Ron Cameron

[Momo]

I wonder where Ron's predominant female audience has navigated to in his Friday timeslot. The View?

[Bobbert]

I wonder where Ron's predominant female audience has navigated to in his Friday timeslot. The View?

Or maybe The Price is Right, because of Ron's infectious enthusiasm for classic game shows.

[Bobbert]

In yesterday's Detroit News, Lynn Henning was channeling Ron in an article about Ryan Garko, vice president of Tigers development:

Credit goes to Al Avila, the previous Tigers general manager, for recognizing the Tigers were a few eons behind too many other MLB teams when it came to grooming players. Avila knew science and technology, biomechanics, nutrition, strength and conditioning — even psychology — had become indispensable as baseball’s best clubs worked to gain an edge on the competition.

Credit also Chris Ilitch for approving many millions of dollars in allowing Avila to take those first steps in bringing the Tigers into baseball’s 21st century.

Avila hired Garko.

https://www.detroitnews.com/story/sport ... 971775007/

[Majik]

In yesterday's Detroit News, Lynn Henning was channeling Ron in an article about Ryan Garko, vice president of Tigers development:

Credit goes to Al Avila, the previous Tigers general manager, for recognizing the Tigers were a few eons behind too many other MLB teams when it came to grooming players. Avila knew science and technology, biomechanics, nutrition, strength and conditioning — even psychology — had become indispensable as baseball’s best clubs worked to gain an edge on the competition.

Credit also Chris Ilitch for approving many millions of dollars in allowing Avila to take those first steps in bringing the Tigers into baseball’s 21st century.

Avila hired Garko.

https://www.detroitnews.com/story/sport ... 971775007/

So when does the statute of exaltations expire on Avila?

[Momo]

In yesterday's Detroit News, Lynn Henning was channeling Ron in an article about Ryan Garko, vice president of Tigers development:

Credit goes to Al Avila, the previous Tigers general manager, for recognizing the Tigers were a few eons behind too many other MLB teams when it came to grooming players. Avila knew science and technology, biomechanics, nutrition, strength and conditioning — even psychology — had become indispensable as baseball’s best clubs worked to gain an edge on the competition.

Credit also Chris Ilitch for approving many millions of dollars in allowing Avila to take those first steps in bringing the Tigers into baseball’s 21st century.

Avila hired Garko.

https://www.detroitnews.com/story/sport ... 971775007/

So when does the statute of exaltations expire on Avila?

Not until he's relieved of his short-order cook duties at Denny's ... near the airport.

[Momo]

Would Ron have said that Sammy Sosa was a "Boney Maroney"?

https://ifunny.co/picture/sammy-sosa-be ... -41mkgaeOA

[Matt]

I missed his show yesterday, what happened? Did we hear the 2023 Tiger grades yet, or is Ron sharing those next week?

[Bobbert]

Would Ron have said that Sammy Sosa was a "Boney Maroney"?

https://ifunny.co/picture/sammy-sosa-be ... -41mkgaeOA

Wonder what Ron would have said about the appearance of the surprisingly thin Miguel Cabrera at Tigers spring training? A very volatile mixture of sarcasm and anger, I'm sure.

[Momo]

I missed his show yesterday, what happened? Did we hear the 2023 Tiger grades yet, or is Ron sharing those next week?

Someone's been paying attention! I do wonder if his exhaustive analysis of the '23 Tigers, along with his birthday plaque, were found among his effects.

[Matt]

I missed his show yesterday, what happened? Did we hear the 2023 Tiger grades yet, or is Ron sharing those next week?

Someone's been paying attention! I do wonder if his exhaustive analysis of the '23 Tigers, along with his birthday plaque, were found among his effects.

Will Ron be discussing next week?

[Momo]

Reading this book review, my thoughts turned to Ron.

In October 2001, the playwright Leonard Melfi, known for his prolific work in experimental theater, died alone at 68 in a Manhattan hospital, ending a long alcoholic decline.

Melfi’s relatives and friends remained unaware of his demise. Before long, he was placed in a $55 pine coffin and lowered by inmates into a common grave in the potter’s field on Hart Island. It was four months before his brother was able to track him down and have him reburied in a family plot in upstate New York.

With eternal erasure bearing down, Melfi had been rescued from the ranks of the unclaimed, a classification with powerful, even primal, connotations. Burial in a pauper’s grave has historically conveyed a harsh judgment on a life lived. Even now, it suggests disconnection, alienation, poverty, an absence of having been loved — perhaps even of having mattered.

