At a time when genuine characters are hard to find, he stands out.
But after 27 years working for the locally-owned buses he was made redundant with no pay-off at all and only the promise of a taxi job for the firm who took over.
Now he's working for another company on the taxis around town and always toots his horn when passing.
Before he was a bus-driver he worked on the milk rounds with his twin brother Rob ( confusing, eh?) in the village.
If anything went wrong they'd say it was the other's fault, so when we were regularly woken early on Saturday mornings to pay the bill, I hastily threatened a bucket of cold water as retribution.
At the time, however, I thought there was one of them and didn't know twins were delivering, so when the answer came - 'It wasn't me , it was my brother!' later in the week, I thought it was a ruse!
Ron doesn't live in Heolgerrig, but knows everyone by name, classically shortened to 'Shar', 'Kar' , 'Jule' and 'Bri' etc.
He doesn't seem to have changed over the years : teeth that would take a dentist a lifetime to fix, cackling laugh like a hubble-bubble-toil-and-trouble impersonation and the constant teasing about customers' age.
He's always been so much more than a bus-driver.
He bought food and papers for pensioners and delivered them. He stopped outside homes and went in for a quick cuppa. He helped every journey with bags and buggies.
Ron, of course, could also be infuriating.
He'd sometimes stop at the Post Office or Stores to get his shopping, leaving you stranded in the bus and waiting.
However, he's is full of interest in people's lives and, with me , particularly the career of my older daughter Bethan, because Ron is an enthusiastic supporter of Plaid Cymru.
In a town dominated by Labour he recalls the days of the Plaid Council and Emrys Roberts, who came close to winning the Parliamentary seat when S.O.Davies retired.
He has no time for Labour's arrogant hegemony and their inevitable backing for a ludicrous and expensive monarchy.
If you want a second-hand car Ron is also a person to see and seems to have plenty of contacts.
Also, many evenings he'd drive a taxi for another firm and I've used him for longer journeys.
At one time, he'd even ferry the Red Poets back and fore to our gigs in glamorous places like Tredegar and Pontlottyn.
Most adore Ron and hundreds of pounds was raised as a goodbye gift.
However, on one journey home (with a different driver) the bus was packed with Ron-haters. It was the first and only time I'd encountered such venom.
They all had malicious tales about him : how he went to sleep in the bus at the top of the hill and it was late ; how he took breakfast and lunch in a woman's house while on the job.
Of course, the buses were erratic, to say the least.
Many were late or never showed up; they often broke down, leaving drivers like Ron stranded and passengers desperate.
Yet all the drivers, not just Ron, would stop where you wanted and assist anyone who needed help.
Now the buses are on time, but the rules strictly adhered to.
Heolgerrig has lost Ron and it seems like an era has ended.
When you stopped hearing Welsh spoken on the buses and then in the Post Office, these too were eras ending.
Characters are side-lined, move on and the place loses its identity.
I'm delighted that Heolgerrig photographer Robert Haines ( whose work was recently exhibited in Redhouse) has captured that world, because it's so precarious.
At the bottom of the hill Trago Mills ( owned by a prominent UKIPer) grows at a rapid rate.
Who knows what will become of our town centre after, part derelict and part rejuvenated.
Ron's like one of the few , surviving local businesses: personal, caring, yet threatened.
But he is still around, still driving his taxi and, if you're ever lucky enough to catch him, it'll be a memorable journey.
Im ! Im b’there! Tha driver!
Im with-a graveyard teeth
an a bloody cackle
like-a witches off of Shakespeare.
Ee took us t Daffodils ee did
an not inta town,
thinks ee’s funny ee does,
a proper clown.
Jest coz we all got bus passes,
ee’s always goin on bout ower ages.
Took us t the Ol Folks Ome,
stopped outside an said –
‘Right yew lot! Get off yer
coz none of yew’s paid!’
Yeah, im b’there!
Im elpin with-a trolleys an push-chairs.
Thinks ee cun get away with it
jest coz ee knows ev’ryone.
Well, ee don’ know my name!