Happy 41st Birthday

My friend Deena, me, Ken, and our grandpa

after a Swarthmore football game in 1986

I know I have been MIA from this blog for a while. Sometimes, I just need to get away from it. (I apologize to those of you who sent me new memories to post. You can find the new posts directly below this one.) Since this would have been my brother's 41st birthday, I felt it was appropriate to post something new.

Around this time of year, I am always reminded of what I was doing in 1988. You see, as an eleventh grade English teacher, I get swamped with requests for college recommendations. I take them all very seriously and make them all personal. One of our guidance counselors teases me that I do more recommendations than any other teacher in our school (which is probably true). If only we received a little extra pay or benefits for all of that work! Every few years -- this year being one of them -- I have a recommendation request for Swarthmore College. It's an extremely competitive, challenging, and beautiful school. It's also the school my brother attended when he chose to take his life.

Back in 1987, I was knee-deep in my college search. I had wonderful help from my parents who instilled in me the value of education and who genuinely seemed to enjoy touring various campuses with me. It also helped that my parents had lots of previous knowledge about colleges from my brother's search and their own wisdom. I wasn't the intellectual marvel or athlete that Ken was, but I had lots of extra-curricular activities in high school and a low tolerance for any grade that wasn't an "A." I also wanted to continue my involvement in music, even though I wasn't sure I would add this as a major (of course, I did decide to double-major and also complete secondary education certification; education was not a major nor a minor at my liberal arts college). I found several colleges I was interested in, and I narrowed them down to my top three. At some point, Ken nagged me to apply to Swarthmore, too. Ha! I thought. What a joke! They would never accept me. I am a realist (even though I admit that I have the occasional lofty dream). So I knew for a fact that my normal SAT scores would not qualify me for admission to such a prestigious college. My high school guidance counselor -- who couldn't pick me out of a line-up, by the way -- recommended that with excellent grades like mine, I should "try harder" the next time I took the SAT. (This is the same man who offered me the "guidance" that I should quit band and take physics instead. Try telling that to my music teacher parents and to the colleges who offered me music scholarships). Anyway, solely because I didn't want to hurt Ken's feelings, I sent away for a Swarthmore application.

One afternoon, soon after all of the college deadlines had passed, I remember sitting in our family room with my high school boyfriend. We were watching a brand new television show, and I was sitting on the carpeted floor. Ken came in and scoffed at the show. "What are you watching?!?" he asked with annoyance after a few seconds. "It's called The Oprah Winfrey Show," I told him. (Maybe I did know a thing or two back then after all!) He changed the subject and asked me how the college application and scholarship process was going. I told him the schools that had made the cut. He looked dismayed. "What about Swarthmore?" he asked. Now, I really never had any true intention of applying to Swarthmore and setting myself up for a rejection letter. Didn't he have any idea how smart he was? I would never be that smart. I told him what the deal breaker had been. "Swarthmore had three essay questions, Ken. Hard essay questions." Never mind that writing was my forte and that I wanted to be an English major. "I would have never gotten accepted to Swarthmore," I continued convincingly. I know all these years later that there was no chance of me ever being accepted there.

But Ken made a face. Then he said something I will never forget for the rest of my life. A sentence that has haunted me for all of these years after. "Oh....well, I spent a half hour in the admissions office telling them all the reasons why they should accept you." I can barely even type that. It hurts me to the core now just like it did then. And I doubt he would have ever told me had I actually applied.

I still know I wouldn't have been accepted. But why didn't I just complete the darn application? Why couldn't I have just done it for him? I had no idea that he really wanted me to go there and share his small college campus with him until then. What if I had been miraculously accepted and I could have been there for him when he needed me the most? What if...what if...what if....

I only got to visit my brother at Swarthmore a few times. My junior and senior years of high school were chock-full of commitments every single weekend for band, show choir, and private flute and vocal lessons, not to mention all of my academic commitments and what was left for my social calendar. But I will never forget the image that greeted me when I arrived at Ken's dorm room. This picture -- blown up -- was on his door for all to see:

Ken and Kristin, 1973

He never explained to me why that picture was taped to his door. But it made me proud. And when I think back to the memories I have of Ken, the Swarthmore application and this photo often come to mind as proof of how much my big brother cared. He wasn't especially fond of showing his emotions, but these two memories are reminders to me when I need them. While our relationship was often typical of a brother and sister who lived to agitate one another, I also have a few gems like these to remember what a gift he was to me and my family.

So, happy birthday, Ken. Thanks for believing in me when I didn't believe in myself, and thanks for being almost as proud to be my big brother as I was to be your little sister.

