Ronald George Dickenson

October 12, 1957— February 28, 2025

Ronald George Dickenson, passed away surrounded by family February 28th, 2025 at 12:18 pm. He succumbed to injuries sustained over a lifetime of surviving being shot at, dodging being blown to smithereens and working extremely hard for his family. He was universally loved and respected by everyone he met from high to low. 

He was born October 12, 1957 in Amarillo, Texas. He grew up in Dallas raised by his beloved Grandmother Iona Chapman. He worked for the Ballantyne Roofing company before joining the Marine Corps in 1981 in which he served for 30 years. He started his long career in law enforcement as a patrol officer in the Dallas Police Department in 1981. In 1982 he met the love of his life Vonda Dee Jarvie, they were married in 1983. They moved to Elko, NV in 1986 where they built a family of eight children. Ron, as he was known, served as a Sheriff’s Deputy for Elko County, and a court Bailiff. In 2003, as company First Sergeant he led Charlie Company 4th LAR in the invasion of Iraq taking Al Kut and bringing all his brothers back safely. He mobilized again in 2005, with the USMC he traveled the world and built an unbreakable brotherhood. In 2008 he moved his family back to his homeland of Texas. In Huntsville he worked for TDCJ, started at Walker County Sheriff’s department in 2015 and retired from there in late 2023. Throughout his long career he made an indelible mark on the hearts of many friends, compatriots, coworkers and felons. In life he became the father to many, was a leader to all; a true shepherd of men. A man to stand in the gap. He is preceded in death by his beloved daughter Kate, father Harry, and brother David. Survived by his wife Vonda, children: James (Stacey), Jennie (Charley), Ian (Alexandra), Effie, Emily (Kyle), Shannon (Daniel), Kirsten, and adopted son Patrick. Grandchildren: Kaydra, Brennan, Kasen, Emmett, and Callum. Beloved extended family. A full cadre of marine brothers. A passel of those he liked to tell stories to and talk politics.

EULOGY

Honestly I do not know where I have gotten the strength from. From two weeks of living in the hospital at his side. Holding a torch of hope unwavering. To having to confront the decision that our fight was over. To planning a funeral, writing an obituary. Then giving a eulogy. I can only attest that it is my father’s strength given to me. And an ever deepening gratitude to God that I stand before you all to relate some history of his life and the words I believe he would want me to tell you.  

Ronald George Dickenson was born October 12, 1957 in Amarillo, Texas. The second child of Harry Tom Dickenson and Dorothy Chapman. Karen, my Auntie here, being the eldest. His brothers Bryan (bugeyes) Dickenson and Tony to follow. Then came his little brothers David and Joe. He was raised by his beloved Grandma Iona Chapman who worked for the Bell telephone company from the age of 18 to 70 when they forced her to retire. She would take them on the bus to H.L. greens in downtown Dallas. There he would get himself a dr pepper and a comic book for a quarter. Grandma Iona came to live with us when she was very old and I was still a young girl. She had a cat that my dad swore must have been over 27 years old because he remembers it as a boy. He took care of her till the very end, when she moved from our house to a nursing home he would take us all down there to see her every Sunday. She couldn’t remember the grandchildren’s names but she never forgot Ronnie. I would stop by after school on my way to the Girl Scout house and say hello to her. This is the bracelet that my Dad had bought for her, I never take it off. 

Dad told me stories of his grandfather. He worked In the oil fields in west Texas. He had fond memories of collecting arrowheads at the Alibates flint quarries Before it was illegal. Driving around in his old truck. A pack of cigs in his front pocket and another in his rolled sleeve. His father Harry was also a rockhound, they went on many adventures picking up a vast collection of crystals and other cool specimens. When grandpa gave them all to me, he said, “I helped pick them up, they should have gone to me!” He was just joking around. My Dad enjoyed that I had the collection of rocks and have been slowly working them into jewelry. He has contributed many rocks to the collection on top of that. Always bringing me pretty cabochons from any rock shop he happened to see. And some real treasures of turquoise from estate sales, gun shows and roadside stands. 

His childhood was filled with hijinks and adventure with his friends Johnny and James. His little brother Tony always wanted to be included though he may have regretted the association that one time that they set a bottle rocket careening down a street to explode right under an approaching Dallas Cop’s patrol car. Tony asked Ronnie if they were about to be arrested, and he allegedly said, “maybe”. 

