Ramon Lee Jordan

Ray was born November 16, 1931, in Ninnekah, Oklahoma. His earliest years were shaped by the poverty and hardship of the Dust Bowl. In many ways, he was one of those Grapes of Wrath children whose families left Oklahoma in search of a better life in California.

Ray knew hard work from an early age. As a boy, he picked watermelons in Oklahoma and, after his family moved west and settled in the Fresno area, picked cotton in California. His family had very little during those early years, but life gradually improved. His father became a photographer and his mother a nurse, and through their hard work they were able to provide Ray and his siblings opportunities that had not existed before.

Ray graduated from high school and attended junior college for a couple of years. Music was also an important part of his young life. He was a drummer and played professionally with a band in clubs throughout Central and Southern California. Years later, his Army discharge papers would preserve this wonderful piece of his history: his civilian occupation before entering military service was simply listed as “Drummer (Music).”

Just before his 19th birthday, Ray enlisted in the United States Army in Fresno on October 30, 1950. His service took him overseas during the Korean War, where he served in combat and, according to the stories he shared with his family, performed dangerous scouting duties on the front lines. He spent approximately a year and seven months overseas and rose to the rank of Master Sergeant while still a very young man.

His military decorations included the Combat Infantryman Badge, Korean Service Medal with Bronze Service Star, United Nations Service Medal, Army of Occupation Medal for service in Japan, and other military honors.

After returning from Korea, Ray was assigned to the 63rd Infantry Regiment at Fort Ord, California, where he helped train and supervise other soldiers. His family would hear plenty of stories through the years about the discipline the young Master Sergeant was expected to maintain among the men under his supervision. Ray was honorably discharged on October 29, 1953, after three years of active military service, just weeks before his 22nd birthday.

After returning home, Ray took his clothes to a dry cleaning and laundry business in Victorville owned by the mother of a young woman named Sally Ann. There he met the woman who would become his wife and lifelong partner.

Sally was two years older than Ray and would forever tease that she had “robbed the cradle.” She called him Ray, as did many of the friends, relatives, and coworkers who knew him throughout his life.

When Ray married Sally, he embraced not only her but her two young children, whom he adopted and raised as his own. Together they built a family of six children, which eventually grew to include 16 grandchildren and 43 great-grandchildren.

Ray and Sally were partners in the truest sense. Both worked hard throughout their lives and supported one another through demanding careers and the joys and challenges of raising a large family. Sally worked for more than 35 years with the telephone company while raising their children and later served for many years on the Victor Valley Water District Board of Directors, including as its president.

When Sally’s health began to decline, Ray’s devotion to her became especially evident. For more than a decade, he cared for her through her illnesses and became her primary caregiver. He doted on her every need with extraordinary patience and devotion, caring for her in a way his family believes no one could have done better. He remained faithfully by her side until her passing. Ray and Sally shared more than 53 years of marriage, and he would go on to live nearly 19 years without her.

Ray worked for the telephone company for a while before beginning a career with American Bridge/U.S. Steel, where he worked for more than 35 years. His work frequently required him to travel, sometimes taking him away from home for months at a time.

Yet even when work demanded long periods away, Ray remained involved in his children’s lives.

When he was home, he showed up.

He drove to swim meets, attended sporting events and other activities, and made time for family vacations. His children knew a father who worked extraordinarily hard but still wanted to be part of what they were doing and the things that mattered to them.

Ray made an effort to stay connected to the people he loved. Even during the years when work kept him traveling for long stretches, he sought out family and friends along the way, stopping to visit whenever he could. Relationships mattered to Ray, and he put effort into maintaining them.

After more than 35 years with American Bridge/U.S. Steel, Ray still wasn’t ready to retire. Drawing on a lifetime of experience in the steel industry, he continued working for approximately another 25 years as a steel inspector, including inspecting water tanks for the City of Victorville, and others. Even in his 70s, he was still doing work that would have challenged men half his age. Remarkably, Ray was still climbing water tanks at age 75, and he continued working well into his 80s.

But Ray knew how to enjoy life just as enthusiastically as he knew how to work.

He loved the outdoors, motorcycles, and dirt bikes. Riding and racing became family activities and provided countless adventures and stories. He loved sports, especially boxing and football, was a devoted NASCAR fan, and always appreciated a cool car or truck—usually managing to have one of his own.

To his children he was Dad. To generations that followed, he became affectionately known as Papa Ray and grandpa Ray.

Whatever you called him, you generally knew where you stood with Ray.

He had a wonderful sense of humor and rarely let a conversation go by without a joke, a funny observation, a teasing remark, or a story that left everyone smiling. He had a genuine gift for making people laugh and making people feel good about themselves. He often came up with funny and endearing nicknames for people and pets he had.

But Ray also wasn’t one to tell you only what you wanted to hear.

If he thought you were headed in the wrong direction, chances were pretty good that you were going to hear about it. He was honest and direct, and sometimes that honesty could be tough to take. But behind it was something his family understood: Ray cared. If he took the time to tell you what he thought, it was usually because you mattered to him.

He showed his love in many ways—by working hard, showing up, staying involved, stopping to visit, making people laugh, and occasionally offering advice whether you had asked for it or not.

In his later years, Ray began attending church regularly, and his Christian faith became a more consistent part of his life. He looked forward with hope to seeing those he loved who had gone before him—and especially Sally, whom he had missed for nearly 19 years.

Ray’s was an extraordinary American life: a poor Oklahoma boy growing up during the Dust Bowl; a child picking watermelons and cotton; a young professional drummer playing California clubs; a soldier scouting the front lines of Korea; a Master Sergeant before his 22nd birthday; a husband and father raising six children; a motorcycle rider and racer; and a man still climbing water tanks in his 70s and working into his 80s.

He worked hard. He enjoyed life. He stayed connected to the people he loved. He spoke his mind. He loved his family.

And he made people laugh.

Ray is survived by his six children, Ramon Lee Jordan, Jr., Debra Ann (Jordan) Long, Steven Lee Jordan, Ron L. Jordan, Valerie Jean (Jordan) Keppel, and Ramona Lynn (Jordan) Peabody; 16 grandchildren; 43 great-grandchildren; and a large extended family whose lives were made richer by knowing him.

He was preceded in death by his beloved wife of more than 53 years, Sally Ann Jordan, as well as both of his parents and all his siblings.

After nearly 95 years, Ray leaves his family with far more than dates and accomplishments.

He leaves them with stories—many, many stories—and memories that will continue to be told through the generations that follow him.

He will be deeply missed and lovingly remembered.

May his Memory be Eternal