August 2019

Dear Friends and Family,

Prompted by the 50th anniversary of Woodstock, I’ve been writing a short story based on what I could remember Kenneth said about the time when he hitchhiked to the iconic music fest in August 1969. He had graduated from high school in June 1968 and was trying to put himself through his first year of college by working three construction jobs in the mountain communities of Sylva, Cashiers, and Cullowhee. He couldn’t keep up his grades and was terrified that his draft number for Vietnam would come up. He had no money, no car that didn’t need a high hill to start coasting from—he didn’t even know how to take a bus—and had never been away from his home state.

I did not remember him showing me any photo from that time, but I went back through his old photos and found that there was, indeed, one that showed him at Woodstock with friends—and the sea of hundreds of thousands of concertgoers in the photo’s background. His grandmother had also kept newspaper clippings of the music fest because she knew he was up there and his grandparents worried about him.

It is startling to look back at a music fest unlike any other, before or since, with nearly a half million young people, that included a biblical rainstorm and a huge field of mud, as well as some of the greatest musical performances of the era—and no violence. Somehow they all got along in peace, freedom and love—words that are, today, difficult to hear without irony. There were only two “security” officers for the entire site, from the Hog Farm commune who called themselves “please” officers. There were also drugs—mostly pot and LSD—that would, sooner or later, give way to even worse drugs and doom the dreams of many erstwhile hippies and veterans of that time.

We still have the belt buckle that Kenneth is wearing in the photo at Woodstock. For that matter, we may still have the pair of jeans he was wearing—always calling them “dungarees”— unless they’re out in the sheet composting ravine here at Blue Note Garden, where I’m letting a lot of his oldest pairs of boots and clothes work their way back into the earth. He did not like to part with anything, no matter how ragged. I’d guess that it’s a loaf of bread in front of him, along with a pack of cigarettes, and that he is slathering peanut butter on a slice—always one of his favorite meals. (When family and friends first view this photo they immediately assume he is checking his phone. Not hardly in 1969, but he certainly had the characteristic gesture down early.)

It is sad to think I probably cannot find anyone from those days who could identify the two friends in the photo with him. I don’t know whether they went with him to the festival, or he met them there. Most of Kenneth’s friends from his graduating class are long gone. There is only one left that I know of who went all the way through school with him, beginning in kindergarten but not going on to college. Kenneth’s brothers don’t seem to have existed in the same world with him.

If any of you remember any detail that Kenneth may have shared with you about Woodstock, I will be grateful if you will let me know.

Theresa

February 2018

Dear Family,

I look back on the Fall of 2017 and am enormously grateful for all of your love and support. It made a huge difference to have so many of you come for the memorial. All of you made it a very special time.

I am beginning to pull out from the most profound grief: I have gained back the 4 pounds I lost last year, which makes me feel much healthier; I am sleeping well; I have started dance exercise classes and will take some lessons in March—I have always wanted to take dance but it never seemed possible before; I am beginning to look at some travel that includes vigorous hiking in parts of the United States and Canada I’ve never seen before. One of the last adventures Kenneth and I spoke about was to travel across the USA by train and I may include some of that. And, as always, I am looking at ways I can learn new things about places and people, while visiting all of you along the way. If I can also do some active volunteering, that would be good, too. And, above all, I am enjoying the good company and fellowship of the young people who live with me in our home in Knoxville—not to mention Coco and Buddy. I am beginning to return to the many chapters of writing I have started on different aspects of the family history. The Lake Falls story of the Three Little Ones should be completed next week and it will go off to a publishing agent for consideration as a children’s book, together with fully restored photographs and drawings from that time. If you’ve not looked at the family history website in a while, there is much more there: bluenotegarden.com/family history. There is a password for the family chapters—let me know if you’ve lost track of your password. There are two permanent memorials for Kenneth, both finalized in the last two weeks: an endowed scholarship for a first-generation college student at his alma mater in Cullowhee, NC, at Western Carolina University; and a special collection of historical documents and photographs at the University of Tennessee.

