April 4, 1952 - August 11, 2025
One of my fondest memories of Roy is his exposing me to music from the 1960’s and 1970’s.
On the Gulfstar Trawler at 9-10 knots are trips North and South from Florida to Montauk or to the Bahamas were all day affairs. We always had the music playing on the fly bridge originally from custom made cassettes and subsequently on the Post and Whiticar from my ipod. Even on the Escort in Montauk I enjoyed listening to music washing the boat down.
Roy exposed me to artists like Buffalo Springfield, Richie Havens, Jethro Tull, Eagles, The Band, and Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young and dozens more. I am forever grateful for this becoming my way, until this day, to relax. “Thank you for having given me that gift”, Roy.
– David Lipman
Captain Roy gave me one of my first Jobs. At 14, I was the washdown boy on the Jamdl. Jamdl was a beautiful 48’ Whittaker that captained Roy ran for his boss and dear friend, David Lipman. When I turned 21, Captain Roy hired me to become the full-time mate on the Jamdl. Along with David Lipman, Roy treated me with kindness and generosity that you would describe as family-like.
I never saw or heard Roy say or do a bad thing about anyone or towards anyone. He was always grateful for his opportunity and being a captain, and he had good instincts. He was a professional. But more than anything, he was a gentleman, a great father who loved his two sons and a man who was loyal to his wife. He really set a great example for me, and I am so grateful that I had the honor of working with him and being his friend.
– Wendell Black
I hadn’t been in contact with Roy for 45+ years, but when David told me about his illness and subsequent death, I felt the loss deeply. Roy was family to me. He was the older brother I always wanted, and as my brother Steven said, “he was our brother from another mother.”
He was a matchmaker for me with my first boyfriend and helped me land my first job. He taught Steven how to drive a stick-shift car. He was completely comfortable with—and actually enjoyed—spending time with my parents and brothers. My father even trusted him enough to allow him to walk our dog, Jessh, his most precious possession.
My brother Jeff said that privilege ended when Roy lost Jessh on one of those walks. Luckily, he was found, all was forgiven, and Roy was soon back dribbling away on our driveway basketball court.
Roy was kind, warm, and generous. His relationship with my family lasted well beyond my life in Bayonne. Clearly, this memorial service is a testament to the reciprocal loyalty and love between Roy and everyone whose life he touched.
– Ellen Krupp
Roy and I go back to at least sixth grade, if not earlier.
We started a band called Rocky and the Pebbles, with Stu Berens as our third member. Our first song performed in public was the theme from the movie Mondo Cane, called “More.” We would start every gig with “I’m Telling You Now” by Freddie and the Dreamers. Over the years, Joey Newman, Richie Sachs, and Wesley Knight rotated through the band. We had a fair number of gigs, which were considered big-time when we made $10 a man. We played at the JCC and the Cabana Club a number of times.
We went to Skyline together often, and I was always envious that his mother didn’t mind paying the dime to go by the turnpike, while my mother would not. Our most memorable gig was playing in a strip club in eighth grade. We didn’t really understand why we were kicked out so quickly once we finished. Only later did I find out that minors couldn’t be in there after a certain time, which explained why we were given the boot.
Roy and I spent many days at each other’s houses, both on 43rd Street, practicing, listening to music, eating salami sandwiches, and playing ball.
We were both on the same Little League team, CJ Murphy, when we were 12.
We spent a lot of time in Kennedy Park around 40th and 41st Streets, playing hoops and baseball.
When he decided to break up the band, we still walked to BHS together, but we weren’t talking the whole time—for who knows how long. For whatever reason, he started calling me Stay, and I would call him Ray.
Music and sports were our common denominators. He was also with me the first time I ever got drunk. He, Kenny Forrest, and I got a bottle of Scotch, and like something out of Animal House, they rang my doorbell and dumped me just as I came face to face with my mother, who actually seemed mildly amused at my condition. His mother and mine were pretty friendly, as I recall.
He was my best man at my first wedding, and Billy Chuven and I were his best men.
I believe we were in agreement that an absolute all-time musical highlight was seeing his favorite band, Jethro Tull, at Central Park for $2 tickets, parking illegally—thanks to my father’s clergy sign on the dashboard—under a light mist that gave the evening a magical, mystical feel.
Many times over the years, when we were at different concerts, we would call each other to let the other listen in or try to guess who was playing.
We were on a number of sports teams together, playing both with and against one another.
One vivid memory is playing varsity on the BJCC. He was number 21, and I was a nondescript 20. One time, against Jersey City, Coach Broderick called my number, which shocked the hell out of me because it wasn’t garbage time. I ran to the scorer’s desk and maybe began hyperventilating. As captain, Roy came over and calmed me down. I think in my eagerness and nervousness I committed three fouls in a ridiculously short period of time and was quickly sent back to the bench.
