A 'Life I Want' tribute: Ken Bader
On August 24, my uncle Ken Bader, my dad’s youngest brother, died at age 70 of complications related to pancreatic cancer. As I’ve reflected on and learned more about his life in the weeks since his passing, I realized how much Ken embodied what we’re after in The Life I Want. Over the course of his life, he built an impressive career in public radio—and never let that career compromise his ideals or how he wanted to live.
Ken did not follow in the footsteps of his two older brothers, who graduated from the same Ivy League school and went on to build traditionally successful careers. Ken attended Colgate University and let his love of music carry him to radio stations in Iowa and Wyoming and on to the Voice of America, National Public Radio, and beyond. Most recently, Ken was a senior editor at “The World,” a joint production of the BBC, Public Radio International, and WGBH.
Ken had a storied career. But his best stories weren’t about what he achieved, but how he crashed and burned, more than once, because of his principles.
Ken’s tenure as producer for the Christian Science Church’s “Monitor Radio” ended after that program ran a story about AIDS education in Bangkok that included people using cucumbers to demonstrate proper condom use. The piece elicited negative feedback from an important conservative stakeholder, and the station’s higher-ups prepared an apology that said the content was due to an editing error. Ken and the show’s host refused to air the apology; both were suspended and did not come back.
Years later, at WBUR, Ken corrected the grammar on an underwriter’s message, changing “Our listeners support us, along with [x company],” which implied that listeners also supported the sponsor, to “Our listeners support us, as does [x company].” The station manager reprimanded Ken, who changed it back, but the damage was done and Ken left shortly thereafter.
Too many of us suffer fools or foolish behavior in our jobs, rationalizing or willfully ignoring supposedly minor incidents. Ken did not.
What is better than going down over grammar? Petulant and irresponsible, some might say. But while I heard Ken worry lightly about his finances once in awhile, he always found another job. Too many of us suffer fools or foolish behavior in our jobs, rationalizing or willfully ignoring supposedly minor incidents—microaggressions or ethical lapses that turn out to be the top edge of a slippery slope, or, worse, that build up our immunity to what is clearly wrong. Ken did not.
The reporters and producers Ken worked with loved him for his rigor and humor, and listeners occasionally benefited from it, too. Just after 9/11, Ken guest hosted “The World” and interviewed a Taliban media spokesman over a scratchy telephone line.
After a few questions that got them into a conversational flow, Ken asked, “Are the Taliban in contact with Osama bin Laden?”
“Yeah, sure,” the spokesman replied. “He is in Afghanistan.”
“Where?” Ken asked, not missing a beat.
The spokesman stuttered, then laughed. “We cannot say where he is. But he is in Afghanistan.”
Ken was disappointed not to solve the greatest manhunt in modern history, but he did revel in making a Taliban spokesman laugh.
Ken didn’t need any advice to “follow your passion,” nor did he seem to fret over what to do at each juncture: He simply did what he knew was right at every turn.
In his work life, Ken didn’t need any advice to “follow your passion,” nor did he seem to fret over what to do at each juncture: He simply did what he knew was right at every turn.
Ken lived life on his own terms outside of work, too. Our society’s collective angst about the perils of technology did not apply: He stuck with vinyl, though eventually bought some CDs. He never had a cellphone or even voicemail; at home, he had an answering machine. And, as one friend noted at his memorial, he single-handedly kept the post office in business, sending postcards and letters to his many friends and former colleagues—all typed, of course, on an IBM typewriter.
A small subset of Ken’s letters and postcards to me.
I received many of those letters over 40 years. The themes were pretty consistent: what movies he’d seen and what he thought of them, what musicians and actors he’d interviewed and what he thought of them, warnings that all men are animals (though he said he approved of the one I married), the adventures of his succession of rescue dogs, and his travels with and unwavering worship of his partner of 27 years, whom he never married but shared as much or more love and respect with as any couple I’ve ever known.
His letters weren’t always lighthearted. I used to mail him cassettes of my morning radio show during college; in one show, during my stint as chief announcer, I must have mentioned that the student deejays on the graveyard shift before me smashed a Rolling Stones record on the air. Ken wrote back:
I can see that radio talent runs deep in the Bader genes. I want to make sure you don’t allow any more of your announcers to smash records on the air, though. It must never happen on a Bader-run station for two reasons:
Smashing a Rolling Stones record betrays an ignorance of their importance. It’s as if in the ‘60s, one were to smash a Chuck Berry record. While the Stones have admittedly aged badly, one shouldn’t dismiss their contributions.
Smashing records you don’t like is like burning books you don’t like. It smacks of fascism, intolerance, and arrogance. It’s particularly inappropriate for a college campus, where openness to other views and tastes should be a paramount value. It’s kind of like running negative political ads. Instead of discussing their positive ideas and plans, these assholes trash their opponents for 30 seconds. Kinda makes you wonder if they have anything to say, right? Well, in your limited air time, why spend it trashing stuff? Play the good stuff...isn’t there enough to fill the shift?
Indeed.
Until the end, Ken held onto his beliefs. When he was brought into the hospital for the last time in August, the admitting staff went through their routine questions: What’s your name? What year is it? Who’s the current president? Ken frowned at the last question. “Do I have to answer that?” They concluded he was lucid.
Principles without geniality can make for a stubborn boor; geniality without principles can mean a vapid doormat. It’s the combination of the two that made Ken who he was.
A beautiful obituary of Ken in The Boston Globe ran with the sub-headline: “He was known for his principles and geniality.” Principles without geniality can make for a stubborn boor; geniality without principles can mean a vapid doormat. It’s the combination of the two that made Ken who he was.
The last snail mail letter I got from Ken was in April 2018, after I told him we were moving to Bali. Here’s what he wrote back, with his typical tongue-in-cheek humor:
Dear Christine:
Greetings from New England! I’m sorry about the hassle it’ll be for you guys to meet Lisa [his partner], JoJo [his dog], and me in New Hampshire this summer [where our family traveled many summers]—I mean, having to fly the whole brood from Bali to New Hampshire and all. I don’t think there are any direct flights; even if there are, they might not be at convenient times. But that’s okay. From what I can tell, the Green School is worth it.
In fact, I approve wholeheartedly of everything in your letter: Adrian’s photos are spectacular, and I loved your piece in The New York Times. In short, you have my permission to pursue your life as you wish.
I will, Uncle Ken—following your example. And I hope that wherever you are, the Red Sox are winning, the postal service is reliable, and the soundtrack is up to your standards.
Who has inspired you to live the life you want? Tell us at hello@thelifeiwant.co.
Cover photo by Suzanne Kreiter, The Boston Globe.
Me and Uncle Ken, sometime in the mid ‘90s.
