Carl Orice Delay
5 Nov 1944 – 5 Jan 2012
Carl Orice Delay, 67, of Lucasville, died Thursday, January 5, 2012, at his residence.
He was born 5 November 1944, in Columbus,Ohio and was the son of the late 1915-1950 Carl Eldo and 1905-2000 Allie Ethel Rowe Delay.
The man from Crowe Hollow - my cousin whom I loved dearly
Spouse:
Sierra Sue Harvey
05 November 1966
Sandy Howard
Children:
Ricky Delay
Scott Delay
Carl Delay
Tim Delay
Cody Delay
Serina Delay
Shanna Delay
Sandrina Delay
Amanda Delay
Brothers and Sisters are:
1921-1986 Myrtle Evans - Ray Eric Chandler
1927-1989 Henrietta Pratt
1929 ____ Anna Lillian Pratt
____-____ Blanch
1930-1931 Edna Wina Calhoun
1932-2012 Vernon Joseph Pratt
1935-1935 Henry Pratt
1936-2013 Joyce Evelyn Beasley
1940-____ Edith Carolyn Delay
1941-____ Goldie Vernita Delay twin
1941-2017 Vernon Lorenzo Delay twin
1943-____ Cora Phyllis Delay
1944-2012 Carl Orice Delay
1945-2010 Barbara Louise Delay
Exerts from: "Ode to Carl Orice "Orsie" Delay
Written by his dear friend Pat -Patrick W. Crabtree
Orsie was our Fonzarelli.
Orsie could generate joy whether he was driving or not.
When it came to taking action Orsie never ever stuttered in uncertainty or indecision.
On Thursday, 5 January 2012, Orsie Delay breathed his final breath during the night, within feet of where he was born at his homeplace.
Orsie Delay had become a locally euphemistic phrase for living life on the edge. Most of the parents in the Appalachian enclave of Crowe Hollow would caution their children with great frequency as they left the household on summer afternoons to carouse with friends, "I saw Orsie on the road a few minutes ago – you be careful!" Well that's the way that parents universally tend to look at things but Orsie would never have run over a kid. He would have driven down a coal mine shaft if that's what it took to avoid a brat on a bicycle and we all knew that. Still, Hillbilly kids are shrewd enough to not challenge fate without purpose so we generally always dragged our wheeled steeds across the ditch and up the bank when we heard him coming. He only traveled at one speed: wide open.
Orsie was a sort of genius behind the wheel of an automobile. No NASCAR driver could have shined his shoes. Back in the early 70s, I once rode shotgun with Tiny Lund, not long before he was killed, during a wild ride to a South Carolina Pack-it store, (aka, package store, or, packie – a carry-out), for some cold ones in a very fast souped-up Camaro – I'm sure that he wanted to see what this Northern boy was made of. I could have told you back then, and the same right now, that I was a lot more confident riding with Orsie. Orsie was better... In fact, he was the very best.
Where other demon-drivers might stomp for the brake, Orsie would opt for the gas pedal. Nothing gave him more joy, which was perpetually reflected in his boyish grin, than to find his car off the road and plowing dirt thirty feet into the air in a hair-raising broad-slide, just so he could drive it out. Make no mistake about it, Orsie experienced plenty of crashes but he somehow always avoided the ancient oak tree or the concrete bridge abutment which would have obliterated us all. If he ever wore a seat belt I never heard about it.
But to my peers and me Orsie represented a great deal more than a hell-driver. We rode with lots of hell-drivers back then, most of them very skilled at this Appalachian moonshiner's art. Orsie was more markedly one-hundred percent personality. Absent a single lecture of any sort he taught me by example that there was really nothing in life to fear and everything to experience. He did know precisely when to duck but he always did so with a grin. Permit me to now expand a bit further upon the legend of Orsie Delay.
Orsie wasn't much of a planner because he viewed such behaviors as a gigantic waste of his time. He lived for the moment.
I have always harbored a secret desire to master that Crowe Holler Shuffle but Orsie possessed a natural fluid movement, perhaps akin to that of a Native American Indian, which I could never hope to emulate. In fact everything that Orsie did was neat, with an economy of motion, and idyllic to the human eye. He could don a ripped T-shirt and a pair of worn jeans and look far better than I in a wedding tuxedo. Some people are born with this mode of magical ambiance and Orsie possessed it by the bushel.
Given that Orsie lived much of his life outside traditional social parameters, one could say that he was actually quite a lucky person in many ways. Although he often loafed with a rough crowd he was not a man to either harbor or direct any personal malice toward anyone.
