Theodore "Ted" Reynolds Colborn, Jr.'s Funeral Details

Memorial service

Started on Saturday, October 28, 2023 at 11 a.m.
St Michael's Episcopal Church 20475 Sunningdale Park, Grosse Pointe Woods, MI 48236

COVID-19 safety precautions

Masks encouraged

Sally McCuen

I am heart broken to read this. We would always chat as we passed on another walking. Ted was truly one of... Read more I am heart broken to read this. We would always chat as we passed on another walking. Ted was truly one of the nicest people you... Read more I am heart broken to read this. We would always chat... Read more

Jennifer Marck

I’m so very sorry to read this. Mr Ted has a forever place in our family’s hearts. From the very first day... Read more I’m so very sorry to read this. Mr Ted has a forever place in our family’s hearts. From the very first day that I walked my oldest... Read more I’m so very sorry to read this. Mr Ted has a forever... Read more

Willis Boyer

Renny and Me.

Renny and I had a long history together. We were born 28 days apart when our parents lived in the same apartment building in Shaker Heights in the 1940s. We were friends for 82 years! Debbie, Renny and I just kind of grew up together. Our moms were dear friends and by the age of two, Renny and I were playmates and pals.

We remained occasional playmates and pals throughout our early school days, then were assigned to the same homeroom at Woodbury junior high school. That’s when I came to understand the depth of Renny’s friendship. Our interactions deepened in those days, and through a strange set of coincidences, Renny became my steadfast supporter during my difficult adolescent years.

Our little social group sort of ostracized me in 8th grade because I had a crush on a girl who preferred another boy. Renny, however, never took sides, and stayed with me as my only friend among our peer group throughout most of eighth grade.

The next year, my parents moved me to University School – a boys’ prep school in Cleveland - and a year later, Renny was sent to University’s rival - Western Reserve Academy in nearby Hudson, OH.  Renny and I still saw each other on holidays and breaks We would wash cars for money together and tried various other schemes entrepreneurial and otherwise.

One summer our moms – Connie and Esh – drafted us to help them gather up goods for a charity “Nearly New” sale. We had to collect used items in our station wagon and then deliver them downtown for the sale. One day we picked up several large, heavy boxes with 78rpm records. We decided to cull through the collection of the hard, black, dinner-plate-sized records looking for ones to keep. There were jazz bands, big bands but mostly unheard-ofs. These, we decided, would make splendid flying saucers and soon we were on a rooftop at the back of my family’s house, spinning these breakable disks through the trees into the neighborhood, where they crashed like clay pigeons in backyards, driveways and roof tops.

But wait! Then we decided it would be much better to scotch-tape a firecracker to each record, light it and THEN send it out to the world. How delightful it was to hear the little explosions, the following rattle of clay shards on rooftops.

Our hi-jinks came to an abrupt end when a policeman knocked at our door. We lied, feigned ignorance, then cowered in relief after our close escape from a life of violent crime.

Renny was elected president of his senior class at WRA, and I was editor of the school newspaper at US. In addition to his leadership role at school, he was also a pretty good football kicker and punter.

US and WRA played the last game of every season together. In this historic duel I played defensive right guard and Renny was a punter that day near the end of the game. US was winning and Renny’s team was forced to punt from the end zone. Weighing all of 160 pounds, I was able to scramble through the line and block the kick.

I noticed the kicker was on the ground after the play, pounding it in frustration. I walked over as the play ended and patted him on the rear end, saying “tough luck, buddy,” or words to that affect.

Because it was senior year for us both, and because Renny lived in Cleveland, near where the US game was played, he had a party that evening for all of his WRA pals who had come up to watch the big game. I was also invited to that party, during the course of which I bumped into Renny telling a story: it was about his blocked kick near the end of the game and the guy from US who had smacked his bottom and told him “tough luck.”

As was his way, Renny was laughing as he told the tale, but I was unaware of my role in it.

I said “What? That was you?” we each had a laugh over that story, which nonetheless had no effect whatsoever on our mutual affection.

By the way, in our junior year, Renny bought a little Harley Davidson motorcycle. He wasn’t allowed to have it down at WRA so he said I could use it to go back-and-forth to University School, not too far from my house.

I lived on the street where a neighbor owned an Irish Setter dog and one day after football practice near dinner time, I rode home on the bike on a cool autumn day going about 15 miles an hour.

