The following was contributed by Charles K. Jessup
I wish my memory was half as good as Ray's on the day he died. I
don't remember any details about when he was married to Aunt Violet.
Perhaps they had divorced by the time I was born in 1954. I know there
were a couple of times when mom and dad were still married and I was
quite young (probably before my youngest sister, Connie, was born) when
we must have visited aunt Violet. And I remember how I would fool
around with cousins Bryson and Steve.
Then when mom and Ray began seeing each other, and they later
explained that they planned to get married, he was just some guy I really
knew nothing about. That must have been around 1971. From that day
forward there wasn't one event I can ever recall, concerning Ray and I,
that ever gave me any reason to believe that he was anything but a great
stepfather and husband to mom. Well I guess the fact that he smoked did
bother me to some degree. But I think that hardly counts against Ray
taking all his other admirable qualities into consideration.
The reason I bring all this up is because I always found it strange
somehow that here I was calling some guy my stepfather who was once
married to my long lost aunt Violet. And even now I don't know if
Bryson and Steve should be considered to be cousins or stepbrothers.
But I suppose it hardly matters except that Ray is one of the few who
ever managed to pull off that kind of a feat (marry two sisters from the
same family). A rare fellow if you ask me.
Ray helped me qualify for a job as a sheet metal apprentice in
Reno, where he and mom lived, sometime around 1974 as I recall. Here I
was about to start on a new found career and almost flat broke. While I
waited for a single job opening that summer (I had qualified number two
out of several hundred applicants) I decided to return to Gresham and
earn a living working at the Reynolds Metals plant in Troutdale, OR.
Little did I know that I would fall in love with a close friend of my
sister's, named Debbie, decide to stay at Reynolds for the next year and
a half, and then get dumped for another fellow rather than accept the
apprenticeship once it finally became available. It is funny how the
cards are delt and how we loose a few and win a few. But that was just
one example of how Ray would go out of his way to help me out. And yet
I doubt I ever did half as much for him as he would repeatedly do for
me, no questions asked.
Every time I visited mom and Ray he was up to something. He would
work his tail off. No way could I ever keep up with him. The guy was a
workoholic. And he always worked up a sweat. He could still put us
young punks to shame. Wip it out, get the job done, and on to the next
chore. One heck of a hard working man. And I know I'm not the only one
who owes him a lot of credit for what he created with his bare hands!
When Sue and I where building our house in Issaquah, WA (east of
Seattle) in late 1986, Ray acted like he had nothing better to do than
help us buy a furnace and some duct work and drive up for a few days to
install our heating system for us. And later when I needed help with
our boat cover out back he came up and helped with that project too.
And, as if that wasn't enough, he helped us put in our concrete patio
(1000 SF which was no easy task) and, last but not least, he helped me
with our back deck. Everyone else might take all his hard work for
granted but we all have nobody to thank for these acts of generosity but
Ray himself. The real point I'm trying to make is that there seems to
be two kinds of people in this world; those who would rather give you
their money than their help and those who are willing to give you
something more than money... helping you with the hard work. Something
money can't ever buy enough of. Ray earned my respect! And my love.
And that guy could read books like nobody I ever saw. He always
had his nose in a book. He never acted like he knew it all but somehow
I think maybe he did. He was a walking encyclopaedia.
The only thing he may have been more serious about was playing
poker. I only played with him a few times but each time was a lesson.
Not so much because he won more often than he lost. But because he
seemed to have learned somewhere along the line (probably in the service)
that there is poker for the fun of it and then there is serious poker.
Personally, I'll take serious over fun anyday. And I'd rather play with
Ray than most the others I've played with. He was a good old boy.
We shared a lot of great times together but the time I'll remember
the most was when we decided to go elk hunting a couple seasons back
(must have been 1987). Ray was having heart problems and had to take
those little nitro pills. I wasn't sure if he should even be out
chasing around the woods with me but nobody else cared to keep me out of
trouble but him. Anyway, after a couple hundred miles of driving and a
good night's sleep in Enterprise, Oregon we were out in the sticks hot
on the trail of a couple large elk (judging from their tracks). The
tracks led us across another fresh set of tracks so we split up.
