THE MIL & AERO BLOG, 23 April 2013. Many of you remember Ron Mastro, the former 11-year publisher of Military & Aerospace Electronics, who left the magazine in late 2008 for retirement in Florida. He was a bigger-than-life character who was likable, engaging, and impossible to forget.
Ron Mastro died Sunday morning, 14 April 2013. It was fast, and sudden, and a shock. He had contracted an aggressive kind of lung cancer that took him only a few weeks after he was diagnosed. His funeral was yesterday in Wildwood, Fla., near his summer home in The Villages.
Ron lived his life in a direct kind of way. He always asked the name of the waiter or waitress serving him, always entered a room (usually late) with a grand entrance, and gave those he encountered the impression that he was paying closer attention than he was to anyone else.
He also lived his life with appetite and joy. He entered booths at trade shows like the one everyone had been waiting for. He made friends and acquaintances perhaps in the most effortless way I've ever seen. Yes, he was a smoker, and lived life hard sometimes, but his death came as such a shock not only because of how quickly it came, but also because in our hearts, those who knew him thought he might live forever.
I worked closely with Ron Mastro for 14 years, from when he started as an ad salesman for Military & Aerospace Electronics in 1994, and through his tenure as publisher of the magazine from 1997 to 2008. Ron understood people in a quick, kind, and deep way and helped me understand people, too. He genuinely liked people as few others do.
| Related stories -- Remembering a friend and mentor -- Ronald S. Mastro: May 9, 1942 - April 14, 2013 -- Thank you to those who serve. |
Those who knew him can just see all this happening as if you were there. I'm a natural introvert -- the exact opposite of Ron -- and I asked him how he had the nerve to ask for free upgrades to first class, meals, and drinks seemingly with no justification at all.
It was simple. "You don't get it if you don't ask," was his response. I'd never really thought about it that way before.
We made a business trip to England together once to attend the Farnborough Airshow. We landed in London early in the morning, and Ron hadn't slept much on the flight. He arrived "a little pissy," as he would say.
With this, I dragged Ron, not by cab, but by the London Tube subway to our modest bed and breakfast near Victoria Station. It was too early to check in. Ron's face darkened a bit. We found breakfast and he perked-up a little. Finally, when we were able to check in, his room was three flights upstairs, with no elevators.
As you can guess, it didn't take Ron long to procure a larger, nicer room on the ground floor. This time I didn't even bother asking how he did it. I wasn't even surprised. Meanwhile, I schlepped up and down those three flights of stairs for the entire week we were there.
On the day we arrived I went out in the afternoon to museums in London. Ron stayed at the little hotel, as he was still somewhat tired. When I returned I found Ron in a chair on the front landing of the hotel. It had been only a couple of hours, but he was already on a first-name basis not only with all the hotel management and staff, but also with most of the guests. Passers-by on the street -- some from the OTHER side of the street, mind you -- waved and yelled RON! on the way by.
Ron had been in that country for less than 12 hours, but the street already belonged to him, and everyone he encountered was happy for it.
On our last full day there I took the train to Hampton Court, the former home of English monarch Henry XIII. I thought Ron might go with me, but he begged off, and the man behind the desk must have seen the disappointment in my face as I started off. He asked, and I explained that Ron didn't want to go with me.
"You know why that is?" he asked. "Well, not really," I replied. He explained in terms those who knew him would understand. "Well, there must be 200 pubs between here and Hampton Court, and I just don't think he'd make it," he said. That evening with Ron, at the pub, was our most pleasant night of the trip.
Many of you have your own stories. One of Ron's and my longtime colleagues, John McHale, has written a tribute to Ron, entitled Remembering a friend and mentor, which is online at http://mil-embedded.com/2075-remembering-a-friend-and-mentor.
To say that I'll miss Ron is a grotesque understatement. I cried when I found out the end was near. On my last phone call with him I left it that I'd see him next month at his Massachusetts home in Duxbury. I didn't think it would be the last time I heard his voice. My only regret about Ron was I wish I had been a better friend to him.
He was far more than a boss and a teacher. He was a father figure to me, as well as a friend. He praised me when I earned it, and kicked my butt when I deserved it, but with firm kindness, understanding, and empathy.
Ron Mastro's obituary is online at www.hiers-baxley.com/obituaries/Ronald-Mastro/#!/Obituary.
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