My slow pace was a wide-open invitation to that Red Setter. He flew off his master’s lawn with a fury to attack me.

The result was me stretched out on the street with the bike on top, a slightly-damaged Harley, and eventually, neither Renny nor I had the motorcycle anymore. Our dads had “disappeared” it.

Renny and I survived this mishap, and our friendship endured.

After prep school, Renny went to Brown and I to Yale, and we sort of lost touch; he joined the Army to learn Russian, I got married and had a child – we drifted apart over the years. And also, over the many years with me in Cleveland, Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago, and Renny eventually in Detroit, I became aware of my long-ago gratitude to him for his adolescent loyalty -  it had been life-changing for me.

So, last fall, I finally prevailed on him to come over for a visit and I was, thankfully, able to tell him how I felt, how hard it had been not to have had him nearby to pal around with. In typical fashion, he was surprised by my passion and explained that he was no nicer to me than he was to any of his other friends. “No big deal” in other words. Also, of course, I had done nothing to earn his gratitude, as he had. It finally dawned on me, after 80+ years that my affection was a little one-sided.

At first, sitting at our lovely dinner with our wives last fall, I felt flattened by his casual dismissal of my feelings - the evident disparity between his memories and mine.

In the months after, I came to accept that was Renny’s way: kind to all, generous of spirit and accepting.

Could any man ask for a finer friend? God rest you, old pal!

	Bill Boyer, Cleveland, October 2023

Renny and Me.

Renny and I had a long history together. We were born 28 days apart when our parents lived... Read more in the same apartment building in Shaker Heights in the 1940s. We were friends for 82 years! Debbie, Renny and I just kind of grew up together. Our moms were dear friends and by the age of two, Renny and I were playmates and pals.

We remained occasional playmates and pals throughout our early school days, then were assigned to the same homeroom at Woodbury junior high school. That’s when I came to understand the depth of Renny’s friendship. Our interactions deepened in those days, and through a strange set of coincidences, Renny became my steadfast supporter during my difficult adolescent years.

Our little social group sort of ostracized me in 8th grade because I had a crush on a girl who preferred another boy. Renny, however, never took sides, and stayed with me as my only friend among our peer group throughout most of eighth grade.

The next year, my parents moved me to University School – a boys’ prep school in Cleveland - and a year later, Renny was sent to University’s rival - Western Reserve Academy in nearby Hudson, OH. Renny and I still saw each other on holidays and breaks We would wash cars for money together and tried various other schemes entrepreneurial and otherwise.

One summer our moms – Connie and Esh – drafted us to help them gather up goods for a charity “Nearly New” sale. We had to collect used items in our station wagon and then deliver them downtown for the sale. One day we picked up several large, heavy boxes with 78rpm records. We decided to cull through the collection of the hard, black, dinner-plate-sized records looking for ones to keep. There were jazz bands, big bands but mostly unheard-ofs. These, we decided, would make splendid flying saucers and soon we were on a rooftop at the back of my family’s house, spinning these breakable disks through the trees into the neighborhood, where they crashed like clay pigeons in backyards, driveways and roof tops.

But wait! Then we decided it would be much better to scotch-tape a firecracker to each record, light it and THEN send it out to the world. How delightful it was to hear the little explosions, the following rattle of clay shards on rooftops.

Our hi-jinks came to an abrupt end when a policeman knocked at our door. We lied, feigned ignorance, then cowered in relief after our close escape from a life of violent crime.

Renny was elected president of his senior class at WRA, and I was editor of the school newspaper at US. In addition to his leadership role at school, he was also a pretty good football kicker and punter.

US and WRA played the last game of every season together. In this historic duel I played defensive right guard and Renny was a punter that day near the end of the game. US was winning and Renny’s team was forced to punt from the end zone. Weighing all of 160 pounds, I was able to scramble through the line and block the kick.

I noticed the kicker was on the ground after the play, pounding it in frustration. I walked over as the play ended and patted him on the rear end, saying “tough luck, buddy,” or words to that affect.

Because it was senior year for us both, and because Renny lived in Cleveland, near where the US game was played, he had a party that evening for all of his WRA pals who had come up to watch the big game. I was also invited to that party, during the course of which I bumped into Renny telling a story: it was about his blocked kick near the end of the game and the guy from US who had smacked his bottom and told him “tough luck.”

