Kennedy: Remembering former Kingston mayor Ken Matthews
Longtime former Kingston city councillor Ken Matthews, then 92, relaxes outside his home at Extendicare in July 2021. He died at 95 on Jan. 10. Photo: Pat Kennedy.
January 22, 2024
By Patrick Kennedy
The Whig-Standard
The last time I spoke with Ken Matthews, the final one of our countless chats over the years — on and off the record — the topic of the hereafter surfaced, namely: his final resting place. Or as Ken quipped that day in 2021, “Where they’ll plant me.”
“And no cremation, either,” he insisted, half-smiling. “I’m going in whole.”
I suggested the Lower Burial Ground at St. Paul’s Anglican Church, unaware that the historic graveyard no longer welcomed permanent guests. St. Paul’s last subterranean customer was a Mrs. Jane Miller, back in ’63 — 1863, that is.
Curiously, Ken might’ve had a chance at a lasting layabout in the Lower Burial Ground, Ontario’s oldest Anglican cemetery, which is located downtown at the corner of Queen and Montreal streets. A proposal was put forth years ago to turn a small part into a “memorial garden,” which could accommodate a commemorative sprinkle of a dearly departed’s ashes.
Two things thwarted the plan: First, the church rejected the proposal. And there was also Ken’s “going in whole” request.
That’s unfortunate in one sense, because in the annals of outstanding citizens/St. Paul’s parishioners who served this city well, Ken would’ve fit in fine with others of his ilk. Mohawk matriarch Molly Brant, the Cartwrights (not Ben and Hoss but businessmen/philanthropists Richard and John), and the courageous Scotsman Hugh Hall, who led the 1814 attack on Sackets Harbor, N.Y., to name a few of the notables who are buried there.
Instead, at his funeral this week on a bitterly cold still morning at Glenhaven Memorial Gardens, Kenneth William Matthews was lowered into a plot next to his wife, Jean (2020). The old political warhorse died five years shy of centenarian status.
“Ken was a completely honest man who always tried to do the right thing,” said retired lawyer Bill Bishop, who served one term on council with Matthews in the mid-1980s. “He looked after the ordinary people, especially people who weren’t well off or who were down on their luck. Ken was an exceptionally kind and generous person.”
The seasoned politician — Matthews once noted that “the day after the election was the start of my next campaign” — had a seat around the City Hall horseshoe for 33 non-successive years beginning in the early 1960s. Amazingly, that only gave him a share of the longevity record with late alderman George Webb. Still, that implausible run seems unassailable, as safe as Hall of Fame pitcher Cy Young’s 511 wins, or Cy’s 315 losses, for that matter. Think about it. Attend an endless myriad of meetings, sit on numerous committees, be at the beck and call of constituents, and do all that for three decades-plus!
He represented Frontenac and Kingscourt wards but primarily served his beloved north-end Cataraqui Ward, a.k.a. the “Swamp Ward.” Ken was born and raised there, the second youngest of seven children whose parents sailed over from Ponders End, north London, U.K., and settled in Kingston in 1923. Ken’s father worked at the old Davis Tannery, his mother as a chambermaid at the Prince George Hotel. The family was blue-collar through and through. Ken forged a 44-year career as a government purchasing agent.
His brief but colourful stint as interim mayor in 1993-1994 started after Matthews won a council lottery to replace Helen Cooper, who’d stepped down to accept an out-of-town job. “They pulled me from a hat, like a magician’s rabbit,” was how Ken described that ascent.
Matthews said he always enjoyed his time serving on council — not leading it.
“As mayor, I cut some ribbons, opened some new places, gave ‘em the ol’ soft-soap treatment,” he once told me. “As an alderman, you could get more things done.”
A founding director of the Kingston and District Sports Hall of Fame, Ken himself was inducted in the builders category in 2008. The opening line of his Hall of Fame bio speaks volumes to his contributions. “For almost 50 years Ken was involved in almost every aspect of building sport in the community, from supervising to coaching, managing, administering and officiating.”
At his induction ceremony, players whom Ken had coached and influenced, including many fellow inductees, were quick to shower him with praise. Inductee Bob (Ox) Senior, for instance. The former pro hockey goalie was also a terrific ballplayer, and guess who gave young Ox his first baseball glove. That’s right — Stitch Matthews. It might’ve been Ox who tagged Matthews with “Stitch” after a thrown roofing shingle opened a gash on Matthews’ head that required stitches. The nickname stuck.
Ken was a fixture at rinks and at ball diamonds, where he routinely took up the mid-game collection. Tightwads who didn’t contribute likely wished in hindsight that they had, just to avoid the embarrassment of the unflinching collector holding the hat in front of them for several seconds while jingling the coins inside.
One Kingston Baseball Association opening night in 1964 the senior league game was late starting. Ken, serving as KBA president, walked through the crowd on the first base line, then behind the backstop and the third base seats. He probably had approached 300 people when he gave up the berm in left. Seated in foul ground was Cliffy Earl, who yelled: “It’s 6:20, what time does the 6:15 game start Kenny?”
Ken explained that the KBA was without a scorekeeper so the game could not start. “Give the book to the kid!” Cliffy yelled. The teenager seated beside Cliffy was Bob Elliott, Jr. He phoned in the scores that night to CKWS and CKLC, and CKWS-TV, walked to the Whig-Standard and compiled a box score for the paper. The next day Matthews hired him for $100 a season.
Ken once helped shepherd the flock at the old Church of the Good Shepherd on Cowdy Street.
“He was our regular Sunday School teacher,” recalls attendee Ken (Cup) Cuthbertson, drifting back more than 60 years for the childhood memory. “I soon figured out that Ken Matthews would send you to the cloakroom if you acted up in his class,” Cup recalled. “So, I’d act up, and Ken would throw me out of class pretty much every time.” The cloakroom banishment was akin to a Get-Out-of-Church-Free card. “I’d disappear from the cloakroom and be on my bike and gone in no time,” adds Cup. As for the collection plate offerings that Dorothy Cuthbertson gave her wayward son, they often went towards a candy purchase at Bennett’s grocery store on the bike ride home.
The elderly were atop Matthews’ list of favourite people.
“He looked out for seniors,” Bishop said. “He was always helping someone or having a cup of tea with a senior.”
One time an elderly lady phoned Matthews to ask if he’d accompany her to a funeral home to help pick out her casket. When he did, she asked his opinion on one sporty, four-handled box.
“Jump in and make sure it’s comfortable,” Ken suggested. “You’re going to be using it for a long time.”
Stitch was right about that. Just like I know it’ll be a very long time, if ever, until we see his like again.
Patrick Kennedy is a retired Whig-Standard reporter. He can be reached at pjckennedy35@gmail.com.