Tony recently told me that his older brother Ronnie would grab him everytime there was a gun show. He would walk in and slap the newspaper down in front of Tony, “there’s a gun show.” Off they’d go. I wonder if it was with Tony that he visited that infamous gun show where he met Jimmie Lile and talked hímself out of buying a $150 knife…. Then sorely regretted it after Rambo: First Blood came out In 1982 and he could no longer afford a Lile made blade. I am sure there are quite a few of us who got the pleasure of attending a gun show with him. Raise your hand if you did. 

Growing up in Dallas Texas he held all sorts of jobs; the first cleaning the laundromat parking lot at age 12, working at KFC so he had some regular meals, to getting a job roofing with a Scotsmen, Mr Ballantyne who taught him to play the bagpipes and introduced him to his faith. Mr Ballantyne always said the first time you stop being scared while you are on the roof is when you will fall off. Which is exactly what happened, Dad was in the groove hammering down a long line of shingles on some huge ranch style house and went right over one side. He tried to sneak back up without anyone noticing, even bringing a bundle of shingles with him (but the crew had noticed). He would ride his bike twice a week to (Dallas Community College) work roofing with Mr Ballantyne, on the other days. One day he saw a recruiting poster for the Dallas Police Department when he was applying to be on the Fire Department, that poster sparked for him a life-long career in Law Enforcement. He started with the Dallas PD in June 1981, he had many stories from those days. I am sure some of you have heard him use the euphemism (second belly button.)   Or of his very influential Field Training Officer, Roscoe P Nunn.

He joined the Marine corps in early 1981 After boot camp at Paris Island, he heard that Kool and the Gang song “Celebrate good times, come on” on the radio as he drank his first Dr Pepper in quite awhile. He would tell me that story every single time it came on the radio, He had many reasons to celebrate. After joining the reserves, being in the Marines would be a constant source of pride and accomplishment throughout his life. As they say, once a Marine always a Marine. 

One of his favorite stories to tell was about the divine providence of meeting my Mother Vonda. 

She was living with her brother Jeff in Dallas. He had been away on active duty with the Marine corps and when he got back to Dallas they told him he was in a new ward at church… the singles ward. His home teaching companion gave him a call and asked him to go home teaching with him. They showed up to a house that he said looked like the Alamo on the 13th day of the siege. There he and his companion waited for an hour or two for the appointment, never seeing the young woman they were to proselytize to. That first day at church he saw a beautiful woman who looked like a model who stood a heat taller than the other girls. He resolved to ask her to dinner after church. Turns out she was the woman that he was supposed to have the home teaching appointment with.  Much to his delight she said yes to dinner. He took her to a steak house where he was impressed that she ordered the cheapest thing on the menu, a corn dog. Ten minutes into dinner he had resolved to marry her, and asked her if she liked the bagpipes, she said yes and it was a done deal. He was in love. He was enamoured and stayed that way for the rest of his life. 

I have never seen a better example of a good husband and father. He wanted to provide for my mother and give her the best life possible. He would have me consult on all his presents. Recently he saw Mom eating malt o meal for breakfast, she was just trying to get rid of it, clean out the pantry… and he got it into his head that that she must have suddenly developed a liking for it so the next time he came home from the store he had bought some more of it. Much to my mothers dismay at having to eat more of the horrid stuff. He would routinely come home with more plants for the garden, always getting cards and chocolate for every holiday and birthday. He always stashed away his cards and would get upset when Mom would try to clear clutter, he was emotionally attached to inanimate objects… a trait I have inherited, with our boxes of papers and untold collections of books. 

Occasionally we’d find an old card stuck in a book, a birthday card mom had given him some years back and he’d reread it and stash it back for safe keeping. 

He was extremely loyal to my mother, crediting her love as his success. His disposition would change when she was around. Meanwhile he’d ask me to go on a drive with him and he’d start swearing like a sailor, letting his frustrations fly. He tried his best to not swear where she could hear. He always talked about how beautiful she is. And told the story of how they met at every opportunity. How many of you had heard that story at least once? Raise your hand. He truly was a devoted husband and counted himself blessed with his wife Vonda. 