As was his way, Renny was laughing as he told the tale, but I was unaware of my role in it.

I said “What? That was you?” we each had a laugh over that story, which nonetheless had no effect whatsoever on our mutual affection.

By the way, in our junior year, Renny bought a little Harley Davidson motorcycle. He wasn’t allowed to have it down at WRA so he said I could use it to go back-and-forth to University School, not too far from my house.

I lived on the street where a neighbor owned an Irish Setter dog and one day after football practice near dinner time, I rode home on the bike on a cool autumn day going about 15 miles an hour.

My slow pace was a wide-open invitation to that Red Setter. He flew off his master’s lawn with a fury to attack me.

The result was me stretched out on the street with the bike on top, a slightly-damaged Harley, and eventually, neither Renny nor I had the motorcycle anymore. Our dads had “disappeared” it.

Renny and I survived this mishap, and our friendship endured.

After prep school, Renny went to Brown and I to Yale, and we sort of lost touch; he joined the Army to learn Russian, I got married and had a child – we drifted apart over the years. And also, over the many years with me in Cleveland, Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago, and Renny eventually in Detroit, I became aware of my long-ago gratitude to him for his adolescent loyalty - it had been life-changing for me.

So, last fall, I finally prevailed on him to come over for a visit and I was, thankfully, able to tell him how I felt, how hard it had been not to have had him nearby to pal around with. In typical fashion, he was surprised by my passion and explained that he was no nicer to me than he was to any of his other friends. “No big deal” in other words. Also, of course, I had done nothing to earn his gratitude, as he had. It finally dawned on me, after 80+ years that my affection was a little one-sided.

At first, sitting at our lovely dinner with our wives last fall, I felt flattened by his casual dismissal of my feelings - the evident disparity between his memories and mine.

In the months after, I came to accept that was Renny’s way: kind to all, generous of spirit and accepting.

Could any man ask for a finer friend? God rest you, old pal!

 Bill Boyer, Cleveland, October 2023 Read less Renny and Me.

Renny and I had a long history together. We were born 28 days apart when our parents lived in the same apartment... Read more building in Shaker Heights in the 1940s. We were friends for 82 years! Debbie, Renny and I just kind of grew up together. Our moms were dear friends and by the age of two, Renny and I were playmates and pals.

We remained occasional playmates and pals throughout our early school days, then were assigned to the same homeroom at Woodbury junior high school. That’s when I came to understand the depth of Renny’s friendship. Our interactions deepened in those days, and through a strange set of coincidences, Renny became my steadfast supporter during my difficult adolescent years.

Our little social group sort of ostracized me in 8th grade because I had a crush on a girl who preferred another boy. Renny, however, never took sides, and stayed with me as my only friend among our peer group throughout most of eighth grade.

The next year, my parents moved me to University School – a boys’ prep school in Cleveland - and a year later, Renny was sent to University’s rival - Western Reserve Academy in nearby Hudson, OH. Renny and I still saw each other on holidays and breaks We would wash cars for money together and tried various other schemes entrepreneurial and otherwise.

One summer our moms – Connie and Esh – drafted us to help them gather up goods for a charity “Nearly New” sale. We had to collect used items in our station wagon and then deliver them downtown for the sale. One day we picked up several large, heavy boxes with 78rpm records. We decided to cull through the collection of the hard, black, dinner-plate-sized records looking for ones to keep. There were jazz bands, big bands but mostly unheard-ofs. These, we decided, would make splendid flying saucers and soon we were on a rooftop at the back of my family’s house, spinning these breakable disks through the trees into the neighborhood, where they crashed like clay pigeons in backyards, driveways and roof tops.

But wait! Then we decided it would be much better to scotch-tape a firecracker to each record, light it and THEN send it out to the world. How delightful it was to hear the little explosions, the following rattle of clay shards on rooftops.

Our hi-jinks came to an abrupt end when a policeman knocked at our door. We lied, feigned ignorance, then cowered in relief after our close escape from a life of violent crime.

Renny was elected president of his senior class at WRA, and I was editor of the school newspaper at US. In addition to his leadership role at school, he was also a pretty good football kicker and punter.

US and WRA played the last game of every season together. In this historic duel I played defensive right guard and Renny was a punter that day near the end of the game. US was winning and Renny’s team was forced to punt from the end zone. Weighing all of 160 pounds, I was able to scramble through the line and block the kick.