From Neil Cockerill

I recently heard of your website honoring Ken and I was very touched by the memorial. And yes, saddened that it has been 20 years since a great friend has passed.

My name is Neil Cockerill, and I am proud to say that I knew Ken very well. I had the very unique pleasure of being Ken’s roommate for our freshman year at Swarthmore. Imagine what you learn about someone sharing a 15’x20’ space for nine months. He was my first friend at college, and we remained friends until his unfortunate and devastating departure.

Suffice it to say that our pairing as roommates was a blessing for me, and sometimes a curse for poor Ken. You see, Ken had been at school roughly two weeks prior to freshman orientation to attend pre-season football practices. I arrived at school for the first time in the early afternoon and unloaded my things before he returned from practice. By the time he came back, he was greeted with an entirely transformed room; that is, three guitars, and an entire Marshall Stack amplifier system (occupying nearly 25% of the room), and large posters plastering the walls honoring the great guitars players of the time (think Eddie Van Halen, Randy Rhoads, etc.). And a half-sized basketball hoop with break-away rim. You should have seen his face. Priceless.

But within a few minutes we were chatting it up, talking about music, sports, and where we came from. As it turns out, we grew up relatively close geographically, as I was from Chestertown, MD. I had been to Caesar Rodney many times as a competing wrestler. I could tell immediately that Ken was very intelligent and more mature than most his age. I knew I could learn a lot from him, and I did.

Music was one of the topics we discussed daily. Ken was the biggest Stones fan I ever met, and I have yet to meet anyone in my life that compares. To this day I think of Ken every time I hear the Stones. I could almost predict the tunes that would be blasting whenever I came back to the room. If it wasn’t “Gimme Shelter,” it was “Symphony for the Devil” or “Paint it Black.” Maybe even “Jumpin’ Jack Flash.” Most of the time he was belting out the lyrics without an ounce of self-consciousness. For the record, Ken was not a good vocalist. But he outweighed me by 75 pounds, so I let him sing to his heart’s content. Occasionally I’d come home to the Grateful Dead, though during his freshman year he wasn’t the Deadhead he was to become by his junior year. Meanwhile, he had to endure the likes of Rush and Metallica when I overtook the radio. But he never complained. In fact, I think we introduced each other to some new styles and learned to appreciate each other’s tastes. Ken was nothing if not open-minded.

Over that first year, we became good friends and had plenty of laughs. I distinctly remember a time when we were having one of our late night, slightly inebriated games of mini-basketball in the dorm room. In an effort to close out a tightly contested game of H-O-R-S-E, Ken ran across the room and propelled himself with a leap off the bed for what should have been an earth-shattering dunk. Instead, a slight miscalculation sent him well past the intended target, and culminated with a pseudo-swan-dive on his desk. Nothing survived impact and Ken’s head was left wedged between the desk, lamp and window sill. Post crash, I heard only his muffled, groaned concession……..“Game Over.” I laughed for a week. Ken laughed for two.

We had been placed on the 2nd floor of Willets dormitory, which quickly became the party hall of the entire campus. Call it luck (or at times unlucky if you were actually trying to get some work done). Several nights a week there were kegs in the hall, which brought a wide diversity of students from the campus population. What amazed me about Ken was that he could assimilate himself into any crowd, be it athletes, deadheads, nerds, etc. He was kind, funny and genuine. You always knew where you stood with Ken. While he was never one to dominate the conversation, when he spoke, he was insightful and witty beyond description.

I hope you and the rest of the Spengler family know how important Ken was to the friends’ lives he enriched. It is an honor to call him my friend, and I am a better person for having known him. This world was a much better place with him in it.

Take care and I will always remember Ken.

From Tom Leckrone

You are such a strong and wise person to have put this together. Thank you.

I just saw the announcement in the Swarthmore Bulletin, and I quickly read the posts by other Swatties. I was struck by the fact that others mentioned the directness and solidness of Ken that made him seem more mature than most of us. Ken was right down the hall from me during his freshman (my sophomore) year. He put up with Neil and his Marshall amp and all sorts of silliness that the room could barely contain (including a mini basketball hoop). I remember him reprimanding me once after I had (once again) hung around until someone asked me if I wanted the last slice of pizza, when I hadn't put any money in.

I sometimes had trouble sorting out priorities, emotions and the games people played, but he always seemed to cut right through it. He would stop me in the midst of my over-analysis with a direct question that clearly led to only one, common sense conclusion. He was always right on in assessing my state of mind. I was amazed with how quickly a group of great people from wide-ranging backgrounds coalesced around him. There was so much energy bristling everywhere -- academics, parties, sports, the social scene -- and he was crucial to maintaining the center for a lot of us. He didn't push himself into that role, but he kind of filled in the spaces to transform the conversation or the flow of activity. Without intending to hold sway, he regularly had the last word, and many of us really enjoyed watching that happen. It was clear to me that the amount of hot air and B.S. was always dramatically higher without Ken's presence. (I still remember him screwing up his face & saying, "Wa-a-h" when he had heard (or been guilty of) too much whining.

