I was thinking about what it takes to move forward. The fortitude, the drive, just doing it. This story is dedicated to my husband, my hero my Raymond. There are many choices, many roads we can all take, every day. We are presented with many forks in the road, which one will we take? When I feel like giving up, am fearful, I think of my husband. Just as a love song is written with great passion, so beats my heart in this story. I know from living with him day in and day out, what it has taken for him to rise, continue to face his demons, his fears. His father was an amazing artist, who loved planes and trains. Ray's brother fell in love with planes, and interestingly enough, travels non stop on them. I guess he chose that part of Al Spencer's legacy. I need to find a legacy here in all of this heartache. Ray fell in love with trains, his fathers passion as well. Ray's father, a boy from Ohio( his father an engineer for the railroad),wanted his boy to become a baseball player. This young man had dreams, desires of his own in this rough steel mill town. He loved drama, art, which mystified his father. In his teenage years, his mother died, and was sent away to live with relatives. Ray's father went to college, joined the Army, soon after met his mother and they nestled in a small community in Southern California -Pasadena above the Rose Bowl. His mother, from a small town in Nebraska, so the Ohio boy and Nebraska girl were figuring it out together. The home was a very modest one, neighborhood great for raising children. Ray's brother Jeff was the first to come, then Ray less than three years later. Ray's father began to have some success with art, but what came along with it was unexpected stress. Keeping up with the Jone's, this is something both were ill prepared for. Ray's father, now wandering, stumbling around the neighborhood drunk, mama finally saying enough by Ray's teenage years. How quickly this picture perfect image disintegrated, the family poised in front of Pop's Model T- now Pop is propped in front of bottle after bottle of booze in the garage, his new oasis.
During this time, Jeff, I suppose to escape some of this madness, had gone deep into motor cross, bikes, anything to get away from home and Ray drawing, art, escape. Around aged twelve, Papa Spencer was gone- so was the money. Mama Spencer panicked, and the welfare check became Spencer households god. If a car no longer worked, it would be abandoned roadside, and that was that. Growing up, Ray's dad literally used a white glove to inspect cleaning, so this renegade behavior was new it was now survival. The two boys could not relate to one another.....
Having their family become so public, but not for anything notable, just shame. Stumbling drunks, fighting,welfare checks, house literally falling apart. It could not be hidden, the pink elephant was in the hood and it was them. Mama Spencer would only amplify things by becoming more eccentric, feathered hats, feathered boas, extremely erratic behavior that would, by the boys teen years have them wincing. Fancy dresses she would buy, knowing full well she could never pay for- always making deals she could never close,someone else was going to pay, more than likely her two teen boys. I understand my husband more and more now as I write this. He put his toys away so long ago, his favorites being trains. Everything he loved was sold, bartered or simply taken away. Even talking about the day his father left, " I told you," or "What do you want to bring that up for?"would be the words he heard from his mother. By the time Ray turned about fifteen, somewhere in Germany, a boy would be competing in the Olympics for bicycling. That boy would be his brother, Jeff- a lone eighteen year old. I am proud of these two brothers coming out of this household.
By the time Ray was thirty five he lost both parents. His father, dying homeless in Central Park near the Zoo. Ray never saw or spoke to his father again, after seventh grade. We have yet to go back to New York to visit his grave. His brother told us where it is- it will be time when it is time. We have gone back to Ohio, to see Grandpa Spencer's grave, and Nebraska for Grandpa Petersen. His father's wound is the deepest - it will take some time. Ray's Mother's ashes were sprinkled over the ocean by the Neptune society.The house they grew up in was torn down when Katie was a baby, a beautiful new one built in it's place. I am sure whoever lives there is enjoying their home, it looks so peaceful now. Occasionally we take walks by, Ray reminiscing about the old hood, his friends," Dennis The Mennis" childhood he had. I am happy he was able to fulfill so many of his dreams. He did not let anything stop him.... one dream wanting to going to Art Center- he took another route and became a teacher there. With Disney, I did not realize how long it took for someone to even look his art portfolio. He was persistent, every week, just as he had done with other jobs, over and over again. Making cold calls, one year, two years, until finally...... it happened.
He is quiet, determined, doesn't let setbacks stand in his way, they become his challenge. He is the man I love, respect, with such vision. I don't know what he is working on most of the time. "Oh, I've been working on this for three years, " he'll say. That would be Thunder Mountain- I hadn't even seen any of the stuff until maybe six weeks ago, I had no idea. These breathtaking sketches, seriously? I say to him," Have I ever been on Thunder Mountain?" "Yes honey," he says so patiently. "Oh."That is my love..... that is my sweet darling, the man I am so proud of for so many reasons. Not just for surviving, thriving, inspiring so many. Inspiring me, making me want to become more, that is my Raymond.
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