Dear Ray

Dear Ray,

First off, I know you are not reading this. I think we would both agree that this time we have on Earth is one shot only and there’s not much after that. I guess I am writing this more for others to read. But it feels good to pretend. You can’t fault me for that.

We had your celebration of life last night. It was a blast. First off, open bar. That was unexpected and completely awesome. Thanks for the Guinness! And the second. And so on.

I came right at 6:00pm because didn’t want to miss a thing.  When I showed up, the place was seemingly full already. There were a cluster of people at the bottom of the stairs. Keri was there handing out the programs. An impromptu welcome line had formed around Cindy, Keegan and Zoe.

People continued to pour in. Friends from old COSI, friends from new COSI, work friends, neighbors, family… so many people. You were very popular.

We all drank. We all lamented at how bravely you fought and how quickly you left. We laughed. We told stories. Just like you wanted.

You would be happy to know that at one point in the night, I was telling a story and Shorty found it funny enough to guffaw a mouthful of beer on my shirt. 

Keri did a great job at helping to produce the event. She held it together where I would have fallen apart.

And then the bag pipe player began upstairs. Not quietly because that’s not how those things work. He came down the stairs and I could not help but cry. It was perfect.  He came through the room and into the small stage where the microphone was set up. He was pretty damn tall. I assume you paid extra for that.

Keri started off the speeches.  Joe followed up and made us all very introspective. Ron spoke of your love for the Marx brothers. Adelaide did not realize how funny her story about you fixing her luggage carrier was going to be. Zoe was overcome with emotion, but came back later to tell us about how you helped her to overcome her fears. Keegan spoke well and is his father’s son.  Others came up to tell their stories. I told the food poisoning one. They were funny. They were poignant. We laughed and we cried. We all really miss you.

Then at the end, the bag pipe player played you out.  He played Hector the Hero, just like you wanted.

And I know it sounds cheesy. But as he walked off through the room, the people moved out of the way. And then up the stairs. The music faded. And it was as if I could finally let go. Another chance to say goodbye. This time with happiness. Surround by the many many people whose lives were changed by you.

And now I realize that I’m not writing this for others. I’m writing it for me.

Thanks, Ray.

Family Photo at the Office

Everyone knows that the amount of love you feel for your family is based upon the size of their photo you have at your desk.

I win.

Photo by Erlina Kim photography.  36" x 24" on canvas.

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Feed the Pets

This photo is from the past summer, but I'm starting to get my HolyJuan groove back so I'm digging thought the archives to see what I neglected to post.

We were our of town for a few days and had Sally's friend Carrie come over to feed the pets.  We left out instructions:

Velveeta’s Mix 08/2002

The thing about nicknames is that you usually do not get the opportunity to choose your own. Most the time, people do something stupid and then they are stuck with a nickname for life.  Nicknames like Car Trunk, Forrest Gump and Palmolive are nicknames that are hard to get rid of.

My nickname, to some, is Velveeta. While there are many reasons for this nickname, I like to think it is because Velveeta is the cheesiest. Either way, I like the nickname Velveeta and I’ve somehow been able to have people call me that instead of Dog Poop Hida.

About 10 years ago, my friend Anne (Chia) gave me a mix CD.  We had worked together for about four years and she was moving on to bigger and better things.  On her way out the door, she gave me a CD called Velveeta’s Mix.

It was an awesome CD.

Was?

Yeah, well, because I am an idiot, I lost the CD cover and eventually the CD was scratched to shit and unplayable in my CD player.

But I kept the CD because it meant a lot to me.

Fast forward to yesterday and Miss Sally requesting I burn a CD for her. As I was digging though the dust to find that stack of 100 cds that I bought right before thumb drives came out, I found Anne’s mix cd.

For shits and giggles, I put it in my computer and tried to rip it or at least listen to it skip and digitally static its way to the end.

It worked.

