Mr. John Flint Ray

To his mother, he was “John F.”; to many of his friends, he was “John Ray”; to waitresses, he was a big tipper; to me, he was “Daddy.” Girls have a connection to their daddies, and people often ask me if I were spoiled by my daddy since I grew up among 3 brothers. I can assure you I was not spoiled, but he did have a soft spot in his heart for his only girl. To see me cry always unnerved him, and whatever could stop my crying, he was ready to do right there if he could. My dad was definitely a “fixer”—cars, appliances, hearts if he could. My brothers and I rarely had to take a car to a mechanic because my dad kept our cars running for us.

He was an “Aqua Velva Man.” That was an annual gift at Christmas and Father’s Day. He loved the beach, his car—his ALWAYS clean car—and his family. But not enough to ever let us DRIVE his car. And actually, when we were growing up and driving, he never really liked even riding with us. (Later, I was afraid to ride with him.) In fact, whenever we visited him at his house and he would walk outside to see us off, he usually said, “You need to wash your car.”

My dad had lots of pride in his work and in his appearance. My dad worked for the News Sentinel 39 years, and he rarely missed a day. If my dad stayed home from work and my mother was fixing him potato soup, I knew he was very sick. When he was first diagnosed with cancer, he wanted to put off his chemotherapy so that he wouldn’t miss any days of work during his summer employment on the Tax Equalization Board.

My dad always dressed neatly; he liked wearing sweaters—through the years he must have received over a 100 sweaters for Christmas gifts. During his last weeks, if he couldn’t do anything else that day, he would make sure that he shaved. One of the things he hated most about his treatment for his cancer was losing his hair. In fact, he often said, “I don’t want to die when it’s cold and with no hair.” Well, he passed away on a warm spring day. . . and a couple of days before he died, the hospice attendant washed his hair.

My dad was proud of his kids. Every time he introduced me to someone—in the hospital or doctor’s office or church—he said, “This is my daughter; she’s a teacher.” Once at a funeral, he introduced me as a teacher, and my son as a UT student, and then my husband as simply “James.” James was a bit offended by that: “What am I? Do I not do anything?” But he thought a great deal of James, and I’m lucky to have married a man similar to my father.

My dad coached recreation sports and actually spent a lot of time coaching my brothers in baseball, basketball, and football when they were growing up. And, of course, with 3 brothers I learned to play those sports pretty well too. Once my dad was practicing his players and a boy was having a hard time fielding ground balls. So my dad said, “Sheila, get out there and show him how to catch a groundball.” And I did. My dad couldn’t get away with that these days—too much emphasis on self-esteem.

Daddy was generally “going.” He liked to travel, and when he became unable to travel, he would tell my family to travel. My family did take a trip to Myrtle Beach with my father and Peggy one Thanksgiving, and, of course, we ate almost every meal at the K&W Cafeteria.

My father was a “people-person.” When he got his first cell phone, he racked up probably a thousand minutes easily. I don’t really know whom he was talking to, but he did like to talk and hear the local political gossip. He used to spend time at Pinkston’s car lot, at Shoney’s, at church, on the Sheriff’s Merit Council, on the Tax Equalization Board—primarily because he liked to be “in the know.” He was content to go shopping with my mother and with Peggy at a mall in another city and just sit on the bench for hours and watch the people. During his last weeks of life, I told him, “You have a lot of people who love you,” and he said, “I love a lot of people.”

After Peggy and my dad married, she sometimes said she had a difficult time finding something for him to eat because he was so picky. True. . . but he did like coconut pie and beans and cornbread and homegrown tomatoes and grilled cheese sandwiches and hot dogs and Vienna sausages and crackers and Louis’ spaghetti —come to think of it, I’m surprised he survived his diet!

