Mike Brown is president of the local amateur radio club. He wrote this column about Ray Prim - the man who lived alone 40 years in the house at 1816 Seminole Drive that we just bought.
The Bird House
by Mike Brown - KE4FGF
The young man sat quietly at the desk in his dorm room. While he loved FSU, the school was a long way from home, and in an effort to make some friends in the area; he’d brought his 2-meter HT with him.
It was late on a Sunday evening and he’d participated in the local ARES net a short time before, but feeling a little bit blue and homesick, he put his call out on the air…
In a few moments, he received an answer…”How ya doin’ young man?…KAAY DEEE 4 VQS…
“Hi Uncle Ray…I’m fine” and the conversation moved on from there for about 10 minutes. I had passed my Tech test at that point, and had a radio in the car, but in those days, the gratification of a call sign was a wait of several months, rather than a few weeks, so I was held to being strictly a listener.
They talked about how school was going and the young man talked about missing his family and the older man listened and made the young man feel better about things. They signed as the youngster indicated he was heading to bed to get ready for another day of classes…”Uncle Ray” told him to let him know if he needed anything and said good night also…thus was my introduction to a man who was to become an important part in my life as well…Ray Prim….
Ray was born in Haileyville, Oklahoma on October11, 1921. He was quite a musician in his youth, playing a number of instruments, including the tuba. His parents were well enough off to actually buy him one, which made him a popular member of several bands in his area.
He mentioned one time that as his was the only tuba in town, he’d end up marching the parade route, and after completing that first pass, they’d put him in a car and rush him back to the beginning to march through again with the next band. In one case, he ended up marching through the same parade four times.
He attended the University of Oklahoma and helped pay his tuition by working with a funeral home. In those days, paramedics and regular ambulances were unknown; the hearse provided ambulance duties when not being used for a funeral.
While he talked about picking up folks after car accidents and the like, it wasn’t until looking through some of his military paperwork later that I found out he’d also spent time doing more than that. He had enough qualifications to be a Funeral Director and also had studied enough to be an embalmer, a fact he never mentioned when we talked about it.
December 7th, 1941 was a day that changed Ray’s life forever. Caught up in the fervor of paying the Japanese back for the attack on Pearl Harbor, Ray signed up to be a Marine. Apparently, the large number of men signing up caused some paperwork glitches, and it was to be quite some time, March 11, 1942, before his enlistment was accepted.
He was sent to Hawaii to receive amphibious landing training, and talked a lot about how beautiful it was there. Finally embarking on a troop transport, he left the island with a massive fleet of ships with the purpose of taking possession of a place code-named “Workman Island.” We know now that the island in question was Iwo Jima…
Ray went ashore with the 4th Marine Division in the first wave, and they immediately had problems moving around on the black volcanic sand. The Japanese defenders waited for several more waves to land and start milling about before “getting restless” and opening fire as Ray described it.
His scrapbook has a letter written home to his parents about 2 weeks after the landing and he says:
“This is just another little note to let you know that I am OK. I feel swell and I am very happy to report that I haven’t had a scratch so far!
Guess HE is still with me. Getting pretty good chow, much better than I expected.”
I think we all know Ray had problems talking about his time on Iwo. Indeed in the letter he continues:
“ Have been getting a lot of mail. Should write you more often but can’t get used to losing my best buddies one minute and writing a cheerful letter the next…Would like to know what you have heard about Iwo Jima…Don’t think the newspapers could ever really describe the place…”
The first time we discussed this was just short of the one-year anniversary of the 911 attacks. It was the first time he had mentioned being a Marine to me. During our discussion, the comment that struck home most was that when his unit finally left the island and was again on an Attack Transport, they were taken into the galley for their first decent meal in over a month, and as he looked around at the faces, he realized that there was only a small handful of “original” men left from the landing a scant 30 days before….
The experience was bad enough that Ray suppressed most of his wartime memories and to the end, couldn’t really talk about anything in detail without breaking down.
After the war, Ray got back to the business of life and after marriage, started a family and had a son and two daughters. The marriage didn’t last, and Ray moved from Oklahoma into our area and for 27 years was a salesman for Grolier Encyclopedias.
When I met him through mutual friends, he was a bank courier and had gotten into Amateur Radio for company on his long drives around the panhandle. I’d usually talk to him on the way to work as he headed south, and again in the afternoon when we both were headed home.
He had a regular route of repeaters he followed and had friends to talk with for the whole trip. He asked several times for me to take a day off and ride with him so he could introduce me to those friends, and I regret that I never had the chance to do that.
There were a number of hams along that route that were pretty vocal about Ray’s daily trip through their area being the high point of their day.
His final position was as a medical courier and as that kept him in town, it was a standing “date” for me to meet Ray and Dan Moniz for lunch on Mondays. A few other hams joined us now and then, but as Ray often wore his “Iwo Jima Survivor” cap, other vets who were in the restaurant would stop by the table for a chat. Ray would always let them know we would be there the next week and would invite them to join us.
It wasn’t long before the Vets outnumbered Dan and me and the“Veteran’s Lunch”became Ray’s signature meal of the week. We moved the “Ray-Dan-Mike” lunch to another day
It was during those lunches that Ray indicated he had been feeling a bit under the weather and was attending a nutrition class with the hope that eating better would lead to feeling better.
We also noticed about this time that his clothes were ever more loose fitting and he joked about opening more holes in his belt because it was too big now. At first, Dan and I assumed Ray’s weight loss was due to the “better diet” he was eating now because of the class….
It wasn’t….