They were married in Uncle Verl’s backyard in Elko Nevada in 1983. And as you will see from pictures he had hit the big time, he had a most beautiful wife. They bought a sixties Chevy flat nose van, (a scooby doo looking thing) for $400 that they were going to drive back to Texas, Jay, my moms brother had to keep it going on the way to SLC it had a radiator leak and then Jay crawled under and found a pouring fuel leak. He was able to fix it up for them. They got all the furniture and themselves back to Texas and managed to sell it for $800. Thus starting their 41 years of adventure together. And what an adventure it was. 

James was born in 1984 in Dallas, in 1986 he decided that Dallas was no place to raise children and they moved to Elko Nevada where I was born in 1988. They bought a house at 3386 Bell Avenue, where we were all raised. Dad worked for the Elko County Sheriff's department. Ian was born in 1989, Kate 1991, Effie 1993, Emily 1995, Shannon in 1997…. And I remember in 1999 my Grandma Dee was upset at our famous Fourth of July party we had in the backyard every year that Vonda was once again pregnant. She told me, “Ron needs to leave my daughter alone!” But all's well that ends well, his little tribe of heathens and banshees was rounded out at eight. and Kirsten was born December 30th 1999. He always told us about our lost brothers Cletus and Buckwheat, and we still don’t know what ever happened to them. 

Dad would drag the whole crew of us to drill weekends in Tooele, Utah. There was a hotel on the (base) . We would stay there and play at the playground across from it while he was training one weekend a month. Many happy memories of the family days they would have, all of us kids climbing all over and through the Light Armored Vehicles that we simply called tanks. 

In 1998, Dad had one of his favorite Marine Corps adventures to Norway for Operation Battle Griffin. North of the Arctic circle in February. He had the best pancakes of his life made by a villager and also got to split a fancy meal of reindeer and prime rib with Colonel Bruning. 

When I was in middle school in 2001, they turned on the news for us to watch that fateful morning. I was desperate to get home to ask my Dad what he thought was happening. When later that day he came home from the courthouse I asked him. He cried. He said this means I am going to war. He knew off the bat. 

Bagpipes are a weapon of war. So much so that they were outlawed by the English in Scotland in 1746 following the Jacobite uprising led by Bonnie Prince Charlie. First sergeant Dickenson packed up his pipes, extra reeds and supplies to go to war in 2003. As company First Sergeant of Charlie company 4th Light Armored Vehicle battalion. Leading 178 men into the unknown on the other side of the planet. To hear him tell the story the Iraqi’s threw down their weapons and ran for the hills at the sight of American Military might. Bryner says that after they took Saddam’s Bath party compound that looked like a castle. First sergeant took out his knife and cut down the portrait of Saddam exclaiming, “we are in for it tonight boys.” And they were, the  rules of engagement were constantly changing. First Sergeant clarified for the men, “I don’t care if the guy is squatting taking a poop, if he has a rifle, shoot him.” He met with clerics burning his tongue on their boiling hot tea, sleep was precious and hard to get. He marched down the runway at the bombed out air base in Al Kut playing his bagpipes. His men have told me the sound of the pipes before dawn for field reveilles was very comforting. Householder said, “The only man I’ve known to get a confirmed kill with bagpipes (Easter Sunday 2003).” I will let him tell y’all that story later. He was very proud that he brought every single one of those men back alive. When I asked him once what being First sergeant meant, he told me it was sort of like he was the Dad of all the guys and had to make sure they behaved, and he had many funny stories about them misbehaving. And a lot of the Marines in this room loved him like he was their own father or brother. 

After their successful invasion of Iraq they were sent on what my Dad affectionately called the Axis of Evil World Tour. From Japan they did a port call in Vladivostock, Russia, where the first sergeant had hell rounding up catatonically drunk marines. Then on to the Philippines where the jungle exercises were attended by the villagers bringing their entrepreneurial exploits directly to the Marines deep in the jungle on donkeys. Then onto Australia where he once again had trouble keeping his marines sober, especially under the influence of the Aussies. In Thailand originates the fateful story of the feast the Thai army put on for them, in which the first sergeant had his first and last thousand year old egg. Not his favorite culinary exploit, but one of the most memorable. Despite the excitement of foreign lands and wild adventures, home, family and familiarity always calls. Every morning for three weeks when they had formation. First sergeant would say, “people keep spreading rumors of going home. Everyday I keep getting asked when we are going home?” Every day he would look at Householder and say., “Householder when are we going home?” And he would reply…   “When the plane gets here.” 