“Gift-giving” was not a particular skill of my dad’s. When I was a teenager and old enough to help him do a little Christmas shopping, I would suggest gifts that he could get for my mother. I would tell him that Mother’s vacuum cleaner was so old that he should replace it with a newer model; he did and she took it back and used her old one. Since my mother loved to sew, I suggested one Christmas that he get her a new sewing machine; hers was “ancient.” He did; she piled clothes on it and used her old one. My son and I were laughing the other day about his opening Christmas presents from my dad. Greg would squeal with excitement, “Oh, Grandad, a Land Before Time video. I LOVE those. Thanks!” And my dad would say, “Land Before What? What is that? Oh, yeah, yeah, you’re welcome.” My son learned pretty quickly that Grandad was giving Mom the money to buy those “perfect” Christmas presents.

We were never sure when we got a birthday card from him whether our names would actually be spelled correctly. But he always remembered our birthdays. When my brother Dennis was away from home doing basic training, my dad never wrote to him, but he did ask me to write my brother every other day and he would pay for the stamps and mail the letters. When my mother became terminally ill, he cared for her—he got very good at ironing and vacuuming and he could even warm up a can of soup—pretty good for a man who was taken care of for much of his life.

My dad and I shared a fear of snakes, an admiration for Judge Judy, and a sense of humor. During his last week, when he was so ill, he laughed out loud when my brother Dennis told him that the kids at his school thought that a picture of my dad looked like George Bush. When my dad and I used to accompany my mother to the grocery store, we would wait for her at the end of the check-out line. And when we heard her say the words, “Wait a minute, you’ve overcharged me for this item,” we would sprint to the exit, grinning at each other, because we both knew that we didn’t want anyone to know we were with this “difficult” customer. He loved to laugh—we grew up on Soupy Sales, Ray Stevens, Red Skelton, and Jackie Gleason.

Thirteen years ago I wrote after my mother died that I couldn’t figure out exactly why she was so tenacious in clinging to life because of her pain and suffering. I thought it was because she was afraid we couldn’t make it without her. And my dad, in his last weeks, held on just as tightly. And the fact of the matter is: my dad just didn’t want to go! He loved life—his wife Peggy, his children and his step children, his grandchildren and great grandchildren, his car, his friends, his church. And, you know what? People loved John Ray.

The closing days of life often give us an opportunity to reflect on what we’ve accomplished—have we been successful?

(Ralph Waldo Emerson)

"To laugh often and much.

To win the respect of intelligent people, and

the affection of children.

To earn the appreciation of honest critics.

To appreciate beauty.

To find the best in others.

To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child,

or a garden patch.

To know even one life has breathed easier because you

have lived.

This is to have succeeded."

My dad, indeed, was a success. One night in the hospice residence, the TV was playing the game show “Wheel of Fortune.” The last puzzle was “The best is yet to come,” and I simply chuckled aloud.

Dad, for you, the “best” is already here.

Ray, John Flint, age 82, of Knoxville, passed away May 3, 2010 at Mercy Hospice. He was a member of Hillcrest United Methodist and retired from the Knoxville News Sentinel with 39 years of service. Member of the South Knoxville Republican Club, Sheriffs Merit Council and coached numerous recreational youth teams. Preceded in death by first wife, Dolores Ray and parents, Ed and Elizabeth Ray. Survivors include wife, Peggy Weisgarber Ray; sons, Dennis, Ron and Mike Ray, all of Knoxville; daughter and son-in-law, Sheila and James Cooper; stepchildren, Pam Morgan and husband, Gary, Fred Weisgarber, Penny Hutton, and Dan Weisgarber; several grandchildren and great-grandchildren. The family will receive friends from 6:00-8:00 PM on Wednesday, May 5, 2010 in the chapel of Berry Funeral Home, Chapman Highway, with funeral service to follow at 8:00 PM, Dr. Pat Polis officiating. Family and friends will meet at Woodlawn Cemetery on Thursday, May 6, 2010 for an 11:00 AM interment service. Condolences may be offered at www.berryfuneralhome.com.