Theo leaves legacy of a (tough) love for journalism

Ninety-nine years means a lot of stories for a reporter.

Officially, Theo Jean Kenyon’s career spanned World War II and the first Obama Administration. Elegantly dressed and coiffed, she covered Peoria — from advisory committees to zoning commissions — working second shift at the Journal Star.

Theo Jean Kenyon

Theo Jean Kenyon
1922-2021

Unofficially, Theo Jean Ahrends was born a journalist. Her father ran a newsstand downtown. She was the first female editor of the Daily Northwestern, graduating Phi Beta Kappa from Northwestern University. She was president of The Peoria Newspaper Guild, twice, and walked the picket line for better health care in the 1950s.

All this, mind you, while typing reams of copy with two fingers.

Even after retiring in 2010, she kept her zest for the news. She read The New Yorker religiously and watched C-Span constantly. She was part-owner of the Community Word and no doubt inveigled her late husband’s architectural firm to buy ads here.

Theo didn’t suffer fools gladly. She barely suffered friends gladly. But if you were lucky enough to be a friend of Theo’s, she would shower you with food, flowers and fripperies from Potter & Anderson. Just be careful about returning any favors: Theo was a much better giver than receiver, especially when it came to birthdays after 80. Balloons, yes. Numbers, no.

She was tart. She was tough. She was terrifying.

Supposedly, the park board wouldn’t start meetings until Mrs. Kenyon got there, even if she was late. For sure, public officials complained about her often-scathing comments during open sessions. Years ago, I reluctantly relayed their annoyance to then-editor Tom Driscoll, himself a stern character, who rolled his eyes and literally threw his hands up in the air.

“They’ve been complaining about Theo for 40 years,” he said. “I can’t stop her.”

Nobody could.

To be female and accomplish what Theo did, you had to be tough. (She preferred the term “Dutch stubborn.”) And yet, for all her fierce and forbidding manner, most Theo stories are really love stories: Love of journalism. Love of music and art. Love of her husband, Leslie, and their mutual passion for historic preservation. Love of Peoria. Love of friends.

Every Christmas, the Kenyons held court with a wassail at the home Les designed on the Illinois River Bluff. From the 40-foot fir festooned with festive lights which marked the turn to the chauffeured drive down the winding wooded trail to the Limoges plates loaded with petite catered sandwiches, they sought to delight their guests.

Carols were sung around the grand piano. Journalists and lawyers and professors squeezed past each other to sample Trefzger’s cookies and crab dip and freshly-roasted pecans from The Nut House. St.-Emilion Grand Cru was liberally poured in the punch bowl and personally plied by Theo, a lavish touch which appalled the more frugal — but appreciative — arts critic Jerry Klein.

Her Man Everyday, Sam Johnson, started as a wassail chauffeur and ended as a surrogate son. He was about the only person she would allow to visit in the last year or two, especially after she fell in May. On one of the rare occasions she allowed me in, I chided her orneriness.

“You make it so hard to love you, Theo.”

She looked up with her straight-lipped half-smile.

“Yes,” she said.

The holidays, sadly, are past. This year begins with far fewer reporters than there were a century ago, including an especially Dutch stubborn icon.

Theo Jean Kenyon

Theo Jean Kenyon was an institution at the Peoria Journal Star during an amazing 66-year career as a reporter. (SUBMITTED PHOTO)



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