Ray

 I called him the ghost that walked.  He had an uncanny ability to suddenly disappear.  I would search high and low for him; down by the ink-stained printing presses over to the news room and out the door to the spot he was likely to be found – the smoking area.  Sometimes he would disappear and no matter how intently I searched, he could not be found.  Ray was my boss.  Together we worked to keep the newspaper in business by maintaining their aging computer systems. 

             I had been working the job for almost a year and had proven my worth many times over by fixing the ‘unfixable’, so when he first stepped foot into the technical services department, he was entering my turf, or so I thought.  His blonde hair was just about the only remaining witness that at some time in the distant past he may have been youthful.  His walk was soft but his handshake firm.  He sized me up through soft, pale-blue eyes.  I too sized him up and wrote him off as an old guy who wouldn’t keep up.

It wasn’t long before I was proven wrong. About a week after our first meeting, a computer died in the telemarketing department so Ray and I went to check it out.  It was an old, dust-covered IBM used by employees who phoned local residents in their attempts to peddle subscriptions.  The room was empty except for Ray, myself and the handy toolkit filled with screwdrivers, wire cutters and other tools of the trade.  After tinkering around for the better part of an hour, I developed what I considered an excellent plan for restoring life to the ailing piece of junk.  I explained the plan to Ray.  To my surprise he told me to hold off until we could call for help the next day. 

            What?  Didn’t this guy know who I was?  Hadn’t he heard of all the times I resurrected these hopeless machines back to life?  I decided to argue with him, which was a bad mistake.  Ray made it clear in no uncertain terms that we were going to do things his way.  I left work that day discouraged and distraught.  Looking back on that experience, I now realize that Ray didn’t doubt my ability to fix the problem but he was illustrating a skill far more necessary and useful than working on a computer; he had set out to teach me patience. 

            I was nineteen when this wise, old teacher began the daunting task of converting a boy into a man.  Even though I was considered an adult, what remained in me was youthful inexperience and undeveloped character.  I was a coal that Ray was determined to press into a diamond.  After raising eleven kids, he was well qualified for the job and over the next five years I somehow managed to become his twelfth. 

            On one particular day an important computer crashed.  I remember working thirty-two hours straight (except for two hours I slept under my desk) trying to fix the system.  Ray, to my bewilderment, was there with me the whole time never skipping a beat.  After fixing the issue, I looked around for the ghost that walks, and he wasn’t there.  I decided it would be a good time for a quick smoke.  Half unconscious, I wandered outside to the smoking area and must have fallen asleep while sitting at the table. 

            “Thomas!”  Ray’s voice came gruff and loud piercing my darkness.  “Quit slacking off and get your lazy butt back to work!”  Although the computer was fixed, we still had some testing to perform.  I groggily replied.  “Ah, come on Ray!  I’ve been here thirty-two hours and I can hardly keep my eyes opened.  In fact, I was thinking about getting out of here for awhile.”  “The heck you are”, he countered tersely.  “You’re not leaving me here high and dry to finish this all by myself.”  I slowly pushed myself up and followed him back inside cursing under my breath the whole way.  Through times like these, I developed a great deal of respect for the old man.  He never asked me to do something if he wasn’t leading the way.  This made me want to work for him and I did to the best of my ability.

            Ray was gruff, even cantankerous, and from time-to-time he would get very upset.  I chalked it up to raising eleven kids and then getting stuck with me.  When I would upset him, he usually didn’t have to say anything.  All he would do was give me the look, that piercing look.  It was my cue to cool it.  His eyes would often reflect his mood, and I became an expert at reading him.  From early on in the relationship I noticed something else in the windows to his soul; something deep, unpleasant, unspoken, indecipherable.  It wouldn’t be until later that I learned of the horrors he witnessed in Korea and Vietnam. 

            I am certain that dodging bullets made him tough.  But Ray also loved very deeply.  Often, he would invite me to his home for a drink or to watch a football game.  Ray was from Colorado and was a huge Denver Broncos fan.  He spoke of John Elway as if he was a close, personal friend.  We would always sit in his living room, kicking back on recliners so large they could be mistaken as beds. 

His wife Myra would serve us rum and coke mixed so strongly we found ourselves slurring by half time.  I would sit back quietly like a fly on the wall and watch Ray relate to his wife.  Oh how he loved her!  I would watch this drill sergeant turned into a child by her mere presence.  She was his soul mate and their love is the stuff of legends and fairy tales.

            He loved me too. Not in the same way he loved Myra mind you, but as father loves his son.  I know this, because even though it is difficult for many men to say such words, occasionally he would express them to me:  “I love you son.  I’m proud of you.”  “I love you too Ray.” 

            The day I quit my job was one of the most difficult days in all my life.  I had found a huge promotion that I couldn’t pass up.  I remember typing a letter of resignation in tears.  My new job would relocate me to St. Louis, far enough away that I wouldn’t be able to visit Ray all that often.  He was sitting in his office which was in a small, shared room without windows.  He had a cube partitioned off by thin walls which offered him little privacy from me or the rest of his employees.  I walked in and sat down on the chair reserved for visitors.  He took one look at me and said, “Ah heck.  What’s wrong Thomas?”  “Well Ray, I, uh, I…”  I couldn’t find the words although they had been rehearsed a hundred times. 

Finally, the strength I needed arrived.  “Ray, I am resigning.”  His reply was quite obscene and I won’t repeat it.  He then looked at me and I saw the tears filling his eyes. 

            “Thomas, it’s been a pleasure.  I’ve always told you to get out of the newspaper business and you are finally taking my advice.  I’m happy for you.”  With that, he rose and embraced me like never before. 

We then took a walk outside, down by the ink-stained printing presses over to the news room and out the door to the smoking area to burn down one last smoky-joe. 

            Many years have passed and much has changed but I still think of Ray often.  I am warmed by the memories of such days gone by.  I am thankful for his lessons and his love.  I credit Ray, in part, for the man I have become today and I am grateful.  My children will be better people because I will pass on many of his lessons. 

            I miss him.  I feel this life has not afforded me enough time to live out all the memories that could have been.  But relationships like this are often not meant to last a lifetime.  Staying true to form, Ray has once again suddenly disappeared from my view, but this time I know exactly where to find him – in my heart.