Kevin Klose

Kevin Klose, a gentle giant of public radio and a beloved husband, father, and friend, passed away peacefully on April 15, 2026, at the age of 86. Born in Canada on New Year’s Day 1941, Kevin grew up with a notebook tucked under his arm and a curiosity that never waned. He followed that curiosity to the newsroom, where his keen ear for stories and his calm, steady presence quickly made him a trusted voice. Those who worked alongside him at NPR still recall how, after a hectic day of breaking news, he would disappear into his modest office, spin a vinyl record of his favorite jazz trio, and hum along while drafting the next big idea for the network. Kevin’s greatest professional triumph was his decade‑long tenure as president of National Public Radio from 1998 to 2008. Under his stewardship, NPR blossomed from a modest public‑service outlet into a national treasure, launching shows that still echo in living rooms across the country. He championed investigative journalism, believing that “the truth is a habit, not a moment,” and he mentored countless young reporters, always reminding them that a good story is rooted in compassion. I remember the summer we spent together in his Cape Cod cottage, where he’d pull out his battered typewriter and, over steaming cups of coffee, recount how he’d convinced a skeptical board to fund a groundbreaking series on climate change—just because he knew the world needed to hear those voices. At home, Kevin was the rock of a close‑knit family. He and his beloved wife, Marjorie, shared a partnership built on quiet humor and endless support; their Sunday mornings were a ritual of pancakes, crossword puzzles, and the occasional impromptu duet of folk songs. Their children, Lisa and Michael, inherited his love of words and his insatiable curiosity, often joining him on weekend hikes where he would point out the subtle patterns of a leaf or the distant call of a loon, turning nature into a living classroom. Grandchildren gathered around his knee for bedtime stories, listening intently as he wove tales of distant lands, always ending with a gentle reminder to “listen more than you speak.” Beyond the newsroom and family table, Kevin found joy in the simple pleasures of life: a well‑worn pair of hiking boots, a battered copy of *The Grapes of Wrath* that he read aloud to his grandchildren, and the quiet satisfaction of planting a garden that bloomed year after year. His love for music, especially the blues and folk traditions of his youth, filled the house with warmth and became the soundtrack to many family gatherings. Those who knew him will remember his soft smile, his willingness to lend an ear, and his unwavering belief that stories—whether told on air or whispered at a kitchen table—have the power to change hearts. Kevin leaves behind a legacy that stretches far beyond the microphones he once tended. He taught us that leadership is rooted in humility, that curiosity never ages, and that a life lived listening is a life lived fully. He will be deeply missed, but his voice—steady, kind, and ever‑curious—will continue to echo in the stories he helped bring to light and in the hearts of everyone he loved. May his memory be a gentle reminder to keep listening, keep learning, and keep loving.