Losing someone who has been so much a part of your life for 42 years is a powerful reminder of how easily we take everything for granted. Nearly 6 months after Kenneth’s death I am finally succeeding—sometimes—in letting go of my regrets on that score. Today I am happily reminded of the 42 years of roses I received, every single year, on Valentine’s Day beginning in 1976. Not long after meeting Kenneth, I went to practice on the Saturday before Sunday the 14th of February, and there was a single rose on the organ at Immaculate Conception Church in Hendersonville, NC. I still have its note. Ma had arranged for me to play and direct the choir as a temporary job while I visited the music schools in the area. I had moved up to Tuxedo in January with the thought that I would look for a graduate assistantship to continue studies in music. I did everything I could to discourage Kenneth from thinking I would consider a relationship of any kind, but things turned out differently by the time of our wedding in August 1976. All of you, my sisters and brother, were there for that, too. I am certainly not taking anything for granted today as I wish all of you in our family a Happy Valentine’s Day. I love you all more than you can ever know. Tede SaveSave

January 2018

When people go away, you’re left holding a big, leaky bag of emotion and sadness and it can be hard to know how to work through that—as I heard a screenwriter say in a public radio interview recently, “we rummage around through the shrapnel” and wrestle with our thoughts of who they were and who we are. In our case—a friendship and marriage of nearly 42 years—it all becomes a play of many acts on how we wound up at the end of all those years, for better and for worse.

For me, the clearest lesson of my loss is how much I took for granted in our years together. I hope I can make up for that by honoring his memory and genuinely cherishing all of the good people who travel with me in my remaining days. It is also the case that when you lose people you’ve labored intently with and cared for deeply, you come to see everybody else around you in a different way: You appreciate each of them more—or not at all. It becomes very clear how little time there is to waste in the remainder of one’s life. If there is still time for me to be a better person, I want to be a person who vibrates with life and yet also listens carefully to other people—and whose world expands with consciousness of a purpose beyond themselves. So, there is that job ahead for me and it is one of the reasons I need to get on with what can some days seem like my limitless grieving of Kenneth. It has taken me over four months to write notes of appreciation for the nearly 400 condolence messages and remembrances of Kenneth’s life we have received since his death. I am astounded by the quiet but lasting impact he had on so many lives. Their words and he, himself—his core kindness, gentle authority, and natural talents—are a far surer testimony of his value than any of the “treasures” that cluttered—and the tribulations that challenged—many of his last days. We chose a drawing Kenneth had done of his own hand from one of his many sketchbooks to reproduce as acknowledgement cards. SaveSave

December 2017

Kenneth seemed to care so little for his own art work—I doubt I will ever understand why. But part of the way I am dealing with the grief of losing him is to steward the best of his work that he did not sell or gift during his lifetime. We have begun to reproduce art postcards and will also compile a catalog, at minimum.

Together with some of his art friends, we are also arranging to donate all of the proceeds from the sale of his collectibles-“treasures” to an endowed art scholarship in his memory at his alma mater, Western Carolina University. The donation is directed to benefit a student from the first-generation of his or her family to attend college in the visual arts, as was Kenneth.

The biographical note appended to the contract for the endowment follows: Kenneth Aaron Pace ’74, received a BFA from Western Carolina, completing his education on the G.I. Bill following his service in the Vietnam War with the United Stated Navy on the USS Hancock aircraft carrier. He died unexpectedly on Sunday, September 3, 2017 in Knoxville, Tennessee, at 67 years of age. Kenneth was raised in Hendersonville, North Carolina. He was the oldest of seven sons and was the first one in his extended family to attend college. Kenneth and his wife of 41 years, Theresa Pepin, moved to Knoxville in 1982 where he worked on downtown renovations in connection with the World’s Fair. Over the years, Kenneth continued to take art classes at the University of Tennessee and most recently served on the board of Candoro Arts and Heritage Center. He participated in a number of juried arts exhibits and led an art group near his home in Lakemoor Hills. A well-known general contractor in the Knoxville area, he also rebuilt Chapel View, a cottage across from the historic Jesuit Retreat Center in Hot Springs, NC, as a second home. Kenneth considered protest of the Vietnam War, participation in Woodstock, and studies in college as important catalysts in his life and art work. His family is proud to honor Kenneth with a scholarship to support students with financial need—particularly those that are first generation college students—and who seek to realize their passion for art. The newly established scholarship in his memory was acknowledged at the anniversary celebration of the College of Visual and Performing Arts on 10 February 2018. One of his professors, the well known ceramicist Joan Byrd, attended and remembered Kenneth especially for his sense of integrity and quiet strength.

