Ronnie was one of the smartest, funniest and most mentally energetic people I’ve ever known. That he could be boisterous, even bombastic was part of his charm. He left an indelible mark on me, introducing me to Jack Parr, “the life of the mind,” politics (we both had our personal copies of “Profiles in Courage” autographed by JFK at the Michigan State Fair Grounds in 1959), the Diego Rivera murals at The Detroit Institute of Arts, Biffs (where we ate burgers with butter and that salad with the solitary shrimp),
black and white American films from the 30s and 40s, and foreign films (“The Horse’s Mouth” with Alec Guinness) at the Krim.
We spent countless hours in his musty basement watching “Bill Kennedy at the Movies,”
smoking cartons of Newports and eating take out pizza from Marios. We drifted apart
after high school but rekindled our friendship in California (where he got me an important speaking gig at the LA County Museum of Art) and later in Michigan when, coincidently we were both visiting. I’m happy to say that during the last three years of his life (after he got sick) we talked regularly on the phone about EVERYTHING: life, meaning, sex, relationships, values, politics, art, movies, HBO–you name it. He even shared some of his autobiographical writing with me. When he passed away I was shocked and deeply saddened. I still miss him.
Roger Kukes
Ronnie was one of the smartest, funniest and most mentally energetic people I’ve ever known. That he could be boisterous, even bombastic was part of his charm. He left an indelible mark on me, introducing me to Jack Parr, “the life of the mind,” politics (we both had our personal copies of “Profiles in Courage” autographed by JFK at the Michigan State Fair Grounds in 1959), the Diego Rivera murals at The Detroit Institute of Arts, Biffs (where we ate burgers with butter and that salad with the solitary shrimp),
black and white American films from the 30s and 40s, and foreign films (“The Horse’s Mouth” with Alec Guinness) at the Krim.
We spent countless hours in his musty basement watching “Bill Kennedy at the Movies,”
smoking cartons of Newports and eating take out pizza from Marios. We drifted apart
after high school but rekindled our friendship in California (where he got me an important speaking gig at the LA County Museum of Art) and later in Michigan when, coincidently we were both visiting. I’m happy to say that during the last three years of his life (after he got sick) we talked regularly on the phone about EVERYTHING: life, meaning, sex, relationships, values, politics, art, movies, HBO–you name it. He even shared some of his autobiographical writing with me. When he passed away I was shocked and deeply saddened. I still miss him.