Ronald Rocco Migliaro was born in East Haven, Connecticut on July 18, 1947, the first-born son of Eleanor and Rocco Migliaro. Ron attended the local public schools and graduated from East Haven High School and the University of East Haven.

Ron joined the United States Marine Corps in 1969 as a Second Lieutenant and rose to the rank of Captain after five years. He received an honorable discharge in 1974.

While stationed in Beaufort, South Carolina, Ron met and married Mary Glass on July 7, 1973. Upon leaving the Marines, Ron and Mary decided to move to Atlanta, Georgia and start a family that included their son, Christopher, and daughter, Melissa. The family has lived in Woodstock for 45 years.

Ron worked as an underwriter for Allstate Insurance for over 30 years and he loved the work and people he worked with there. Upon his retirement, he spent countless hours volunteering for the church and several local nonprofit organizations. He donated to many other nonprofits over the course of his lifetime, especially those dealing with children and families.

Next to his faith and love of God and the Catholic Church, Ron's greatest joy came from flying. He began taking flying lessons in high school and all through college with the dream of flying in the military. He worked extra jobs to pay for his flight training and following college, he joined the United States Marines and entered flight training school. He flew many trainers and finally landed on the A-4 Skyhawk, a single seat aircraft that he eventually flew on many training missions and even landed on aircraft carriers.

The following is one of our favorite poems that was written by a pilot. It perfectly sums up his love of flight and his place in heaven today. Rest in peace, Ron...

High Flight By John Gillespie Magee

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings; Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth Of sun-split clouds, - and done a hundred things You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there, I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung My eager craft through footless halls of air...

Up the long, delirious burning blue I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace Where never lark, or ever eagle flew- And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod The high untrespassed sanctity of space, Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.