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| By: Elizabeth Fajardo It was a procession fit for a king, motorcycles numbering over a hundred, escorted by local police, and extending to nearly a quarter mile. Motorcycle clubs from far and wide participated, wearing their respective colors to pay homage to a generous, fellow rider. Leading the motorcade in a black limo was Liz Davis, his life partner, and their extended family. Following behind her vehicle on the left was her son, Dru, navigating Ray’s bike, and the Noble Creed in single file. Heading the pack on the right was Walter, Vice President of the Posse, and immediately after him the rest of the fallen hero’s club members. Only days before, at a memorial meeting for this man--Ray D. Bray--Phil Smith summed up what our leader meant to the membership: “The Posse was Ray.” And to those of us who knew him, he was more than our President, as worthy of praise as any dignitary. Ray was our friend. When I first awoke, a deep mist embraced the morning--a reminder of the sadness that brought this day about. Before long, the crisp air gave way to kisses of warm sunlight and the promise of a day worth celebrating a special life. Cotton candy clouds framed a polished blue sky, at the same time mourners began to gather at the Peninsula Grill in San Mateo. As soon as the CHP and San Mateo police officers set up roadblocks, Dru revved up his motor and the bikes streamed out in two orderly rows down 101 towards the air museum. Occupants of the many cars that turned to glance could sense someone special was being honored. While taking the exit off Holly Street in San Carlos, I looked down below on the freeway and observed such a splendorous site in the parade of motorcycles continuing on their journey. I suddenly had the warm feeling that Ray was enjoying the fanfare from his place in heaven. Upon our arrival in the main hall of the Hiller Aviation Museum, I approached the memorial table up front. The sweet fragrant smell of Valentine red roses outlining a wreath from the Noble Creed filled the room. A wide pink ribbon from our group addressed Ray as our leader and friend, beside a bountiful arrangement of yellow roses and daisies and flag red carnations. Looming large was the California Posse banner pinned up as a backdrop in the lobby. Hanging from the ceiling were numerous flying machines. One in particular caught my eye—a motorized glider with a white fuzzy bear at the helm and a pair of floatation devices. Our own Evan bear was seated in grandeur in the front row, so why shouldn’t he have a friend of his own? I perused the different picture collage boards just prior to the ceremony. There was a poster board dedicated to Liz and Ray. Included in the various expressions and events was a photo of Ray lying beside his dog, Dexter. I couldn’t help laughing. A pose on the deck of a ship headed for Mexico showed the sunshine in Liz and Ray’s smiles--and over the skies above. In the most recent vacation shot the two soul mates were relaxing in lounge chairs, both wearing paparazzi-proof shades, she in a Harley rose print T, and he, in a carefree Hawaiian shirt. A picture from a wedding the couple attended stood out; a faint silver light trickled in from a side window, as Liz, resplendent in a black silk dress gazes lovingly into the puppy brown eyes of her partner--he himself decked-out in a coal black tux, a pearl white rose on the lapel, undoubtedly playing the part of a prince. For that moment time seemed to stop and the world became merely a planet of two people. The family album exposed his life early on. His brother and sisters are present, as are Ray’s Grandma Edna and Aunt Irene. A faded black and white 3-by-5 print even documented the chicken farm in Arlington, California where he was raised. Not to be forgotten are little Alexis, her teeny fingers on a beer bottle as she pauses to give Ray a mischievous smirk, and various outings with baby Kaden, who time and again, never fails to plant a wide-eyed grin up at Grandpa. In one of his childlike moods our fearless leader is seen clowning for the lens outfitted in a purple crown—king for a day, and to us, for all time. Another collection of pictures incorporates life with the California Posse. Ray is in the center proudly wearing his red leather jacket, Posse vest and a headband with flaming red, yellow and black lines across his forehead. There were several group get-togethers, documenting different excursions, and what Ray was born to do, ride. I was amused at a photo of myself (the only girl in the midst of the guys), taken at Dudley-Perkins directly in front of the Harley quilt with Ray, Bob, Ken and Walter. Mr. Bray, ever the rascal, is smiling, from ear to ear as usual. Similarly, there is a shot with Lourdes as the lone woman anchored by Manny, and Ray, among others, and saved for all posterity as they sit on a bench in the town of Lock. Included in the collage is a pose I captured of Ray on a ride to the coast, his hands carrying two sacks of fresh crabs. I remember him saying they were for the family. His family came first. We took our seats as the color guard entered the premises. Tears came to my eyes as the uniformed officer unraveled the American flag, and then saluted Ray’s service to our country. I recalled the many events that involved Vietnam Veterans and Ray’s insistence that all of us support the troops and any rides associated with their causes and those of the underdog. I tried to focus on