Myelofibrosis is a rare blood disease where the bone marrow begins deteriorating into scar tissue and thus loses its ability to manufacture blood cells. The patient becomes anemic and weak and this was the cause for Ray being chronically tired.
The only regimen for stabilizing the problem was blood transfusions, and was followed by worse news…his condition would deteriorate and was not correctable.
Ray took the news with the same characteristic calm he displayed in those wartime letters he’d written home and as always, turned to his faith…”If this is the path God wants me to travel…this is the way I’ll go.”
He continued to work for a while, but as the need for transfusions came more and more often, he was forced to retire for good. In the meantime, I no longer worked in Tallahassee, and didn’t get by to see him as often as I’d have liked. Dan did keep up with him, but since I didn’t see him as often, it was more obvious to me that he was in an ever-quickening decline.
On one of those visits to his house (he wasn’t able to drive anymore) I noted a small wooden box on top of his TV, with a red Marine Corps medallion on the front. Though I didn’t say anything, he noticed my quick glance at it and said…
“How do you like my bird house?”
I already knew it was a case for a cremation urn, but let him explain it anyway. He went through what his arrangements would be and that his final resting place would be at the military cemetery in Bushnell.
As he talked, my mind was racing through why he’d want to have this on his TV where he would have to look at it every day…and it occurred to me that Ray had accepted what was in store for him and this was a simple testimony to his friends saying “I know what’s coming and I’m OK with it…”
The last time I visited, I took Joe Carroll along with me. Joe had also been in on the Iwo Jima landing and he and Ray enjoyed conversations about how it was back then.
Ray surprised us both when he cornered Joe pretty vocally about whether he had his will and final arrangements completed. I also noted that the “Bird House” was no longer on the TV….
Joe and I were both caught a bit off guard, and we lapsed into silence and let Ray talk.
He was upset because no one wanted to talk to him about what we all knew was getting very close and he couldn’t understand why when he was not only comfortable with it, but wanted to discuss it.
Joe finally said, “ I’m not planning on checking out right now, I’m taking exercise classes so I can get back on the golf course.” That made Ray laugh, and we seized the chance and quickly moved the discussion elsewhere.
Clay Copeland, a young neighbor from across the street came in about that time to tell Ray he was heading home for Thanksgiving. Clay, an FSU student, lived in a house his family had rented to keep he and his sister from having to stay in the dorm.
We found out then that Clay had been staying with Ray from time to time, to give Ted Srygley, a friend from downstate, a rest. Ted was the son of a friend of Ray’s, and had known him since childhood. Ted simply wanted Ray to be able to remain at home where he’d be more comfortable.
The young man told Ray he was sorry about leaving and said if Ray needed him to stay in town, he’d forego his trip home. Ray assured him that he would rather Clay head home to be with his family over the holidays. As they talked and said their goodbyes, I was reminded of that first conversation I’d listened to so many years ago…
It was that afternoon (Friday) that Dan and I came up with the idea of a net honoring Ray that Sunday night. We were a little concerned about how it would be taken, as nothing of this nature had ever been done before. But knowing he didn’t have long, and throwing caution to the winds, we moved ahead…
Ray wasn’t able to get close enough to his own radio to operate, and Alan, W1ABT, volunteered to go by and help him.
The net went as well as it could with Ray’s weakened condition, and had a good number of vets and other friends who shared some memories and bade Ray farewell.
I had been a little worried that the net would come off somewhat morbid, but there was a warm spirit of friendship expressed, and though Ray was very emotional at the number of folks taking part, we heard later that he continued to talk about it for several days afterward.
I still feel sorry for Alan though, as he had to go through an emotional roller coaster that night that left him shook up for a while.
Ted sent pictures afterwards taken during the net, and it was shocking to see how far Ray had gone down in the two days since I’d seen him. Ted had also been the one to remove the “Birdhouse” from plain view.
He lasted until the following Friday, which was the day after Thanksgiving. A number of friends, including Dan, were at his side that afternoon when the end finally came. At Ray’s request, they read to him from his Bible.
The funeral service in Bushnell took place on December 11th, and was well attended. A Marine Honor Guard fired volleys followed by a bugler playing Taps. The assembly area was in a small stand of trees and though it was winter, the weather wasn’t bad. Before us on the platform was a beautiful arrangement of flowers, a properly folded American flag…and Ray’s “Bird House”…
Ray had mentioned once that rather than a funeral, he’d rather that we’d get together at a restaurant somewhere and lift a glass in his honor. In a curious coincidence, the mourners all ended up at the same restaurant following the service, and we did exactly that…
It’s been odd in the months since then, not to hear that familiar call sign pop up on the repeater from time to time, as well as not seeing the Sunday evening emails reminding “his Vets” that it was time for another Monday lunch…
Such were the good works that Ray accomplished in uniting an ever-growing circle of friends.
I have numerous good memories of things he did through the years, like driving his motor home to hamfests to give his friends a place to rest for a few minutes and have a cup of coffee. I also remember when he helped an elderly ham who lived just down the street deal with the loss of his wife, and then provide support as best he could when the man, who was also very sick, passed on shortly thereafter…one thing about Ray…he was ALWAYS there for his friends.
He usually started our lunches by asking what I was working on club wise and told me more than once that he didn’t see how I kept up with everyone and everything…I just smiled back at him and said “I’m just following the example set by an old friend…”
Ray showed us all the proper way to live, and then how to face death on your own terms with resolve, dignity, and humility before your maker.
There is a void left since his passing, and I’m curious to see if indeed time will heal the wound. I don’t think it will. We all miss you Ray…
de KE4FGF