Orsie conferred upon our little Hillbilly gang a Rite of Passage which has since benefited us all many times during our respective lives. And he also gave us the occasional cold beer, firecrackers, rides to the drive-in theater in the trunk of his car, and some very shrewd and beneficial tips on approaching girls. I was hardly surprised to see a great many people at his funeral and most, including numerous nieces and nephews, were pretty teary-eyed.
He was my dear cousin Orsie
BIO provided by
Roberta F. "Bobbi" Jenkins
✻ღϠ₡ღ✻
♫ ♫ God Bless America the land of the free ♫ ♫
5 Nov 1944 – 5 Jan 2012
Carl Orice Delay, 67, of Lucasville, died Thursday, January 5, 2012, at his residence.
He was born 5 November 1944, in Columbus,Ohio and was the son of the late 1915-1950 Carl Eldo and 1905-2000 Allie Ethel Rowe Delay.
The man from Crowe Hollow - my cousin whom I loved dearly
Spouse:
Sierra Sue Harvey
05 November 1966
Sandy Howard
Children:
Ricky Delay
Scott Delay
Carl Delay
Tim Delay
Cody Delay
Serina Delay
Shanna Delay
Sandrina Delay
Amanda Delay
Brothers and Sisters are:
1921-1986 Myrtle Evans - Ray Eric Chandler
1927-1989 Henrietta Pratt
1929 ____ Anna Lillian Pratt
____-____ Blanch
1930-1931 Edna Wina Calhoun
1932-2012 Vernon Joseph Pratt
1935-1935 Henry Pratt
1936-2013 Joyce Evelyn Beasley
1940-____ Edith Carolyn Delay
1941-____ Goldie Vernita Delay twin
1941-2017 Vernon Lorenzo Delay twin
1943-____ Cora Phyllis Delay
1944-2012 Carl Orice Delay
1945-2010 Barbara Louise Delay
Exerts from: "Ode to Carl Orice "Orsie" Delay
Written by his dear friend Pat -Patrick W. Crabtree
Orsie was our Fonzarelli.
Orsie could generate joy whether he was driving or not.
When it came to taking action Orsie never ever stuttered in uncertainty or indecision.
On Thursday, 5 January 2012, Orsie Delay breathed his final breath during the night, within feet of where he was born at his homeplace.
Orsie Delay had become a locally euphemistic phrase for living life on the edge. Most of the parents in the Appalachian enclave of Crowe Hollow would caution their children with great frequency as they left the household on summer afternoons to carouse with friends, "I saw Orsie on the road a few minutes ago – you be careful!" Well that's the way that parents universally tend to look at things but Orsie would never have run over a kid. He would have driven down a coal mine shaft if that's what it took to avoid a brat on a bicycle and we all knew that. Still, Hillbilly kids are shrewd enough to not challenge fate without purpose so we generally always dragged our wheeled steeds across the ditch and up the bank when we heard him coming. He only traveled at one speed: wide open.
Orsie was a sort of genius behind the wheel of an automobile. No NASCAR driver could have shined his shoes. Back in the early 70s, I once rode shotgun with Tiny Lund, not long before he was killed, during a wild ride to a South Carolina Pack-it store, (aka, package store, or, packie – a carry-out), for some cold ones in a very fast souped-up Camaro – I'm sure that he wanted to see what this Northern boy was made of. I could have told you back then, and the same right now, that I was a lot more confident riding with Orsie. Orsie was better... In fact, he was the very best.
Where other demon-drivers might stomp for the brake, Orsie would opt for the gas pedal. Nothing gave him more joy, which was perpetually reflected in his boyish grin, than to find his car off the road and plowing dirt thirty feet into the air in a hair-raising broad-slide, just so he could drive it out. Make no mistake about it, Orsie experienced plenty of crashes but he somehow always avoided the ancient oak tree or the concrete bridge abutment which would have obliterated us all. If he ever wore a seat belt I never heard about it.
But to my peers and me Orsie represented a great deal more than a hell-driver. We rode with lots of hell-drivers back then, most of them very skilled at this Appalachian moonshiner's art. Orsie was more markedly one-hundred percent personality. Absent a single lecture of any sort he taught me by example that there was really nothing in life to fear and everything to experience. He did know precisely when to duck but he always did so with a grin. Permit me to now expand a bit further upon the legend of Orsie Delay.
Orsie wasn't much of a planner because he viewed such behaviors as a gigantic waste of his time. He lived for the moment.
