I was sorry to learn of the death of Ken Greenwood. Such a veteran broadcaster was he, that I have some vintage media books that have him listed. Not unusual to have movers and shakers in books. But those vintage books are – really vintage. Mr. Ken was the real deal for a long time.
He was like the driver of the bus and we all went where he steered us. Not just young wanna-be deejays like me. There were plenty of seasoned folks who wanted to go on the road that Ken Greenwood envisioned. He had that ability. Passion, too. Thousands of people enjoyed his efforts that probably would never recognize his name.
The Great Raft Race, for example.
Sure, there hasn’t been one in a while. But that event used to be a regular river extravaganza that brought out the television cameras, the radio folk (naturally – for that was the domain of Mr. Greenwood), the adventurous raft-riders, and the curious public. It was one of the largest river festivals (I’m guessing) on the Arkansas – that stretch of sand bisected by a sliver of water. Most days.
Mr G. dreamed it up and pulled it off. Wacky rafts bobbing their way (the experienced or fortunate, anyway) down from a Sand Springs launching point. Some of you surely must remember the thing. In its day, it was big. Really big.
I mention the race, only because it may be the event for which Ken Greenwood might be most recognized, even if his association isn’t readily known. He was a joiner, a starter, a thinker, and a do-er.
Somewhere, I read that his remembrance included a job description with the word – mentor. Just a guess here. Since I never worked for him. Wasn’t family. Held no stock in any of his ventures. I must have been a mentor-ee. Ken Greenwood was a man that I admired greatly and I gathered in his words like the British Guardian newspaper is collecting every audible expression of the NSA scandal-causing Edward Snowden.
Except – there was nothing about Ken Greenwood that was in the dark or skirting the edges. He was a man with ideas. He was a man with ideas who knew how to put them into action.
There was a spot on the lake that – when referenced by his inner circle – had to do with a cabin used during the duck hunting season. I heard mention of it several times, in that sort of reminiscing tone that implied good times, off the beaten path. It had a name, I’m guessing, but I always heard it called The Duckin’ Ranch. I could have heard wrong. I was pretty young, recently married, and thrilled to have gotten an invitation.
Mr. Greenwood didn’t know me from Adam, then – I don’t believe. I know he made a connection later. He called me early one morning when I was pulling the morning drive shift on KBEZ-FM. He gave his name and started to identify himself. It was the only time I would ever have interrupted him – but I did. I quickly said something that made it apparent he was obviously known to me and how flattered I was that he called. (Beyond that, that he was actually listening to the broadcast…)
Already, I’ve gone on too long here – but not near long enough to expound his many virtues. I would have thought KRMG might have made some mention, and perhaps they did and I missed it. It could be that – with ownership changes over the years – his association with them has been lost.
A loss, though, is a correct statement. He was a prince of a fellow that I knew only a little, but knew enough to realize the sort of man I had met.
Here is a link to the Tulsa World obit: Exec Ken Greenwood Dies.