My father had a direct line to God, and if it wasn’t a direct line he was definitely getting the memos. In 2007 he had a dream, he called Bryner up and told him to forget about getting his reenlistment monkey. Despite the nebulous circumstances Bryner listened to his first sergeant and got out of the marine corps, not but two months later Bryner’s mother had a stroke and he was able to nurse her back to health. Which Bryner didn’t think would have been possible if he had been deployed. Later they would have a phone conversation, the first sergeant saying, that must have been why I had that dream. 

On numerous occasions I followed my Dads advice and cockneyed plans not knowing what he was up to with it. For instance trying my hand as a jailer for walker county… there was some grander divine scheme I couldn’t see behind that. 

He affected so many so effortlessly, by being himself and doing what he felt was right. . . 

Men of all ilks would greet my father joyously wherever I went, even as a young girl I remember asking him why that bum wanted a hug. He said, “oh, that’s a guy I arrested last week.” We would be at a gas station or the grocery store and a conversation with someone would ensue. From the local DAs and Judges to those of criminal background, everyone was greeted and conversed with the same level of humanity that is inherent in us all. But it takes a special man to recognize and remember at all times. 

A felon I know was telling me to think of the countless untold people my Dad saved via a conversation, advice or a story. Saved from OD ing, suicide or messing their life up. Occasionally he would have a pack of cigs with a couple missing to give me. He would tell me how he had transported an inmate to some prison or other to start his lengthy sentence and let him have a cigarette on the way to put them at ease as he played at therapist. 

As follows is directly from Charles Carter, currently incarcerated: “He didn’t treat them like inmates, he treated them like kids that messed up, if he could help you with something he would. He treated everybody fair, he would relay messages to families when they couldn’t remember numbers to call. He was more a mentor than a jailer or a transport. He always had sympathy. “He’d always say, when are you going to stop getting caught up?” Sooner or later you will stop getting caught up. He was like a father to inmates, didn’t matter what color you was. He would lift you up, tell you not to give up, do what you got to do here an’ go on with your life. He made me cry, he said it’s alright, let your burden down. Be willing to accept the consequences and restart your life. He would check up on you. He was doing it for the COs too! He could walk in and change the whole vibe of the jail. If you never seen a grown man cry, wait till Dickenson got done with your ass. He could beat you up, but he didn’t have to.” 

When a new hire started at the jail, transport Deputy Dickenson whose office was in the jail, would take them aside and explain their benefits to them. He was always showing some of his “black arts” to the jailers, saying “look this is how you defend yourself.” Grabbing young Bradley and putting him in a half nelson. At defensive tactics when despite him being an old guy he had to wrestle with Glazier who was a young big guy, he bit him. And after explained that biting wasn’t mentioned as against the rules and wanted young Glazier to learn that when you are in a real fight there are no rules. When there were complaints about the job he would tell them, “look you got two choices, March or Die.” He always complained about the jailers asking him for backup when they had rowdy noncompliant inmates, but secretly he enjoyed it. Usually just the threat of Dickenson shaking a can of pepper spray gained compliance, but there were a few times he wrote the ABCs on someone's face. 

Retired Deputy Byron Bush, credits Dickenson for saving his life once. Dickenson was dispatched to transport a mental patient. Meanwhile said mental patient was going mental on Bush in the Huntsville Memorial ER. Knock down drag out fight. Dickenson showed up in the nick of time to join the fray. 

 Byron Bush recounted:  “he said, “Don’t ask me to dance, I don’t Dance, don’t ask me to sing, I don’t sing.” but, he held up his hands and said, “I can bring you physical violence.” I told him you are my hero. I meant it. And we had a lot of people mistake us for each other. I served warrants for the SO. He was getting gas in his vehicle and a lady told him that he did not have to climb over her fence anymore, because her son had turned himself in.” 