I have always harbored a secret desire to master that Crowe Holler Shuffle but Orsie possessed a natural fluid movement, perhaps akin to that of a Native American Indian, which I could never hope to emulate. In fact everything that Orsie did was neat, with an economy of motion, and idyllic to the human eye. He could don a ripped T-shirt and a pair of worn jeans and look far better than I in a wedding tuxedo. Some people are born with this mode of magical ambiance and Orsie possessed it by the bushel.
Given that Orsie lived much of his life outside traditional social parameters, one could say that he was actually quite a lucky person in many ways. Although he often loafed with a rough crowd he was not a man to either harbor or direct any personal malice toward anyone.
Orsie conferred upon our little Hillbilly gang a Rite of Passage which has since benefited us all many times during our respective lives. And he also gave us the occasional cold beer, firecrackers, rides to the drive-in theater in the trunk of his car, and some very shrewd and beneficial tips on approaching girls. I was hardly surprised to see a great many people at his funeral and most, including numerous nieces and nephews, were pretty teary-eyed.
He was my dear cousin Orsie
BIO provided by
Roberta F. "Bobbi" Jenkins
✻ღϠ₡ღ✻
♫ ♫ God Bless America the land of the free ♫ ♫
Carl Orice Delay
5 Nov 1944 – 5 Jan 2012
Carl Orice Delay, 67, of Lucasville, died Thursday, January 5, 2012, at his residence.
He was born 5 November 1944, in Columbus,Ohio and was the son of the late 1915-1950 Carl Eldo and 1905-2000 Allie Ethel Rowe Delay.
The man from Crowe Hollow - my cousin whom I loved dearly
Spouse:
Sierra Sue Harvey
05 November 1966
Sandy Howard
Children:
Ricky Delay
Scott Delay
Carl Delay
Tim Delay
Cody Delay
Serina Delay
Shanna Delay
Sandrina Delay
Amanda Delay
Brothers and Sisters are:
1921-1986 Myrtle Evans - Ray Eric Chandler
1927-1989 Henrietta Pratt
1929 ____ Anna Lillian Pratt
____-____ Blanch
1930-1931 Edna Wina Calhoun
1932-2012 Vernon Joseph Pratt
1935-1935 Henry Pratt
1936-2013 Joyce Evelyn Beasley
1940-____ Edith Carolyn Delay
1941-____ Goldie Vernita Delay twin
1941-2017 Vernon Lorenzo Delay twin
1943-____ Cora Phyllis Delay
1944-2012 Carl Orice Delay
1945-2010 Barbara Louise Delay
Exerts from: "Ode to Carl Orice "Orsie" Delay
Written by his dear friend Pat -Patrick W. Crabtree
Orsie was our Fonzarelli.
Orsie could generate joy whether he was driving or not.
When it came to taking action Orsie never ever stuttered in uncertainty or indecision.
On Thursday, 5 January 2012, Orsie Delay breathed his final breath during the night, within feet of where he was born at his homeplace.
Orsie Delay had become a locally euphemistic phrase for living life on the edge. Most of the parents in the Appalachian enclave of Crowe Hollow would caution their children with great frequency as they left the household on summer afternoons to carouse with friends, "I saw Orsie on the road a few minutes ago – you be careful!" Well that's the way that parents universally tend to look at things but Orsie would never have run over a kid. He would have driven down a coal mine shaft if that's what it took to avoid a brat on a bicycle and we all knew that. Still, Hillbilly kids are shrewd enough to not challenge fate without purpose so we generally always dragged our wheeled steeds across the ditch and up the bank when we heard him coming. He only traveled at one speed: wide open.
Orsie was a sort of genius behind the wheel of an automobile. No NASCAR driver could have shined his shoes. Back in the early 70s, I once rode shotgun with Tiny Lund, not long before he was killed, during a wild ride to a South Carolina Pack-it store, (aka, package store, or, packie – a carry-out), for some cold ones in a very fast souped-up Camaro – I'm sure that he wanted to see what this Northern boy was made of. I could have told you back then, and the same right now, that I was a lot more confident riding with Orsie. Orsie was better... In fact, he was the very best.
Where other demon-drivers might stomp for the brake, Orsie would opt for the gas pedal. Nothing gave him more joy, which was perpetually reflected in his boyish grin, than to find his car off the road and plowing dirt thirty feet into the air in a hair-raising broad-slide, just so he could drive it out. Make no mistake about it, Orsie experienced plenty of crashes but he somehow always avoided the ancient oak tree or the concrete bridge abutment which would have obliterated us all. If he ever wore a seat belt I never heard about it.
