From Wendy (Layton) Jett

I wasn't there when he died; I wasn't there to go to his funeral. I didn't even know about it until weeks later. And to this day I have harbored guilt that I wasn't there for my friend Kristin during such a tragic time. The phone call came from Kristin personally while I was just into the first semester of my freshman year at U of D. I sat on the top bunk of the bed in my cramped dorm room and listened to her tell me about Ken's passing. I was in shock; it didn't seem possible. I can remember the words she spoke, of how many people came to his funeral, to grieve the life of this person so adored by everyone. I have wondered for a long time if Kristin resented me for not being there, for not knowing, for not doing more afterward.

She doesn't know that I grieved for Ken.

Ken was Kristin's older brother to me. I spent many hours at the Spengler home on Kesselring Avenue, living just up the street on Alder Road myself, and Ken was always in and out with his friends. He would make a teasing remark, like brothers do, and be on his way. Sometimes as Kristin and I would head up to her room I could hear Ken and his friends in his room down the hall, door closed and KISS records blasting away. Kristin would try and drown it out with our love for Shaun Cassidy or Journey on her own record player.

But what I will remember most about Ken was his voice and his laugh. I can still hear it now.

One afternoon, Kristin and I were in the den watching tv, on the Spengler's tv that you had to use pliers to turn the channel because the knob was missing. Ken was on the couch behind us. Whether we were watching an MTV video or Ken just wanted to annoy us, I don't quite recall, but he began to sing "Roxanne" by the Police.....as loudly as he possibly could. The repeated lines of "ROOOOOXANNE, you don't have to turn on the red light" was screeched sarcastically. And it only became more and more obnoxious as Kristin would tell him to stop. Then, Ken would laugh. A bellowing laugh that only Ken could make, loud and forced, like the song he was butchering for our benefit. As Kristin would scream his name, he would just relax, stretching himself across the couch as if he had no intention of stopping this personal entertainment.

When I hear that song on the radio, Kristin doesn't know this, but I cry.

And if I am totally alone, I scream the words to the song loudly enough that maybe Ken can hear me in heaven.

We miss you, Ken. I am sorry that I wasn't there to say goodbye.

Slideshow

There are some obvious gaps in time, but I hope to update this as I receive new photos and find more of my own.
***To pause any of the frames, roll the mouse over the bottom of the picture; click on the bottom to activate contols, and then click the pause button.
(Special thanks to Sally Tapert Forrest and Stephanie Bok for sending their pictures.)

From Tom Franceschini

There aren’t many weeks that go by that I don’t think of Ken. Every time I drive down Kesselring Ave. to visit my mother I can’t help but remember all of the great times we had as kids in that neighborhood. From the age of 11 to 15 there weren’t many days that went by that Ken and I didn’t hang out. There was Little League baseball practice for Carl King or FDA, wiffle ball games in the backyard, and hanging out on summer nights with the rest of the neighborhood kids. Just writing this brings back so many more memories: baseball card shows, Dungeons & Dragons, The Galaxy Arcade, the Rodney Village Pool, camping out in the backyard, Mrs. Motley’s 6th grade class, and the Spengler family cat (I can’t recall the cat’s name [Kristin: our cat was named "Muffy"] but it was huge). I’m not sure why it happened, but as we grew older, Ken and I grew apart. I’ll never forget when I got the news of Ken’s passing. Although we weren’t as close as we had once been, I couldn’t help but feel I had lost my best friend.

From Missy (Barlett) Ames

As our moms tell it, I first met Kristin when we were 3 months old (I’m 3 days older than Kristin). Our respective mothers were pushing us in strollers around Mayfair when they first ran into each other. So basically, I have known Kristin and Ken since I was old enough to know anyone!

Growing up in Mayfair was idyllic ~ Big Wheel races, bike ramps, swingsets, football and baseball, playing kick the can, cowboys and Indians and ghost in the graveyard. There were snow forts and sledding and snowball fights across Kesselring Avenue. What a great neighborhood! We grew up together, the backyard neighbors and across-the-street neighbors (Scotts, Bethels, Barletts, Welches, Spenglers and Ladishes). Their parents were our surrogate parents; their siblings, our siblings. We “let” others in of course; the whole Crossgates and Mayfair was our playground, with friends from all over it .When I think back to all the games we played, I picture Ken there, laughing and being a leader amongst us. There’s no way to remember my childhood without remembering the Mayfair crew.

In junior high and high school we ran in different circles, branching out into other friendships, but we always shared that common beginning and, I believe, a special affection for each other. Kristin and I continued to be “best friends” despite hardly ever hanging out! We had our different directions and different groups, but we always kept in touch.

The summer after I graduated from high school I shared a beach house in Rehoboth with some friends. I was walking down Wilmington Avenue from the boardwalk heading back to my house when I hear a booming, friendly voice say “Missy?” Lo and behold it was Ken! He was working at Irish Eyes and had just happened to step outside as I was strolling by. Funny that it was close to the end of the summer and he worked a block from my house, but we had never run into each other! What a small world! We talked for a while and got caught up. Ken and I ended up hanging out a few times. (I’m not sure I ever told you this, Kristin, but )….One night while we were hanging out…Ken and I kissed. It was a really nice kiss, but we both agreed that it was a little weird as well! Since Kristin was practically my sister, that made Ken practically my brother! No hard feelings; we hung out another time or two, but it was time for the summer to end and for Ken to head back to Swarthmore and me to start at U of D.

