Ronald W. Pangrac

Ronald Wayne Pangrac—Ronnie to some, but Ron to most—died Saturday, August 1, 2026, at the age of 66. Born September 2, 1959, in Minnesota, Ron grew up in Saratoga, California, and later made his homes in Norwich, Connecticut, and Halethorpe, Maryland. Ron is survived by his life partner, Anya Kylie; his sons, Comet Alexander James, Joe Pangrac, and Philip Pangrac; his granddaughter, Leona James, and her mother Roxanne James; his sisters, Beverly Mallgrave and Barbara Bloom; and the many relatives, friends, former Scouts, coworkers, casino colleagues, and chosen family members fortunate enough to have been welcomed into his life.

He is predeceased by his parents Leroy and Ardyce Pangrac and his brother Bill Boyce.

Ron spent his life building people up.

He was kind, gentle, deeply intelligent, and always ready to laugh. He listened when people spoke, remembered the small details of their lives, and did his best to make everyone around him feel cared for. His kindness was not something he merely spoke about. It lived in the way he paid attention, the way he showed up, and the way he quietly took care of what needed to be done—often before anyone had to ask.

Ron believed that people deserved to be heard, but more importantly, he made them feel heard. He could speak with almost anyone, and because he listened with genuine interest, people often found themselves telling him more than they had expected. He remembered the details afterward. To Ron, those details were not small. They were how a person showed someone else that their life mattered.

Ron shared more than twenty years with his beloved partner, Anya Kylie. Although they never legally married, “girlfriend” or “significant other” never seemed large enough to describe the home, family, and life they built together. Ron transferred from a newspaper in Washington to one in Norwich so they would no longer have to live across the country from one another. Whether caring for Anya after surgery before she even needed to ask, or encouraging her through physician assistant school, Ron had a way of seeing what the people he loved were capable of becoming and helping them believe in it too.

Above almost everything else, Ron was an extraordinarily loving and patient father. Following his divorce, he understood that being a good father required more than stepping up financially or simply being present for his boys as a group. He believed each of his sons also deserved time that belonged only to him—time in which Ron could learn, respect, and honor the individual person that child was becoming.

Ron tried to reserve one night each week for one of his sons to decide what they would do together. It might be a movie, bowling, an amusement park, or working side by side on a Scouting project. The activity mattered less than what the time communicated: This evening is yours. I am here, and I want to know you.

He found Comet endlessly funny and loved listening to him talk about music. Ron and Joe shared an especially close and treasured bond; the two could talk for hours and hours. In Phil, Ron admired a sharp intellect and the determination to see things through. He was enormously proud when Phil became an Eagle Scout.

Ron understood something about parenting that many people never fully learn: children do not need to be loved only equally. They need to be loved personally. He wanted each of his sons to know that his particular humor, interests, strengths, concerns, and way of seeing the world mattered.

That same care extended far beyond his immediate household. Ron believed that family could be created through blood, love, friendship, Scouting, work, shared experiences, or the simple decision to make room for another person. His philosophy could be summed up by a line from one of his favorite Disney films: “Ohana means family.”

Ron took seriously the part about family meaning that no one should be forgotten or left behind.

Disney held a special place in his heart. His mother had worked as a Disney representative at her company arranging special trips and promotions, and Ron grew up visiting Disneyland with his family. He loved talking about those childhood trips and was immensely proud when he was able to purchase a Disney timeshare of his own. For Ron, Disney was one of the rare places where an adult could become a child again without needing to explain themselves.

Year after year, he invited his sons, Anya and her family, his sisters, and others to join him. An invitation from Ron was never merely polite. He truly wanted everyone there. Even when someone had been unable to come before, Ron remained the kind of person who would keep the door open and extend the invitation again.

He wanted the laughter, the shared meals, the rides, the photographs, and the stories that would be retold after everyone returned home. He understood that a trip could become part of a family’s shared history if someone cared enough to bring people together.

One of his proudest gifts was arranging for Comet and Roxanne to spend their honeymoon at the Disney property where they had become engaged. Ron was always looking for a way to add something more to another person’s happiness—to “plus” the experience, in the language of Disney, until it became a memory they would carry for life.

Their smiles were usually all the repayment he wanted.

Ron was not merely a Disney fan. He was the kind of Disney fan who knew the history, the hidden details, and sometimes even the tour guide’s script.

