Death & Memory of UTC Professor Ken Smith
October 9th, 2007
OCT. 9, 2007 -
It is with a deep sense of loss that we announce the death of Ken Smith last evening. Ken had begun phased retirement last year, but was unable to teach this fall. Ken taught creative writing, particularly in the areas of fiction and creative non-fiction, as well as courses in American literature and Western humanities. He was the author of the story collections Decoys and Other Stories and Angels and Others, as well as dozens of short stories, essays, and works of creative non-fiction. His work has appeared in magazines such as The Atlantic, Crazyhorse, Sonora Review, and Tri-Quarterly, and has been featured in the collections Best American Short Stories and Best of the West. He was also a writer-in-residence at Vanderbilt University.
In honor of Ken Smith, his love of writing, and his commitment to students and his colleagues, the English Department is establishing the Kenneth Smith Fiction Prize to be awarded annually to an outstanding student writer.Those who would like to contribute to this memorial being established in Ken’s honor may do so through the Development Office. Contributions should be made to the UC Foundation and designated for the Ken Smith Fiction Prize.
For more information on the UTC English Department, please call Dr. Verbie Prevost at (423) 425-4238.
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Comments on "Death & Memory of UTC Professor Ken Smith"
I consider myself lucky to have had Ken as a teacher and as a friend. His warmth and concern for us as writers and students encouraged and supported us. He was what country folk call “good people,” and he will be deeply missed.
I feel honored to have know Ken since I was a teenager. Not only as a friend of my family but more importantly as a writer, albeit perhaps from a distance, too much of a distance, he has inspired me and given me the confidence to pursue my MFA and, indeed, I must agree, to wish to be “good country people;” and no, not one of Flannery O’Connor’s: One of Ken’s “good country people.” And even now, in his memory, in my memory of him, he inspires: Now, more than ever, I must be a good writer, a better one, one that might have earned his notice, pride, appreciation, and — goddamnit — love.
Ken Smith will always hold a special place in my heart. Even in his death, his voice will still live on in my writing as well as all the writers that he has touched with his brilliance. I was one of the privileged students to have gotten a chance to be influenced by his creative wisdom while he was still here. He was a man of great wisdom and understanding of the literary arts and a preacher of the beauty of language as an art.
Though he is gone, his memory will still echo through the many writers he has touched. And though he has moved on, his creative guidance and works will never die.
Ken turned up one day in my freshman comp class because my teacher, his wife, had to be away for few days and he was covering our period. As an anthropology major I came back for five or six elective writing classes under Ken over the next four years, furthering what was then only a hobby. I can say with ease that we did not always agree over style or genre, but when I write today, or more especially when I rewrite, I know where that expectant voice is coming from that will not allow certain things to just be.
It was in my many classes with Ken that writing turned from a hobby to a discipline; I can truly say that what I learned from Ken was not the Art of Writing, which is an inherently personal thing, but the craft of trying to write well. It may mean nothing in the sum total of a man, but it’s damn fine thing to have from a Creative Writing teacher.
I was organizing some papers last night and happened upon some short fiction I wrote for Ken’s classes in the ’90s. One copy, a revision of a revision of a revision…was marked up in Ken’s hand, with my grade for the story and for the class written on the last page, preceded by a short paragraph of his usual qualified praise. At the end he wrote, “Don’t be a stranger.”
Well, I moved on and away, and unfortunately have not much developed the gift he told me I had. And I was a stranger. Did I write him any letters? No. When I finally got on the internets, did I email him? No. When I was in the neighborhood, did I drop into his office and pay him a visit? No.
Today, I decided to google Ken and get his contact information, and I found this page. My feeling of guilt was almost as instant as my sorrow. I had planned to write him and thank him for what he has given me. My debt to him in my approach to narrative is greater than to any literature professor (sorry, Arlie; sorry Verbie). When I am jarred by a point of view shift, I think of Ken. When a main character is carried by events and makes no moral choices, I think of Ken. When my own writing becomes florid in shades of purple, Ken puts my feet back on the ground.
Tonight, I will read “Decoys and Other Stories”.
Then, I will write.
I, like the last writer, remember Ken’s welcoming words to me at the age of 18 (I am now 39). I also was too much of a stranger but out of shy admiration. I took his classes, ate up his affirmations and corrections, and he became a part of my heart permanently. We last talked ten years ago, when I wanted him to know that a book I had written was being looked at by a major publisher (only this year is it being published, by a much less major publisher!). He is in the Acknowledgments, and I was doing a search for his address on this website last night only to be stricken with this news. I wanted to send him a copy of my book, as he had asked for me to do. I feel so sad. Ken, thank you for all you did for me! I am not the writer you taught me to be, but I believe in my ability to be, in large part, because of you.
I was in awe of Ken Smith. I was lucky enough to have him for a couple of classes in the late 1980s, when I only dreamed of being a writer. He taught me what it really meant to do it, with encouragement and kind, gentle criticism that did exactly what it was supposed to do. He passed on to his students a love of language, the art of storytelling, the thrill of a perfectly turned phrase. He made everyone he taught a better writer. I just learned of Ken’s death at a reunion of some UTC friends in Chattanooga. Every post on this site echoes the way I felt - a deep sense of loss and guilt. I wish I had kept up, I wish I had sent him the books I eventually published in no small part because of his help. Not only was Ken a wonderful, thoughtful writer, he was an outstanding gentleman and kind soul. I hope his family realizes how much he meant to so many people. He will be greatly missed.
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