The Baltimore singer who made national charts — but always had time for local fans

When the crowd heard the familiar sound of ascending strings, it was time to move. The girls had to be quick if they wanted to be first in line to meet Ronnie Dove.

“One kiss for old time’s sake,” Dove crooned, pecking the women on the cheek as they huddled before him in a Baltimore venue some 60 years ago, “just like it used to be.”

The ballad is three minutes long, but Dove refused to finish until everyone got their kiss. He’d ask the band to play it on a loop two, three times — sometimes five or six for larger shows. The singer didn’t shake his hips quite like Elvis Presley, but the two attracted similar fans. His tenor voice was just as buttery and smooth, his smile just as enticing. Girls swooned.

“He always made sure everybody got their share every single time,” said Elkton-based performer Camron Robertson, one of Dove’s mentees. “Let me tell you — that sucker would play for a while sometimes. He was absolutely for his fans.”

Dove started his career in Baltimore and found his way onto pop and country charts in the 1960s and ’70s. He amassed a loyal fanbase who followed him to shows in Maryland long after his songs stopped charting. Beyond the voice, they saw a compassionate person who gave his all on stage — even into his late 80s.

Dove, a Pasadena resident and devoted husband of more than four decades, died Sept. 15 of heart failure. He was 91.

He was born Sept. 7, 1935, to Paul and Catherine Dove in Herndon, Virginia, and grew up with an older sister, Marjorie. He first found himself on stage singing “Away in a Manger” in a grade school production, according to his professional biography, then later joined his high school glee club.

He enlisted in the U.S. Coast Guard afterward and was stationed on a buoy tender off the coast of Baltimore. His singing aspirations took off when he started performing Elvis covers in local bars, making his debut in the late 1950s at a Pratt Street pub.

He found quick success and formed a group, Ronnie Dove and his Rockin’ Rollers, later renamed The Bell Tones. They debuted their single, “Lover Boy,” in 1959, followed by a few other songs before Dove went solo in 1964. His first real hit came at the end of that year with “Say You.”

A cover of Wanda Jackson’s “Right or Wrong” arrived to great fanfare, which he followed with more original music that produced 23 consecutive hits, loved ones said, and sold out venues across the country.

Darlene Metzger Warren was about 12 years old when she first met Dove during a show at the old Club Venus in Perring Plaza in the late 1960s. He gave the awestruck little girl an autographed photo.

Fast-forward to the mid-’80s, and Metzger Warren still loved how beautifully he could hit high notes. She was working with an Elvis tribute artist who connected her again with Dove, who asked if she wanted to lead his fan club and help him book shows. It was a no-brainer.

“When I got to know Ronnie as a man, it was so much better than just knowing him as a singer and an entertainer,” Metzger Warren said.

Dove knew how much Metzger Warren enjoyed listening to other artists of his era, so he introduced her to them. For her 30th birthday, he took her backstage at a Tom Jones concert.

But it wasn’t all music. They talked family and love, stress and heartache. When Metzger Warren’s father died, Dove was away on a golf trip, so he recorded himself singing the Lord’s Prayer and asked if she would play it at the funeral.

“He had charisma like I’ve never seen,” she said. “To be able to sit down with him for five minutes or five hours or whatever it was, you really felt like you were the only person in the world, and you know he gave you 100% of his time.”

Dove stepped back from performing in 1989 to take care of his sick mother. After her death two years later, he started picking up shows again, mostly in Maryland and elsewhere on the East Coast. He settled down with his wife, Marty, in Pasadena.

In the early 2000s, he was a judge at a singing competition hosted at the Anchor Inn. Robertson, his then 10-year-old mentee, was a contestant.

Over the years, Dove offered bits of performance wisdom to his protégé: “Even if you think you’re having a bad show, if you can make one person smile or make one person laugh, the whole thing is worth it.”

Personal connections mattered deeply to Dove, especially with his family. Marty, his partner of over four decades, was the love of his life, Metzger Warren said.

He also had six children — including one he didn’t meet until 2007. Dove knew of his son, Wayne, but stayed out of the picture at his ex’s request.

Wayne thought his father was someone else until his mother told him the truth in middle age. Not long after, he ventured to meet Dove at a show in Dundalk. Wayne was 53 years old, but he felt like a child again.

“As soon as I saw him and saw his characteristics and the kind of person he was, I was like, ‘This all makes sense now,’” he said. He gained additional family in brothers Michael, Ronnie Jr. and Don and sisters Kimmi and Kelli.

The two quickly grew close, and Wayne started using his father’s last name.

The Doves loved a good game of Texas Hold’em. They also enjoyed cruises together and shows where Wayne joined his father on stage. Wayne admired the way his father chatted up just about anyone — much like him — whether they knew his star power or not.

“You can always tell the kind of heart that somebody has when you meet them,” Wayne Dove said. “There were no ulterior motives. He just wanted to be your friend.”

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