That we all matter is the overarching thrust of “The Unclaimed: Abandonment and Hope in the City of Angels,” by the sociologists Pamela Prickett and Stefan Timmermans, who spent nearly a decade examining the bureaucracy and mechanics of the unclaimed dead (a group that amounts to more than 100,000 Americans each year). They have come away with an admirable work both cleareyed and disturbing, yet pulsing with empathy.

Intrigued by the myriad circumstances that result in extended residence in a morgue, Prickett and Timmermans focus on the unclaimed of Los Angeles. They use court records and extensive interviews to recreate the lives of four particular people, then bear close witness to what happened to these subjects after death.

We meet Bobby, a once-homeless Air Force veteran who sang in a choir, partied hard, yearned to reunite with his ex-wife — and had an adult son whom he had only recently met. And Lena, a nonagenarian widow with no children who existed in squalor and paranoia, out of touch with relatives living close by. And David, a divorced veteran estranged from his family of origin who settled into “contented solitude.” And Midge, whose many tribulations, including an abysmal childhood, led her to a small church whose congregants became her family.

They all die, alone. But their deaths enhance the book’s power and narrative drive, as certain cogs in the collective bureaucracy — the medical examiner’s office, the public administrator’s office, the perfectly named Office of Decedent Affairs — click into post-mortem place.

There’s the process of making an identification. Notifying next of kin, if any. Accounting for assets, if any. Determining who pays for what. And, ultimately, finding some semblance of a dignified resting place.

The simplest way to avoid a common grave — and all that it still connotes — is for a family member to claim the body and retain a funeral home, or pay the county for cremation and collect the ashes. But, as the authors demonstrate, the process is not always smooth, or just; often it is downright Dickensian. There are resentful relatives, penurious relatives, conniving relatives, no relatives, and loved ones denied input because they are not related. There is the funeral-home industrial complex to reliably exploit the grieving. There are caring public servants unable to overcome the pettiness and illogic of the system. And, in the somber estimation of the authors, there are the rest of us.

Suggesting that a steady rise in the number of unclaimed dead in the United States stems largely from “social isolation caused by eroding family ties,” they urge us to expand programs that nurture inclusivity. They also advocate for broadening the government’s narrowly defined definition of “family” so that the dead can be claimed by those who truly loved them; in a more understanding process, for example, Midge would have been buried by the church congregants who had become her chosen family.

Now and then, the shovel hits a rock or two. The authors succeed in conveying the fullness to be found in every life, but a more judicious use of detail in the four profiles would have benefited the narrative flow. And, in a lecturing afterword, they implore readers to make sure that our loved ones know that we care — a recommendation better left implied.

Ultimately, their book is a work of grace. Throughout are people who embrace the worth of every life: the women who ensure that abandoned babies are buried with dignity, the veterans who orchestrate send-offs for their broken brothers and sisters, the son who arranges the cremation of the father he barely knew.

The Catholic priest who, on a rainy December day, prepares to lead a multifaith memorial service for 1,457 unclaimed people — including Midge — whose ashes have been buried in a mass grave in a Los Angeles cemetery. He frets that limited parking and inclement weather, among other obstacles, will lower attendance.

Then he sees them: civilians and civil servants, alone and in groups, diverse in race and age, nearly 200 in all — coming up the hill to honor those they never knew, because this is what we are meant to do.

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/03/07/book ... aimed.html

[Matt]

Reading this book review, my thoughts turned to Ron.

In October 2001, the playwright Leonard Melfi, known for his prolific work in experimental theater, died alone at 68 in a Manhattan hospital, ending a long alcoholic decline.

Melfi’s relatives and friends remained unaware of his demise. Before long, he was placed in a $55 pine coffin and lowered by inmates into a common grave in the potter’s field on Hart Island. It was four months before his brother was able to track him down and have him reburied in a family plot in upstate New York.

With eternal erasure bearing down, Melfi had been rescued from the ranks of the unclaimed, a classification with powerful, even primal, connotations. Burial in a pauper’s grave has historically conveyed a harsh judgment on a life lived. Even now, it suggests disconnection, alienation, poverty, an absence of having been loved — perhaps even of having mattered.

That we all matter is the overarching thrust of “The Unclaimed: Abandonment and Hope in the City of Angels,” by the sociologists Pamela Prickett and Stefan Timmermans, who spent nearly a decade examining the bureaucracy and mechanics of the unclaimed dead (a group that amounts to more than 100,000 Americans each year). They have come away with an admirable work both cleareyed and disturbing, yet pulsing with empathy.