During a Walking in Walt’s Footsteps tour, Ron realized that the guide was relatively new. He began gently adding missing facts and details from his own considerable store of Disney knowledge. Fortunately for the guide, Ron never corrected people to embarrass them; he corrected them because he loved sharing information and wanted everyone to leave knowing more than they had when they arrived.

That was Ron’s way. If someone was mistaken, he did not delight in proving them wrong. He preferred to offer the missing piece of knowledge and make the conversation richer. He was not quick to criticize or say a harsh word. When Ron expressed a critical opinion, people knew he had taken his time, considered the matter carefully, and developed a reason for what he believed.

Ron loved learning for its own sake. He loved knowledge, trivia, books, movies, soundtracks, and the stories behind them. He enjoyed knowing not only what happened, but why it happened, who created it, and what detail everyone else might have overlooked.

Once, he participated in Disney’s version of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire and reached the $500,000 question but it being the park all he got was a t-shirt. The experience inspired him to audition for the television program three times in New York City. On one occasion, Ron was selected as a potential contestant. Anya accompanied him to a taping as his audience support person, but the show did not progress far enough for Ron to be called. He never received the million dollars, but he had certainly done the reading.

One of his most treasured memories was meeting his favorite composer, Henry Mancini, and speaking with him about the soundtrack from Days of Wine and Roses, Ron’s personal favorite. For someone who cared so deeply about the way music could shape a story, the opportunity to speak directly with the person who had created music he loved was unforgettable.

An even more surprising encounter occurred at a local test screening of Dragonslayer (1981). Ron attended because he was already familiar with the story, only to discover that George Lucas was there observing the test audience’s reactions. Ron approached Lucas intending to thank him for Star Wars and explain how much it had meant to him; instead, Lucas spent much of their conversation asking Ron what he thought of the film they had just watched and how he believed it might be improved.

It was an almost perfect encounter for Ron. He had gone over hoping to praise someone he admired and ended up being asked to offer a thoughtful critique. Ron’s attention to detail was second to none.

Ron was often running behind. It was not because he wanted to be late—quite the opposite. He tried very hard to be on time. Unfortunately, he also wanted his clothing, hair, shoes, and every other detail to be exactly right. He could become so absorbed in preparing properly that he would suddenly discover he was late and have to race to catch up.

Ron was also a gifted procrastinator. When he said, “I’ll get to it,” he sincerely meant that he intended to do it. What remained unclear was whether “it” would occur that afternoon, the following week, or at some mysterious future point known only to Ron.

These qualities were part of the same man. The person who sometimes took forever to get ready was the person who cared about getting things right. The person who might postpone one task could devote extraordinary concentration to another once his mind and heart were engaged. Ron was precise without being mechanical, thoughtful without being cold, and particular without losing his ability to laugh at himself.

Before finding his way into journalism, Ron worked in human resources at Syntex and Lockheed Martin. He was capable of doing the work, but he did not enjoy it and knew it was not where his heart belonged.

After his mother died, Ron made the courageous decision to use part of his inheritance to return to school and pursue his dream of becoming a copy editor. He proved exceptionally talented, earning an award for his work and soon obtaining a position at a newspaper in Longview, Washington.

Ron worked as a copy editor for several years. When he and Anya were still maintaining a long-distance relationship, he transferred to a newspaper in Norwich so they could build their life together. It was another example of Ron arranging his life around the people he loved rather than expecting them to arrange their lives around him.

When widespread newspaper layoffs ended his career in journalism, Ron reinvented himself once again. He attended casino dealer school and mastered numerous games at a high level. The abilities that had made him an outstanding copy editor—precision, concentration, rapid thinking, and an almost unreasonable interest in getting every detail right—also made him an excellent casino dealer.

Ron additionally earned a degree in accounting. His quick calculations, close attention to procedure, and ability to remain calm led him from dealing games to training as a part-time floor supervisor. He dealt high-limit games and later became a full-time floor supervisor at Live! Casino and Hollywood Casino.

Ron was particularly skilled at supervising craps, working the box, and helping new craps dealers learn their jobs. He combined strict adherence to the rules with a warm personality and an affable sense of humor. Players could relax and enjoy themselves, while his coworkers knew that Ron was keeping track of everything happening at the table.

He was friendly without being careless and exacting without being cruel—a difficult balance that earned him the respect of the people who worked beside him.

Ron did more than supervise games. He helped create community around the tables. He believed that a workplace could be orderly without being impersonal and that rules were best upheld by someone who never forgot the human beings standing around the table. Anyone could approach Ron and begin a conversation about books, movies, Disney, music, history, or trivia. He would almost always have something thoughtful to add. On Sundays, during football season, he was likely to be seen wearing one of his San Francisco 49ers jerseys.

