Dear Editor,
It was many years after I first met him that I learned his middle name was Owen. To me, he didn’t quite “look” like an Owen—though I’ll admit I have no idea what an Owen is supposed to look like. Like everyone else, I simply knew him as Ron. Depending on the setting and the mood of the moment, I’d sometimes dare to call him “Bighead” or “Fathead.”
When we gathered and Ron was the subject of discussion—especially if he was late or absent—those nicknames were used interchangeably. Occasionally, they were even used to his face during spontaneous sessions of “tantalise.” Those “roasts”, saturated with humour, were often the heartbeat of our theatre family.
In many ways, that was how discussions for the Link Show went. While fellow artistes often brought structured ideas, the real comedic gold and the sharpest “punches” usually landed during those sessions of “crap talk.” Ron was a master of the dramatic punch; he knew how to pack them, a skill vindicated by the decades of success the Link Shows enjoyed. He had a gift for taking an insignificant thought and crafting it into a moment of brilliant traction. While the Link was always a team effort, Ron was undeniably at the helm.
He was a man of multi-faceted talents, with drama and radio being his primary domains. He excelled in both, his mastery of one often fueling the other. Ron didn’t just set high standards; he was the standard. He was eloquent, knowledgeable, and a staunch protector of the English language. His work was captivating, offering us a platform to laugh while viewing society through the proverbial mirror of the stage.
This impact was recognized by Presi-dent Dr. Mohamed Irfaan Ali, who, in a heartfelt tribute, noted that Ron’s efforts came with real risks during a specific period in our country’s history. The President lauded Ron’s understanding of the “sacred duty” held by those with a platform to defend the dignity of the people. Through difficult times, Ron skillfully used satire to highlight societal challenges. He used wit not just for awareness, but to engender change—poking the “bear” to remind us of our collective reality whenever a reminder was needed.
To many, Ron was the textbook on broadcasting and a master of stagecraft. As an actor, he was exceptionally versatile—convincing, emotive, and possessed of impeccable comedic timing. Whether in a heavy drama or a rib-tickling comedy, he played his roles with “Olivieresque” precision. He commanded the stage with a magnetic presence, whether bearded, clean-shaven, in court garb, or in uniform for his parody of former Commissioner Laurie Lewis or his “other side”, Professor Havingsport.
We were all enthralled by his performances on stage and his mesmerizing voice on the airwaves. His passing leaves a profound void, but he leaves behind a legacy designed to inspire. As a young boy, he sparked in me an insuppressible desire to perform at the National Cultural Centre. That dream was realized in 1985/86 when he cast me in his production of “Night of January 16th”.
I was in awe of him then, and even after I ventured into my own productions, I continued to seek his expertise. Our fruitful discussions built my capacity for theatre and forged a lasting friendship. I will forever treasure our humorous banter and cherish the memories of a man whose influence remains indispensable.
Break a leg up there, Ron.