Intrigued by the myriad circumstances that result in extended residence in a morgue, Prickett and Timmermans focus on the unclaimed of Los Angeles. They use court records and extensive interviews to recreate the lives of four particular people, then bear close witness to what happened to these subjects after death.

We meet Bobby, a once-homeless Air Force veteran who sang in a choir, partied hard, yearned to reunite with his ex-wife — and had an adult son whom he had only recently met. And Lena, a nonagenarian widow with no children who existed in squalor and paranoia, out of touch with relatives living close by. And David, a divorced veteran estranged from his family of origin who settled into “contented solitude.” And Midge, whose many tribulations, including an abysmal childhood, led her to a small church whose congregants became her family.

They all die, alone. But their deaths enhance the book’s power and narrative drive, as certain cogs in the collective bureaucracy — the medical examiner’s office, the public administrator’s office, the perfectly named Office of Decedent Affairs — click into post-mortem place.

There’s the process of making an identification. Notifying next of kin, if any. Accounting for assets, if any. Determining who pays for what. And, ultimately, finding some semblance of a dignified resting place.

The simplest way to avoid a common grave — and all that it still connotes — is for a family member to claim the body and retain a funeral home, or pay the county for cremation and collect the ashes. But, as the authors demonstrate, the process is not always smooth, or just; often it is downright Dickensian. There are resentful relatives, penurious relatives, conniving relatives, no relatives, and loved ones denied input because they are not related. There is the funeral-home industrial complex to reliably exploit the grieving. There are caring public servants unable to overcome the pettiness and illogic of the system. And, in the somber estimation of the authors, there are the rest of us.

Suggesting that a steady rise in the number of unclaimed dead in the United States stems largely from “social isolation caused by eroding family ties,” they urge us to expand programs that nurture inclusivity. They also advocate for broadening the government’s narrowly defined definition of “family” so that the dead can be claimed by those who truly loved them; in a more understanding process, for example, Midge would have been buried by the church congregants who had become her chosen family.

Now and then, the shovel hits a rock or two. The authors succeed in conveying the fullness to be found in every life, but a more judicious use of detail in the four profiles would have benefited the narrative flow. And, in a lecturing afterword, they implore readers to make sure that our loved ones know that we care — a recommendation better left implied.

Ultimately, their book is a work of grace. Throughout are people who embrace the worth of every life: the women who ensure that abandoned babies are buried with dignity, the veterans who orchestrate send-offs for their broken brothers and sisters, the son who arranges the cremation of the father he barely knew.

The Catholic priest who, on a rainy December day, prepares to lead a multifaith memorial service for 1,457 unclaimed people — including Midge — whose ashes have been buried in a mass grave in a Los Angeles cemetery. He frets that limited parking and inclement weather, among other obstacles, will lower attendance.

Then he sees them: civilians and civil servants, alone and in groups, diverse in race and age, nearly 200 in all — coming up the hill to honor those they never knew, because this is what we are meant to do.

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/03/07/book ... aimed.html

Did you forget to post about Ron during his show yesterday?

[Bobbert]

Reading this book review, my thoughts turned to Ron.

In October 2001, the playwright Leonard Melfi, known for his prolific work in experimental theater, died alone at 68 in a Manhattan hospital, ending a long alcoholic decline.

Melfi’s relatives and friends remained unaware of his demise. Before long, he was placed in a $55 pine coffin and lowered by inmates into a common grave in the potter’s field on Hart Island. It was four months before his brother was able to track him down and have him reburied in a family plot in upstate New York.

With eternal erasure bearing down, Melfi had been rescued from the ranks of the unclaimed, a classification with powerful, even primal, connotations. Burial in a pauper’s grave has historically conveyed a harsh judgment on a life lived. Even now, it suggests disconnection, alienation, poverty, an absence of having been loved — perhaps even of having mattered.

That we all matter is the overarching thrust of “The Unclaimed: Abandonment and Hope in the City of Angels,” by the sociologists Pamela Prickett and Stefan Timmermans, who spent nearly a decade examining the bureaucracy and mechanics of the unclaimed dead (a group that amounts to more than 100,000 Americans each year). They have come away with an admirable work both cleareyed and disturbing, yet pulsing with empathy.

Intrigued by the myriad circumstances that result in extended residence in a morgue, Prickett and Timmermans focus on the unclaimed of Los Angeles. They use court records and extensive interviews to recreate the lives of four particular people, then bear close witness to what happened to these subjects after death.

