Ken Bates, a long time supporter of Good Shepherd Humane Society and a staunch advocate for responsible pet ownership, left us on February 22, 2014. He and his wife, Bobby, became involved with Good Shepherd shortly after moving to the area when Ken retired in 1983. Many in the community knew Ken much, much better than I did, but in my almost two years at Good Shepherd, Ken had become as much a fixture of my daily life as my dogs and cats and family. He was always present--even if not physically at the shelter. He suggested tactics, approaches, ideas for different problems, and he watched and monitored events unfold. He also helped in whatever way he could--sometimes reminding me of something forgotten, or, like a great editor, catching the "oops" moments of typos and errors so that we could correct them and make our presentation for Good Shepherd better.
Some folks may have thought Ken simply a curmudgeon--but he wasn't, at least not in the real definition of the world. He didn't complain or grump just to grouse--he always had a purpose, even when we--I--didn't appreciate it at the time. And like many of us do, I didn't always realize what a treasure it was to get that email or hear that voice every day.
Ken did so much and had done for so long, that only in the week before his passing did those of us at the shelter realize how things would change. For example, Ken had taken all the animal photos for the shelter for years. Reading this, you might not think that would be much of a chore, but in fact, my staff and I have discovered that it takes about 4 -6 hours a week just to shoot photos and try to edit them. Then, there's the cost of printing the photos for posters and getting them uploaded. Ken and Bobby also maintained photo boards throughout Carroll County, and this was a task they gladly did every week. Ken would take pictures, print them, and he and Bobby would take one day a week to update all the boards.
Ken also served on our shelter committee. He was a repository of institutional history, and he often gave new insight to a policy or procedural matter that made no sense to me. Ken also gave freely--not just of his time, but in providing items the shelter needed. I went into our food shed a couple of days ago, and the note hanging on the wall said "Call [Ken] when you're down to four cat boxes." Ken took the time to collect cardboard boxes from stores, and then he used a hole saw and cut air holes in the boxes so we had sturdy carriers to adopted cats. Ken also bought our slip leashes, 200 at a time, so we had leashes and collars for adopted dogs. Little things taken for granted, and now, we must find elsewhere.
It's all about time--the time we have, the time we share, the time that is never enough, the time unappreciated. Time is constant yet always moving. It brings to mind a line from a poem, "time is the fire in which we burn." No matter how hard we may wish, the river of time continues it's great march, and the currents bring us in and out of others lives. I am certain that many of the members of the Good Shepherd Humane Society, as well as the dogs and cats, will agree with me when I say that I am unquestionably thankful and blessed that the river of time brought Ken Bates to our shore.
Thank you, Ken.
To those of you unfamiliar with the poetry of Delmore Schwartz, I am including the entire poem below.
Calmly We Walk through This April’s Day
Calmly we walk through this April’s day,
Metropolitan poetry here and there,
In the park sit pauper and rentier,
The screaming children, the motor-car
Fugitive about us, running away,
Between the worker and the millionaire
Number provides all distances,
It is Nineteen Thirty-Seven now,
Many great dears are taken away,
What will become of you and me
(This is the school in which we learn ...)
Besides the photo and the memory?
(... that time is the fire in which we burn.)
(This is the school in which we learn ...)
What is the self amid this blaze?
What am I now that I was then
Which I shall suffer and act again,
The theodicy I wrote in my high school days
Restored all life from infancy,
The children shouting are bright as they run
(This is the school in which they learn ...)
Ravished entirely in their passing play!
(... that time is the fire in which they burn.)
Avid its rush, that reeling blaze!
Where is my father and Eleanor?
Not where are they now, dead seven years,
But what they were then?
No more? No more?
From Nineteen-Fourteen to the present day,
Bert Spira and Rhoda consume, consume
Not where they are now (where are they now?)
But what they were then, both beautiful;
Each minute bursts in the burning room,
The great globe reels in the solar fire,
Spinning the trivial and unique away.
(How all things flash! How all things flare!)
What am I now that I was then?
May memory restore again and again
The smallest color of the smallest day:
Time is the school in which we learn,
Time is the fire in which we burn.
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