By Olin Ericksen

January 12, 2010 -- If you covered Santa Monica as a reporter in modern history, you eventually came in contact with Ken Genser.

My first interaction was at a City Council meeting in April 2004 while at The Lookout News. The topic: Should they limit public input on developments over 7,500 square feet? It was one in a hundred of the Byzantine, more-often-than-not, mind-numbingly technical and important, skirmishes over growth.

In what I would later come to find was his trademark fashion, Genser hunched over the microphone. He spoke softly, but deliberately, looking much like the cat who ate the canary or a poker player with an ace in the hole.

At this particular meeting, he played the part of the prosecutor.

“How much time in your analysis is actually related to putting these projects before the Architectural Review Board and the Planning Commission?” he asked incisively of Suzanne Frick, then director of planning.

“I really feel this process [is being] hijacked,” he decried. “The public review process is being scapegoated.”

The council ended up deadlocked that night. But eventually, Ken got his way (as he often did), keeping public input and slowing development.

I approached him afterwards and asked (in my most investigative tone possible) who exactly was hijacking the process.

Genser looked at me as if to pat me on the head. “My comment speaks for itself,” he said simply.

It was, officially, an auspicious beginning.

In the years that followed, as I slowly found my legs as a reporter, my interactions with Ken grew. I came to understand his role locally and his accomplishments in local politics and shaping Santa Monica, an area I was quickly falling in love with.

At the suggestion of my editor, I would often call him to help me understand the intricacies of the zoning code, or the the back story for a political story or the rent-control battles that have come to define modern Santa Monica.

He usually brought up a point of view I hadn’t thought about and often saw two or three steps ahead. We never really became friends, but we were friendly.

He eventually learned my first name wasn’t Eric, but Olin, as I became more of a fixture on the scene. He began returning my phone calls promptly and I believe became more comfortable with my reporting.

Like any job, monotony and routine often breeds complacency. After covering an untold number of marathon council meetings, I began looking forward to hearing from Ken, and his many comedic quips.

While not often mean, he was certainly snarky. His acerbic wit could cut like a knife, but it often ended up leaving those within earshot in stitches. Despite his physical ailments, of which there were many, he seemed confident and comfortable in his skin, and never once did I hear him complain.

Perhaps the thing I grew to like the most about Ken was that he overcame adversity with class . More often than not, I believe he tried to do what, in his mind, he felt was right for people who were less fortunate, including many seniors and the disabled.

While almost comical in its scope, the fight to ban roller blades on the Promenade was, I believe, in many ways, typical “Genser.” He knew first-hand that people with physical handicaps can feel threatened in that setting and he spoke up on their behalf.

As his website says: “I’ve fought all my life to overcome limitations, and I’m always working to achieve something greater than myself.”

I believe even his detractors and political enemies would agree that’s exactly how Genser wanted, and tried to, live his life.

May we all be so insightful.

Olin Ericksen was a staff writer for The Lookout from 2003 to 2006.