We meet Bobby, a once-homeless Air Force veteran who sang in a choir, partied hard, yearned to reunite with his ex-wife — and had an adult son whom he had only recently met. And Lena, a nonagenarian widow with no children who existed in squalor and paranoia, out of touch with relatives living close by. And David, a divorced veteran estranged from his family of origin who settled into “contented solitude.” And Midge, whose many tribulations, including an abysmal childhood, led her to a small church whose congregants became her family.

They all die, alone. But their deaths enhance the book’s power and narrative drive, as certain cogs in the collective bureaucracy — the medical examiner’s office, the public administrator’s office, the perfectly named Office of Decedent Affairs — click into post-mortem place.

There’s the process of making an identification. Notifying next of kin, if any. Accounting for assets, if any. Determining who pays for what. And, ultimately, finding some semblance of a dignified resting place.

The simplest way to avoid a common grave — and all that it still connotes — is for a family member to claim the body and retain a funeral home, or pay the county for cremation and collect the ashes. But, as the authors demonstrate, the process is not always smooth, or just; often it is downright Dickensian. There are resentful relatives, penurious relatives, conniving relatives, no relatives, and loved ones denied input because they are not related. There is the funeral-home industrial complex to reliably exploit the grieving. There are caring public servants unable to overcome the pettiness and illogic of the system. And, in the somber estimation of the authors, there are the rest of us.

Suggesting that a steady rise in the number of unclaimed dead in the United States stems largely from “social isolation caused by eroding family ties,” they urge us to expand programs that nurture inclusivity. They also advocate for broadening the government’s narrowly defined definition of “family” so that the dead can be claimed by those who truly loved them; in a more understanding process, for example, Midge would have been buried by the church congregants who had become her chosen family.

Now and then, the shovel hits a rock or two. The authors succeed in conveying the fullness to be found in every life, but a more judicious use of detail in the four profiles would have benefited the narrative flow. And, in a lecturing afterword, they implore readers to make sure that our loved ones know that we care — a recommendation better left implied.

Ultimately, their book is a work of grace. Throughout are people who embrace the worth of every life: the women who ensure that abandoned babies are buried with dignity, the veterans who orchestrate send-offs for their broken brothers and sisters, the son who arranges the cremation of the father he barely knew.

The Catholic priest who, on a rainy December day, prepares to lead a multifaith memorial service for 1,457 unclaimed people — including Midge — whose ashes have been buried in a mass grave in a Los Angeles cemetery. He frets that limited parking and inclement weather, among other obstacles, will lower attendance.

Then he sees them: civilians and civil servants, alone and in groups, diverse in race and age, nearly 200 in all — coming up the hill to honor those they never knew, because this is what we are meant to do.

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/03/07/book ... aimed.html

That adds a lot of insight to what is going on with Ron. I've been hoping that something is put in the newspapers to attract attention and get Ron properly buried.

[Bobbert]

In yesterday's Detroit News, Lynn Henning was channeling Ron in an article about Ryan Garko, vice president of Tigers development:

Credit goes to Al Avila, the previous Tigers general manager, for recognizing the Tigers were a few eons behind too many other MLB teams when it came to grooming players. Avila knew science and technology, biomechanics, nutrition, strength and conditioning — even psychology — had become indispensable as baseball’s best clubs worked to gain an edge on the competition.

Credit also Chris Ilitch for approving many millions of dollars in allowing Avila to take those first steps in bringing the Tigers into baseball’s 21st century.

Avila hired Garko.

https://www.detroitnews.com/story/sport ... 971775007/

So when does the statute of exaltations expire on Avila?

If Lynn Henning is doing the writing, it might be a while. In his weekly column about Tiger minor leaguers, if a player has a good week, they are headed for Cooperstown.

[Momo]

In yesterday's Detroit News, Lynn Henning was channeling Ron in an article about Ryan Garko, vice president of Tigers development:

Credit goes to Al Avila, the previous Tigers general manager, for recognizing the Tigers were a few eons behind too many other MLB teams when it came to grooming players. Avila knew science and technology, biomechanics, nutrition, strength and conditioning — even psychology — had become indispensable as baseball’s best clubs worked to gain an edge on the competition.

Credit also Chris Ilitch for approving many millions of dollars in allowing Avila to take those first steps in bringing the Tigers into baseball’s 21st century.

Avila hired Garko.

https://www.detroitnews.com/story/sport ... 971775007/

So when does the statute of exaltations expire on Avila?

If Lynn Henning is doing the writing, it might be a while. In his weekly column about Tiger minor leaguers, if a player has a good week, they are headed for Cooperstown.

Yes. I enjoy reading Henning's work, but he has a long history of forever falling in love with prospects.