I really enjoyed exploring the campus with Ken -- walking across the railroad trestle, taking a short cut to the field house, or finding an underappreciated nook of the campus to enjoy a cold Yuengling. It really hurts to write this, but my most central feeling about Ken is that he loved life. He loved learning, loved ideas, loved nature, loved music, loved people. We were always listening to music together. I remember how pleased he was to have come up with a copy of Van's original recording of Brown Eyed Girl. Puzzling through the time signatures of King Crimson in his room. The floodgates that Kind of Blue opened. The trends of the Dead on the Hampton Beach bootlegs. His huge friend from high school materializing at midnight to play guitar 'til dawn, taking on the voice and persona of ancient bluesmen. Also, Ken caught my new girlfriend pulling out the speaker wires in his room sophomore year. It seems he had left the bootleg going when he went to class, and she was trying to take a nap. She couldn't find the switch, so she was pulling at wires when he came back. He gave me a hard time about that one. (Laura and I are still together, anyway...)

Ten years ago, Luke and I were looking into planting a weeping willow on the banks of the Crum on campus. It turned out that the Arboretum people wouldn't allow a willow to go in that area. But we do need to get one somewhere on campus. (Perhaps we need to try some guerrilla planting!)

This is a little out there, but I want to tell you about a dream I have once a year or so. I had a friend from high school, Tim, who was a defensive end of similar size, directness, and good-heartedness as Ken. His life ended a half year after Ken's. In my dream, Tim and Ken are across a field hanging out, soaking up the sun, and I am a good distance away, with other friends. In my dream, I always am drawn to run over and greet them, but I hold myself back. The underlying feeling is, if I acknowledge their existence, they will vanish from that beautiful scene. So I just hang back, and bask in a melancholic understanding of what good souls they were, and are.

Again, thank you and bless you.

From Julie Merson

Julie sent this pic from a 1986 Grateful Dead show with Jim Magleby and Ken (and Paul Carek in the backround)

Ken was one of the first people I met at Swarthmore. He lived right across the hall from me in Willets our freshman year, and right below me in Worth for the beginning of junior year. He was a supportive, caring friend who was always there to listen to whatever crazy drama I had going on at the time, and never seemed to judge me for any of it. It always made me felt better to see him in the hall or at a party. Just knowing he was there made me smile. And Swarthmore was never the same without him.

Thanks for helping us remember.

From Cedric Brown

The link to your brother's blog was sent to me by a mutual college mate. In fact, I was one of Ken's roommates the year this happened. I had gone home for the weekend, and when I returned could not believe how morbid the campus was. I had gone through my own trials and tribulations that weekend, but it was nothing compared to the news of my roommate. I have to say, seeing this brought back many good memories of him. I just wanted to touch base with you to tell you that you are not alone. We all think of him. I will send a subsequent note to you but I did want to say this.

About ten years ago, Jerry Goubeaux and I attempted to visit your brother's grave down in Delaware. We packed up the Jeep and began our road trip to our dear friend. We essentially spent the whole day driving looking for the place, and neither of us could remember where it was located. We went to two cemeteries in the area, and I couldn't even tell you which ones, but it was a good day. As we drove around aimlessly, I kept thinking of how your brother was looking at us laughing at us and calling us morons. It didn't matter, though, 'cause I also know he knew how much he meant to us, and in looking at your blog, he must of thought this was a classic Monty Python moment: Stupid, hilarious, but with good intent. He's probably laughing now...Do you hear him??? :-)

Thanks for doing this.

Welcome, Swarthmore Alums

Thanks so much to Jim Sailer for getting the word out to Ken's Swarthmore classmates about this blog. I hope that many of you will share some of your memories with us whether they are funny anecdotes or serious stories. My husband and I take my boys to visit the campus at least once a year since we live fairly close, and I always lay white roses by the tree dedicated to his memory. The campus is so completely beautiful, but it certainly is a bittersweet beauty for me. I hope that Ken's Swarthmore friends and acquaintances know that you were a tremendous part of his life. While I don't know many of you, I hope that, through this blog, we can change that. Please feel free to send your memories, thoughts, pictures, or anything that reminds you of Ken to me at: rememberingken@verizon.net. My brother had an amazing ability to recognize genuine character, and if any of you reading this were his friends, then that is a testament to you. I thank you for visiting and for being his friend for a time that was much too short.

