Kenneth Ernest Forster

Kenneth (Ken or Kenny) Ernest Forster, November 17, 1938 - July 3, 2026. 87 years old.

Born at Boston General (Massachusetts). Childhood, Dedham, MA. Passed away in Rochester, NY. There’s a lot of in between, more than is written.

He leaves behind his children, Richie and Heidi; three loving siblings, Don Forster (Rochester, NY), Richard Forster (Monterey, CA), and Maxine Forster-Guenther (Oceanport, NJ); nieces and nephews, Alan, Kenny, Susan, Pam, and Erica; and notable relatives whom he had a special connection to, Gerd Hollenbach and his daughter, Katrin Čačković, of Bremen, Germany.

He was a people person who shared many stories and brought an informative perspective to all who would listen, right up until his final days, when he realized that he didn’t miss trying to keep up with the latest news from a truckload full of newspapers.

He mentioned recently his belief in the Ripple Effect, having always relayed that It’s not what you do, it’s how you do it, and that one is to Do the best you can no matter what, everything is important, philosophies he garnered from his own father and passed on by demonstration. He continually swore that he never purposely taught his children anything, that it must have been by osmosis, only making sure that we were by his side as often as possible. He did tell us that it was important to have personal principles, but never hinted what they were to be.

He survived some near drownings and a couple of plane crashes, one caused by a “wind sheer” that had yet to be named or understood at that time. By the time Heidi and I came around, he would tell us, as we grew up, that experience is priceless. The first half of his life was taking risks. We knew who to go to for there to be the answer, Yes, just find a way to make it happen.

Dad felt closest to his own father, yet learned of generosity and thoughtfulness from both parents, helping prepare care packages as a child, alongside his mother, to relatives during and post WWII. Many people over the years have experienced his own version of care packages via notes, cards, article clippings, seafood, German sausage, or grocery receipts on how much money he saved, writing letters and postcards to the very end. No one was a stranger. You were either held captive or captivated by his offerings.

At such a young age (4) he also identified during a specific outing with his mother that he didn’t fit into this conforming society, and that he knew that it wasn’t for him. He strove to be his authentic self. Alaska became his dream, not a place to escape to but a place big enough to be himself. In NY his plaid shirts, cutoff dungarees, and suspenders became a statement. His bumper sticker that read, You have to be pretty confident to be seen in a vehicle like this, became a conversation starter.

Graduating from Norfolk County Agricultural School, Walpole, MA, in 1956, dad went on as a freshman at UMass Amherst. In the summer of 1957 he ventured up to the Territory of Alaska in a Willy Jeep (or his Rolls Canardly as he called it in his best Boston accent) to earn money for college. He “fell” into his first job as the assistant to a camp cook. He hauled supplies by mule for an outfit that primarily contracted with oil companies for early oil exploration, but spent that first summer for the Milwaukee Museum of Natural History, who’s team collected wildlife specimens, making among the first of many lifelong friends we would visit throughout the years. Accordingly, he promised his parents that he would return to college after taking a year off in Alaska, but he decided to return with the idea that he would “rather have callouses on my hands than my ass.”

At 19 he bought and operated a dairy farm in the Matanuska Valley, moonlighting at the Matanuska Maid Cooperative. Just days after turning 20 years old he was issued his private pilots license. At 24 he was hired as an investigator (paralegal in today’s term) for a law firm in Anchorage. And that’s what brought him to Kodiak, on assignment for the firm.

Sometimes he would say that he wasn’t meant to sit behind a desk as a reason for leaving the profession. What really turned him off was when he sat in on a heartbreaking interview with a young father regarding his daughter, and how the lawyers elated, as soon as the father was out the door, about the potential money the case could provide. The fuller story may be for another time.

In Kodiak he worked with “Uncle” Stan Lee on his WWII landing craft delivering building material around the island for a newly formed school borough. He worked at East Point Cannery, soon becoming a foreman for the shrimp line, always downplaying the promotion. A personal triumph of his was to devise a way to lower the percentage of water and shrimp product waste. He always took the initiative to find efficiencies, no matter where or for whom. Years later he would break down food costs for me as a boy, down to the pennies in kilowatt hours.