I want y’all to know that he had excellent weapons awareness and trigger discipline. At the ER I yanked him out of the truck and threw him into the waiting wheelchair. The rushing nurses and doctor closing in on him. As he hit the chair he threw up one arm and said, “Wait! I have a pistol! Jennie, grab my pistol.” And those were the last words I heard him say. 

I am left holding the pistol. First with so much faith and hope of giving it back to him. Now that little snub nose 38 special is a forever cherished memory. He never went anywhere without that or his watch.

Here is a quote from Householder, “He always had a history lesson, He forgot more facts than Alex Trebec ever knew. He was a proud Texan and made sure you never doubted that fact.” He handed out history lessons like candy wherever he went. You got a history lesson if you liked it or not. I was constantly surprised at the little factoids he’d whip out. He would tell you he had an eidetic memory, “I just read things and they stick in my brain.” He could recite you the constitution verbatim and his own genealogy far enough to relate himself back to Rollo. He’d find out if you were his eighth cousin via the Campbell line. 

He couldn’t sing but wished he could. The boy scouts still got to enjoy hearing him try occasionally. He was heavily involved in Troop 52 in which James and Ian both got their Eagle awards. He hated the winter camping but he would do it anyways, always bringing his epic eight man Norwegian winter tent. That tent went on all my girl scout expeditions as well.  He was beloved universally of all scouts, regalling them with many a campfire story. 

Brother Dickenson had a very strong faith and would frequently tear up during prayers. He enjoyed his callings in the church as a speaker, a priesthood lesson teacher and most especially when he was in charge of the nursery. He would practice next Sunday’s talk on me, inmates he was transporting and random passerrbys. 

I always thought my Dad was cool, I know people sometimes are embarrassed by their fathers, think they are cringe. I have always been proud to be Dickenson’s daughter.  I marched in many parades as a kid carrying  water for him as he did the whole parade route in Elko Nevada at full march playing his bag pipes. He ran for Sheriff of Elko County and he still has a stash of signs that read “Dickenson for Sheriff”. Thinking one of us kids would make use of them. I was always happy to bring him along to whatever I was doing. He came with me to see lots of live music, played bagpipes at my own friends funerals, my friends loved it when he would tag along with me, and he would take me out to dinner when my dates would get scared and ghost me. 

Through everything he was my champion, and it sure seems he made us all feel like he’d be the champion for us. His confidence rubbed off on everyone, when he’d tell you well done it warmed you like a ray of sunshine. 

All of his children were proud of their father, and likewise he was proud of all of his children. 

James: he was proud of you for your intelligence, your sense of duty, your service to country, your bagpiping. He loved that you included him on that bagpiping class in Vermont. He told me the stories from that trip at least four times, always with new small details. Speaking of the dinners and fellowship and how cute the town was, telling me about the whole cast of characters. He was super proud that you are a marine, though I am sure that’s when his hair turned from grey to white. He was proud that you worked somewhere that cannot be named…. Not afraid to blow your cover by skirting the subject and waggling his eyebrows. And you produced his first grandchildren, he took a lot of delight in Kaydra and Brennan. He would call me and tell me of something new they had said that was so clever. 

He was proud of me for my art, creating silver jewelry and poetry. He was one of the first to read my book no matter how chagrined I may be about the contents thereof. He enjoyed my outlaw swagger often telling me about how I am related to Belle Starr outlaw queen of the Wild West, wholesale cattle broker and harborer of the younger gang. I suppose he was proud of my honesty, he always spoke honestly to me and I always told him everything about my life. Even when he didn’t want to hear it. We were the best of buddies, I couldn’t tell you how many gun shows I have been to. And I never passed up the opportunity.  

Ian: bro, he was proud of you. He thought it was super cool guy stuff that you are always up to. The day he blood pinned you as a commissioned officer I could tell he was fighting tears. He told me that story many times. He loved Lexy and was proud of her always telling people his daughter in law was Austin PD, and then FBI too. He was stoked, to say the least. That time he and I went to the tactical games to watch you compete he was in heaven. He didn’t want earplugs, he loved the sound of gunfire and watching you sweep the competition. Very proud. He was irritated with me for affecting a heavy southern accent and saying, “Liddell do the dishes!” Correcting me on the pronunciation of the Scottish name. I am glad he got to meet Callum Liddell. 