It’s a great mix and I thought I would share it with you:

Faces – Ooh La La

Stereo Total – C’est La Mort

U2 – Beautiful Day

Peter Gabriel – Love to be Loved

David Byrne-Dance On Vaseline (Thievery Corporation Remix)

The Smiths – Big Mouth Strikes Again

Arling & Cameron - Dirty Robot

U2 – Lemon

David Byrne – Flowers

Lucinda Williams – Lonely Girls

Ben and Jason – Romeo and Juliet are Drowning

Misty Dixon -  Beautiful Ones

David Byrne – The Great Intoxication

National Skyline - Some Will Say

Morrissey – Interesting Drug

Talking Heads – Once In a Lifetime

Talking Heads – This Must Be The Place

Thanks to my Droid 3 and the Shazam application for helping me find the songs I couldn't remember.

Because this is the internet, I can share these songs with you via a playlist on Grooveshark: Click here for Velveeta's Mix.

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Thanks, Ray.

Ray died today.  He was a great guy. Witty.  Clever. A master craftsman. He was thoughtful. He was a good listener. He was a great teacher.  Here’s a collection of my Ray memories. I know that I will be reminded of more in the coming days as the people that knew Ray gather to celebrate his life, so hopefully this list will grow.  Feel free to leave your Ray story in the comments or email me at holyjuan@gmail.com.

Ray was the first one to tell me about the 270 Rule, which was what ever happened outside of 270, stayed outside of 270.  While we never did anything that was 270 Rule worthy, it was always nice to have that in your back pocket.

Ray once told me about how he and a group of guys outsmarted the hotel room refrigerator.  In the early days of the convenience refrigerator, the hotel would put a plastic strap around the door handle.  If the strap was broken, housekeeping knew to take note of how many bottles of liquor or macadamia nuts were missing. So Ray and the guys unattached the refrigerator from the wall, pulled it out and took off the back. They ate and drank their fill and put it all back together.  I assume that someone a few hotel stays later had a lot of explaining to do.

Ray always sent out clever links from the internet.  Most people don’t know how to do that. Ray did.

I once had to make a relief map of Australia.  I asked Ray what I could put on the map for the mountains.  Ray said to use Bondo because Bondo sticks to everything.  Two days later the Bondo was not sticking and I asked Ray what was up. He said, “What kind of material is that?” I said it is paper coated plywood. It’s called signboard. Ray said, “Oh, Bondo won’t stick to signboard.”  Ray!!!

I’ll never forget the look Ray had when a co-worker was cutting material on the table saw.  A strip of material got wedged in the blade and then shot backwards, slamming into Ray’s tool chest about 9” away from Ray. Without flinching, Ray slowly turned his head, raised his eyebrows, looked down and then when right back to work. That dent is still in his tool box today.

Ray was always able to help. During busy days in the shop, he’d be helping one person and there would always be someone else hovering in the distance, waiting their turn. He was a wealth of knowledge about so many woodworking topics and tools.

Ray once named once of his dogs Doug. I like to think that it was because of me.

Back at the old COSI, Ray hung a sign over the smallest closet in the building that denoted it as my workspace in the shop. It was actually the maintenance hatch for Jeb, the coal miner in COSI’s Coal Mine exhibit.

Ray told me that the only shop machine that can used to make itself is the milling machine.  I wasn’t listening, so I thought he said the lathe.  I spent years arguing with people on the road about the lathe being able to make itself.  Years later Ray was sure he hadn’t said lathe.  “Are you sure I didn’t say milling machine?” Maybe?

Ray did not have every tool in the world, but with the tools he had, he could get the job done. He’d also make tools when he didn’t have the right one.  We have one now in the shop that I refer to as the “Ray HDPE Scraper Thingy.”

I consider myself lucky that Ray’s son called me when things began to look down. The family allowed me to come over to see him, but we all knew it was to say goodbye. I didn’t know what to say. So I saddled along beside him and said that it was Doug. And he smiled for a moment, the way Ray smiled. All I could say was, “Thanks, Ray.” Then I left.

I will miss Ray, but the things that he built have been and will continue to give happiness to kids for years to come.  The lessons he taught will be passed on. He will never be forgotten.

And I’ll think of Ray, tooling around at his work bench. Trying to make something that had never been made before or fix something that someone else hadn’t made quite right. His back would be to the room and I’d pop in and yell. “Ray!”  He’d turn around and sarcastically say something along the lines of, “Oh, great.”  But we both knew how much out friendship meant to each other.

Love you, Ray. You’ll always be with us.