best.

He helped me a great deal that night. He gave me hope in a hopeless state and offered me encouragement. We meant to stay in touch and see a show together and we played hit-n-miss a couple times and never ended up friends or even acquaintences. I've kept his card in my wallet for probably eight or nine years always meaning to look him up again when I got on my feet. What's striking to me is that the very week my decades-long health battle ended victoriously and I could put to full-use the gifts Ken had encouraged me not to give up on, was the very week Ken passed away. Such a shame and leaves me at a loss.

The very little I knew of the man touched me a great deal. I will miss him. and Thank you Ken, from the bottom of my heart.