Dave, as he read the opening statement at the podium. But there was the ultimate distraction: In plain view was what appeared to be the gas tank urn holding his ashes, and burning to the side, a large red candle that gave the impression his spirit was not far away. First Kathleen, a good friend, spoke. “I thank Liz for being his angel.” Someday, I thought, Liz and heaven’s newest angel would meet again. Not long after, Steroling and Liz approached the stage. “Oh my,” his friend of over 40 years began, followed by Liz and her letter to Ray on how their friendship blossomed. “He always had bodyguards and baby-sitters watching over me.” She added that “Our love was true. Our time was too short. I will see you on the other side.” I could tell by the desolation in her voice how much he meant to her and when she made the sweet comment that “your eyes twinkled,” I understood. I was also certain he would continue watching over her. There was a rendition of “Amazing Grace” and an appearance by Richard Gordon, the new lead singer of Sly and the Family Stone (Ray had worked with the original group), who enthusiastically brought down the house with “Everyday People.” Walter and Aris emotionally made their way to the microphone. Walter said to the audience how he had lost more than a friend, a man who was his brother and best friend. “Ray loved his Dyna,” Walter claimed. “Ray also had a vision. His pride and joy was when the Posse rode in formation.” Stepson, Dru, and dear friend Lynn grieved from the heart as they espoused their sentiments with regard to Ray. In the case of Dru, we learned more about his unpredictability as a babysitter. “Ray taught us to clean bullet shells when Mom was out,” the story began, instead of playing the kids games she had left for their use. The statement was enough to brighten my day. Her son didn’t stop there. “I had fun!” he claimed, to the amusement of everyone. Before the presentation of The Life of Ray picture show, Preacher Greg Miller blessed the congregation. The man of the cloth wanted everyone one to know, “The next time we see him, he’ll be eternally youthful.” I agreed. The preacher’s words were comforting, as I pictured Ray young again. In the background of the auditorium I could hear the song “White Bird” by It’s a Beautiful Day. It brought me back to my teens and the days of feeling free, when my parents were alive and no one worried about dying. With that the slide show began and there was baby Ray in his birthday suit smiling for the camera. He was pictured on skis, in the forest, during the holidays and mainly, on motorcycles. When Judy Garland’s voice came over the loudspeaker singing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” there was not a dry eye in the house. The final speaker was Dottie, who had written a poem entitled “Ray’s last Day.” I recalled the ending, read eloquently by Dru, Dottie standing proudly beside him: “So when you take off, don’t forget me. Just look to your left and there I’ll be.” The last time I spoke to Ray in person was on November 4, 2007, after the Waterloo ride. As Rick drove us up to the house, Ray was outside, truly in his element. Ray’s rooster, Mr. T (or Tweety--his given name before he was discovered NOT to be a chicken) was nearby, and Peaches the Chihuahua was running about, eventually nipping at my toes. Paint Ball was inside safeguarding the house. The president of the Posse was in good spirits—but when was he not? Candidly he spoke to us about the fun of riding and the many ideas he had for the future of our club. As he went on, I recalled in my mind the times we went to Santa Cruz and how he would make it a point to buy Liz a candied apple. It always struck me how important she was to him. The mental picture of him walking up the boardwalk to the candy shop, stayed with me as he stood there in front of my eyes. Then I was transported back to the Village into the present. So here we were, one last Sunday, blessed to hear Ray’s voice, telling me he’d received the minutes, and at the same instant, laughing at the antics of the pup; and without warning, the moment had passed. If I learned one thing from the wonderful tributes, as the Earth, Wind and Fire song professes, “It’s all about the love.” Throughout the ages there are reminders of this sentiment. Wasn’t it the wise old wizard of Oz that tells the Tin Man that it isn’t how much you love, but how much you are loved by others? The outpouring of love was present on November 18th, where, as a navigator he once was as close to heaven as you could get. So it was appropriate we should honor this pilot where air travel is documented for all time. Love is what I remember about Ray and the way he shared so generously with others—and a magnetic smile that attracted so many friends—like a king whose royal subjects remain loyal. Those in need mattered, and he would bring the plight of the less fortunate to our attention. We shared something else quite significant. Ray was born on April 8th. That is also my son’s birthday. Even now I can see Ray in heaven younger than ever, a flaming red head band circling his thick brown hair, Mr. T by his side, as he revs up the motor of a brand new Dyna Wide-Glide. Only this angel is dressed in blue jeans, a red leather jacket, and donning a black vest with a Posse patch stitched behind—oh, and there is a distinct twinkle in his eye. He will give those holy elders a run for their money. But knowing our fearless leader, he wouldn’t have it any other way. |