Ronald Ricketts

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Jun 28

I miss you, Dad. I miss all the walks we used to take, and the long philsophical discussions, and your quirky sense of humor. I miss the way you always cared about what I had to say and what I was doing. Your curiosity about other people and the world... more

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December 31, 2020

Missing being in Minneapolis today to celebrate my dad's birthday; miss walking in the snow, bitter cold, and winter light, walks he enjoyed so much and which Bill & I continued even after he couldn't join us. The photos below were taken last year,... more

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December 31, 2020

Thinking of my dad today on what would have been his 88th birthday. We've had so many lovely cards, emails, notes on this page and our own reminiscences of how his life impacted all of ours since he left us in June. He is indelibly a part of our lives,... more

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August 23, 2020

I have a layered history with the Ricketts Family. I first met Shirley Ricketts because she and my mother were both active in the same organization, and every November there was a Holiday Bazaar where people brought things to sell to raise money. For... moreI have a layered history with the Ricketts Family. I first met Shirley Ricketts because she and my mother were both active in the same organization, and every November there was a Holiday Bazaar where people brought things to sell to raise money. For instance, my mother would blend black, jasmine and green tea together and label it "Peace Garden Tea," and it always sold out. So I met Raymond because he would also attend, and sometimes his older brother, I remember meeting, and his father.
My father took me to Minneapolis Symphony Orchestra concerts from time to time, which were held at Northrup Auditorium on the University of Minnesota campus, a very dignified venue. Less dignified was that the Green Room/Dressing Room for the musicians was right on a hallway to the side of the auditorium, which we would pass by, and my father would greet the musicians who knew him, which always impressed me greatly. I think he was, by that time, a graduate student in music at the University.
Then, I met Miriam, as well as Ray, as fellow students in the Free School. In the summer, I began taking a conducting class led by Henry Charles Smith, the associate conductor of the MSO, through Urban Arts. As part of our learning, gulp, we got to conduct the orchestra in a rehearsal. I took this class for three summers, through the transition from Northrup to the new Orchestra Hall. So, three times, I got to conduct this marvelous orchestra, as well as watch rehearsals. Ron was always encouraging and calming. Looking at him in the brass section made me feel I could possibly go on.
He, as a professional musician, was so friendly, warm and encouraging, that he really helped me feel that I had a chance of becoming one, too. I'd see him at his home, so friendly, and taking students upstairs for lessons. He was the kind of person you could talk with easily, yet never feel like you had enough time with him. I last saw him in the airport where he was picking up Ray, who happened to have been on the same flight as me. Ray happens to be the only person I can think of who has lived in all the same cities as I have. Minneapolis, then New York where I literally ran into him on Broadway, and then later in Philadelphia where we are both now. He's also one of the not-so-many people I have known almost all of my life.
I also lost my father not long ago, also a musician, and I know how layered that relationship becomes when you share common interests as well as family life. My thoughts are with you, Miriam and Raymond. less

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Saul Davis It is also nice to see some remembered names of other members of the MSO. I wonder if they remember my awful attempts at conducting them.
- August 23, 2020

added 1 photo(s) to the memorial :

July 21, 2020

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Raymond Ricketts Me and Dad at my Ph.D. commencement, Rutgers U, New Brunswick, NJ. 16 May 2007.
- July 21, 2020

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July 13, 2020

I knew Ron after he left his music career. That is the big divide defining how I knew him. Except for a few concerts (perhaps three that I remember clearly), listening to music was replaced by talking about music, listening to his stories of playing, or... moreI knew Ron after he left his music career. That is the big divide defining how I knew him. Except for a few concerts (perhaps three that I remember clearly), listening to music was replaced by talking about music, listening to his stories of playing, or of other musicians and conductors.

When I met Ron, as part of the trip to meet Ray’s parents for the first time, I called him Mr. Ricketts. He corrected me immediately and proceeded to drive me and my year-long boyfriend to his and his wife’s winter condominium rental across a long exotic causeway on Pensacola Bay. It was extremely cold that winter on the Gulf of Mexico but, as is said, I was very warm inside. I loved hanging out and listening to Ron and Shirley, Ray’s mother.

Even in 1995 when I first met them, Shirley was limited in movement by bone spurs on her spine. I happily kept her company on the sofa. Listening was, after all, my only sense of responsibility in this new environment. I could not have lasted in the Ricketts family if I had not been an avid listener as both Ron and Shirley told so many stories, many of them often repeated over the next 25 years. Some of their stories contradicted each other even at the start of my listening. They would yell out to each other, tell the other they were wrong, each slowly accommodating multiple views or suddenly admitting to particular memory corrections. Or not.

