The School I Did Not Attend and the Guy Who Made it Memorable

I grew up in northwest Indiana. Though not officially by definition, the cities and towns of northwest Indiana are in effect suburbs of Chicago, Illinois. For the residents there, local news, weather and sports come from television stations in Chicago. Car radios are tuned to stations in Chicago. Those who love the arts go to museums and theaters in Chicago. Those who love animals go to zoos and aquariums in Chicago. Sports fans cheer for the Chicago Bears in football, the Blackhawks in hockey, the Bulls in basketball and either the Cubs or White Sox in baseball. An unwritten rule prevents people from cheering for both the Cubs and Sox.

When I was growing up in the middle and late 1960s, there were four television stations – the three networks and a local independent with the call letters of WGN. While the networks had news and interview programs, WGN’s early morning fare was more kid-friendly Captain Kangaroo, Garfield Goose and Ray Rayner and Friends. The Captain and Garfield were fun, but I really liked Ray Rayner.

Ray Rayner and Chelveston

Ray wore a one-piece jumpsuit with a number of pockets. Clipped on each pocket with paper clips were little squares of paper. Ray would rip a square off a pocket and introduce the next cartoon. In between cartoons, Ray would do arts-and-crafts or cooking projects, or skits with a big dog puppet named Cuddly Dudley or a real life duck named Chelveston. Very little was scripted. I doubt Chelveston would have followed the script anyway.

Ray and Cuddly Dudley

About halfway through Ray Rayner and Friends, Ray would do weather and sports reports. Occasionally during college football season, Ray would announce with great fanfare “And winning this weekend was Slippery Rock!” Mom and I (dad was either at work or if he had to work the “graveyard” shift then he was sleeping) didn’t know if Slippery Rock was a real school or something Ray made up. All we knew was it was a silly name.

A quarter of a century later, I made a solo trip to the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York. As I was driving north on I-79 in western Pennsylvania, I saw a sign that read “Slippery Rock University next exit.”

“OMG! Slippery Rock is real! I have got to see it and get a shirt!” I said to myself as I zipped the car off the interstate.

Slippery Rock University of Pennsylvania, founded in 1889, has a very pretty campus with limestone buildings, lots of green grass and big trees. I don’t know about the quality of the curriculum or its faculty, but the school with the silly name is a beautiful university.

Every year about this time, as Amy and I get our winter clothing out of storage, I pull out the grey sweatshirt with the Slippery Rock University name and crest in green that I bought that September day in 1994 only because Ray Rayner mentioned Slippery Rock on TV. I didn’t graduate from or attend Slippery Rock University, but I wear the shirt with pride. And when people ask me about Slippery Rock, I tell them the story of my trip through western Pennsylvania and growing up with Ray Rayner.

Ray Rayner passed away in 2004, but his memory lives on in my mind, in my heart, and on my shoulders.

It’s Christmas time! Whoopee

For the ninth year in a row, my child will not wake me up before dawn to open his presents this year. The almighty biased judge ruled my son should live primarily with the destroyer of our family, not the one who fought to save it.

This year, because of the cost of airfare, Nik will not get to Arizona until in the evening of Dec. 29. We’ll open our Christmas gifts to each other on Dec. 30, but the morning of Dec. 30 is not Christmas morning.

I’ll smile and appear festive in front of family and friends on Christmas day, but it’s all a façade. It’s the same façade I stand behind 302 days a year, but my Christmas façade is a heavier burden to bear. Perhaps I’ll be able to sneak away and find a secluded and dark spot to cry my eyes out. The problem is when I’ve had those rare moments in the past, the tears don’t come. You see, the destroyer not only ruined my dreams for an idyllic family, she also ripped out my ability to cry. I guess I shed my God given supply of tears during my futile fight.

Savor every second you are physically with your child, my friend. Savor every hug. Savor every kiss. Savor every time they laugh and they make you laugh, because someday you won’t be together. And then all your problems of today will seem rather trivial.

I pray that day for you comes later rather than sooner.