Ron Ely, a beloved TV star known for playing Tarzan, has died, leaving fans of the classic adventure series sad and heartbroken.
Ron Ely, the actor who brought the wild and adventurous character of “Tarzan” to life in the 1960s TV show, has passed away at the age of 86.
Ron Ely, the beloved TV star known for playing Tarzan, died peacefully at home on September 29, surrounded by his family, according to a statement from his daughter.
In a heartfelt tribute on Instagram, his daughter Kirsten shared her sadness, saying, “The world has lost one of the greatest men it has ever known – and I have lost my dad.”
Along with treasured photos of their time together, Kirsten honored her father, calling him “someone that people called a hero.” She described him as a “mentor, family man, and leader,” highlighting the deep impact he had on those around him.
Kirsten reflected on how her father created a “powerful wave of positive influence” wherever he went, noting that his impact was unique. She wrote, “My father’s life story was one of relentless perseverance, unending dedication to his family and friends, courage to do what was right, and willing sacrifice to help the dreams of those he loved.”
Ron began his acting career in the late 1950s, but he became famous in 1966 when he starred as Tarzan in the TV series. He captivated audiences with his portrayal of the jungle hero in 57 episodes from 1966 to 1968.
The actor’s talent extended beyond “Tarzan,” as he showcased his skills in various projects, including “Wonder Woman,” the 1975 movie “Doc Savage: The Man of Bronze,” “L.A. Law,” “The Love Boat,” and “The Friend Who Walked the West.” Throughout his career, he continued to work on projects related to the “Tarzan” legacy and later published two novels.
Tragically, in 2019, Ron’s life changed when his son, Cameron, fatally stabbed his mother, Valerie, Ron’s wife. Cameron, reportedly suffering from early-stage CTE, was shot multiple times by police after he tried to escape. Following this, Ron filed a wrongful death lawsuit against the sheriff’s department, claiming that Cameron was trying to surrender when officers opened fire.
Legal documents revealed that the five officers involved did not provide timely medical help to Valerie, who was found dead with multiple stab wounds. According to police reports, when officers arrived, they found Valerie inside their home and then searched for Cameron, who was identified as the main suspect.
Cameron informed police that he had a gun and approached the deputies in a threatening manner. In response, four deputies fired a total of 24 rounds, fatally injuring him. After it was safe to approach, deputies discovered he had no weapon. Fortunately, none of the deputies were hurt, and Ron, although not physically harmed, was taken to the hospital for precautionary checks.
In the years following this tragic event, Ron Ely faced the difficulties of losing his family. The actor passed away at 86 and is survived by his daughters, Kirsten and Kaitland. His role as the iconic jungle hero left a lasting impact on television and secured his place as a household name.
My Neighbors Left a Note That Shattered My Heart — My Granddaughter Discovered It and Gave Them a Learning Experience
The music I played on my piano was my last link to my late husband. But cruel neighbors shattered that joy with a hurtful message on my wall. When my granddaughter found out, she made things right, leaving those entitled neighbors scratching their heads.
“Oh, Jerry, did you love it today, darling?” I asked softly, the last notes of “Clair de Lune” filling my cozy living room as my fingers lifted from the ivory piano keys. My eyes fixed on the framed photo of my late husband, Jerry. His kind eyes seemed to twinkle back at me, just as they had for over fifty years of our marriage…
Willie, my tabby cat, stretched lazily near my feet, purring contentedly. I reached down to scratch behind his ears, feeling the familiar ache in my chest as I carefully lifted Jerry’s photo.
“I miss you so much, darling. It’s been five years, but sometimes… sometimes it feels like yesterday.”
Pressing a gentle kiss to the cool glass, I whispered, “Time for dinner, my love. I’ll play your favorite before bed, okay? ‘Moon River,’ just like always.”
As I set the frame back down, I could almost hear Jerry’s warm chuckle. “You spoil me, Bessie,” he’d say, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
I shuffled towards the kitchen, pausing to look back at the piano, my constant companion these past 72 years.
“What would I do without you?” I murmured, running my hand along its polished surface.
That night, as I lay in bed, I whispered into the darkness, “Goodnight, Jerry. I’ll see you in my dreams.”
