Remembering Ron Fess, a man who lived life large
by Michael Ransom (www.mransomwriter.com)
Reading time 12 minutes
The email arrived at 9:00 on Friday morning, October 11. Ron Fess was replying to my asking if we could get together for breakfast before he and his wife, Linda, left to winter in Florida. Typical of Ron, his reply was terse: Can you do breakfast on 10/15? You pick a spot. He was alone at the Fess lake home near Hayward, Wisconsin, getting things ready for winter, and Linda was on her way from Rochester to help. Either minutes or hours after sending his email, Ron died. When Linda arrived at 1:00, she found him outside, slumped over a utility trailer from which he had been unloading pavers. The autopsy would provide no conclusive cause for what his death certificate states as “immediate cardiac arrest.” The sadness of losing this healthy, energetic 74-year-old so unexpectedly will likely never go away.
Ron and Linda, all smiles, on their fortieth wedding anniversary in 2007.
Ron was a tall, physically fit man (a lean 6 feet, 2 inches and 195 pounds in his prime) with a commanding presence. His daughter Barb said she could hear his booming voice cheering her on in swimming meets while her head was under water. His friend Earl Emerick would say, “Ron was far from shy.” Rather, Ron was a competitive, sometimes stubborn man who loved the strategizing and planning to win even more than the winning itself, a talented athlete who excelled in multiple sports, a hard worker who always gave his best and expected the same from others, an avid outdoorsman, one of the lead software architects of computer systems developed at IBM Rochester, a charter member and leader of Hosanna Lutheran Church, and a compassionate man who cared for and about others while always putting his family first.
Linda and Ron met at Baxter Laboratories in Morton Grove, Illinois. He had a summer job in the mail room; she was a secretary for a department that was on Ron’s delivery route. One day he got up the nerve to ask her, “How would you like to go to a movie with me?” Linda agreed and remembers they went to see John Wayne in The Sons of Katie Elder; it probably wasn’t the first on her list of go-to shows, but what she saw was less important than who she saw it with. After their dating a year and Ron’s graduation from Augustana College in Rock Island, Illinois, Ron proposed. They were married in September 1967 and shortly after left for the University of Iowa, where Ron would obtain his master’s degree in computer science. Of this move, Linda recalls, “I cried all of the way to Iowa City; I didn’t want to leave my friends and family in the Chicago area.” A small, upstairs apartment would be their home while Ron pursued his degree. Linda says of that time, “Financially, we didn’t have anything. At the end of each month, when we were almost out of money, we ate twenty-cent pot pies.” In 1969, Cathy Fess was born, Ron graduated, and the family moved to Rochester, where Ron began work as a programmer.
In the IBM programming center, most employees worked two to an 8- x 12-foot office in what were called “cubes” (for cubicle). Ron was a work dynamo and had so much energy that he appeared to move while sitting still. He would be at his desk, shirtsleeves rolled up, poring over computer listings, and chewing gum a mile a minute. Earl Emerick remembers the first time he walked into Ron’s office: “Wow, what a mess! Papers were piled everywhere—on the desk, table, chair, and even on the floor. If Ron needed to reference a paper or memo, he would reach into the right stack and instantly pull out what he was looking for.” Earl learned quickly that if he wanted to argue his case or persuade a decision, he had better have done his homework to be prepared to back up proposals with facts. He says, “Ron’s business acumen, willingness to mentor others both formally and informally, and technical abilities were valued by many people. We developed a strong sense of respect for each other.”
A Fess family photo, 1973. The girls (Cathy, Jennifer, and Barb) are wearing matching dresses their grandmother made for them.
Jennifer Fess was born in 1971. About a year later, Ron accepted an offer to transfer to IBM Endicott in New York. Barb would be born in 1973, and in 1974, with three little girls, Ron and Linda returned to Rochester IBM. Today, the girls look back fondly on their family activities and the vacations their dad made time for despite his work demands. (Few IBM programmers worked forty-hour weeks; most typically worked sixty to eighty hours. Linda was an equally busy, hard-working, stay-at-home mom.) The Fesses boated and camped on the Mississippi River and played tennis, golf, and racquetball. Their yearly vacations were intricately planned, two- or three-week camping excursions across the United States. “Intricately planned” meant that before the family left the driveway, Ron knew the distances to be covered, time required for travel from stop to stop, and, for each day, where they would eat and what they would eat. The girls saw most of the country’s national parks, monuments, and attractions before they were eighteen.