Also in his memory, many of his historical collections focused on East Tennessee and western North Carolina have been donated to establish the Kenneth Aaron Pace Special Collection at the University of Tennessee Library. The biographical note for that collection follows: Kenneth Aaron Pace (1950-2017) pursued many avocations in his lifetime—artist, photographer, builder, woodworker and stone craftsman—but hunter-gatherer could be said to have been his single most consuming, personal passion. He saw history reflected in each artifact and never failed to take the opportunity to learn its particular story and provenance. Unfortunately for all the rest of us, he was best at relaying those in his inimitable style of oral tradition—most are not recorded. It is fitting that UT Libraries Special Collections now share the historical documents and photographs he collected with scholars and enthusiasts of future generations in order that we may all learn more about the parts they played in our common history. As far back as his earliest childhood years in Hendersonville, North Carolina, Kenneth’s grandmother Eleanor Louise Knous Bourget (1901-1994) recognized and encouraged his collecting interest, especially in stamps and post cards. She passed-on to Kenneth many items in her own collections for safekeeping. He also learned much from his aunt, Mary Bourget Hamilton (1932-2005), a professional appraiser and antiques dealer. By the time of his death, Eleanor’s grandson had amassed a remarkable number of documents and collectibles—many of them representative of the heritage of western North Carolina, eastern Tennessee, and the Great Smoky Mountains. Despite his travels in the Pacific with the Navy during the Vietnam War, a defining hitchhiking trip to Woodstock when he was 19 years old, and many later journeys across the Atlantic to Europe and the British Isles, Kenneth was most at home in the Appalachian Mountains. Born and raised in Hendersonville, NC, he earned his bachelor of fine arts degree in 1974 on the GI Bill in Cullowhee at Western Carolina University. He and his wife of 41 years, Theresa Marian Pepin, moved to Knoxville in 1981 where Kenneth worked on many buildings in connection with the World’s Fair. His art work has been published in a number of exhibition catalogs, magazines and journals, including the critically acclaimed book Teach Yourself Visually: Drawing by Dean Fisher and Josephine Robinson (Visual, 2007).

Kenneth and Theresa were also supportive of the unique public library on the Appalachian Trail in Hot Springs, North Carolina, where they renovated Chapel View, a cottage also on the Trail and across the road from the historic Jesuit Retreat Chapel and Hostel. Historical works and reference bibliographies comprise part of the items donated by them to that small rural branch library, in addition to ongoing support for the newly refurbished facility. In addition to this special collection at the University of Tennessee, Kenneth’s family has established an endowed art scholarship at his alma mater on behalf of first generation college students from the Appalachian region. The acknowledgement from the Library came from friends and librarians Ken Wise and Anne Bridges. Ken lives just a few doors up from us in Lakemoor Hills and spent a great deal of time with Kenneth in his treasure room listening to him talk about his many collectibles. Dear Theresa: With much gratitude, but great sadness, we pause to thank you for your donation of the Kenneth Aaron Pace Collection to the University of Tennessee Libraries’ Special Collection. Kenneth’s curiosity about remnants of the past translates into a collection that will be examined by researchers interested in local history as well as the wider associations evoked by its great treasury of photographs. Kenneth’s collection will stand as a lasting memorial to his passion for the history of East Tennessee and his diligence in ensuring that the tangible representations of that history not be lost. . . .  Rest assured that we will care well for Kenneth’s legacy. SaveSave

November 2017

There was a chill in the air on the Friday evening after Thanksgiving Day when family and friends gathered to remember Kenneth and spread his ashes where he had requested at Blue Note Garden. Trails in the late-fall garden were lit with hundreds of luminaries placed by an infantry of family members during the afternoon beforehand. The maple trees blazed in the candle light and an open fire roared in our old wood stove—the same Jotul we had purchased to heat our first home in Hendersonville on Armstrong Avenue in the mid-1970s.