While working at East Point, he noticed that there was no food service available, so he asked if he could provide vending machines, which were given to him for a discount if he became the Pepsi distributor for the island.

He bought a pool hall that soon became the Pizza Cue that later became the Captain’s Keg.

The Captain’s Keg became a sort of nautical museum with a children's area (countless games of hangman played with kids on the chalkboards nearby) born from his imagination, classical music playing in the background, probably drawn from childhood memories with a friend who’s parents had front row season tickets to the Boston Philharmonic he often attended.

Sourdough and wholewheat pizza crusts, chicken, ribs, sauces, dressings, sausage, a salad bar—all of his own making, topped off with live Maine lobster. In the middle of the night the booths, tables, cabinetry, display panels, etc. were made by his own hands, with the help of a former college roommate and a second alumni of his and brother Richard’s, who became C-130 pilots in the early years of the Navy/Coast Guard Base.

Even his gingerbread and frosting recipes were devised for hanging as Christmas tree ornaments that accompanied the imaginative gingerbread farms assembled and decorated by kindergarten classes through the years.

He utilized the facilities for fundraisers, incentivized pizza making as a reward for students, gave away “walking money,” free meals, hosted “strangers” who briefly visited Kodiak while making more acquaintances. So much more.

The Captain’s Keg also offered wine, draft beer, and up to 198 brands of bottled beer to choose from. There were black and white film reels with the projector set up in the center of the hubbub, mostly comedies, silent films, talkies; Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, W.C. Fields, The Little Rascals, Laurel & Hardy, WWII news clips, such as what he saw as a child when getting news updates at the movie theater. The b&w reels would even make a circuit around the country to children’s hospitals as some of the best medicine, Laughter.

Dad recently described himself as a “background” player, maybe as in a play, generous, thoughtful, but maybe never quite able to receive what he gave, never comfortable with recognition. If he could get away with passing as the janitor he would. As he oft said, You don’t own it, it owns you, meaning the business. He ran a business but he was of service. Another motto of his was, The reward is in the doing.

He agreed that he and the community of Kodiak was a perfect match, that it attracted such individuals, that there could not have been the Captain’s Keg without the uniqueness of Kodiak, that despite the struggle to survive, the time, focus, and total involvement it took brought with it the creativity and problem solving, that it brought him Joy. It was, in a sense, who he was, his expression and identity. This was his pinnacle, midlife, along with his children.

At 50, he started over with the generous hospitality of his older brother, Don, in Rochester, NY. He always looked forward to this age as he had enough close friends who also had to start over at the same juncture. He got his Class A Commercial Driver License and was fortunately hired fresh out of truck driving school by Consolidated Freightways to peddle deliveries locally. He was always proud and grateful for those years with CF, Wegmans, and Sourdough Express of Anchorage, driving professionally into his 80’s, always grateful and relieved by the Teamster Pension earned by those earlier years of service. The similarity of delivering freight and the Captain’s Keg was people. He loved to be in the background learning how and what things were made for, constantly meeting and interacting with people.

A few years ago he got past the idea that life was over without purpose, that work alone didn’t define usefulness when he stopped driving commercially. He enjoyed hanging with WWII veterans for coffee at the local McDonalds, retiree luncheons with former co-workers, bargain shopping as he always had.

This time around he got past much of his suffering, came to forgiveness of himself and others, felt vindicated by the notes and letters from senators advocating for him in years past, kept revealing deeper layers of his early experiences, coming to the new understanding that we didn’t know then what we know now.

Dad often said that just because someone dies doesn’t make them a Saint. This didn’t prevent him from doing the best he could, to be an example and do his homework to the end, working off his memory’s “debts” as he continued to do in his “retirement” years with his financial ones. There was a lot of reflection, feelings of regret, wondering how he got to this point, realizing that his perceived failures were actually his successes. He lived long enough to keep realizing and shed burdens.

Heidi pointed out that it was a wonder how he persevered and accomplished what he did while battling his childhood experiences and his own mind. And then arriving at peace about it all, and choosing the natural process of dying with his children by his side in those final months and weeks, Grace all around, and us blessed to have witnessed this man’s life while guarding his wishes and comfort, making room to honor his healing.

He was very human and he was indomitable. We are as proud of him as he was of us. We wouldn’t be who we are without him.

No service is scheduled at this time.