Hurst, Kenneth
posted September 6, 2010

Kenneth Hurst, 87, of Chattanooga, died on Sunday, Sept. 5, 2010.

He was the son of Queenie Saxson and Alonzo Hurst, of Providence, R.I. His siblings are Elenor Fenley, John, Frances Magnum, and Ronald all of Providence. He was a graduate of Mount Pleasant High School, Rhode Island Technical School, and Rhode Island School of Design.

Kenneth was Providence Junior Horseshoe Champ at age 11 and New England Champion in 1939. Kenneth was also a state Soap Box Derby Champion.

During World War II he was a Technical Sergeant and served as an aerial gunner/flight engineer on a B-24, flying 34 missions with the Eighth Air Force, over Germany. He was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross, Air Medal with three oak leaf clusters, EAME Campaign Medal with four battle stars, and the Good Conduct Medal.

Kenneth was married to the late Muriel Lusk of Altamont, Tn., for 63 years.

His children are Michael, of Birmingham, Karen (Batson), of Wilmington, Steven and Vincent, of East Ridge and Hollye, of Asheville. Kenneth had ten grandchildren and four great-grandchildren.

He was employed with Combustion Engineering (Alston Power) for 20 years. He was founder and majority partner of Metallurgical Enterprises in Lakeview.

He was a member of Jones Memorial United Methodist Church.

Visitation will be from 12-1 p.m. on Wednesday, Sept. 8, at the funeral home, with funeral services at 1 p.m.

Burial will follow at Chattanooga National Cemetery.

Arrangements are by the East Chapel of Chattanooga Funeral Home, Crematory, and Florist, 404 South Moore Road.

I hardly knew him, but more through story and reputation. What a life.

I am going to stray off the beaten path of technology and rants a bit by sharing a recently emerged concept in my consciousness: driven by now.  Ironically, this started by dissecting recent “social” events with my father that ended in often-too-typical disappointment.  And as of late, my apathy towards loved ones has grown over the years, because the many “things” that come with family have become more and more out of my control.  I have learned (slowly) to just ‘let it go’, and I have been mostly better for it.  But with each release comes an unsettling urge to repeat past patterns of trying.  After all, my discipline in information technology has conditioned me to hold to the logic that doing the same thing only results in the same — and “believing” it to result differently is naive, and worse, “expecting” different results is the basis for insanity.

I am reminded by a colleague that I am bothered by my concentrated effort to “stay away” comes from being a middle child.  My upbringing squeezed after my two older brothers and before my younger brother and sister placed me in a diplomatic role: one who makes the peace and often works to appease both sides with reason, trickery, and on occasion, even bribes.  Reviewing past events of how I handled conflicting events and crisis moments, I think a lot of that rings true with me.

But should my persona of “allow me to help you because I can” extend into every encounter with family, work, and the occasional opportunities life offers outside those primaries?  The dilemma it poses me is weighing the consequences of my short-term actions against long-term results (which is getting shorter as I get older) and how it competes with my own priorities: health, wealth, and happiness.  Why am I so driven by now?

Examining my past, I start with my father.  Over the decades, I observed how he is personally motivated by the now and centered around the manner in which he operates to make for a self-gratification result.  I do not mean that in a total bad sense, but plainly, if it has any benefit for him, then it must be ‘a good thing’ to do.  And he will either graciously allow or charm you into participating the augmenting of or supplying him with that he pursues to feed his appetite.   On some rare occasions long ago, I was led to believe there were moments my father was “putting out for the good of someone else”.  But upon closer examination of those past events, and like many others touched by his life, there was an underlying cause that somehow rolled back to just him.

The result of his constant feeding off others is probably not all bad.  I do owe my father my strong sense of self-worth, that I am someone special, endowed with gifts.  I just choose to share them as selflessly as my modesty allows, because I am confident in my abilities to execute and I am personally gratified when I can enrich someone or improve upon a situation from what I have to offer.  But is my approach really any better?

My mother was mostly opposite of my father, in that most of what she did was motivated for the welfare of her family.  Throughout long years of selflessly doing what she believed was necessary, she also understood she could not help her family whenever her feeble condition got the better of her — but after all, self-preservation is not a sin, it is the basic of instincts.  Her daily motivations were focused on present situations and needs, while she constantly and quietly worried about the future.  She reminded us to take care of our provisions: clothing, food, education and to be mindful of each other.  They were our tools to grow and were mostly short in supply.  There was no such thing as a free lunch and everyone had to pull their own weight to avoid placing that expense onto others.  I can see how those realities only fueled more animosity over the years towards a father that held himself exempt of such duty and loyalty.

My mother’s lessons formed the basis for which I have attached what love means to me; and something I have appreciated many long years with my wife, Lois.  That understanding and conviction in those beliefs allows an abundance of joy to fill my days without any want.  It tempers my drive to take on the now.  And I am better for it.

Caché: it's a fun ride!

As an anniversary gift (18-years), my wife bought me this vanity plate: CACHE.  It was a little peeve of mine to have a Rhode Island plate that started with NY, so I secretly wished to replace it for the longest of time.

