Kenneth R. Weaver, 93, died on 24 January 2020 in Houston, Texas. Ken Weaver was born in 1926, when Calvin Coolidge was President, before Lindbergh flew across the Atlantic, before the first talking motion picture, three years before the Great Depression. He grew up in the South Bend, Indiana and Niles, Michigan areas. Reflecting the trials of the Depression, Ken as a boy went door-to-door collecting ashes to earn money. He graduated from South Bend's Riley High School in 1944 and in 1945, 75 years ago this February, he was inducted into the US Army. He was on a troop train as an infantryman enroute from his Texas training camp to the west coast when Japan announced its surrender, ending World War II. Often as an adult, Ken expressed his gratitude for President Truman's decision to drop the Bomb. Despite the war's end, the Army continued with its deployment of Ken to the Pacific theater. He later recalled that on the troop ship from San Francisco even the pet monkeys got seasick. He was stationed on Saipan, Leyte, and Guam in an anti-aircraft unit and then as a B-29 mechanic in a reconnaissance squadron. He learned how to count from 1 to 10 in Japanese from a Japanese prisoner of war. After his honorable discharge and return to civilian life, Ken went to college on the GI Bill. He graduated from Ball State University in Muncie, Indiana. He then began his career as a newspaperman, first as a reporter at the Fort Wayne News Sentinel, and subsequently in editorial positions at various other papers, including the Birmingham Eccentric and the Wabash Plain Dealer. He later worked in public relations for William Beaumont Hospital, Crittenden Hospital, and the National Bank of Detroit, but he remained a newspaperman at heart. Well into his 80's Ken would call out typos and poor word choices in newspaper articles. In retirement, he worked at the public library in Three Rivers, Michigan and volunteered to tutor children at local elementary schools. At the News Sentinel Ken met another reporter, Sharon Kimble, whom he married, and to whom he remained devoted for more than 60 years until her death in 2019. He enjoyed playing Scrabble with Sharon, even though she typically won-perhaps making his occasional victories all the sweeter. He read avidly, both novels and non-fiction. In his final years, he continued to enjoy doing word puzzles. He had enjoyed driving-not commuting, but rather long-distance trips-and skillfully handled a car, protecting his family, for instance, from a tire blow-out on a Michigan freeway and from a close encounter with a drunk driver. His favorite movie was John Ford's "Mister Roberts"; he laughed out loud at the Three Stooges. Ken also loved football. Growing up in South Bend made him a lifelong fan of the Notre Dame Fighting Irish. As a youngster he had served as an usher at home games. A vivid memory for his children: whenever a Notre Dame receiver or running back broke away from the defense for an extended run, Ken leaping up from his easy chair and shouting towards the family's black-and-white TV, "Go, go, go!!!" Another football memory, from Ken's years as a long-suffering Detroit Lions fan: his exclamation of disgust when, yet again, a holding penalty voided a Lions' scoring drive. Ken's exclamations could become profane, especially when trying to fix plumbing around the house. One learned from Ken that something could not only be damned to hell, but also back again. Yet there were limits: some words he never uttered and enforced the same prohibitions on his children. He was also a conduit of early and mid-20th-Century midwesternisms. These included "Grandma was slow but she was a-hundred-an'-one," "I'll knock you into the middle of next week," "Knock. It. Off!," "forty-eleven" to represent any ridiculously high number, and, of course, "You bet." Of his own making was his invariable response in his later years when someone asked how he was doing: "Not bad for an old man getting younger every day." Ken raised four children with Sharon. He would do absolutely anything within his power for his children. He tended to spoil them, just as he did late in life with his five granddaughters and his and Sharon's dog, Shelby. He always kept food on the table and a roof overhead, even in the family's toughest times in the early 1970's. Under tremendous pressure on multiple fronts at multiple times in the second half of his life, he never buckled. Sharon recalled her admiration how during one terribly timed period of unemployment he immediately began the search for a new job, working the phones and his contacts until two weeks later he was back at work. It's a further tribute to Ken that despite what must have been a period of great worry to him, his children remember that two-week period as a happy time when they had more time to play with their father. Ken Weaver was both scrupulously honest and always kind, and to the end of his life he was an agreeable, good-natured man. In his final months, even after a stroke had robbed him of much of what Alzheimer's had not already taken, a flicker of his friendliness remained, as borne out by how much his post-stroke therapists enjoyed working with him. In his last years he was at peace with his approaching death, reflecting his quiet faith in God. His 93 years were a good run, but he left his family wishing for more. He is survived by his beloved brother, Richard Weaver of Sarasota, Florida; his children, Laurie, Jeff (Elizabeth), Greg (Moira), and Mike; and his granddaughters, Marisa, Madeline, Lily, Julia, and Annabelle. He was preceded in death by his wife, Sharon; by his father Clyde Weaver and mother Alma Luretta Price; by seven brothers, Bill, Bob, Caroll, Dean, Rex, Sylvester, and Virgil; and by his four sisters, Alpha, Alice, Esther, and Inamae. A private service for Ken Weaver was held at the Houston National Cemetery on Friday, January 31st, 2020 at 10:45 am. In lieu of flowers, please donate in Ken's memory to the Fisher Center for Alzheimer's Research Foundation or the American Stroke Association.