The next morning, I was lost in Chopin’s “Nocturne in E-flat major” when a sharp rap on my window startled me. My fingers stumbled, the music cutting off abruptly.
A red-faced man glared at me through the glass. He was my new neighbor.
“Hey, lady!” he shouted, his voice muffled. “Cut out that racket! You’re keeping the whole neighborhood awake with your pathetic plinking!”
I stared at him, shocked. “I… I’m so sorry,” I stammered, even as a small voice in my head protested. It was barely 11 a.m., and none of my other neighbors had ever complained before.
The man stomped away, leaving me trembling. I closed the lid of the piano, my sanctuary suddenly feeling tainted.
The next day, I closed all the windows before sitting down to play. The music felt muffled and constrained, but I hoped it would keep the peace.
I was barely ten minutes into Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” when my doorbell rang insistently. With a heavy heart, I answered it.
A woman with pinched features glared at me. “Listen here, old lady,” she spat. “The grave’s calling, and you’re still banging on that piano? Cut the noise, or I’ll report you to the HOA!”
It was only then that I understood she was my new neighbor’s wife.
I felt like I’d been slapped. “I… I closed all the windows,” I said weakly.
“Well, it’s not enough!” she snapped, turning on her heel. “Quit making noise with your stupid piano!”
I slumped against the door frame, tears welling in my eyes. “Oh, Jerry,” I whispered. “What do I do?”
I could almost hear his voice, gentle but firm. “You play, Bessie. You play your heart out. Don’t stop… for anyone.”
But as I sat at the piano, my fingers hovering over the keys, I couldn’t bring myself to press down.
Days passed, and I tried everything. I taped cardboard over the windows, played only in short bursts, even considered moving the piano to the basement where it might not be heard.
But nothing seemed to satisfy my new neighbors, the Grinches, as I’d started calling them in my head.
The thought of being separated from my cherished instrument, even by a flight of stairs, made my heart ache. This piano wasn’t just an object; it was an extension of my soul, a living connection to Jerry and our life together.
Forgetting about those bothersome neighbors for a moment, I lost myself in the music as I played the piano that night.
The next morning, I stepped outside to tend to my small herb garden. The sight that greeted me stopped me cold.
The cruel words “SHUT UP!” were spray-painted across the wall in angry red letters.
I sank to my knees and wept. “Jerry, I can’t do this anymore.”
That day, for the first time in decades, I didn’t touch my piano.
As night fell, I sat in Jerry’s armchair, clutching his photo. “I’m so sorry, my love. I just don’t have the strength to fight anymore.”
The shrill ring of the telephone startled me from my thoughts. I fumbled for the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Mom? It’s me,” my son Jacob’s warm voice filled the line. “How are you doing?”
I swallowed hard, fighting back tears. “Oh, I’m fine, sweetie. Just a quiet day at home.”
There was a pause. “Mom, you don’t sound fine. Is everything alright?”
I sighed, debating whether to burden him with my troubles. “It’s nothing, really. Just… some issues with the new neighbors.”
“Issues? What kind of issues?”
I found myself spilling everything… the complaints, the threats, the vandalism.
“I don’t know what to do anymore, honey. I feel so… lost.”
“Oh, Mom, why didn’t you tell me sooner? We could have helped.”
“I didn’t want to worry you. You have your own life, your own problems.”
“Mom, you’re never a burden. Never. Your music has brought joy to so many people over the years. Remember all those Christmas parties? The school recitals you played for? You’re not a nuisance… you’re a treasure.”
“Listen, I’m going to call Melissa. She’s closer. Maybe she can come check on you. And we’ll figure this out together, okay?” Jacob finished.
As I hung up the phone, I felt a small flicker of hope. Maybe I wasn’t alone in this after all.
Days crawled by. My piano sat untouched, gathering dust. I felt like a part of me was withering away.
One evening, a loud knock startled me from my melancholy. I opened the door to find my granddaughter Melissa standing there, her face glowing with a warm smile.
“Surprise, Nana!” she exclaimed, enveloping me in a tight hug.
As she pulled back, her eyes widened in horror. “Nana, who did this to your wall?”
I burst into tears, the whole story spilling out between sobs. Melissa’s expression darkened with each word.
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