Family and friends gathering in the fire-lit darkness listened to music Kenneth himself had listed in his notebooks over many decades, especially in the decade of the 1970s, and compiled into a playlist by our friend Lilly Sutton. Selections included: Joni Mitchell—Woodstock Live; Simon and Garfunkel—Bridge Over Troubled Waters; George Harrison—All Things Must Pass; Judy Collins—Who Knows Where the Time Goes; Blood, Sweat and Tears—And When I Die; Lee Oskar; Beatles—Let It Be; Christy Moore—Ride On; James Taylor—Fire and Rain; Johnny Cash—Heart of Gold; and many others by Bob Dylan, Van Morrison, Greg Allman, the Eagles, Jimi Hendrix, The Kinks, Cat Stevens, Fleetwood Mac, The Byrds, Three Dog Night, Creedence Clearwater, Clannad, Bob Seger, and Chicago. One of the first “treasures” Theresa can remember his showing her, Kenneth’s own Tibetan singing bowls were rung by his nephew, Matthew, to commence the memorial. Friend and minister Jenny Arthur spoke to the assembly: In this season of gratitude, it is fitting that we are gathered here today to celebrate Kenneth’s life, and to show our love and respect for him and for Theresa and the rest of the family by participating in the sacred act of returning his extraordinary body to the exact place where he requested to be—here at his home, in a simple ceremony, in these woods already consecrated by the burial of many beloved family pets. Theresa has written movingly about the kindness and support that Kenneth showed whenever the life of one of their animal friends was coming to an end, how he supported them with his broad shoulders and loving arms. Every one of our pets who had to be “put down” with a veterinarian’s assist died peacefully at home held in Kenneth’s wonderful broad shoulders and loving arms. I envy them that. It makes me inexpressibly sad that we could not have made Kenneth’s retirement and last days more like what he did for Bilbo’s contented years out in the pastures at Lanntair Farm. At his end, I wish we could have done the same for Kenneth as he did for all our pets. I hope the heavens are big enough to hold and console him. With Kenneth’s loss being so sudden and unexpected, what we can do for him now is be those broad shoulders and loving arms this evening, as we lay his body down to the keeping of Eternity, with which he is now one. After the scattering of ashes, Jenny invited remembrances of Kenneth to be told. Some of the stories that were also given us in written form are included here:

From Jo Fisher, an Englishwoman and artist-friend who lives in Connecticut: Hi Theresa, I have written a short piece in memory of Ken. I feel very sad having to write this piece in memory of Ken. It is hard to believe he has gone. Dean and I were very lucky to meet him and Theresa. I don’t know how we would have survived the seven years of reconstruction we undertook in Knoxville, without Ken’s advice, his experience, his willingness to help us, his friendliness, and  his laughter. He and Theresa were such an inspiration for us, we have learned so much from them. Our lives in Knoxville would not have been so colourful, were it not for them, both. Our construction project brought Ken over to see us, on many occasions. There were some very funny memorable  “construction” occasions. It is a shame I didn’t film our encounters. Our naivety as builders always made Ken laugh, not in a harsh way, but in more of a paternalistic way. We knew he was there to help us. Whenever Dean and I encountered a building  problem, we would look at each other, and Dean would say out loud, what would Ken do?..and  my reply,  always, was, we should ask him, because I knew Ken could always solve our problems and wouldn’t think twice about helping us out. Ken was also a painter/artist. I think, it was in this role as painter, he could tap into a more exploratory side of his nature. I modeled for Ken and fellow painters at his barn. It was a chance for me to see Ken in a different role from that of builder. He was more relaxed when painting, but very concentrated and always earnest about his work in the studio. Painting,  provided  a chance for him to explore a subject, in which,  there were no correct or incorrect answers. The drawing of Ken’s, which Dean and I used in our book on drawing, which we both love very much, shows precisely this quality of exploration, his paintings and drawings, contained. It is a very expressive study, beautifully realised, with the economical means of a skilled and sensitive artist. We are saddened to have lost our friend and fellow artist. We wish he had made it up to Connecticut, we would have had fun. Ken may have chuckled to see some of Dean’s building projects, completed without the input of Ken’s expertise, but then again Dean learned so much from Ken, that I think  the chuckling would have had an approving edge to it. From Dean Fisher, Jo’s wife and also an artist-friend: A Tribute to Ken I was crushed to hear recently about Ken’s untimely passing. Few people have inspired me and changed my life to the extent that Ken has. My wife Josephine and I were complete newbie’s to home renovation when we met Theresa and Ken back in the early 90’s. I met Ken through some mutual artist friends and we instantly hit it off…and shortly after that we met Theresa and I soon realized what an excellent creative team they were. We were invited over to see Theresa and Ken’s home which they completely designed and built themselves, this was their home off of North Shore Blvd. Every inch of that house emanated individuality and warmth. It was really one of the first times that I had seen a house in the US which didn’t look manufactured, the way things are supposed to look. I was amazed at how beautifully and lovingly designed and crafted that home was, and became completely smitten by the idea of trying to do something similar. We had recently moved to Knoxville from California and I was hungry for my first home renovation project. I found a complete junker of a home, a Victorian farmhouse in N. Knoxville ..practically split in two by a falling tree and exposed to the elements for 3 years..It was basically a pile of rotting wood. I asked Ken to come over and look at it and give me his professional evaluation as to wether it could be saved or not. He said in his calm and gentle way.; “Anything can be fixed” I felt elated to hear that. I then asked him if he thought we could do it..and he said: :It depends on your stamina” I then told him that I thought I could have it finished in 4-6 months…we’ll I never saw Ken laugh as much as he did when I said that. He said that I would be lucky to finish it in 3-5 years. He was wrong, it took 7 years!! Over the years we laughed at that naive statement of mine over and over, his body would convulse with laughter and his face would turn bright red. Josephine and I would never have been able to complete that massive project if it wasn’t for Ken’s unbelievable amount of selfless generosity. He told me right from the start that we could call him for advice anytime and when he could he would help us with projects when his busy schedule would allow for it. Ken helped us many, many times and never expecting anything in return. He loaned and gave us many tools and traded stain glass, mantels, doors, hardware, beautiful pots and many other objects of beauty in exchange for our paintings. I was so impressed watching him work, he was so skilled..every movement having a purpose without wasting a step. Ken also possessed a lot of raw talent as an artist, he was a natural painter and was very original. I always use him as an example to my students who often complain about not having enough time to paint. I would tell them about Ken; how he would build for 8-10 hours a day and then go home and paint for 3-4 hours…you have no excuse, I always tell them, thinking of Ken’s boundless energy and enthusiasm for creativity. I am so grateful that I was able to know and spend time with Ken and Theresa while we lived in Knoxville. Ken he will remain very alive in my mind and continue to motivate me in very positive ways and inspire me to pass on his generosity to others with a gentle smile…thank you dear Ken. Your friend always, Dean From John and Pat Austin: [We have a million Ken stories,] but the ones that seem most representative of Ken involve animals. Pat and I will forever remember the way Ken cared for Miss Daisy, Bilbo Baggins, and the cat to which he had to administer shots (insulin?) on a regular basis [Brown Tabby]. Ken especially loved driving Miss Daisy around to the places he worked because it illustrated the jarring disconnect between the way Ken looked while on the job, and the way he actually was. It was our privilege to have Ken and Miss Daisy renovate our mountain shack into a semi-respectable cabin. We always show the structural improvements and creative embellishments Ken added to our cabin, and we always will. I will especially treasure my memories of how he and Pat fought over the countertops she wanted him to make for the cabin, but he did not think would look right.  In the end, Pat and Ken worked out a win-win situation that we all are proud of.  Ken even asked Pat for permission to show the countertops to another of his customers  because he thought they turned out so well. It is hard for us to think of Ken as “gone.”  He seemed fairly indestructible, but none of us are really. Like everybody, if we had known the last time we saw him would be the last time we ever would see him, we would have taken more care to say goodbye. I got to know Ken in about 1981 and Pat met him in 1984 after we married. Having known him so long, and having seen the “many & varied sides of Ken Pace,” we have some idea of the magnitude of your loss. We only wish there could be some way we could bear some of that burden for you. Love from Pat and John From Chris Jepeway For a time, decades past, I was a homeless graduate student. Theresa & Kenneth invited me to stay in their barn until I could find my own housing. If that sounds like roughing it, well, you should know it was also Kenneth’s studio.  