A special, fond farewell to a childhood friend
Peter White, right, speaks words of remembrance of childhood friend Ronnie Joy at "The Weeds" in Levittown, where their friends played and, decades later, gathered to place some of his ashes under a memorial brick and say goodbye. Credit: Dennis McCoy
When my brother, Dennis, learned a few years ago from former classmate Linda Mesch that his first friend in life, Ronnie Joy, passed away, alone in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, at the age of 69, he said, “We should do something about this!”
Ronnie’s struggle with health issues finally took its toll. Though he had been cremated, there was no funeral or anyone to accept his remains. So, his ashes were stored in a garage. Saddened by the loss of our old Levittown friend, we had Ronnie’s ashes sent up from South Carolina.
Ronnie and his brother, Les, moved next door to us in Levittown in 1950. We mostly played in the streets, an adjacent 28-acre farm, and in a three-acre wooded area along Wantagh Parkway we called “The Weeds.”
In summertime, the milkweed, tall grasses and other wild plants stood taller than we. The ’50s were a great time for us pioneer Levittown boys and girls, with lots of freedom, bike hikes, stickball and big Levitt community pools. Mostly, though, we played in The Weeds, where we climbed trees, built forts, made trails and appreciated nature. Ronnie, always a fun lover, was dubbed “King of the Weeds.”
Linda, Dennis and I began discussing a memorial ceremony, including where to cast his ashes, so our old friend wouldn’t have left this world without a proper farewell.
Our first thoughts were of Jones Beach, where his dad sometimes took him fishing, and The Weeds. We began sharing our plans with those who knew Ronnie. On a sunny April afternoon in 2019, Dennis, Linda and I, along with Ronnie’s estranged son, Ron Jr., his wife and daughter -- all three of whom flew in from California -- gathered near the Jones Beach fishing piers. Dennis, carrying Ronnie’s 9-year-old granddaughter, Lily, on his back into the chilly Atlantic water, led a touching ceremony.
Tearful and emotional as he spoke of Ronnie, Dennis gently poured out half the contents of the eight-pound box into the water. Clinging tightly, Lily simultaneously scattered handfuls of colorful flower petals she’d brought from the West Coast. We watched as the ashes and petals merged, then flowed calmly out to sea.
Afterward, we made our way up Wantagh Parkway to our beloved oasis, The Weeds, where 20 of Ronnie’s childhood and teenage friends had gathered. Forming a semicircle around a narrow hole I’d dug, we took turns speaking final words of love and remembrance.
Accompanied by music by Billy Joel and Kansas, friends told interesting and touching stories of their early years with Ronnie. Two shared original poetry. One, a minister, blessed Ronnie with some fitting spiritual words. Some gently wept.
After Ron Jr. and I carefully placed most of the remaining ashes into the hole, we covered it with a brick I had engraved at a Westbury stone yard that read, “RON JOY 1949-2018.” The group left The Weeds in silence to gather for further reflection and reminiscence at a nearby Italian restaurant, formerly “Mr. B’s 5 & 10 Cent Store,” in a shopping center on Newbridge Road, where we all had spent much of our childhood.
I had saved a small quantity of the ashes, and the next day drove to Long Island National Cemetery, Pinelawn found the grave of World War II Marine veteran Sgt. Les Joy Sr., then quietly and prayerfully had Ronnie join his dad.
A large, extravagant funeral, no, but a meaningful, touching farewell to an old friend, absolutely.
Reader Peter White lives in Centerport.