I began to accumulate images about Ron and Shirley’s youth, their families, the schisms of Jewish/WASP legacies that kept playing out in my ears. The personalities of Ron’s and Shirley’s parents and siblings were revealed mostly as black-and-white snapshots. The stories they told me began long before their meeting, and then began again in a new series, after their meeting on the beach at Asbury Park, NJ.

[This makes me think about the pre-histories of parents, before their children were known to them. We only know this part of them, this time before us, from what they have told us, what they remembered to tell us. We cannot know more about who they used to be—such a long chain back into time. My husband pours over old photographs today. I think, for the fourth time, how the legacies parents leave to their children is made of things we never know, of what they did not say and we did not ask. Now these memories have left with them.]

Some stories that came after Asbury Park were ones that seemed glamorous, remarkable even, when I first heard them in Pensacola. In particular, the train ride across the United States with the Sadler’s Wells Royal Ballet. They traveled with Margot Fonteyn, Beryl Grey, Svetlana Beriosova, Robert Helpmann and that great company from the mid-1950s—I asked for that story several times from Shirley, trying to find more details beneath the main narrative. There were parties on board the ballet train and dancers surprised Shirley and Ron with a post-wedding reception in a sleeping car.

Later, I heard stories about Ron’s music training in New York and in Philadelphia, of working in various orchestras, about coming and going between rehearsals and performances with the Minnesota Orchestra; about tours abroad when Shirley would travel with the orchestra; Shirley’s story about Isaac Stern. And beyond music, there were stories about Shirley’s acting in community theater and her lost “Gypsy” audition, about the Civil Rights protests and trips to Washington, DC. About Hubert Humphrey! There were marathon trips and cars that broke down out west that I stitched into an image reel from the words I heard. There were the hospitals and the caretaking and children becoming parents.

These stories from across their marriage became threaded into tales about Irving Avenue before I ever visited Minneapolis: about neighbors living and dead; stories about Ray’s brother and sisters and then the grandchildren. All of these figures became part of a mythologized family that I first knew from Ron and Shirley during those first visits to Pensacola. They were obsessive storytellers on one hand but, on the other, spoke with embellished pride about their children’s intelligence, even brilliance, of their ability to accomplish whatever they wanted. Ron and Shirley loved their family and they each loved me.

After Shirley’s death Ray and I visited Ron in Minneapolis as much as we could. I called his living room in his Theodore Wirth Parkway apartment a “reading room”—loving the comfortable silence of reading together at night. Frequently, of course, the silence was interrupted by Ron’s urgent questions (or instruction to those who would listen) about something he was reading. Ray and I loved our walks around lakes and at nature centers with Ron in the first years after Shirley’s death, of trips to Lake Superior and to bird refuges in Minnesota or during trips to Cape May and South Carolina. He was the star of a party at Ray’s friend Tanya’s house in Brooklyn for graduate students from Rutgers.

Later, when we began driving Ron to appointments by routes that favored the long way around lakes, across Glenwood, up and down Meadow Lane, Ron never failed to comment on the landscape—after he finally reconciled that I was not going the wrong way home. Ron was forever intrepid, engaged with looking and asking questions. He kept walking as long as he could—staying curious and engaged until his body’s strain for breath was too much and there was no capacity for more steps. I am sure he is still walking and looking and telling stories about where he came from.

We will keep remembering and loving Ron. I am forever grateful for how many of his experiences were shared and are now part of my life. While affirming continuity it also is just so sad to confront how memory is made from loss. less

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July 12, 2020

My condolences to the family for the loss of an exceptionally wonderful man. I was a euphonium student of Ron's in the 1980s, and have such wonderful memories of him as a great teacher and beautiful human being. Once I week I would go for a lesson, and... more

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July 9, 2020

I was lucky to be one of Ron's colleagues in the Minnesota Orchestra in the early 90's. Ron was a great musician and supportive friend. I loved his warm and engaging personality and that he called me Drew. (Likely because he couldn't remember my real... more

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July 7, 2020

An extended obituary is live on the Minneapolis Star Tribune website tonight and will be available in print tomorrow.

Ron Ricketts, Minnesota Orchestra trombonist who played with top

Ricketts also taught at the University of Minnesota School of Music.

startribune.com

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Miriam Queensen Ron Ricketts, Minnesota Orchestra trombonist who played with top bands in the 1960s, dies at 87
Ricketts also taught at the University of Minnesota School of Music.
By Joel Rippel Star Tribune JULY 7, 2020 — 6:11PM

Ron Ricketts didn’t stop... see more
- July 7, 2020

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July 4, 2020

Hi, everyone. After some digging we discovered that Ron played baritone horn on an entire album with Miles Davis!! Have a listen.

20:39

1-Three Little Feelings, John Lewis, comp. arr. 2-Poem For Brass, J.J.Johnson, comp. arr.

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July 3, 2020 · via mobile

I loved stopping by Ron's apartment to get the latest interesting books. He had the most Pacific taste and seemed interested in everything from alternative realities to memory and human nature.