Ron also loved the outdoors. He once biked around the Big Island of Hawaii, arriving early and staying afterward with his parents so the ride became part of a much larger family trip. He also hiked the Grand Canyon twice.

During one Grand Canyon descent, darkness fell and his flashlight stopped working – only a narrow portion of the trail remained visible. Ron stayed close to the path, controlled his fear, concentrated on each step, and continued moving forward. He often spoke about that experience and how he had forced himself to remain focused when the situation became frightening.

It was a lesson that suited him: when circumstances became overwhelming, stay close to the path, attend to what is directly in front of you, and keep moving.

While raising his sons, Ron became deeply involved in Scouting and eventually served as a troop leader. He cared not only about his own children but about every young person in the troop. He wanted each child to have the opportunity to grow, feel supported, and discover what he could become.

Ron did not view leadership as standing above others. To him, leadership meant accepting responsibility for creating the conditions in which other people could succeed.

The troop, located in Silicon Valley, included families from many religions, cultures, and backgrounds. Rather than beginning gatherings with a prayer belonging to only one tradition, Ron often used the words “O Great Spirit,” hoping everyone present could feel included.

Ron built community by widening the circle. That instinct—to notice who might have been excluded and deliberately create room—ran throughout his life. It appeared in the invitations he extended, the children he mentored, the coworkers he trained, the family he created, and the causes he supported.

Ron believed in many forms of love, faith, family, and human identity. He believed people should be free to live honestly, love openly, learn fully, and participate in their communities without being diminished because of who they were.

Ron was deeply impressed by the strength and intelligence of his mother, Ardyce, and his eldest sister, Beverly Mallgrave. They showed him what strong, determined, intellectually gifted women could accomplish when they were given the opportunity—and what families and communities lost when those opportunities were denied.

Ardyce had always wanted to attend college, but she came from a family that did not fund her opportunity since they assumed her future was to marry and settle down. With the support of her husband, Ardyce eventually earned her degree while raising four children. Watching his mother pursue an education that had once been withheld from her left a permanent impression on Ron that with hard work and love people could do anything.

Ron was socially active in politics, and as a father of three sons and proud grandfather, school violence affected him deeply. Following the Parkland school shooting, Ron traveled to Washington, D.C., for the March for Our Lives rally. He did not simply attend, but made posters and signs calling for children to be protected from gun violence. For Ron, the issue was not abstract. Children were supposed to be learning, discovering who they were as people, and preparing for their futures—not wondering whether they would survive the school day.

He did not only believe in causes. He believed in people; that ordinary people had a responsibility to speak when preventable harm was being ignored. He knew one person could not repair every injustice, but that never became an excuse to do nothing. A person could make a sign, attend a march, share information, mentor a child, support a student, protect another person’s rights, train a new coworker, or make one room more welcoming than it had been before.

He believed in his sons as individuals, not merely as extensions of himself.

He believed in the young people he guided through Scouting.

He believed in the women whose intelligence and strength shaped his values.

He believed in Anya’s ability to finish her education and use it in service to others.

He believed new dealers could become confident professionals when given patience, instruction, and a genuine chance.

He believed families could be built through love and loyalty as surely as through blood.

Ron built people up because he believed there was something in them worth building.

Those who knew Ron will recognize him not only in the great stories—the Grand Canyon after dark, the rally in Washington, the conversation with George Lucas, the meeting with Henry Mancini, or the Disney trips—but in smaller moments: a correction offered without humiliation, a new dealer patiently shown how to do the job, a chair made available for someone at the edge of the group, a weekly evening reserved for one child, an invitation extended again, a phone call reminding someone to keep going.

Those moments were not incidental to Ron’s life. They were his life.

A memorial gathering will be held Tuesday, August 11, 2026, from 9:00 to 11:00 A.M. at:

Ambrose Funeral Home & Cremation Services of Lansdowne, P.A. 2719 Hammonds Ferry Road Halethorpe, Maryland 21227

Tuesday was traditionally one of Ron’s days off, and the time was chosen so the many casino colleagues he knew throughout his life could attend, exchange stories, and—as Ron himself would have preferred—shoot the breeze.

Those planning to arrive precisely at 9:00 may take some comfort in knowing that Ron would have sincerely intended to do the same but might be running a few minutes late.