To a colleague, who loved 'The Nation' till his last breath

Kenneth joined us in 1971, when this paper was known as The Voice of the Nation, as a proof-reader, hoping to use this as a stepping stone to his dream job, becoming a writer. "I was a proof-reader in my early 20s and eager to come a famous writer. I have still not become famous, but I guess, as my father always said, 'to be good in anything you do, you have to start at the bottom'," he wrote in The Nation's 25th anniversary supplement.

His experience as a proof-reader did pay off in the long run. He described the days of hot-metal type as being "unimaginable". "When it rained, the roof leaked, and we had to hop from paste-up table to paste-up table on bricks sticking up from the waterlogged floor in the production room."

Although proof-reading has become obsolete, what Kenneth learned in the production room was priceless: he won friends. Since some of the production staff did not speak English, and the room ended up serving as a Thai-language classroom for him. He learned essential words he could use at work and in bars and khao tom shops.

Kenneth also got to work with the cream of journalists in the 70s, like MR Ayumongkol Sonakul, MR Sunida Kitiyakara and Suthichai Yoon. Despite them being the crème de la crème of journalism, he remembered their human side. "Khunchai Ayumongkol loved to feed stray dogs and would stop his car just to feed them." Likewise, he always recalled Khunying Sunida as a fashion icon of her time.

When he recounts his first decade in the business, we get to see how today's Nation is different from the old days. He called it the human touch. "The hasty news conferences at the khao tom shop down the road were as effective, I believe, as the air-conditioned conferences they hold now. The good thing about those raucous meetings over food and drink was that the editors paid for it all, in return for getting all the feedback they needed from the toilers, of course."

Later, when he made it as a writer, he covered all topics that an English-language newspaper in the 70s and 80s could publish. His skill in the language helped him with his reports, and soon enough he was writing about anything and everything from business and art to tourism and entertainment. As I was writing this, a long-time expat friend of his dropped by to say: "The new generation doesn't know that he has done so much for the film industry. Only old people in big studios like Five Stars and Saha Mongkol Films remember."

Even while he was in hospital, he closely followed the film industry. I remember him once calling me to say that he was overjoyed to hear his old friend film-maker Bhandit Rittakol would be making films again.

His dream was always to complete a book about the entertainment industry; sadly, he didn't start it soon enough. By the time he had the leisure to sit down and write, he had lost his eyesight, and the most he could do to support the industry was to "watch" television.

Like many other journalists, his life was by no means perfect. He lived it to the fullest, and in his youthful days he would go bar-hopping regularly. Like all of us, he had his shortcomings, but his biggest fault was neglecting his health. Kenneth suffered from kidney disease and diabetes, and by the time he realised this he had already paid the price by losing his sight.

In the past year Kenneth spent most of his time in front of a TV screen, and though things were tough on him, his love for The Nation never faltered. Every time he heard something exciting on TV, he would immediately call to say: "This could be a great story for the paper."

Maybe in his heart and mind, Kenneth had never left The Nation. "How could I have left when every time I started getting bored, The Nation would do things like move offices or the news would get electrified by things like a coup d'état," he said.

Apart from this newspaper, Kenneth also had an undying love for darts, the only sport he played. Two decades ago, his obsession with the game paid off, and he became president of the Bangkok Darts League. In fact, I once teased him: "When you die, I will make a wreath that looks like a dart board for you." He laughed.

I never thought I would be writing the obituary of a man who became a journalist when I was merely four years old. Looking back, his life shows us vignettes of this newspaper's history. I'm sure we will not only remember him as one of the founding members but also as a great friend.