So, a heater (it was winter), a cot & blankets, a sink, and so many collections—doors, rugs, pictures, weird sections of trees—to occupy the visual senses & the idling mind until sleep. Sumptuous, really. And, when it wasn’t otherwise occupied on the truly cold nights, I’d stay in a guest room in the main house. One morning, walking downstairs from the 2nd floor bathroom after one of these in-house overnights, I met Kenneth sitting at the base of the stairs, whittling on a small piece of wood.  We got to talking, Kenneth, whittling the while, about, well…I dunno.  But it was a warm and a kind chat, and I remember it brought me some small peace to what I felt to be the tumult of my life at the time. As our talk wound down, I asked him what the wood was for: fun, function, both, neither?  And…whittling inside the house? He pointed out a small gap in the staircase paneling.  I’d never have noticed it, but there it was: big as life & twice as ugly when Kenneth showed it to you. And as he was showing it to me, he took that bit of wood he’d carved & somehow popped it into the gap.  Like magic, really, like a magic trick, the gap was gone and you couldn’t tell it had ever been there.  No glue, no nail to hold it in place, just a press of the thumb, a click/thunk/snap, and prest-o-change-o—no gap, just solid blonde paneling. No kidding, I think about this quite a few times a year.  How Kenneth listened and talked and smiled and got me laughing, all while fixing an imperfection that you had to struggle to see, doing this wizardly bit of carpentry on such a small scale, and how perfectly fixed he made me and the paneling. So much care, and kindness, and heart, and skill. Chris. From Patrick Duffy, a dear friend and “Dublin wit” in Ireland: KENNETH PACE: A MAN WHO STOOD OUT In the City of Four Seasons among the Druid Hills Young Kenneth Pace began his life with little fuss or frills Nahullo giants from crystal pools came forth the Choctaw said They were tall and fair and mighty, and filled the tribe with dread. But Kenneth was the Gentle Giant with all the gentle gifts Of arts and crafts and magic hands with  glass and wood and bricks He knew the inner beauty, that was waiting there inside To take its shape and charm our eyes and fill Big Ken with pride. The children in the Emerald Isle all called him Finn McCool He picked them up and raised them to the sun and to the moon He loved the music and the poems in the misty Irish air He would lift his head and smile and laugh, as if destined to be there Along the French Broad River and the mighty Tennessee Nahullo built their wigwams, where their spirits still run free And Kenneth was a builder too, just see the work he’s done! This brother and  this husband and this very loving son. He left his mark, as giants do, on landscape, fields and hills But Kenneth leaves his friendship marks, all strong and shining still. Our own Nahullo of the Gifts, he led a life fulfilled. We see the smile light up his eyes, and know he’s with us still. From Sandra Emond: Theresa, . . . Kenneth was a big part of the lives of many of us.  He has left so many friends behind.  And I know his loss is difficult for you. I’ll always remember the smile he seemed to have constantly on his face and the joy he had in helping others get things accomplished.  The picture I have in my memory is of him and Daisy in the truck as he left my home that last time.  He was a treasure! Theresa replies: . . . How beautifully you write your last sentences. Kenneth was always frantically looking for “treasures” to deposit into his “treasure” rooms and, I suspect, could never really accept how much he, himself, was the real treasure in so many lives. I hope that on some level he knew that he was certainly the treasure of my life. From Geri Mulligan of the Lakemoor Hills Art Group: Over three years ago a notice was posted on the LHHA website inviting anyone and everyone interested in doing art to come together and form a group to encourage and support artists in the work. At the base of that invitation was Kenneth Pace. I didn’t know him, only his wife Theresa, but after one meeting you felt like you had known him always. He welcomed all of us to the group and let everyone know how important their presence was. Weekly we would gather and it was like a sacred time—no one wanted to miss. Kenneth would always be in the chair that was closest to the door to be the first to welcome those who came. Because of his weekend visits to sales and flea markets, he would often bring something special for someone in the group just because he knew they would like it. Other time he would bring earrings, pins, or bracelets that he had found and gift them readily to the one who liked it best. Even when he didn’t feel well or had pain in his legs, his spirit would reach out to all of us. He would remember what you had talked about the week before and ask how it was going or what happened. Kenneth was truly present and gave himself as gift to all of us. Theresa carried on this spirit of generosity by inviting us to come to the house and choose the art supplies that would most help us in our work. When I asked the group to give me a list of what they could use so I could give it to Theresa, each and every member asked if they could have one of his drawings. And Theresa shared those drawings with us. Each week Kenneth would sit in the chair by the door and draw with his pens and now those drawings stand as a reminder of a wonderfully loved and most generous man. Kenneth, you will keep inspiring us each Monday as we continue the tradition. The chair by the door is left open for you as we know you are with us. From Heather Felder, one of the young lifeguards who monitored the Cansler Y pool where Kenneth swam daily laps—all told, he swam as exercise every weekday for over 35 years: First off I would like to offer you my sincere condolences in the passing of your husband. My name is Heather and I work at the Cansler Family YMCA. I have gotten the pleasure to get to know your husband over the past 3 years. Without fail he was at the door smiling every morning waiting to get in. He made sure to let me know if I was even a minute late or if anyone else was on the days I was off. I watched him swim hundreds of laps when I was lifeguarding in the pool and when I moved over to the desk I got to hear all about his adventures from the day before. He was truly an amazing guy and touched me over the years of getting to know him. Shortly after meeting him we realized we had mutual friends. My husband is a yard sale and flea market vendor. Of course Ken would always tell me about his flea market fun and many times would rush out the door to be first at the estate sale he was eying in the paper. Although at times he was a stickler for being on time and routine, he truly was a great man. He had friends here that I unfortunately had to inform of his untimely passing. He was loved by everyone here at the Y or at the flea market. He was a gentle giant that would give the shirt off his back. I am so sorry for your loss and pray for healing for you and your family. He spoke of you often and made sure we all knew you were the boss. He would always smile from ear to ear when talking about you. I am sure that the Y will be in contact with you soon and possibly send their condolences as well, but I wanted to write you personally. I know that he just came here to swim during the week but he was much more than just a member to me. He was a regular I have had the privilege of getting to know and call my friend. He will be greatly missed and I still look for him every morning. I am so very sorry for your loss.

