A good friend of mine died two weeks ago – Ron Grandon. It might sound odd saying that because he was 25 years older than me, served as one of my bosses for 10 years, and in 2015 there seem to be fewer people you call “friends” from your workplace and who aren’t close to you in age. He transcended that.
He was a friend, mentor and boss, not asking for any of those titles, just fitting into those roles as a human being. That’s a rare find today – someone who means so much to you just because of his humanity.
That was Ron in a nutshell. He had your back covered. It’s that simple.
He taught me not to quit on a dream, and that stays with me to this day. Some dreams go quietly away, and you do forget them, but others resurface and reignite; sticking with it becomes a defining moment in your life.
Ron lived out many of his dreams, none more poignant to me than his building a concrete boat from scratch and sailing it. You read the word “concrete” correctly. If I hadn’t worked with him during the time he was building it and towing it down to the Chesapeake Bay in Maryland to launch it, I wouldn’t have believed it either. It floated, it sailed and the engine ran. I still picture him putt-putting away from the dock the day he launched it, at the helm of this rounded dome painted white and some type of aquamarine.
It was almost a decade-long effort, but he got it done. That also sums him up, “He got it done.” I live by that motto many days: “Get it done.” If everyone in the world did that, we’d all be in a better place.
I’m not sure how long it was after I started as an Assistant Editor on the newsletter that he began showing me pictures of the initial stages on his boat, and babbling about what he’d finished over the weekend. It sounded hare-brained and hopeless.
But he slogged on, weekend after weekend, giving me updates, talking about his trips to specialty shops and hardware stores to get the exact materials he needed so it would float buoyantly and survive the pounding he expected it to take when it hit the open sea. I’m sure I shrugged or ignored him, while slowly growing intrigued, finally riding my bicycle over to his house occasionally on weekends to lend some muscle to one of his tasks.
It didn’t seem to advance much between my visits, but isn’t that the way with many projects? He didn’t quit. His wife, I’m sure, thought he was nuts, but that didn’t deter him. You have to wonder how much people scoffing at you fuels determination.
Slowly it began to take shape. The hulls got sealed. The rudder went on. He impaled the mast. He found a sail. It all fit together.
He never preached about what he was going to do with it, or the sense of pride and accomplishment he had to have felt. It was enough to just do what he was doing – take on a challenge and slog away and one day it would be done. It should be enough for all of us – to put pride into our work and see it through to the end.
One of Ron’s favorite compliments after you worked your butt off on a story was to say to you, “That’s a pro job.” How much better can it get than someone you respect and look up to telling you that your writing is at the top of the game? How much better would the world be if we would just do a “pro job” on our work each day?
You were a pro, Ronnie, and we’ll remember you, and play it forward.
He was a friend, mentor and boss, not asking for any of those titles, just fitting into those roles as a human being. That’s a rare find today – someone who means so much to you just because of his humanity.
That was Ron in a nutshell. He had your back covered. It’s that simple.
He taught me not to quit on a dream, and that stays with me to this day. Some dreams go quietly away, and you do forget them, but others resurface and reignite; sticking with it becomes a defining moment in your life.
Ron lived out many of his dreams, none more poignant to me than his building a concrete boat from scratch and sailing it. You read the word “concrete” correctly. If I hadn’t worked with him during the time he was building it and towing it down to the Chesapeake Bay in Maryland to launch it, I wouldn’t have believed it either. It floated, it sailed and the engine ran. I still picture him putt-putting away from the dock the day he launched it, at the helm of this rounded dome painted white and some type of aquamarine.
It was almost a decade-long effort, but he got it done. That also sums him up, “He got it done.” I live by that motto many days: “Get it done.” If everyone in the world did that, we’d all be in a better place.
I’m not sure how long it was after I started as an Assistant Editor on the newsletter that he began showing me pictures of the initial stages on his boat, and babbling about what he’d finished over the weekend. It sounded hare-brained and hopeless.
But he slogged on, weekend after weekend, giving me updates, talking about his trips to specialty shops and hardware stores to get the exact materials he needed so it would float buoyantly and survive the pounding he expected it to take when it hit the open sea. I’m sure I shrugged or ignored him, while slowly growing intrigued, finally riding my bicycle over to his house occasionally on weekends to lend some muscle to one of his tasks.
It didn’t seem to advance much between my visits, but isn’t that the way with many projects? He didn’t quit. His wife, I’m sure, thought he was nuts, but that didn’t deter him. You have to wonder how much people scoffing at you fuels determination.
Slowly it began to take shape. The hulls got sealed. The rudder went on. He impaled the mast. He found a sail. It all fit together.
He never preached about what he was going to do with it, or the sense of pride and accomplishment he had to have felt. It was enough to just do what he was doing – take on a challenge and slog away and one day it would be done. It should be enough for all of us – to put pride into our work and see it through to the end.
One of Ron’s favorite compliments after you worked your butt off on a story was to say to you, “That’s a pro job.” How much better can it get than someone you respect and look up to telling you that your writing is at the top of the game? How much better would the world be if we would just do a “pro job” on our work each day?
You were a pro, Ronnie, and we’ll remember you, and play it forward.