I noticed the kicker was on the ground after the play, pounding it in frustration. I walked over as the play ended and patted him on the rear end, saying “tough luck, buddy,” or words to that affect.

Because it was senior year for us both, and because Renny lived in Cleveland, near where the US game was played, he had a party that evening for all of his WRA pals who had come up to watch the big game. I was also invited to that party, during the course of which I bumped into Renny telling a story: it was about his blocked kick near the end of the game and the guy from US who had smacked his bottom and told him “tough luck.”

As was his way, Renny was laughing as he told the tale, but I was unaware of my role in it.

I said “What? That was you?” we each had a laugh over that story, which nonetheless had no effect whatsoever on our mutual affection.

By the way, in our junior year, Renny bought a little Harley Davidson motorcycle. He wasn’t allowed to have it down at WRA so he said I could use it to go back-and-forth to University School, not too far from my house.

I lived on the street where a neighbor owned an Irish Setter dog and one day after football practice near dinner time, I rode home on the bike on a cool autumn day going about 15 miles an hour.

My slow pace was a wide-open invitation to that Red Setter. He flew off his master’s lawn with a fury to attack me.

The result was me stretched out on the street with the bike on top, a slightly-damaged Harley, and eventually, neither Renny nor I had the motorcycle anymore. Our dads had “disappeared” it.

Renny and I survived this mishap, and our friendship endured.

After prep school, Renny went to Brown and I to Yale, and we sort of lost touch; he joined the Army to learn Russian, I got married and had a child – we drifted apart over the years. And also, over the many years with me in Cleveland, Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago, and Renny eventually in Detroit, I became aware of my long-ago gratitude to him for his adolescent loyalty - it had been life-changing for me.

So, last fall, I finally prevailed on him to come over for a visit and I was, thankfully, able to tell him how I felt, how hard it had been not to have had him nearby to pal around with. In typical fashion, he was surprised by my passion and explained that he was no nicer to me than he was to any of his other friends. “No big deal” in other words. Also, of course, I had done nothing to earn his gratitude, as he had. It finally dawned on me, after 80+ years that my affection was a little one-sided.

At first, sitting at our lovely dinner with our wives last fall, I felt flattened by his casual dismissal of my feelings - the evident disparity between his memories and mine.

In the months after, I came to accept that was Renny’s way: kind to all, generous of spirit and accepting.

Could any man ask for a finer friend? God rest you, old pal!

 Bill Boyer, Cleveland, October 2023 Read less Renny and Me.

Renny and I had a long history together.... Read more We were born 28 days apart when our parents lived in the same apartment building in Shaker Heights in the 1940s. We were friends for 82 years! Debbie, Renny and I just kind of grew up together. Our moms were dear friends and by the age of two, Renny and I were playmates and pals.

We remained occasional playmates and pals throughout our early school days, then were assigned to the same homeroom at Woodbury junior high school. That’s when I came to understand the depth of Renny’s friendship. Our interactions deepened in those days, and through a strange set of coincidences, Renny became my steadfast supporter during my difficult adolescent years.

Our little social group sort of ostracized me in 8th grade because I had a crush on a girl who preferred another boy. Renny, however, never took sides, and stayed with me as my only friend among our peer group throughout most of eighth grade.

The next year, my parents moved me to University School – a boys’ prep school in Cleveland - and a year later, Renny was sent to University’s rival - Western Reserve Academy in nearby Hudson, OH. Renny and I still saw each other on holidays and breaks We would wash cars for money together and tried various other schemes entrepreneurial and otherwise.

One summer our moms – Connie and Esh – drafted us to help them gather up goods for a charity “Nearly New” sale. We had to collect used items in our station wagon and then deliver them downtown for the sale. One day we picked up several large, heavy boxes with 78rpm records. We decided to cull through the collection of the hard, black, dinner-plate-sized records looking for ones to keep. There were jazz bands, big bands but mostly unheard-ofs. These, we decided, would make splendid flying saucers and soon we were on a rooftop at the back of my family’s house, spinning these breakable disks through the trees into the neighborhood, where they crashed like clay pigeons in backyards, driveways and roof tops.