Well, after an online order that took 8-weeks to fill AND spending 4-hours waiting at the DMV, it was home waiting for me to replace.  I must admit, like the car, the label stands out.

Over the years, I mentioned some labels I would find acceptable:

1. DEBUG, really cool, unfortunately, it was already taken.
2. EXEMPT, because I’d like to believe the rules apply to everyone but me.  Too many letters, though.
3. HURST, taken.
4. LINA, a pet name and perhaps too cute for a male driver.
5. LINUX, taken and also does not quite reflect what I am about.
6. VIC20, the computer that got me started in computer programming, but does not reflect who I am today.

So Caché it is!  I was tempted to use a red Sharpie or some red tape to put the acute accent in place over the E, but the thought of a state trooper busting my chops made me quickly dismiss that idea.

Caché: normal view most drivers will see.

DEC PDP-11/44

It all started for me on April 8, 1985 at 8:30am.  I recall just about everything that occurred with that first real job as Computer Programmer.  Klitzner Industries of Providence was a manufacturing firm for differing items: pins, lucite encasings, special edition novelty items; most of which I had no clue what they did, as I was so focused at learning on the job.  And learn I did.  My first month was a real eye-opener to what it took to be a computer programmer — mostly patience and diligence — as you poured through somebody else’s abandoned code, flowcharting, and sometimes recoding for optimizations and quirky bug conditions.  We never did any of that in school!

My first paycheck netted a little more than $190.  Wow, I was rich!  My best prior was busting my butt at a variety of part-time jobs from flipping burgers and gophering at the bowling alley for at best $110.  My only debt I had was my student loan at $72 a month and my mother’s edict of relinquishing my first check of each month for room and board.  Ah, I got to enjoy a full year of the simple and uncomplicated life.  I would later screw up that personal nirvana by marrying the following August, not with total regret, but certainly not one of my better choices in life.

Yes, the realities of life were about to come down on me.  I bolted at the chance to earn a great deal of more pay in producing commercial software, rather than provide in-house programming and application support for meager but steady pay. While I enjoy the speed (time-to-market), challenge (project scope creep), and capitalism (bonuses) of commercial software development, my preferred stations in work life have been within the classic data processing / information services department. And like your first love, I guess there will always be a special place in your heart for that first real job.

Over that 25-year span, I got to do just about everything related to Information Technology. I worked within memory and storage constraints measured in kilobytes to highly-available clusters with terabytes; developed computer applications for mainframes and PCs; manipulated large databases from ISAM to relational objects; network cabling from serial to thick coax to fiber; supported every known technical workstation ever created; systems and network administration from an 80-employee professional firm to an 800-employee hospital campus; and IT management from a single part-time operator to directing a larger scale re-architect of 55 persons to a consolidated Information Services department.  I have spent millions, saved millions, and was key to projects that profited by millions.

I am confident to claim that I have experienced every aspect IT has had to offer. My challenges ahead are focused on improving upon high availability and disaster recovery with newer replication and virtualization technologies, implementing security and change control auditing in a manner that is suitable for developers and its infrastructure alike, and contributing my application and technical expertise within the middleware space.

As I look ahead, I wonder if I will ever look back at this while posting a Gold Anniversary blog entry. The years make it possible, as I am turning 45 in June.  But what about my willingness, or performance at a high-level, or will I still be me at that ripe age of 70 with all of that stacked to make it unlikely?  Not to worry, this ride for 25-years for something I enjoy to do is gratifying.  Onward.

Anyways, I assembled one of the four for my personal collection, which was an easy insert-and-twist of the handle into its base.  And the supplied USB cable is ample in length.  Fired up the new VICE 2.2 software using Fedora 12 and its SDL UI immediately recognized the joystick as “USB HID v1.01 Gamepad [USB_Classic]“. No compatibility issues whatsoever — nice!

Even nicer was that old Atari joystick feel. As cheap and lightweight these joysticks go, nothing beats that old wigglin’ away and pounding that little red fire button as if pressing down any harder will make the 8-bit action perform any better — heh. I witnessed many such maneuvers from fallen opponents that took a classic beat-down from yours truly. The handle would creak mercilessly from the strain, followed by that wincing poppin’ sound of plastic giving in to the futile gesture. Usually, the busted joystick would go airborne and I’d have to go ducking.

Ah, thanks, Curt, for bringing back such lovely memories!

Atari-style joystick for your PC

Anyway you look at it, it is still a 3 on the scorecard.  But I’ll never let him forget how he got it!

The difficulty is not the yardage to cover — it plays a mere 425 yards from the middle tees.  It starts with the tee shot that must be played short of a brook wiggling through the 175 yard marker, guarded by trees and a boulder on the right and trees long down the center.  Hitting the left part of the fairway makes for the longest approach into a small green front-to-back, guarded by a bunker left and a grass mound on its right.  Plus, your shot needs the lift and carry to cover the trees that will be in front of you.

