Chicago actor Ron Dean, who had a sort of Where’s Waldo presence in ’80s and ’90s movies that needed a no-nonsense character, died Oct. 5 at 87 after a long illness.
His success was a stunning turnaround after a youth marked by a fatal encounter with a Chicago police officer and years behind bars. Acting paved the road for a second chance in life.
In what was perhaps his most remembered role, Mr. Dean played one of the Chicago homicide detectives who interrogated Harrison Ford’s character in “The Fugitive.”
He had small roles in a trio of early Tom Cruise movies — “Risky Business,” “The Color of Money” and “Cocktail.” In “The Breakfast Club,” he played the strict father of a teenage athlete played by Emilio Estevez. He played a University of Notre Dame football coach in “Rudy.”
In “Code of Silence,” he played a Chicago detective alongside Chuck Norris. In “Above the Law” he played a Chicago police detective alongside action star Steven Seagal and Pam Grier. In “The Dark Knight,” the 2008 Batman flick that was Mr. Dean’s last appearance in a big movie, he again played a detective.
His face and presence conveyed as much, if not more, than the few words his characters spoke, friends said.
Mr. Dean’s career as an actor is a second chance story in a life that was derailed at a young age.
Troubled early years
Mr. Dean was born Aug. 15, 1938, in Chicago and grew up on the North Side.
He had a troubled childhood marked by petty crime and bouts in state reform schools.
In 1955, when he was 16, Mr. Dean escaped from the lockup of a North Side police station, found a gun in the desk drawer of the lockup watchman’s desk and, when confronted, fatally shot Chicago Police Officer Albert Brown, according to reports that appeared in the Sun-Times.
When police asked why he shot Brown, Mr. Dean replied “I don’t know. He came at me and I shot him,” according to a Sun-Times story.
Mr. Dean pleaded guilty to murdering Brown and served 12 years in prison.
“He was a kid who panicked and made a dreadful mistake, and he knew it all his life,” said his longtime friend and companion Maggie Neff. “He felt like he got what he deserved.”
Months after he was released from prison, where he began to write poetry, Mr. Dean auditioned for and landed a role in a Shakespeare play in Chicago.
He also found work as a bellhop, in a factory and as a bartender and waiter before he began operating one of the city’s first pedicabs and pedaling customers to destinations around Wrigley Field and North Side nightlife districts. He later bought a few more pedicabs and rented them to friends.
He took classes from famed Second City improv teacher Del Close and joined one of the theater’s troupes that performed improv in the suburbs.
“He didn’t turn his life around immediately, it was a process, but theater definitely saved his life. He didn’t really have anything else going for him,” Neff said.
‘Theater saved his life’
Mr. Dean went on to perform at theaters around the city, including the Goodman and Steppenwolf, and in productions in Los Angeles.
In 1989, he starred in a production of “Bleacher Bums” at the Organic Theater that was directed by Joe Mantegna and co-starred Joel Murray and Chicago-cop-turned-actor Dennis Farina.
His television work ranged from “Crime Story” to “Early Edition” and “NYPD Blue,” with sporadic roles in shows like “Frasier,” “The West Wing,” “Chicago P.D.” and “Chicago Fire.”
“He turned his life around and became a very regarded and rewarded actor and a sweetheart of a guy,” said Andrew Davis, the Chicago-born director of “The Fugitive,” “Above the Law” and “Code of Silence” who became friends with Mr. Dean.
“He was an absolutely lovely guy and much loved by the Second City community and the entire acting community,” said Second City alum Tim Kazurinsky.
“He became a mentor to a lot of actors in Chicago,” said his friend, actor Richard Henzel.
Mr. Dean was a longtime resident of a condo building on Montrose Avenue near the lakefront.
“He was just the nicest, normalest guy. If you were carrying packages, he’d walk over and say, ‘Let me carry one of those for you,'” playwright and neighbor Vicki Quade said.
“If someone came up to him and said, ‘I just saw “The Fugitive” on TV again,’ he’d just beam,” she said.
Mr. Dean retired about a decade ago.
He once auditioned for a film role in which the director put out a casting call looking for a “Ron Dean type.”
“He didn’t get the part,” his sister, Lynn Pope, said with a laugh.