(Detail of painting by Wilma Parker, June '08)
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A small group of us gathered yesterday at Wilma's loft in Soma -- the same space that Ken shared with her for a year decades ago. We shared stories and memories of our friend, Ken, who passed away in January. George Csicsery put together a beautiful slide show of his photos of Ken. Many more people wanted to be there than could make it, of course. Here are just a few of the notes they offered from afar.
David, Got an urge this morning to check up on the latest with Ken Kelley, last time I checked was probably a year ago, when I learned of his legal trouble. So, his death was news to me, and now I see that I have almost missed his memorial service. I am writing this in sunny Michigan while it is still early morning in California - so perhaps you will read this before the service. I was the photography person at the Ann Arbor Argus, Ken's paper in Ann Arbor in the late 1960s. Person in this case means: photo technician, photo layout editor, and photographer. In Ken's case, journalism person meant everything: reporter, editor, ad salesman, layout editor (dictator?), printer (at least driving the page negatives to the printer, and then picking up the issue), and finally newspaper boy - hawking copies on the street - the paper lived on almost no money, I certainly never saw any actual cash : )Ken was bigger than life. He was one of those people with charisma that could carry him through just about anything. I remember his amazing ability at interviews - getting people to talk, the endless tapes to transcribe, and seeing the interviews with significant people printed in the paper. I last saw him probably 35 years ago, but still remember him. What would he like? Probably to be remembered. He had something that I can only describe as an alienation that compelled him in many ways. But he had a powerful urge to create - write, interview, edit, publish. He was similar to John Sinclair in his desire and ability to work even when "under the influence" of whatever state. When we came back from the March on Washington against the Vietnam war in the fall of 1969, he was most interested in photographs of the giant head puppets that were walking around the mall area - an example of the outlandish. Perhaps he would be happy for us to celebrate the outlandish, accept and even value the outsider.
Kip Mercure
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There will be many wild and crazy stories today about our wild and crazy Ken. I would like to talk about a quieter, more domestic Ken. During the gloomy winter of 1967-1968, Ken and I would spend long hours drinking coffee in South University coffee shops polishing our high school French--he a lonely freshman, I a lonely senior. We were united by a love of good journalism, bad gossip and evocative French verbs.
We reconnected here in San Francisco in the early '70s. He would phone me--"Hi, Kenny," I'd answer. "Hi, Honey," he'd reply. My daughters knew him as Uncle Kenny. He was my older daughter's godfather. For a wild and crazy guy Ken had a supreme talent for friendship. Once we were at Douglass Playground here in San Francisco. He was pushing Mica on a swing while I, pregnant, sat on a bench with a crushing headache. In one of his patented multitasking moments he managed to push Mica while rubbing my head for the 1/2 hour it took to make the headache go away.
At one point Ken lived on Larkin Street, just over the hill from my school in Chinatown. I'd taken to stopping by after work for the snacks Ken would make us. It was a '70s San Francisco version of "Leave it to Beaver" with me as The Beav and Kenny as June.
When people here wonder how I could love an Ann Arbor that they imagine as a homogeneous world of dull, flat mid-westerners I think of Ken. I picture him that bright midsummer day in 1970 as my sister and I drove him to his draft physical at Fort Wayne. Unfolding his long skinny body out of the back seat he leaned against the car, his two-foot halo of blond curls glowing in the sun. Clad in a gold lame suit he stood on the curb and waved as we drove away.
Uncle Kenny, proud son of the great state of Michigan, we are waving back at you.
-- Lissa Matross
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Tribute to Ken Kelley
Hi David:
I won't be able to be there on the 21st, but am hoping you or Kate can read this for me. Thank you,
Stew Albert and I first met Ken Kelley when he was a young man living at the White Panther commune in Ann Arbor in the late 1960's. Ken's blonde curly afro endeared him immediately to Stew who was also blonde, curly haired and a journalist. I admired Ken's creativity, passion and of course his fabulous use of color in Sundance. Together our movement made an impact on America because we knew how to mix together equal parts of hippie counterculture and new left anti-war politics into a powerful utopian vision of an independent new nation for young people.
And now Ken has joined Stew, Abbie, Anita, Jerry, Bill, Phil, Eldridge, Allen,Tim and Rosemary --- and so many others, all of whom, I'm sure, continue together to plan, plot and publish in whatever world may exist beyond this imperfect one.
Judy Gumbo Albert
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Wayne Kramer to me
David, Thanks for keeping me in the info flow.
Ken Kelly was a brother in arms for those of us whose arms were art, music, culture and justice. He was the publisher of the infamous "Fuck Hudsons" ad that got the MC5 fired from Elektra Records. I'm proud to have been his friend. He made the most of the short time we all get. He was the real deal in a world of posers.
So long pal.
wayne
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Hi David,
Thanks for inviting me to the event tonight. I'm sorry but I can't come. I send my best wishes. Ken was a nice man and a fellow writer who helped me with a project. Ken helped out of goodness of heart and didn't ask anything in return. I knew him all too briefly and hope he's found some peace, wherever he is.
Good luck tonight,
Graham Womack
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Photo by Kip Mercure***
We are all thinking of you, Ken.
Love, David
-30-
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