Now I was in much better shape (at least I thought) so I tried to
advise him to go easy, and not too far, so I could catch up with him if
my trail failed to pan out. I followed my trail for a half hour (on
foot mind you) while Ray followed his along a dirt road. That was far
enough I decided, so I doubled back to find Ray. I must have walked
another hour and a half in the snow along the road following Ray's
tracks on and on. I was beginning to hope he'd stop before I died
trying to track him down! It had snowed and I was getting real worried
that we'd never get back to the van alive at the rate he was going. I
guess the only reason I didn't freeze was because I started walking even
faster in hopes of catching up with him.
Finally, here he came walking back. "Why the hell did you keep
going so far?" I asked. "I don't know. I thought the road would run
out sooner than it did I guess." he replied. The end of the road was
just around the bend and if it hadn't run out I swear I'd still be
chasing after him to this day. And then he proceeds to tell me he
missed getting off a shot at a two point bull, that almost ran him down,
not more that five minutes after we split up. We had the worst luck I
guess.
Anyway, we climbed uphill to the road we dropped down off of and I
ended up walking nearly another hour back to the van after sitting the
old bear (Ray) down in an abandoned hunting camp near the end of that
road. I was so exhausted I could hardly crawl into the van. No sooner
had I started the engine then here comes Ray driving up with a couple of
new friends just like he'd called a taxi! And here I was worried he was
going to die of a heart attack on me instead of the other way around?
The next day we found ourselves driving down a muddy switch back
road which dropped down to the Grand Ronde River in north east Oregon.
It was so slick and muddy that I couldn't stop the van! The tires were
caked in mud like brown greased donuts. Luckily one switch back leveled
out enough to get stopped. I had almost wet my pants I was so nervous!
So, I thought it was best that I get out and relieve myself. That's when
I took one look at the tires, one look up the steep road we came down,
one look at the canyon below and one look at Ray. "What the heck are we
going to do now?!" I asked him. He said, "Drive down the hill I guess.
What else?" As if there would be nothing to it. "O.K. Smart guy. You
drive. I dare you." So he did. And every time my side was looking out
over the cliff I nearly passed out. And every time my side almost
scraped against the rocks on the uphill side of the road I nearly cried.
And the whole time I begged him to stop but he'd just say, "I can't." And
again he was sweating up a storm so I knew we'd be lucky to get down
in one piece. But, as Ray said, we're here! And I owe it all to Ray.
That was Ray for you. Never hesitating to save your bacon.
I'll never forget what he said to me once about a year later, and I
think he really meant it because he always seemed to be serious about
such things. He said, "You're the only guy I like to go hunting with." I
asked him what he meant by that? And he said, "When you go hunting
you go hunting! That's all. Everyone else I ever hunted with seems to
mess around a lot. But not you. You take it seriously." I suppose
somehow I gained his respect also. I just wish we could have gone
hunting one more time before he rode off into the sunset. And you'll
never imagine how much I'll cherish the .300 Wheatherby Mark V he left
behind for me, and which I hope to pass on to another worthy recipient
someday. The next one's for you Ray....
FOOTNOTES:
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* (web version edited per this request)
07/20/2004
Candace Carrabba wrote:
There is part of Raymond Marshall Miller's internet story in chapter 8 (1944)
that is a lie [false]. He describes the death of Captain Jack Upham. That
Captain Jack Upham retired a Major and is my father. He is still alive. Mr
Miller apparently had some very sour grapes and enjoyed besmirching Captain
Jack Upham's reputation. I have heard many stories about that time and that
battle. He was ORDERED by his commander to engage the enemy in some brutal
battles. He did NOT volunteer for these missions. Please correct this
offensive fiction by eliminating all reference to Captain Jack Upham. I do
not care about the rest of his story, which is suspect. Since you wrote
chapter 9 of his story and apparently placed it on the internet I trust that
you can update it.
Candace Upham Carrabba
viking9@tca.net
07/21/2004
Updates made. Not sure he "enjoyed" "besmirching" anyone though. Or that any
part of this story qualifies as "fiction". That part of the story was written
when Ray was on his death bed and under heavy drugs while most of his brain was
raveged with cancer. The last few months of his life (not to mention his 18th
year some 49 years earlier), including what he wrote in that chapter, were no
doubt fairly emotional and foggy for him. So, although the story may have been
inaccurate in places, it's anyone's guess what was a lie and what was simply
poor memory.
Thanks,
Chuck
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