But wait! Then we decided it would be much better to scotch-tape a firecracker to each record, light it and THEN send it out to the world. How delightful it was to hear the little explosions, the following rattle of clay shards on rooftops.

Our hi-jinks came to an abrupt end when a policeman knocked at our door. We lied, feigned ignorance, then cowered in relief after our close escape from a life of violent crime.

Renny was elected president of his senior class at WRA, and I was editor of the school newspaper at US. In addition to his leadership role at school, he was also a pretty good football kicker and punter.

US and WRA played the last game of every season together. In this historic duel I played defensive right guard and Renny was a punter that day near the end of the game. US was winning and Renny’s team was forced to punt from the end zone. Weighing all of 160 pounds, I was able to scramble through the line and block the kick.

I noticed the kicker was on the ground after the play, pounding it in frustration. I walked over as the play ended and patted him on the rear end, saying “tough luck, buddy,” or words to that affect.

Because it was senior year for us both, and because Renny lived in Cleveland, near where the US game was played, he had a party that evening for all of his WRA pals who had come up to watch the big game. I was also invited to that party, during the course of which I bumped into Renny telling a story: it was about his blocked kick near the end of the game and the guy from US who had smacked his bottom and told him “tough luck.”

As was his way, Renny was laughing as he told the tale, but I was unaware of my role in it.

I said “What? That was you?” we each had a laugh over that story, which nonetheless had no effect whatsoever on our mutual affection.

By the way, in our junior year, Renny bought a little Harley Davidson motorcycle. He wasn’t allowed to have it down at WRA so he said I could use it to go back-and-forth to University School, not too far from my house.

I lived on the street where a neighbor owned an Irish Setter dog and one day after football practice near dinner time, I rode home on the bike on a cool autumn day going about 15 miles an hour.

My slow pace was a wide-open invitation to that Red Setter. He flew off his master’s lawn with a fury to attack me.

The result was me stretched out on the street with the bike on top, a slightly-damaged Harley, and eventually, neither Renny nor I had the motorcycle anymore. Our dads had “disappeared” it.

Renny and I survived this mishap, and our friendship endured.

After prep school, Renny went to Brown and I to Yale, and we sort of lost touch; he joined the Army to learn Russian, I got married and had a child – we drifted apart over the years. And also, over the many years with me in Cleveland, Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago, and Renny eventually in Detroit, I became aware of my long-ago gratitude to him for his adolescent loyalty - it had been life-changing for me.

So, last fall, I finally prevailed on him to come over for a visit and I was, thankfully, able to tell him how I felt, how hard it had been not to have had him nearby to pal around with. In typical fashion, he was surprised by my passion and explained that he was no nicer to me than he was to any of his other friends. “No big deal” in other words. Also, of course, I had done nothing to earn his gratitude, as he had. It finally dawned on me, after 80+ years that my affection was a little one-sided.

At first, sitting at our lovely dinner with our wives last fall, I felt flattened by his casual dismissal of my feelings - the evident disparity between his memories and mine.

In the months after, I came to accept that was Renny’s way: kind to all, generous of spirit and accepting.

Could any man ask for a finer friend? God rest you, old pal!

 Bill Boyer, Cleveland, October 2023 Read less

John Colborn

I am so sorry to hear about Rennie's passing and am looking forward to connecting with family and his friends... Read more I am so sorry to hear about Rennie's passing and am looking forward to connecting with family and his friends on Saturday. I am so sorry to hear about Rennie's passing and am... Read more

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On my neighborhood walk today, the kind of walk on which I’d been accustomed occasionally to cross paths with Ted and s…

On my neighborhood walk today, the kind of walk on which I’d been accustomed occasionally to cross …

On my neighborhood walk today, the kind of walk on which I’d bee…

Our family was very saddened when we heard the news of Ted's passing. Ted and I would meet each other throughout the ye…

Our family was very saddened when we heard the news of Ted's passing. Ted and I would meet each oth…

Our family was very saddened when we heard the news of Ted's pas…

I am so sorry for your loss. I worked with Ted at the Woods Lakefront Park. Ted was such a kind man and always offere…

I am so sorry for your loss. I worked with Ted at the Woods Lakefront Park. Ted was such a kind m…

I am so sorry for your loss. I worked with Ted at the Woods Lak…

Wonderful and kind man

He will be missed

Wonderful and kind man

He will be missed

Wonderful and kind man

He will be missed

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