At the conclusion of the memorial, Jenny reminded us: These are really only the beginning of the stories and memories that will be shared among family and friends for a long, long time. But let us now conclude this formal time of remembrance, grateful for the gift of our own lives, and for the gift of knowing Kenneth. In the last several years, Kenneth renovated our big house here at Blue Note Garden in Lakemoor Hills to have two apartments on the ground floor where we could age in place looking out at the surrounding rocks and woodland garden. These days I nearly always have graduate students living in both of those, and sometimes one upstairs in the guest bedroom suite, too! We are all busy but they also help me with chores and the cats from time to time and they are, quite simply, very good company. I am lucky, indeed. Still, there is an enormous hole where Kenneth lived in our midst because he left us far too suddenly and soon. A young child, the granddaughter of our friends and neighbors, Jeff and Carrie Slavin, offers a fitting image of what it means to our family to be without Kenneth. Lexa pictures Kenneth’s big empty chair in his “treasure” room at home, surrounded by the bibelots and gew-gaws on his shelves, and his devoted golden tabby cat, Buddy. SaveSave SaveSave

 

October 2017

Dearest Friends, My family and I are planning for a time of gathering in celebration of Kenneth’s life on the Friday of Thanksgiving Day weekend, November 24, at 6:30pm. I hope you may be able to join us that evening for the scattering of ashes he requested here at Blue Note Garden, 2309 Wagon Road, in Knoxville, Tennessee. There will be a wood fire to take the chill off outdoors. We’ll provide hot cider and popcorn. Bring a bit of a story with you, if you wish. If you cannot come, you are welcome to send a tale ahead and we’ll tell it for you.

You have all been so kind to be in touch with me since Kenneth’s death on 3 September. I cannot express how deeply your kind words have affected me. I am only now beginning to feel I’ve arrived at enough equanimity to respond to the several hundred letters, photos, cards, emails, texts and voicemails expressing appreciation for time with “the gentle giant” in all the different worlds he lived in. (I would make better progress if I did not feel the need to tamp down sadness by repeatedly going outdoors to pull weeds and rip-out tree seedlings in these achingly beautiful early fall days—Japanese stilt grass is sufficiently terrorized that it wilts these days as I make my approach!)

Kenneth knew I would write about him someday and many of you have sent me a welcome stock of material. I’m adding it to the stories Kenneth’s grandparents and Kenneth himself told me from occasions well before I met him 42 years ago. As unassuming as he could be, he certainly wasn’t shy in front of a camera lens or in the presence of a storyteller. I wish that more of you would have known Kenneth in his prime, when illness, surgeries and chronic pain had not worn him down so much. Still, through it all, he managed to keep his fundamental sense of goodness and kindness intact—I am witness to how much of a feat that could be. In addition to family members coming in turn to help, I’ve had a couple of students stay with me for several weeks who did not get the chance to know Kenneth; it has been good to focus mostly on their lives and aspirations. After they leave next week, another couple of students will fly over from France to help me with the work we should be doing over there. In November, we will get Blue Note Garden ready for family and friends to assemble at our simple gathering in memory of Kenneth’s life. We know many of you will have family commitments elsewhere for the holiday but if you are in town, please stop by that evening—or another time afterward. I look forward to speaking with each and every one of you. Sincerely, Theresa

Kenneth Aaron Pace

Intro – September 2017

“It’s so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone.” ― John Steinbeck, The Winter of Our Discontent

Kenneth was a fine photographer and some of his best photos date back to our many hard-working days at Lanntair Farm. The photo above was taken of the long driveway along the lake and through the 17-acre farm during the record snowfall (12”) and cold (24 below zero) of 21 January 1985. As I looked through all of our photos while preparing the slide show for Kenneth’s memorial, this enlargement struck me as a scene that saw into the future and spoke to what we would come to feel in the winter of 2017-2018.

