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:

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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.

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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.

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