So the only realistic place for a go-for-the-green approach is a 200+ yard tee shot that is center cut.  Fortunately, we had a good wind at our backs and my choice of a 5 fairway metal hit that center spot and left 215 yards to the green.  I chose to hit that 5 again, because of the uncut fairways and would have been satisfied with it coming up short for an up-and-down attempt for birdie.  Instead, my approach bounced harmlessly onto the green and drifted 3 feet left of the cup!  It was a mere formality in sinking the putt for a three.

I have played this course on a regular basis since I caught the golf bug in 1987.  And I have never hit that green in two before.  I have gotten there in two on the prior par 5 hole numerous times, with my shortest eagle attempt at 20 feet — I thought if ever I were to make an eagle, that would have been the hole.

I can recall vividly the day I first made a par 5 green in two.  It was at Swansea CC and I had a 300+ yard tee shot to inside the 150 yard marker.  My approach did not make the center of the green where the pin was, but it was a relatively straight uphill putt.  My enthusiasm took control of me as I scorched the 25 foot putt passed the cup 15 feet — then missing the comeback and settling for an unceremonious score of par.

I also recall four putting the first hole at Beaver River CC for a bogey.  And another 3-putt mishap occurred after I smashed a 353 yard drive and landing a nice 187 yard 4-iron to the center of the green.  Those missed opportunities quickly transformed into misfortunes.

Still, I had an eagle shot pop out of the hole from a long approach shot, leaving a 3+ foot putt for birdie — and I lipped that attempt out of the hole too.  And I missed an ace, which counts as an eagle too, by 8 inches at Midville’s 155 yard par 3.

Yes, a lot of eagle attempts each with their own story.  But I finally get to gloat about the one that did not get away.

It is chance to escape technology (yeah, right, as I pound this electronic diary entry on my dreamy workstation — sigh), do a lot of personal reflecting, and enjoy my time on the surface of this planet.  Exploring where am I?  What am I doing?  Where am I going?  What can I expect from this current path and is a course correction warranted to help make my goals obtainable?

The fun part will be the usual with a hopeful mix of surprises.  Golfing, perhaps a trip to a casino, fine dining, idle hours in the book stores, entertaining hours with the summer movie hits, cleaning and reorganizing my play areas, and as much intimacy I can muster with my life partner.

At that time, I was Systems and Programming Manager for Butler Hospital in Providence.  That morning, we had a crisp 17″ and I completed shoveling the snow to clear the way for a normal 30-minute trek to work — which actually took 90-minutes under difficult driving conditions.  When I arrived, I expected to find my boss, the Director of Computer Services, to be waiting for me with his usual disapproving, but smug look, along with an impatient sigh — his management style for expressing disappointment in my tardiness.  I could always tolerate his bizarre antics, because I considered him a friend and I had grown close to his family, too.  His name was Ron Giguere.  I recall that day vividly, because it was the first day I could ever recall Ron not reporting to work on a planned day — and much to everyone’s initial surprise and delight.  The light thoughts of having an unsupervised work day was quickly replaced when the hospital’s president called to inform me of the bad news …

After coming home from his bowling league the night before, Ron had suffered a stroke and was admitted to a hospital.  He was in stable condition, but he was clearly having speech and motor skill impediments.  The prognosis was he would be released in a week or two, taking medication and occupational therapy, and his progress would be measured by that treatment.  His wife is a nurse, and she worried it could be 6-weeks to 6-months before he would be able to return to work.  I was worrying, because the hospital had just begun a JCAHO re-certification process and our president named me the department’s interim director.  Oh, joy …

Actually, having the joint commission buzzing about probably served me best, because I was intent on not letting anyone down.  I would rise to meet this demand during a crisis, toe-to-toe, and provide a level of assurance to senior management that they could count on continued, professional service from its small information services department.  So my focus was on work, and not on my friend, and the work day shrunk and my energy was spent to care about anything else …

Ron’s release after 10-days was interrupted by another stroke.  Medication and physical therapy was not going to be effective.  A scan uncovered a 90% blockage of the main artery feeding oxygen to his brain, which meant surgery.  Ron survived the procedure, but he never recovered.  After regaining consciousness for a short while, he suffered a major stroke and was dependent upon life support — but that did not factor any, because his brain had essentially died and Ron was taken off the machine and was pronounced dead a few hours later.  Ron was only 47-years old, survived by his wife, Carol, and their son, Tim, and daughter, Amy.

I had a difficult time coping with the loss, for both personal and professional reasons.  When someone hires you, your life is forever changed as you embark down a new path.  I have Ron to thank for the opportunities he extended me.  But most of all, I found my best friend in life taking that job — and that same someone I would later marry.  My wife, Lois, also worked the same department and she, too, had to cope with these life-altering events with Ron’s passing and her husband of 5-years taking over the role and responsibilities of the department.

There was a lot of disbelief then — like a really bad April Fool’s Day joke.  Except the effects of this one lingered a few years, and I am reminded about it every year.  I find that on this particular day, I am probably at my most compassionate and tolerant of others.  I could cite many examples of this, but it really is something deep that can only be appreciated by the one having to experience it.  It is a time of remembrance and personal reflection filled with sobering thoughts.