One In A Million

Dear Everyone Who Knew Kenny:

Mike San Roman wrote a bit about what happened. I’ll fill it in. Imagine this: Patti Ruben and I sat down at a table in a random Chinese restaurant somewhere in the middle of Riverside – a place I could never get to again or even remotely try to tell you were it is – the one thing I do remember about it is that it didn’t have an ‘A’ outside of the door.

Anyway before we got our green tea, one of the two cool guys next to us, who were as crazy as we were to be in that joint in the first place - reached over, fork in spear mode, and stabbed one of our shrimp dumplings.

It was a surreal moment, out of a Dali painting, where the fork took on gigantic proportions and time was stretched thin in slow motion.

Both of our mouths dropped (Patti’s and mine) and we turned and there was Kenny, chewing away, big grin on his face. He explained matter of factly that he was thinking of ordering the dumplings and wanted to know ‘how they were.’

Mike, used to his shenanigans, shot us a warning look – like ‘Oh Brother, you haven’t seen anything yet’ and then I think one of us said, ‘Well, that’s an unusual ice breaker.’

And we laughed. And we didn’t stop laughing. And the dim sum lasted two hours and I think when I left I had to tie a sweater around my butt as at a high point I had peed in my pants.

That was Kenny when we first met him and that was Kenny every wonderful time we saw him after that.. And that was his best friend, Mike.

When you were with them, because actually we never saw Kenny without Mike and Peg, you never wanted it to end. You’d stall and make up something else we had to discuss or see to or story we wanted Kenny to tell us to stretch out his magic.

Stories like his brothers sitting in the back seat of his father’s sawed off convertible car in the middle of a Pittsburgh snowstorm or how his father wanted to call up Russia and volunteer their dog for Sputnik.

I guess the gods every once in awhile send us someone unique like Kenny – someone who stores so much laughter and fun inside of everyone that his smile is branded on our souls. I double-dare you to read this blog and not laugh at some of the memories. I don’t know about you but Kenny isn’t gone for me. Whenever I’m sad, all I have to do is to close my eyes and see his handsome face (boy did I have a crush on him) and tap into all the joy he gave me.

I am writing this from New York City. Patti and I were both unable to come on June 14^th.

I know that the church was packed and that the line from the spill-out crowds crossed into Arizona. And that ‘s only a small fraction of people who absolutely adored him – like I did.

Kenny, you were simply the best. I’m so glad you loved shrimp dumplings.

Jackson Hunsicker