One of the kindest men I’ve known, a gentleman from Northern Illinois whom I met in the mid-2000s and whose wry, colorful, off-center sense of humor did not change since then, died Monday morning. He was 95-and-a-half, he told me during our final conversation on October 12.
Ray and I met in early 2004 when I first joined a Washington social club for journalists, PR flaks, writers and the like. Offering breakfast for members, the Club attracted a unique menagerie of characters, and the folksy Midwesterner took a very special pride in connecting those sitting at the breakfast table where he routinely arrived first.
When we met, Ray was in his mid-late 70s. He said his wife was a working journalist and he had a spousal membership after a career in government service, including as a US Navy veteran with stints in the South Pacific. Having matriculated graduate school, my journalistic stop that he found most interesting was a tenure in NE Indiana. Thus I could regale him with stories about chasing news ledes near his native land. He immediately showed a rapt interest in what I had to say, which I noticed the very first time I spoke with this attentive, worldly, diplomatic older man.
Knowing I had the opportunity to start my day in the company of a wholesome, hearty soul, I began what turned out to be a four-year weekday routine that put me at the small square table around 7a. As the second arrival, I not only repeatedly reminded him: ‘You’re number one!’, but I also sat directly on his left, which I called ’the hot seat’ as he slightly grinned. As the morning went on, at least one square table was added opposite Ray’s seat.
The jokes on us
Conversations with Ray meandered in many uncertain directions and often were punctuated as unpredictably. He and I regularly broke out into mini conversations that inevitably entailed a bizarre twist that had us howling. And he never forgot many of them. Amid others’ conversations, I’d look over at him and ask: ‘what are you doing?’ But, before waiting for his reply, I’d answer my own inquiry by asking: ‘just sitting there being handsome?’ I once noticed the teacup on the saucer in front of him had only water and I told him: ‘you forgot the teabag’, prompting him to laugh hysterically then explain to me he likes plain hot water.
With the locale being the Nation’s Capital, he once complimented a handsome, colorful tie Indian friends had brought me from the Motherland but then warned that Washingtonians would infer my political stripes because the design featured a major-party mascot. The 24-hour period that kicked off the fifth month no longer was May Day but, rather, it became Ray Day. He once told the table he poked his head into a manhole on a NWDC street where a crew was hard at work, then asked one man wearing a hard hat: ‘are you looking for Osama bin Laden?!’
One morning, immediately when I sat beside him, he began telling me a story about a man whose surname was Dewey, which prompted me to tell him that this guy and two partners established a law firm. While he listened closely, I noted the others’ names were something like Bill Cheetum and Roger Howe, but explained while struggling to keep a straight face that they preferred going by last names. As he sat there mentally rehearsing the firm name, when I could tell he was getting close to understanding the joke, I shoved a piece of cantaloupe into my mouth to keep me from laughing as he burst into hysterics.
In the weeks after a Trader Joe’s opened near his home, he told us about recognizing residents of the posh, pricey condominiums above the market who’d visit with their travel mugs in hand so they could help themselves to complimentary coffee. He was amused by the irony of them saving a couple dollars and on occasion when we’d speak for the remainder of our friendship, I’d start a conversation or break a silence by asking if he still brings his travel mug to Trader Joe’s.
One morning I had to leave breakfast early because I was hosting and moderating the speaking engagement of a man who was rumored to be pursuing the US presidency. Just before the event featuring Newt Gingrich began, Ray pokes his head into the room and I immediately saw him from afar. He proceeded to take a seat toward the back and later praised the event.
Perhaps the story that most embodied the happy-go-lucky man is one that played out innocently and unexpectedly.
Regarding Henries
One morning on my way up to breakfast I rode an elevator with a woman who told me she was looking for her featured speaker. As we exited the elevator into the 13th-floor lobby, there he was: a California Democrat. I recognized him immediately and happened to be steps behind him while walking up the stairs to the 14th floor where the event would be in a smaller dining room beside the kitchen where breakfast was served.
Still walking just behind the featured speaker, I entered the kitchen and noticed that someone who recognized him smiled widely and greeted him.
Then, when I heard the very familiar voice of Ray, I cringed because of who was only a few steps ahead of me.
‘Hi, Henry!’ he calls out as I slowed down, scrunched my shoulders, mouth and eyes, and braced myself for the featured speaker’s response.
At that point, US Rep. Henry A. Waxman turned around, smiled heartily and threw his arm into the air to wave because obviously he was the whole reason for the warm morning greeting. The modesty surprised me because he had not been addressed with an honorific. That other Henry then continued on to the engagement.
After I helped myself to breakfast, I parked myself in the hot seat and matter-of-factly asked Ray if he saw what just happened, prompting his confused expression.
As I explained, he understood immediately that the timing was perfect for this encounter, noting a split-second earlier or later would not have prompted any result. The joke we shared was that Ray obviously is a large-size donor to the rep’s re-election campaign war chest so therefore he takes the liberty to be on a first-name basis. I also never stopped asking Ray how’s his California congressman pal.
The wise man’s lessons
Ray found humor and irony where little or none either existed or was intended. He drew amusement amid the daily grind of life, then shared that humor in enormously entertaining ways. His memory remained sharp as he recited stories from his military service from later during World War Two in the Pacific theater. He also never forgot run-ins with people of note, such as political leaders.
When he’d pick up my calls or caller ID indicated he was ringing me up, I’d exclaim ‘Raaayyyyy!’ or address him as ‘Handsome’. And when we’d stumble upon an unknown curiosity to him, the next time we spoke he would have more information about that incident or a follow-up question. He once called me when knowing I just had extensive ankle surgery, starting the conversation by asking: ‘are you laid up?’
Though the aging process took its toll on him, he remained mentally spry, crediting the calls with keeping him thinking. Only once did I hear him complain about his state and that was when we last spoke.
He told me he knew his time was coming very soon and I reminded him of what I’d lately been telling him: that I’d forever cherish our friendship, our numerous good times and the many lessons he taught me.