One of the reasons the Fesses returned to Rochester from Endicott was to be near Mayo Clinic. Ron and Linda noticed shortly after Barb was born that her right leg was shorter than her left. Her doctor surmised that it was high in the hip and would correct itself as she grew older. A second opinion provided the correct diagnosis—that Barb would need surgery to fix the problem—and Ron and Linda decided they wanted this done at Mayo. She would require thirteen surgeries, the first when she was six and the last when she was fifteen. Barb admits that she was a difficult patient, and she especially disliked hospital food. She says, “Dad knew I needed nourishment, so he made a deal with me. For days when I had eaten well and did my physical therapy, we would go down to the vending machine for ice cream sandwiches. I quickly realized it didn’t matter if I held up my side of the deal or not, because Dad loved ice cream. We had ice cream sandwiches every night.” She adds, “Now that I am a nurse and a mother of four boys, I realize how tough the whole experience of having a child in the hospital was on my family. Dad became an advocate for Ronald McDonald House, serving on its board of directors and committees and providing financial support. I think he did this because he (and Mom) knew first-hand what families go through while a child receives medical treatment.”
Each of the girls has many memories of moments when their dad went out of his way to do things for them. One that stands out for Cathy is from the summer after her second-grade year, when Ron took her on a canoe trip to the Boundary Waters. She was the youngest in the group and the only female. She says, “The first paddle day of the trip was intimidating. We had to cross what looked to me like an ocean. Dad encouraged me all the way, saying, ‘Just keep paddling; you’ll be fine.’ For years after, even last year, I would hear him proudly reminiscing about the trip when talking to his grandsons.”
Jennifer recalls the time when she and her husband, Derek, wanted to replace the carpet in their home with hardwood flooring. She says, “Dad came with all his tools, table saws, and more. We spent the weekend ripping up the carpet, measuring and cutting boards of different widths to form a pattern, and installing them. Derek had no experience doing this, and Dad taught him the whole process. He was always so good about including everyone in projects like this.”
One of Barb’s favorite memories is of early morning times with Ron at the lake home. She says, “Dad encouraged Cathy, Jennifer, and me to find a sport that we each loved. For me, that was competitive swimming. To stay competitive, swimming requires a lot of conditioning and endurance. So, in the summer at the lake, Dad would get me up early when the water was calm. I would swim, and he would paddle the boat alongside me. Dad’s hunting dog would come along, too, for the ride. To this day, I swim whenever I am at a lake.”
Ron loved the outdoors, especially on days he could catch fish like this big muskie.
An avid outdoorsman, Ron’s hunting and fishing buddies included Earl Emerick, Arlen Bowen, Tony Wells, Karl Hanson, Bob Jantzen, Dennis Farrell, and Dan Casey. Ron’s “personality” caused some incidents that led to good-natured ribbing. Earl recalls, “Ron’s booming voice scared deer, ran off turkeys, and flushed pheasants before we could get off shots. Trying to get Ron to whisper in a hunting blind was nearly impossible. It took a lot of ‘shushings,’ ‘be quiets!’ and hand gestures to silence him for even the briefest of times.”
Ron retired from IBM in 1999, about the time his and Linda’s first grandson, Matthew, was born. Seven more would follow, and the eight grandsons now range in age from eight to twenty-two. Ron and Linda were able to spend a significant amount of time with each of their daughters and their families. Linda’s voice breaks as she says, “Ron loved those boys so much. He loved holding them as babies, even when they were colicky. He loved wrestling and playing on the floor. He even loved fishing with a boat full of toddlers.” And, of course, they loved him.
