Kenneth Robert Wood

Kenneth Robert Wood of Kitchener, born February 4, 1935, died October 10, 2004. Loving husband of 30 years to Terry; Loving father to Patti Ritzmann (Paul), Linda Nosal (Doug), Connie Buckwald (Mark Dooling), Tommy (Kit), Jim Short (Melanie), Corey (Missy), Steven (Michelle), Joe (Tracy); Devoted grandfather to Jen, James, Jeff, Mike, Chris, Tim, Greg, Travis, Deanna, Josh, Chandler, Dayton, Ryan, Megan, Kyle, Gavin; survived by brothers and sisters Dorothy Bamber, Betty Sinclair (Ken), Don (Judy), John (Judy). Predeceased by his parents Mabel and Harry and brother-in-law Tom Bamber.

Ken will be remembered by his family and friends as a dedicated husband, father and grandfather. His passion for sports was evident in his unfailing attendance at countless slo-pitch, baseball, fastball, hockey and soccer games. Kenny will also be remembered by colleagues as Kitchener’s finest butcher and salesman of pepperettes.

Friends and family will be received at Westmount Funeral Chapel, 1001 Ottawa St. S. (at Westmount Rd.), 743-8900 on Wednesday, October 13, 2004 from 2 until 9 p.m. The Funeral Service will be held at St. Stephen’s Lutheran Church, 248 Highland Rd. E. Kitchener on Thursday, October 14, 2004 at 1:30pm, Rev. Allen Jorgensen officiating. Cremation to follow.

In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to St. James Lutheran Church, R.R. #2 Petersburg, 1000 Knechtel Ct., Kitchener, ON N0B 2H0. Memorial tributes may be made online at: www.mem.com

Heartfelt thanks to the Waterloo Regional Police and the Kitchener Fire Department for their attentive service. Special thanks to Paramedics from Waterloo Regional EMS, your professionalism and compassion was greatly appreciated.

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‘And tell him that he be a stranger no more. Take my hand.’

from the Four Aces’ Stranger in Paradise

On behalf of the family, I would like to thank all of you for coming today to help celebrate the life of my father, and to share in our sadness at the loss of a great husband, father, grandfather and friend.

My dad always joked that if you turned the sports section upside down, the Indians were always in first place. This combination of optimism, resilience and humor was what made my father who he was, and who he remains in the hearts and minds of everyone here today. His sense of humor was evident in all he did and said. When birthdays or Christmas would approach he would tell his kids… “Oh, that day’s been called off!”…and we believed him if only very briefly.

I figured sitting down to write a eulogy for my father would be a difficult task, but as I typed, I would catch myself smiling and drifting off into the most happy memories I hold about who he was, how he was, and what he was.

So just who was Ken Wood, or Kenny or Woody? Dad was the self-described best butcher in town and the biggest ball fan around. He was a workingman from the very beginning supporting himself with jobs all over Ontario until finally settling into the trade of meat cutting. He was a coach, overseeing the field play of fastball, baseball and slo-pitch teams with a critical but supportive way like no other. If, (and his children here can attest to it), you made an error in the field you were promptly subjected to a few well-intentioned curse words and a shaking of the head. But this was always followed immediately by encouragement and a way to make you better.

Ken Wood was a family man. He loved his family more than anything else, and his family loved him. He was happiest when at an out of town family gathering, at the house of one of his kids, or just preparing a meal for mom.

I truly believe dad was a musician at heart. His passion for big band music, namely the Four Aces, was manifest in his constant humming. You could mention any word even in passing conversation, and dad would strike up a forties tune, using that same word.

How was Ken Wood? Admittedly he was sometimes gruff. The words that he was able to remember after his stroke came out slowly and thoughtfully and even sometimes would get mixed in with frustration in not being able to recall a specific detail. But what came out was always sincere and to the point, and many times humourous.

Dad was emotional. The size of his heart was reflected in his propensity to cry during moments of strong emotion, either happy or sad. Now, that’s not to say that he cried openly. The hand would go up to cover his face or he would leave the room, a quality that is reflected in one of his sons, who will remain nameless.

The emotional side blended easily with his love of life. Dad thoroughly made sure he enjoyed his time on earth, even though his life was arguably not the easiest. His stroke at age 48 and recent health problems, although dealt with stubbornly, did not stop him from enjoying games of golf, bingo, or euchre.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention three other things that made him smile: The Cleveland Indians, the Cleveland Browns, and the Montreal Canadiens. Some of my fondest memories are of dad sitting out on his bench (affectionately dubbed ‘the office’) on clear summer nights with his walkman tuned to WTAM 1100 and the familiar voice of broadcaster Tom Hamilton weaving a tragic tale of yet another Indians loss. Dad was 13 the last time the Indians won the World Series. I secretly held out hope I would be able to share another victory with him before he died. Twice we came close but were denied. But without turning this eulogy into an excerpt from Sports Illustrated, the way dad cheered was the way dad lived. Faithfully, optimistically, and unconditionally.

I feel I need to speak about dad’s work ethic. From his early days striking out on his own, to his tenure with Schneider’s and Dutch Boy, the Kenwood Meat Market years, the Waterloo and St. Jacob’s market, and right up until the ‘pepperette guy at ball tournaments’ era, dad worked hard. His optimism and business sense, whether successful or unsuccessful, was buoyed by his work ethic. He was not content to take it easy or let the job be done by someone else; he knew his trade, he was proud of his trade, but most of all he loved his trade. He did everything he could to provide for his family.

What dad saw in Diet Coke eludes me to this day. He would nurse one glass for hours with a straw watching the game at Kelsey’s and later East Side Mario’s, and it always impresses me the amount of people who would come over and say hi to Kenny. At one point I actually thought he knew everybody. His infectious smile made him someone with whom even total strangers felt at ease striking up a conversation.

For those of you that didn’t know dad that well, I hope I’ve provided a glimpse of who he was, what he was, and how he was. I can’t possibly fit all I need to say into the relatively brief time given to me, so I ask you this. Remember dad the next time you watch a ballgame. Remember dad the next time you hear some big band music. Remember him the next time you indulge in a delicious cut of meat fresh from the barbecue. I ask too that you keep our family in your hearts as we deal with the tough days ahead. Realize that we are able to be strong because a little bit of his optimism, resilience, and humor is in each of us. Where dad is now, the diet coke is served with three ice cubes and a straw, the hamburgers come without onions, just ketchup, and the Four Aces are on repeat over the stereo.

Dad, we love you and we miss you. Go Tribe, and we’ll see you after the game.