When I look back to those farm days, they represent some of our happiest as well as most difficult, anxious times. We have scores of exceptional stories and good memories based upon our time at the farm and with family and friends. I will have a much harder time remembering those accurately now, because Kenneth had the better head for recalling details. We’ve regaled so many people with them that, perhaps, I won’t forget too much and others may be able to remind me. There are days now when I wish I did not recall at all the day that Kenneth died. The unexpected, unattended, and inexplicable loss of a loved one is painful beyond belief. In the last several years here at Blue Note Garden, we have had a magnificent pair of nesting great horned owls in our woods. On the evening that Kenneth died, 3 September 2017, I came outside to check on whether his van had arrived yet in our parking lot—he was nearly an hour late for dinner and was not answering his phone. But Kenneth was always telling me I worried too much so I kept trying to put a check on my inquietude. Still, the two owls circled the house in the middle distance of the tall trees that surround our house and all at once I began to feel that something was very wrong. I ran to my own car and frantically drove to look for him. I finally found him slumped over in the crammed entryway of one of his storage units, the door ajar, and his phone locked in the van. He was never without his phone so it is a mystery why it would be in the locked van—only one of many mysteries and mistakes left unexamined in the followup police investigation. We do not know what transpired in the final hours of Kenneth’s life. We may never know. What is certain is that it was not the good end any of us who respected and loved him would have wished for him. It remains a struggle to move on without him. Not many people know that Kenneth was a voracious reader. I am still setting aside books that I think he would like to read. Dozens of times a day I remind myself to tell him about something I’ve heard or seen, to the point where I just do—it’s easier than trying to remember not to. I am too old to break the habit of communing with someone I knew well for over 40 years. I keep trying to “get on with it” as Kenneth’s Scots-Irish ancestors would likely exhort, because I know he would not want any of us to remain in so much pain. He had contended with chronic pain for many of his later years and would not want the rest of us to be held in its prison for long. Easier said than done. The owls have not been back since the evening Kenneth died or, at least, I’ve not seen them. Occasionally I think I hear them. I don’t know why they are gone—whether they found a better nesting site or they simply miss the daily passing to and fro of our resident gentle giant, who frequently reported that he heard and spotted them. I hope they and their offspring are alive and well. We miss them, too.

 

Kenneth Aaron Pace, 1950 – 2017

Kenneth Aaron Pace died unexpectedly on Sunday, September 3, 2017 in Knoxville, Tennessee, at 67 years of age. He was born in Hendersonville, North Carolina, on May 27, 1950. Kenneth and his surviving wife of 41 years, Theresa Pepin, moved to Knoxville in 1982 where he worked on downtown renovations in connection with the World’s Fair. He graduated from Henderson County High School in 1968 and obtained a B.F.A. from Western Carolina University on the G.I. Bill following his service in the Vietnam War with the United States Navy on the USS Hancock aircraft carrier. Kenneth continued art studies at the University of Tennessee over the years and served on the board of Candoro Arts and Heritage Center and led an art group near his home in Lakemoor Hills. He was a well known general contractor in the Knoxville area as well as in Hot Springs, North Carolina, where he renovated a cottage across from the historic Jesuit Retreat Center. Kenneth and his wife were particularly supportive of the Hot Springs Public Library in that small town. He was a gentle giant of a man and looked like a rugged mountaineer from the 19th century but had all the sensitivity of a fine artist and a natural poet. Kenneth was a genuinely kind soul and made many friends in every community he participated in and contributed to. He will be greatly missed by his deeply affectionate cat, Buddy. Kenneth is preceded in death by beloved grandparents, William and Eleanor Bourget; father, Jesse Aaron “Buddy” Pace and brother, Andrew Pace. He is survived by his mother, Elizabeth “Betty” Bourget Pace of Hendersonville; brothers Melvin and Jonathan Pace of Hendersonville, NC, Dwayne Pace of West Asheville, NC, Robert Pace of Sylva, NC, and Stephen Pace of Spring Hill, FL; sisters-in-law, Cecilia Pepin Pelaez, Bernadette Pepin Kiep, Veronica Pepin Bower, Rose Pepin Miller, and Rita Pepin Esterwood; brother-in-law, Paul Andre Pepin and many nieces and nephews. To honor Kenneth’s wishes the cremation was completed and services held privately by the family. In lieu of flowers memorials may be made in Kenneth’s memory to the Hot Springs Public Library, P.O. Box 175, Hot Springs, NC 28743 or the Candoro Arts and Heritage Center, P.O. Box 9473, Knoxville, TN 37940, or a charity of your choice.