Ray Bryan may need an introduction. He was that little bent over man who amazed his neighbors and passersby alike. He could be seen almost any time in the daylight hours, and sometimes in the dark, on his hands and knees with a little pocket knife pulling weeds. His yard was small, just under a half acre. Once his lawn was as lush as the fairways of Augusta National in Georgia. But as the drought tightened its grip on west Texas, it appears now to be hard packed dirt and weeds.

The surprising thing is Ray was not just pulling weeds. He was having conversations with God. We all know God hears prayers best when you are on your knees.

This went on for hours every day. Ray mostly wanted God to, you know the usual things, keep his growing family, especially the great-grandchildren, safe and healthy, help the stock market boom, elect more Republicans, end these senseless wars once and for all, do something ‘bout them Cowboys, and please how about a little rain for Ballinger.

These conversations turned into days, days into weeks, weeks into months, months into years, season after season. He was out there from extreme summer heat to the cold winds of winter. No matter how long Ray pulled, he never caught up. God liked talking with Ray. He made sure there were always plenty of weeds in his little yard.

A man from the Greatest Generation is finally reporting to the Pearly Gates. (Those who knew Ray know that old worn out story.) Ray was born and raised dirt poor in Rockwood, Texas. His father was extremely abusive. Ray and his ten siblings endured a childhood of forced labor, seemingly as indentured servants. Truly Dickensian. Ray was the oldest son. Growing up during the depression, Ray was forced to drop out of high school in order to help support his family. A loss he never got over. Knowing there was no future for him in ranching and dryland farming, Ray sought to escape the grinding poverty of depression-era ranch life.

At the age of twenty-one, he followed his heart west on Route 66 until it ended at the beach in Santa Monica, California. Ray easily found high paying work in the prewar aircraft industry. Over the years he became an accomplished, highly renowned craftsman throughout the McDonnell-Douglas Aerospace Corporation.

In 1941, again following his heart, he made an offer and sent train fare to his childhood sweetheart. She was a beautiful young woman. Neita Alice Ashmore was the girl; she lived on an adjoining Rockwood ranch. Just twenty years old, Neita accepted this proposal of marriage, a union and marriage that would last nearly eighty years.

At the height of the war, Ray was in the US Army as a PFC in the 96th Infantry Division. That unit was the first to storm the beach at Okinawa, the last major battle of WWII. Ray sustained a hostile fire gunshot wound, injuries that nearly took his life, injuries that would affect him for the next seventy years. After a lengthy convalescence he returned to Neita’s loving arms and now an infant daughter.

After the war Ray and Neita built a beautiful new home. They lived the good life and raised three children: Helen, Gary, and Susan. They lived in Santa Monica, California, for the next thirty-five years.

After thirty-nine years, at now Boeing Aerospace, he retired. His career spanned an era from the legendary DC3 to the fantastic, out of this world, Sky Lab project. Remember the old saying, “You can take the boy out of the country but you can’t take the country out of the boy.” Ray returned to his real home—Texas. He and his bride settled in Ballinger, close by to Rockwood. Together in their golden years, they built an award-winning dream home. They resided in that home for the next thirty-five years. Certainly this was the “somewhere over the rainbow.”

Ray often shared words of wisdom with his son. A poignant one, “Don’t just wear it out, use it up.” In his final years Ray was beyond worn out. He was forced to hobble along with a walker to compensate for poor balance and overall weakness. His eyesight and hearing were failing. Ray often said he “was just disgusted” with the indignity heaped upon him by old age. Finally he used it all up.

Ray will be returned to the Texas soil he so loved. His burial will be in the Bryan family lot at the Rockwood Cemetery.