When I was at the University of Hartford, he came to visit for a concert featuring Spirit, Rhinoceros, and the Youngbloods. When I once visited Dave’s boat with my ex, it was anchored in Nyack, New York. She dropped her ring near the dock, and Roy dove down and recovered it. I was amazed.
When I was in school in Minnesota, we drove down to the boat in Miami and spent New Year’s Eve in 1975 watching the legendary Drew Pearson reception. He visited me once with his family in the Berkshires in 1996, which was the last time we were face to face. Still, we maintained constant contact through the years.
I miss my dearest childhood friend very much. It was an unbreakable relationship that will last forever.
(Some of what I wrote probably deserves a few LOL inserts, but I was too lazy to include them. Whoever reads this can decide for themselves.)
Aloha, my friend 🤙🤙🤙🤙🤙🤙🤙🤙
P.S.
This stream-of-consciousness writing cannot fully convey what a great friend and remarkable person Roy was. It’s a mediocre attempt to sum up 65 or so years of our deep connection.
Bottom line?
He’s left a void in our hearts and minds that can never be filled.
– Steve Tosk
My friendship with Roy goes back to when we were five years old. We were in the same kindergarten class at Horace Mann School in Bayonne. He lived on Broadway, and I lived on 44th Street, just a few blocks away. In third grade, I moved out of that school district, so we lost touch for a while. But we were together again in high school and spent time at the JCC. We stayed in touch through college and beyond.
During the summers, Roy enjoyed many weekends at my parents’ lake house. Although I wasn’t very athletic, he excelled in those areas. When he later moved to Florida to work with David on his boat, we developed a shared interest in boating. I spent many enjoyable times with him on Dave’s boat when it was docked in Coconut Grove.
Then, around 1976, Roy called me to ask a favor—to help him take Dave’s brand-new 42-foot yacht from the shipyard in New Jersey down to Florida. A favor? I remember thinking, who was doing whom a favor? 😉
That trip turned out to be one of the best experiences of my life. We worked hard and played hard—keeping the boat on course, docking in a different port each evening, then washing her down. I can still picture dolphins swimming alongside us, the incredible sunrises and sunsets, and the great music playing as we traveled.
After the work was done each day, we’d head into whatever town we were in for dinner and a few beers. What a life.
What Roy taught me about seamanship during that week has stayed with me my entire life.
Every time I hear the song “Chase the Clouds Away” by Chuck Mangione, it brings me right back to that trip.
A few years ago, while kayaking, that song came up on my playlist. I texted Roy to tell him, and we had a wonderful exchange—sharing memories and photos, and promising to get together soon.
Regretfully, we never did.
I hope he knew how much his friends and family loved him.
RIP, Captain Roy
– Sid Davidowitz
– Joel Kalmonson
I knew Roy from Temple Beth Am, probably starting around seventh grade, circa 1963. We ran into each other at the JCC and were mostly acquaintances at first. Then came a September morning in 1965—maybe the first or second day of high school—when we walked into Room 411, the “Band Room.” Since the high school only had three floors, most of the freshmen arrived a little late.
Roy took a spot in percussion. I had to lug my own tenor saxophone from home. And for the next four years, there we were—two guys familiar with each other, about to share countless days and nights playing in the high school band, in our rock group, on many softball teams together, as counselors at Skyline Club, on stage for three summers at the JCC, as opposing Color War Generals (I WON!!), then Co-Generals (WE WON!!), concert-goers, weed experimenters, and ultimately as my most frequent companion and “best” friend—although probably ten other guys also called Roy their best friend.
He just had that way about him. He was the guy you wanted around whenever the fun broke out.
During our college years, when we both found ourselves back in Bayonne after messing up college elsewhere, Roy went on to learn a trade while I continued studying subjects like geology, art history, and media ecology, eventually landing in sales and marketing after realizing I wasn’t going to be a geologist.
As I was finishing school, Roy told me he was going to learn boating and fishing, become a captain, and move to Florida. I visited him a few weeks after he’d gone down there, and I knew right then—he wasn’t coming back. I was going to lose having my friend nearby. There were no cell phones back then. You couldn’t just call a landline on a boat. I don’t remember how much I missed him then, but I feel it clearly now.
Adam, I first met you after I retired and moved to the Palm Beach area. Roy took me to watch you play softball because he knew I would see what he always saw. The kid had game!
And Adam, as good as you were, your dad was just as good. On every team we played on, he played shortstop and batted first—and everyone wanted him on their team. Whenever I came up to bat, Dad was already in scoring position and made me look good.
I could go on forever with stories and crazy stunts from our Cabana Club days. By the time we were 19 or 20 years old, we were invincible together.
You’ll always be that friend to me.