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July 3, 2020

Ron and Shirley were our neighbors for many. many years. We have fond memories of gatherings on their back porch. Ron's smile was always so engaging. After he left the neighborhood we would see him at events and it was always great to catch up on our... more

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July 3, 2020

For over 25 years I was most fortunate to share the low brass stage with Ron, who was solid as a rock. When performances were challenging one appreciated him most. Always dependable, and a perfect musician, his contributions to the Minnesota Orchestra... more

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July 3, 2020

From Phil, Kathy and Sian Ricketts:

Ron brought music into our lives. Ron brought his children to his Asbury Park Municipal Band summer concerts, after which they celebrated with pizza. At home, he taught students and played the trombone, transcribing... more

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July 3, 2020

There will be a tribute to Ronald Ricketts today (Friday, July 3) on classical MPR. Listen on KSJN 99.5 or livestream at MPR.org -- this from conductor Philip Brunelle:
"The tribute to Ron on MPR will be today about 5PM on “Friday Favorites” with... more

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Miriam Queensen If you missed the broadcast, go to the "videos" tab to listen to a recording. It's a short segment from a longer piece.
- July 3, 2020

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July 3, 2020 · via iPhone

Dear Miriam and family, I am so sorry for your loss. I hope you’ll find comfort in the memories- all the good, rich, simple and ordinary memories - you carry with you.
Keeping you in mind during during the days ahead. Love from Julie Desmond

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July 3, 2020

The Sommers family (Bob, Heidi, Patrick and Frank) had many years of holiday fun with Miriam and family seeing our children grow, opening Christmas Crackers, eating gingerbread that Miriam baked, and playing the dollar gift exchange game.
When Ron joined... more

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July 3, 2020

Ron was a wonderful musician and colleague. I had the great fortune to sit next to him in the Minnesota Orchestra for 11 years. During that time we became close friends. I'll always remember his his fantastic solo playing on the tenor tuba as well as his... more

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added 4 photo(s) to the memorial :

July 2, 2020

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July 2, 2020

I had the luck of meeting Ron three years ago when I started dating his grandson, Ronny Queensen. Right off the bat, Ron welcomed me to Minnesota with open arms and made me feel like part of the family.

I only knew him during the last few years of his... more

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July 2, 2020

Ron was very kind to me when I stayed as Miriam’s guest the summer after I graduated from college. Even though I had the next chapter of my life set up, going on to graduate school that fall, I was really pretty lost. Simply allowing me to stay at... more

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July 1, 2020

Losing my dad has been really difficult. But it's been amazing to see the outpouring of support and great memories that have been sent my family's way via facebook and email over the last few days. My dad's life had so many chapters, and he gathered... moreLosing my dad has been really difficult. But it's been amazing to see the outpouring of support and great memories that have been sent my family's way via facebook and email over the last few days. My dad's life had so many chapters, and he gathered friends everywhere he went.

My earliest memories all revolve around music, not surprisingly. Going to concerts, indoor and outdoor. Dancing in front of the orchestra stage at Lake Harriet while he played up there. Being taken to music lessons, and the patience my dad showed when trying to help me try to learn the piano. Hearing trombone lessons and his own practice reverberate through the house. Listening to Saturday afternoon Metropolitan Opera broadcasts that my parents loved playing loudly each week.

Going for long walks with my dad around the lakes, talking about music and philosophy and psychology and my future plans. Talking about books we were reading and what we were thinking about. He loved nature and would tell me the names of plants, trees and birds that we saw.

And in more recent years, we helped each other sort through the challenges of life as we got older. He loved keeping in touch with family members and friends near and far. He was always willing to listen to my troubles and offer advice and to mock me -- just a little -- to help me keep from taking myself too seriously. We made each other laugh frequently, even as we continued to over-analyze EVERYTHING.

My dad appreciated his family and his friends. He was grateful for all the help he got from family and friends willing to help out with his tech problems, medical appointments and many other challenges. He was fiercely independent and lived on his own as long as he possibly could, which was just the way he wanted it.

I see so much of my dad in me (and in my grown children, Julianne and Ronny) -- how I think about things, what I'm interested in and how much I love to read and learn. That's what I'm most grateful for: my dad's endless curiosity about everything and willingness to explore new things. He loved to be surprised by things he didn't know before and was never too set in his ways to open his mind a little more.

Thank you to everyone who has reached out to share a little about my dad with me, and I hope you'll all share here too, so everyone can compare stories ...

Miriam less

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June 30, 2020

After a week in hospice, my grandpa and best friend passed away last night. Very grateful that my mom and uncles were there with him when it happened. I don't really have words for how much my grandpa meant to me. My relationship with him essentially... more

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Ronald Ricketts

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Ronald Ricketts

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