Life, in the key of Ray

I worked for him for 20 years, but our relationship really didn’t start until right around the sixth.

Late one Thursday afternoon, he reached me at my desk in Orlando to ask if I was interested in becoming editor of our newest paper in Austin, TX. He explained the place had issues and needed some serious love.

“This isn’t a job for a shrinking violet,” he said. “You need to understand that.”

I smiled, counted to three and then tempered my words, which had a tendency to flow in a tone that was far too big for my britches.

“I understand, Ray. I’m not afraid of a tough job.”

He sent me to Austin with a clear expectation: Do us proud. And thus began the relationship that would define me as a journalist.

Over the years — in Austin, then Washington and now Charlotte — I’ve moved through my company with one overriding goal: To make Ray proud.

I had the good fortune to spend a whole bunch of time with Ray during his last week on Earth. I had an issue that needed resolving. He dropped everything to help me resolve it. Along the way, I got to see firsthand what I’d known in my heart to be true for many years.

Ray didn’t just talk a good game when it came to running a company that valued the dignity of every employee. He walked the walk. And then some. Our company values — compassion, humility, honor, integrity — were his values. They flowed from his pores into the very DNA of the company he built.

In his last days, I got some of Ray’s most valuable time, as he listened to my concerns, gave me the guidance I needed and stood beside me as I dealt with my problem.

The day after it was all over, he wandered into my office, as he tended to do. We made small talk for about five minutes, not touching on the issue we’d just worked through. Finally, we settled into the easy silence he was so fond of. I struggled not to fill the vacuum. Anyone who knew Ray knew that silence was time better left to the ages.

“By the way,” he finally said, “I thought you handled yourself very well in there.”

“Thank you,” I responded with a smile.

“You know, I’m proud of the work you’ve done for us over the years,” he said. “That’s why you’re here. Because you’ve done a great job.”

I thanked him again and fought back tears as he wandered out of my office.

Ray died this weekend. The strongest, most vital man I’ve known was done in by a yellow jacket.

When I heard he was dead, I couldn’t speak for what seemed like an eternity. Now that I’ve had some time to reflect, I’m incredibly sad at his passing and infinitely grateful for that last conversation.

Because in the end, I learned that I have, in fact, done what he asked of me all those years ago.

I made him proud.

Rest in peace, Ray. And thank you for everything.