I’ve cried enough on my own that this moment—when you return to the sea, which became your closest companion—should be a celebration. A remembrance of all the friends you touched, and all the friends who called you their “best friend.”
Like me.
– Arnie
I never thought I’d be writing a tribute to my brother from another mother at a celebration of his life.
Roy was a true friend, and I always felt he was more like family.
Growing up in Bayonne, we shared so many great times together—from our early years with Stuie, bowling together, to playing sports at the JCC. We were both very competitive, but we never let that competition interfere with our friendship.
When Joyce and I started dating in our early teens, we became a threesome with Roy, always hanging out together. At times, this even led to a bit of friendly competition between Joyce and Roy for my attention, but it all worked out. Roy was an usher at our wedding and the godfather to our oldest son. We remained close over the years, visiting as often as we could—either in Florida or in New Jersey when Roy came up for boating and fishing and stayed at our house.
Distance was never an obstacle in our friendship. Whenever either of us faced challenges with our kids or health issues, we always reached out to one another. The bond we shared never weakened. We never judged each other—only offered strength and a shoulder to lean on or cry on.
One year, Roy came up with Adam and we were hit by a blizzard. As much as Roy loved the cold and snow—not!—he wasn’t thrilled. So the three of us went out to shovel. I gave them winter clothes and boots, and it quickly turned into a snowball fight. We actually had a great time—even Roy. Thankfully, Adam was there, because he did most of the work.
Before he passed, Roy told me how proud he was of Adam and Alex and how they turned out. He said it was especially meaningful to him that he had the opportunity to have a grandson.
Joyce and I talk about Roy all the time. We will always miss you, and we will always love you.
– Billy Chuven
I had considered talking about my relationship with Roy at the party celebrating his life but decided I might forget many great moments and probably get too emotional. Roy came to work with me two weeks after my middle daughter, Courtney, was born. Courtney was born March 30, 1974. That would make our relationship 51 years, a record for any Captain or, for that matter, anyone’s travel through life. Roy was like a son I never had or a brother who was closer to me in many ways than my brother. Roy was also my loyal friend and in many respects we shared more together in things we did and places we traveled than with anybody. When Roy made the decision at 22 to come to work with me, move to Florida and learn how to run and maintain a boat, it was leap of faith and an escape from the cold, snowy winter in the New Jersey. He not only had to adapt and learn a whole new life, but had to overcome being sea sick all the time. By 1976, we started fishing and learning an entirely new sport. Both of us, being very competitive, were committed to learning as fast as possible.
We shared many things, places and experiences, that most people can not imagine. The excitement of catching a big fish, winning a tournament, seeing a magnificent sun set and the shear fright of surviving very rough seas in an ocean that was not your friend. Roy had the ability to fix anything and learn from everyone around him in the sport fishing field. He made friends and built relationships very easily and naturally. He became one of the best boat captains and sportfisherman on the east coast. From Montauk, to Cape Hatteras and South Florida, everyone knew and liked Roy. We shared so many great moments, places and accomplishments, it is impossible to even put a perspective on them.
The years we chartered the boat, probably from 1978 to 1983, he became very well accomplished and appreciated at the Sailfish Marina on Singer Island, one of the most famous charter docks on the east coast. Daryll Alley, who was a mate with Roy, enjoyed their fishing together so much it was contagious. I will never forget the time we were getting fuel in the pocket by Port Salerno. Roy and Daryll were carrying on with each other like they always did, disagreeing about who put the fuel cap opener away last. The woman waiting to give us fuel asked them how long the two of them had been married. Had to be there but it was hilarious. In Walkers Cay one year at a blue marlin tournament Emmett “Mutt” Coble and Daryll were along as mates. Every day and night was like a history lesson on fishing and a side show of antics between them. Mutt, being one of the greatest black marlin fisherman in Cairns, Australia.
In 1986, we had the boat in Montauk. Daryll had to return to Florida so we flew up 21-year-old Wendell Black. Wendell had never been that far north and certainly had never experienced the Hamptons or later, Provincetown on Cape Cod. Roy and Wendell became very close and had great experiences over the years. Roy met Peter Frederiksen in 1976 when we started chartering at the Sailfish Marina and their friendship lasted from then until Roy’s last days. They helped each other and became very close friends. I could go on forever with story after story and one great experience after another.
Adam and Alex are very lucky to have had a father like Roy. Roy had the patience of a Saint and many, many friends. Roy loved music, was very talented, and played in a band with people from Whiticar Boat works. I miss Roy dearly and think of him all the time especially of all we experienced and all we have seen the last 51 years. My memories of what we shared and what we did will never die and are like movie pictures in my mind. Roy now will rest in his favorite spot in the ocean to go for one more sailfish to win a tournament. I miss him and have every memory of what we shared ingrained in my mind.
Adam and Alex should be very proud of their Father as should his wife Joanne.
– David Lipman