He was also proud of Kate. If anything put stress on that man’s heart it was her illness and death at a young age. He’d often bring up something she had said, as we drove here and there in our corner of East Texas. Seeing something on the side of the road that sparked the memory. He’d say, “she was so witty.” And I can only imagine the amazing conversation the two of them are having now, probably witty commentary together, about this whole silly affair of a funeral, but with empathy for our poor human minds that don’t understand the glory awaiting us. 

Effie: He proudly told people he had a daughter that spoke Chinese and wrangled rattlesnakes. That statement itself! He was proud that you were just about as well traveled as he was, China, Kazakhstan, France, Scotland, and he talked about going to Alaska to see you. He had researched brewing so he could know and give tasting notes on the beer you were making that would never cross his lips. consulting with me on the differences between an hoppy IPA and a pale ale. He told people that you are an expert welder and in the same breath that you were also a hotshot fighting wildfires, people may have thought you were lighting the fires just to put them out after he told them about controlled burns. I know you didn’t like finding out that he showed some inmates a picture of you holding a rattlesnake, bragging about you. But brag on you he did. Also he frequently told me how you resembled great grandma Iona. A special likeness that upon sight always brought him the joy of seeing his grandmother again in the flesh. 

Emily: He was proud of you for serving a mission, then being a wildland firefighter. Then you became a Licensed Practical Nurse! He would talk about how many of his daughters were out fighting wildfires. He liked to tell the story of how you met Kyle, from his perspective, and how cool it was that you tattooed him. I told him all the tattoos I had planned for you to give me. He particularly liked my “Invictus meneo” idea. He often told me that you reminded him the most of mom, tall, slender and so beautiful. I am so glad he got to visit you in Souix Falls and see the house your husband is building for you. He adored Kasen and couldn’t wait to put a gun in his hand. 

Shannon: It may have been a picture of you with a rattlesnake that he showed the inmates… we aren’t sure. Could have been any number of us. He was proud of you for fighting wildfires, starting fires, splicing cable and being good at everything you do. He was delighted by your choice of an African husband. And would often tell people he had son in law from Africa. Just to see their reaction. Your wedding to Daniel was a wedding of great joy for him. He was proud of you both and so enjoyed the time that y’all lived in Huntsville together. He often told me that your features were more like his. That if he had to give a battle axe to his daughter to help fight it would be me and/or you. Emmett was a great joy to him, I played the sound of his baby laughter to him in the hour before he “gon awa”.

Kirsten: You May think that he hadn’t had time to be proud of you yet. But even so he was. He knew what a great comfort and help you have been to mom. How you have picked up the slack for an ever emptying house. He thought of you as brave to travel to work in Alaska and visit Guatemala. He liked the idea of a banana farm in Guatemala to vacation at, in fact, I asked him if he would go with me. Even if he forgot that he left your gun at Joe’s house and then Joe sold it. When you bought it he told me it was cool that you bought it by yourself. All by yourself. “Well Kirsten’s living in Houston and bought herself a Ruger… she should have asked me what to get.” I am sure he was a little bummed that he missed an opportunity to visit a gun show. And you know that despite what he said about hating cats, he was always cuddled up with your cats. One of the last times I went out to the land to visit him, he was making sure they had enough food. 

He loved each and every one of you. His natural children. 

He was proud of you too Patrick. He was happy to sign for your papers to get a job at Halliburton. Happy to have two African sons. He was proud of your success in America moving from TDC to high paying gigs as an oil and gas engineer. He and I talked about visiting the house you are building in Nigeria and meeting your family there. We have enjoyed spending the holidays with you. Always getting excited that I convinced you that calamari was a traditional holiday dish and having you bring it to Thanksgiving every year. 

And to my mother Vonda: Your children share your grief but do not yet understand the depth of it. You have lost your dear husband. Lean on us though, we love you as much as he did. 

Thank you all for attending to reminisce and honor the memory of Ronald George Dickenson. A great man, husband, father, brother, friend, First Sergeant, Deputy, and 

Coworker. Thank you for sharing our grief. I hope you will stay and share a meal, as I had made a voice recording of his wishes for his funeral a couple years ago and it had this directive: “Make sure the food doesn’t suck.”