Ronald Delwin Allen

Born on March 3, 1952, in Syracuse, New York, to Harold Allen and Gertrude Mills, Ron kicked off life with a grin and never really stopped. Ron’s parents hightailed it to Los Angeles when he was a young boy, settling in and around Venice beach and then Westchester. When he grew up, he mastered the art of dodging traffic as a long-time delivery driver for L&M. He loved raising his girls—Tamie and Tina—more than anything, though he’d argue his true calling was being the “50/50 guy” at their sporting events, raffling off hope and heckling the refs with equal gusto.

Later, he traded sunny LA for the misty Pacific Northwest to be closer to Tina and his grandkids, where he quickly turned into the neighborhood’s unofficial “Papa.” Kids flocked to his door for candy, and he never disappointed—unless you asked for kale or a salad, which he’d say was for rabbits, not humans.

A giver to the end, Ron was the guy who’d drive you home when you’d had one too many, or fix your porch step without being asked. Ronnie had a fantastic sense of humor, if a little off-color at times, as well as an unforgettable laugh that all of us who were left behind will miss.

He leaves behind daughters Tamie (and Dave Nash) and Tina (and Jeff Verheul), plus a small army of grandkids: Tonya, Summer (and Carter Dullum), Madilyn (and Samuel Heble), Timothy, Joshua and Jasmine. His great-grandkids include Talia, Westin, Taysom, and Alyssa. His nieces and nephews—Wayne, Keith, Lisa, Heather, and Hankie—will miss his tall tales too. He was preceded in death by his daughter Dawn, brother Hank, sister Helen, nephew Kurt, and his parents, who he’s probably already apologizing to up there about being so late to the party.

Ron was lighthearted, generous, and a little too fond of death-related punchlines as far as his daughters were concerned — we knew he was just trying to get us ready for the big, sad day. Unfortunately none of us could be ready for this. Ron, we love you and will miss you greatly. We look forward to seeing you and hearing your laugh again, once we’re done here with the time we’ve been given.

There will be no formal service, because he’d hate us crying over him, but feel free to toast him with a candy bar and a laugh. In lieu of flowers, sneak some sweets to a nearby kid in his honor—he’d get a kick out of that.