The Commish

In our youths together, Ken Reeves of Harrison gained limited fame (among those of us who ragged on him) as the slowest kid ever to play junior Goblin quarterback. Little wonder, considering his feet already measured size 12 or 13.

Ken was so slow that we teammates scrawled a white towel with lettering that read “Flash.”

He wore that towel proudly tucked into the rear waistband of his uniform. As I recall, we won a single game in 1961, overwhelming Clinton 6-0 when our 210-pound fullback John Bill Foley dragged four defenders over from the 4-yard line.

I still don’t remember how we fought way down to score. I am, however, certain it wasn’t due to Ken’s blinding slashes. Eventually the coach moved our quarterback to become the center, perhaps the greatest fall from fleeting glamour in ninth-grade Goblin history.

During that period, Ken and I also became the only two members of the Goblin’s golf team. That was back when the Harrison Country Club still used sand greens. We traveled to the state tournament in Fayetteville where I became ill and Ken recorded some score he still claims not to recall.

About the same time, Ken got his sparkling black 1951 Chevy. Not only did he have one spiffy car for a 15-year-old, he even had its seats custom-tucked and rolled in burgundy and white leather with large inset buttons. Then those flashy buttons began steadily popping off despite Ken’s best efforts to pin them back. Another life lesson learned.

Later, Ken headed to the University of Arkansas, married his sweetheart Debbie Fuller, enlisted in the Arkansas Army National Guard during Vietnam and eventually earned his law degree in Fayetteville. Then it was back to Harrison, raising a family with two beautiful daughters and grappling with civil and criminal cases. There’s perhaps nothing less personally rewarding than aggressively representing one side of a messy divorce and other civil cases in any smaller community.

Ken ably persisted in local courtrooms, even serving on the state Supreme Court’s professional standards committee, until the late Sheridan Garrison asked him to join Garrison’s American Freightways as the in-house attorney.

That proved a far better opportunity for him even after Garrison sold the company to FedEx Freight and Ken assumed the role of general counsel and vice president for that mega-corporation.

He became close friends with Garrison over the years, often hunting and fishing together from their boathouses floating side by side in a cove on Bull Shoals. In Garrison’s later years, as he suffered the degenerating effects of Parkinson’s, Ken continuously provided care for his friend.

The practical jokes they exchanged became legendary. After one hunt together out West, Ken placed an ad in the local paper advising anyone who suffered from insomnia to call Garrison (listing his phone number) and ask him to recount yet again the story of how he’d finally bagged an elk.

Their good-natured one-upsmanship continued for years until May 2004. They’d returned from one of the many shared fishing adventures to Mexico only a day before Garrison would die alone after falling into a pond on a rural hunting ranch that he, Ken and other friends shared. Sadly, it would be Ken and friends who finally located Garrison’s submerged body nearly two days later.

Now 65, Ken has maintained his sense of humor and quick wit while becoming one of the most capable and reverent hunters and fishermen in Arkansas.

Ken enjoys nothing more than stalking another turkey, landing another bass or sharing his creative ideas on how game and fish conditions across Arkansas might be improved. Other than with his family, grandkids and church, Ken’s heart and his spirit always have been most comfortable on the state’s waterways or in its forests. He comes by it honestly, considering his beloved late father Jack was cut from the same bolt of camouflage.

In fact, Ken has loaned me one of his camo jackets several times during annual get-togethers between four of us from the class of 1965 at his boathouse. He even gave me an old tackle box after I’d once arrived with my tangled lures in a brown paper sack. That’s just Ken.

Over the decades, I’ve also come to care ever more deeply about Ken’s remarkable mother Thelma and brother Jack and his family, all of whom live in Harrison.

I’m writing about Ken today because Gov. Mike Beebe has displayed the foresight and wisdom to appoint him to the state’s Game and Fish Commission through June 2020. Excellent choice, Governor.

It’s obvious that neither foot speed nor the quality of vehicle upholstery are requirements to serve as a devoted, enjoyable and remarkably competent Game and Fish commissioner. That’s fortunate because you who come to know Ken as I have will discover that’s exactly the kind of commissioner a lifelong friend once known as the “Flash” will be for Arkansas.

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Mike Masterson’s column appears regularly in the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette. Email him at [email protected]. Read his blog at mikemastersonsmessenger.com.