Ron and Linda have been able to take seven of their grandsons on “individual” vacations. This tradition started with taking Matthew, age fourteen, to Madeline Island for kayaking on Lake Superior, golfing, and fishing on the Brule River. With Owen, a week in Washington, D.C. For Andrew, fly fishing on the Green River in Yellowstone National Park. With Noah, to Door Country for salmon fishing on Lake Michigan. With Aidan, a Disney Cruise. With Harrison, horseback riding, whitewater rafting, fishing, and hiking at a dude ranch in Durango, Colorado. With Everett, a trip to San Diego to enjoy Legoland and tour warships. Ron died before Oliver was old enough to have his vacation turn, but Linda is planning a special trip for him.
I met Ron in 1970, shortly after I joined IBM. My friendship with him grew not so much because of our shared interest in computer technology, and I wasn’t an outdoorsman, but more from the love we shared for football, softball, volleyball, racquetball, tennis, golf, and running. Regarding the latter, over the years, Ron and I ran hundreds, or maybe a thousand or more, miles together during lunchtime at IBM and on the running tracks of the YMCA and Rochester Athletic Club. He and I always talked when we ran. We covered many topics, depending upon what might be on our minds that day: the trials and joys of raising children, stresses at work, faith, and our parents. To mark his fortieth birthday, Ron entered the Twin Cities Marathon; it would be his first. He asked if I would consider joining him at the twenty-mile mark, where many marathoners hit the wall, run with him for three or four miles to offer encouragement, and then slip into the crowd before he crossed the finish line. How could I say no?
An avid runner, Ron completed several full and half marathons.
Early on the beautiful fall morning of the marathon, my wife (Jeanine) and I began our drive from Rochester to Minneapolis about the time that Ron started running. We were nearing the spot we’d designated where I would join him when Jeanine shouted, “Look, there’s Ron!” I saw his head bobbing along in a sea of runners. We pulled over, I hopped out and stripped off my sweats, and without a single stretch or warm-up I began sprinting down the road to catch up with him. In short order I was by his side. He was glad to see me and was doing fine, setting a steady pace. Given my lack of warm-up and the rush to catch him, in a block or two I developed an excruciating side ache, and it felt like I was running with a knife stuck in my stomach. It’s been said that we all should have at least one person in our lives we don’t want to disappoint. Well, at that point in my life, the one person I didn’t want to disappoint was running right by my side at a much faster clip than I would have liked. “Ron,” I gasped. “I think I’m going to have to stop.” Mind you, I had been running two blocks; he had been running twenty miles.
“Ransom,” he said, “suck it up, and let’s keep moving.” (He always called me “Ransom.” I took it as a term of endearment.) Well, suck it up I did. The pain miraculously subsided so that I could run my few miles with him, and Ron completed his first of multiple marathons. For years, Ron and I joked about my “helping him” accomplish such a significant milestone in his sporting life.
Ron was not a sidelines guy in anything he did; he wanted and needed to be in the game. He was a leader, but he didn’t seek the spotlight or accolades. For him, it was about the team and its members accomplishing meaningful, worthwhile things. His devotion to Hosanna Lutheran Church exemplifies this. He was a charter member of the congregation, which was established in 1979. Through the years he served on nearly every church committee, ushered, taught Sunday School, joined Bible studies, led building campaigns, went on a Hurricane Katrina church mission trip, and served as church council president. A Hosanna member at Ron’s memorial service showed me a photograph of Ron. He was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, unloading his rototiller from his pickup, and about to till the church garden, which he did every spring. She looked out the window, pointed at the garden plot, and said, “Things just won’t be the same here without Ron.”
Those who live life large leave gaping holes when they’re gone, so Hosanna Lutheran Church is but one of many places where things won’t be the same without Ron. He and Linda did so much with their friends, family, and each other. They were planning the drive to their home in The Villages, Florida, to spend their fifth winter and were enthused about all the activities that awaited them there: duplicate bridge, pickleball, golf, socializing, and more. In an instant, those plans evaporated. How will all who knew and loved Ron carry on without him? We might take to heart the encouragement he gave Cathy long ago in the Boundary Waters: “Just keep paddling. You’ll be fine.”
Ron and Linda with their family on a hike in Santa Barbara, California (July 2016)
This article appeared in the March 2020 issue of Generations of Today magazine.