I remember going home for Caesar Rodney’s Homecoming weekend that year. Did the whole parade and game thing, running into old friends. The biggest thing that happened to me that weekend though, was that I was in a car accident – rear ended by some guy in front of Delaware State.

Or at least I thought that was the biggest thing. Little did I know the pain of sore ribs, a concussion and whiplash would be dwarfed by the mental anguish and heartbreak I felt when I heard the news.

Mom called me that Monday at school to tell me about Ken. How could someone so alive, who lived life to the fullest, not be? My heart ached for him, for what he must have been going through. The hell his parents must be in, dealing with the death of a child. And especially for Kristin. My oldest friend. Ken’s little sister. She’d always looked up to him and now he was gone. What do you say to that? How do you even begin?

Mrs. Bethel drove up to U of D to pick up Steve and me, to bring us home for Ken’s funeral. That was one of the quietest car rides I’d ever experienced, everyone lost in their thoughts and memories. The funeral was surreal. There were literally busloads of people there – all people who loved Ken in their own way – whose lives he had touched. I wish he knew how many people cared so much about him. Maybe it would have made a difference.

I’m saddened by the loss of someone who was such a presence. I’ve also been angry at times, for I feel he robbed people of what their futures should have been and altered them permanently. The anger is fleeting - I think of that winning smile and sense of humor and I know that he wouldn’t have hurt others on purpose. The pain he must have been feeling had to have been overwhelming and then my heart aches for him. I’ve felt his presence on numerous occasions and I know he still shares in this world somehow, watching over, and I know I’ll see him again some day.

When I think about Ken now, I picture the grinning face from birthday party snapshots and childhood pictures – he’s forever young in my mind, like back in the carefree days of Mayfair.

From Kevin Scott

I think of Ken often and wonder where he would be or what he would be doing today had things been different. Thinking back, I always thought that he was one of the most well-rounded people I knew in that he was one of the smartest people I knew, yet he wasn't just smart. He played football, yet he wasn't just a jock. He could party with the best of them, yet he was always on the honor roll. He defied classification .... to steal a name from one of those books we had to read senior year in English, not sure if it was Shakespeare or what ... but he almost seemed like "Everyman." And of course, 'Ole !!!

From Nancy and Doug Ladish

MEMORIES OF KEN...

BIG WHEEL DAYS
In 1974, in our new home on Kesselring Avenue (two doors down from the Spengler's), we were awakened on our first Saturday morning by the rumble of many big wheels speeding past our house. We later learned that the cute "big" kid leading the pack was Ken. The big wheels rumble soon became music to our ears as we watched all the neighborhood little boys race by our front door.

KEN, THE BABYSITTER
Once after an outing with the Spengler Family, one of our girls (Beth or Julie) asked if Ken could babysit. After talking to Ken and his mom, we all agreed. He proved to be one of our best babysitters. We always had a reminder that Ken had been at our house the next day when we turned on the stereo -- it was always turned up to the highest volume, with lots of bass. Ken always had wonderful manners, a kind and gentle heart, and a glint in his eyes. We miss him...

From Beth (Ladish) Andres

My memories of Ken date back to the late 70's/early 80's when I was in grade school. The memories are a bit random and tangential since I was so young. They revolved around our Mayfair neighborhood gang.

It wasn't a summer without the frequent outdoor games. We enjoyed many a balmy summer's eve playing "kick the can", and afternoons playing "kickball". I remember in particular an afternoon "game" of "BIG FOOT" (gonna get ya, complete with the 45” of the song playing on a creaky old record player in the background for effect). Ken was BIG FOOT and scared the you-know-what out of all of us! Ken was always the oldest kid in the bunch -- definitely the Alpha male/ring leader, but always nice. I remember playing Atari (or watching the older guys) play "Asteroid" and "Pac-Man." On a softer note, I recall Ken's utter concern for my little sister, Julie, when he saw her all wrapped up in ACE bandages (her childhood obsession). We told Ken that she had broken bones, and a look of sheer angst took over his kind face!

Later, I remember Ken working at the beach, and for "Mayflower" moving company. I remember his awesome senior year photo, and college football pic. I remember his giggle, and award-winning smile (both of which shine through Kristin). At least once a year, Ken appears randomly in my dreams -- as if he's just dropping by for a visit to say hi.

From Bob Sylvester

Growing up with Ken on Kesselring Avenue:
Kick the can, football, baseball, riding bikes, raking leaves, playing basketball in the driveway, snow forts, getting chased after throwing snow balls at passing cars and hiding under the pine tree in your backyard, listening to Kiss albums in your bedroom, walking to W. Reily Brown, and trading baseball cards. I miss your smile, your laugh, your brilliance, and your friendship, Ken. I think about you often.