A dozen years ago, I got involved in the annual community variety show, uxperience. Our publicity committee came up with the idea of running profiles in the local paper of cast members during the weeks leading up to the show.
That year, we profiled the members of probably the most popular reprising characters of uxperience, “The IGA Watchers.” The three amateur comics in the sketch were veterinarian Fred Cotie, high-school teacher Steve David, and resident Ken More. At one point we asked the three about the success of the IGA Watchers sketch.
“We just do what we’re told,” Fred Cotie said in jest.
“Steve does what’s in the script,” Ken More said. “Fred doesn’t.”
“Yeah, they’ve been riding on my coattails all these years,” Steve David kidded.
“I’m actually just a prop for Fred and Steve, that can walk,” Ken More concluded.
The truth was each year during the three- or four-minute sketch, while Cotie and David played one-upmanship for laughs, it was the introverted, deadpan More who got most of the laughs. While he insisted, each time he was asked, that the others were the stars, it was really More who provided the continuity, the foundation, the heart to what was an extraordinarily successful staple each year on the uxperience stage.
So might it be said of Ken More during his 81 years of life. As a husband, father, grandfather and community guy, whether on the theatrical stage or in the drama/comedy of real life, he gave much more than he took.
Ken More died last week of complications from kidney disease. At Ken’s request, his wife Barb, and family – including daughters Cindy, Jennifer and Cathy, her husband Mark Christoff, and their daughters Lauren and Caitlin – had a celebration of his life at the Hobby Horse. As the refreshments began to flow, so did the memories of a man who provided much continuity, foundation and heart to his family and community.
Cathy remembered, among many attributes, that her dad was “cool,” helping out with school trips, sporting events, camping trips, and leading Saturday morning expeditions to the St. Lawrence Market to buy feta cheese, ripe tomatoes, escargot and bloody pudding.
“He knew how to make anything and everything,” Cathy told me.
In 1978, a local paper ran a short feature about Cathy’s dad, whom the writer described as one of the first “house husbands.” While Barb worked as a Toronto librarian, Ken stayed home tending the kids and even moonlighting during the day with the Goodwood Play Group, mostly local moms keeping their kids busy with play in the daytime. “He always worried that the husbands of the moms in play group might not like the idea of a man spending time with their wives,” Cathy said, “but (Ken) didn’t get hung up on stereotypes.”
That’s the way he and I met and got along. I think it was one year during uxperience, I discovered Ken had played pretty competitive hockey; they called him “the Eagle” because of his prominent proboscis. I had only played oldtimers, but he never looked down that Eagle nose at my game. Whenever we met, he always asked how my bid for the scoring title was going. I realized then, how Ken’s supportive attitude must have inspired friends and family.
The More and Christoff families shared countless flashbacks last Saturday afternoon at the pub. But I have a memory of Ken More that always resonates. The year that Mark and Cathy renovated the Roxy Theatres, everything came down to the wire. The opening gala was approaching and nothing could be overlooked – not the invitations, not the concession foods, not the ticket booth, not the furnishings.
During one visit to the Roxy during the lengthy reno, I wandered into one of the theatres and found Ken down on all fours securing the new theatre seats into place. And Cathy reminded me that on many a premiere night, while she prepared the staff and food stocks in the refurbished Roxy quonset hut, her dad was doing the pony express run to the city to retrieve the actual 35-mm films.
As much as Ken More preferred to stay out of the limelight, no single uxperience moment got the same ovation as the one illuminating the park bench occupied by the three IGA Watchers. He barely said a dozen words each year, but never failed to bring down the house. Among the highlights was the year Lauren Christoff taught the three to dance. She even bought her granddad a flashy track suit for the show.
“We’ve decided that a fitting memorial to my dad will be a bench,” Cathy Christoff told me this week. “Custom made and placed downtown for future IGA Watchers to sit on and … solve the world’s problems.”
It’ll be a bit more difficult to ensure the last part, now that Ken More is gone.