From Chris Marquardt

What a wonderful thing you did by putting up this blog. It's been a long time since Swarthmore but I do still think about your brother regularly. It's always with a mixture of joy, great sadness and also regret. Being selfish college students, as many of us were, I don't know that he understood how much he meant to pretty much anyone who knew him at Swarthmore - although I'm pretty sure he knew that his close friends loved him.

One of my fondest memories of Ken was from the night he showed up in my dorm room and grabbed me for a race around the campus in the golf cart he was using to ferry an injured football teammate around after the teammate badly broke his leg. I had been goading Ken (in a half-joking way) for a week to let me ride with him and do donuts on Parrish lawn. He always smiled and laughed in a good-natured way that made it clear that he thought I was being funny but that he wasn't inclined to pull any antics with college property... Until he did show up in the middle of the night when I had a room full of classmates, but the both of us tore out of the room and did donuts on Parrish lawn, laughing like goofballs all the way until he dropped me back at my door.

He had the best way about him.

Then I also remember the picture of you and he as kids that he stuck on his door before he left Swarthmore for the last time. He loved you very much.

From Grace Bulger

What a beautiful site this is. I do still think about Ken, and I wanted to share my college memories of him with you... I met him in the fall of his freshman year, when I was a junior. I was heading back to my room in Wharton, where a bunch of my friends were hanging out, and I saw Ken wandering down the hall. He looked lost -- I think he was trying to find someone's room -- and on a whim I introduced myself, grabbed him and swept him into my room with my friends. He looked kind of shocked at suddenly finding himself -- a freshman! -- surrounded by all these "older women" talking at once and firing questions at him. Of course, being Ken, he took it all in stride, and hung out with us for hours. It was memorable for me, because Swarthmore was not always the friendliest place, and going from total stranger to buddies in this way was pretty unusual! From that moment on, he was a friend -- just a great, genuine guy I was always happy to see and chat with at parties or on a walk from the dorm to the dining hall. We weren't the closest of friends, but I really liked him. Even though I was older, he always had that older brother energy to him -- you could tell he genuinely liked women and would always have your best interests at heart -- and now I know why. He's very, very lucky to have had a sister like you. I wholeheartedly agree with the counselor about your dreams. I think he'll always be knocking for you, just on the other side of that wall... I wish you the best.

From Marc Rowen

Thanks for setting up the blog to remember Ken. With the benefit of time, I can now think about his suicide without anger, although the sadness and sense of loss have remained the same over the years. I met Ken my junior year at Swarthmore. We were pretty good friends, but all the same, I never got to know him too well. One of the great things about Ken was that he could make you feel like you were great friends even if you didn't know each other well, in fact. He was the type of guy who five minutes after meeting you has his arm around your shoulder and you're sharing an inside joke, but at the same time there's just so much more there, and likely very very few people got to see it all.

We hung out a bit during the couple years we overlapped at Swarthmore and caught several Grateful Dead shows together. I don't know if I'm coloring my memories at all, but I thought we had pretty much the same sense of humor...in any event, I remember laughing a lot when we were around each other. We took a couple road trips to Delaware to hit up parties with his high school buddies, and one of them was the night I'm pretty sure I've laughed the hardest I ever have. I hope I was able to inject as much happiness in his life as he did into mine.

Each Dead show I went to after his death was bittersweet. Several times I thought that I would catch a glimpse of him there. When Jerry Garcia died, part of my sadness at that time came from realizing that my strongest -- and happiest -- link to Ken just broke in some ways.

My world is dimmer for his absence; I can't even imagine what it must be like for you and your family. I wish you all the best, and thanks again.

From Julian Levinson

My name is Julian Levinson and I went to Swarthmore College from 1986 to 1990. Your blog site is incredibly moving and meaningful. I really hardly knew Ken at all, but since I do have one memory of him I thought you might want to hear it. I was eating dinner in the dining hall with a group of friends right near the back door, which athletes used when they came to dinner from practice. This door locked so we had to keep getting up to let people in. Ken was coming in from football practice (?) along with some others and somehow he thought that I had not wanted to open the door for him or that maybe I was impatient with him. He looked at me and said in a slightly hurt or even plaintive voice that he was not one of those jocks. He wanted to be sure I understood this. I was surprised by this and also touched by his sensitivity. At the time I think I assured him as well as I could that I didn't think this -- I really didn't have any opinion one way or the other. But it really came out of the blue. When he died I of course reflected much more on this moment, realizing that he must have felt incredibly misunderstood by everybody and extraordinarily eager to present himself as he really was.

I'm very touched by your devotion to Ken and to his memory. My thoughts are with you.

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.)