But to my peers and me Orsie represented a great deal more than a hell-driver. We rode with lots of hell-drivers back then, most of them very skilled at this Appalachian moonshiner's art. Orsie was more markedly one-hundred percent personality. Absent a single lecture of any sort he taught me by example that there was really nothing in life to fear and everything to experience. He did know precisely when to duck but he always did so with a grin. Permit me to now expand a bit further upon the legend of Orsie Delay.
Orsie wasn't much of a planner because he viewed such behaviors as a gigantic waste of his time. He lived for the moment.
I have always harbored a secret desire to master that Crowe Holler Shuffle but Orsie possessed a natural fluid movement, perhaps akin to that of a Native American Indian, which I could never hope to emulate. In fact everything that Orsie did was neat, with an economy of motion, and idyllic to the human eye. He could don a ripped T-shirt and a pair of worn jeans and look far better than I in a wedding tuxedo. Some people are born with this mode of magical ambiance and Orsie possessed it by the bushel.
Given that Orsie lived much of his life outside traditional social parameters, one could say that he was actually quite a lucky person in many ways. Although he often loafed with a rough crowd he was not a man to either harbor or direct any personal malice toward anyone.
Orsie conferred upon our little Hillbilly gang a Rite of Passage which has since benefited us all many times during our respective lives. And he also gave us the occasional cold beer, firecrackers, rides to the drive-in theater in the trunk of his car, and some very shrewd and beneficial tips on approaching girls. I was hardly surprised to see a great many people at his funeral and most, including numerous nieces and nephews, were pretty teary-eyed.
He was my dear cousin Orsie
BIO provided by
Roberta F. "Bobbi" Jenkins
✻ღϠ₡ღ✻
♫ ♫ God Bless America the land of the free ♫ ♫
5 Nov 1944 – 5 Jan 2012
Carl Orice Delay, 67, of Lucasville, died Thursday, January 5, 2012, at his residence.
He was born 5 November 1944, in Columbus,Ohio and was the son of the late 1915-1950 Carl Eldo and 1905-2000 Allie Ethel Rowe Delay.
The man from Crowe Hollow - my cousin whom I loved dearly
Spouse:
Sierra Sue Harvey
05 November 1966
Sandy Howard
Children:
Ricky Delay
Scott Delay
Carl Delay
Tim Delay
Cody Delay
Serina Delay
Shanna Delay
Sandrina Delay
Amanda Delay
Brothers and Sisters are:
1921-1986 Myrtle Evans - Ray Eric Chandler
1927-1989 Henrietta Pratt
1929 ____ Anna Lillian Pratt
____-____ Blanch
1930-1931 Edna Wina Calhoun
1932-2012 Vernon Joseph Pratt
1935-1935 Henry Pratt
1936-2013 Joyce Evelyn Beasley
1940-____ Edith Carolyn Delay
1941-____ Goldie Vernita Delay twin
1941-2017 Vernon Lorenzo Delay twin
1943-____ Cora Phyllis Delay
1944-2012 Carl Orice Delay
1945-2010 Barbara Louise Delay
Exerts from: "Ode to Carl Orice "Orsie" Delay
Written by his dear friend Pat -Patrick W. Crabtree
Orsie was our Fonzarelli.
Orsie could generate joy whether he was driving or not.
When it came to taking action Orsie never ever stuttered in uncertainty or indecision.
On Thursday, 5 January 2012, Orsie Delay breathed his final breath during the night, within feet of where he was born at his homeplace.
Orsie Delay had become a locally euphemistic phrase for living life on the edge. Most of the parents in the Appalachian enclave of Crowe Hollow would caution their children with great frequency as they left the household on summer afternoons to carouse with friends, "I saw Orsie on the road a few minutes ago – you be careful!" Well that's the way that parents universally tend to look at things but Orsie would never have run over a kid. He would have driven down a coal mine shaft if that's what it took to avoid a brat on a bicycle and we all knew that. Still, Hillbilly kids are shrewd enough to not challenge fate without purpose so we generally always dragged our wheeled steeds across the ditch and up the bank when we heard him coming. He only traveled at one speed: wide open.
Orsie was a sort of genius behind the wheel of an automobile. No NASCAR driver could have shined his shoes. Back in the early 70s, I once rode shotgun with Tiny Lund, not long before he was killed, during a wild ride to a South Carolina Pack-it store, (aka, package store, or, packie – a carry-out), for some cold ones in a very fast souped-up Camaro – I'm sure that he wanted to see what this Northern boy was made of. I could have told you back then, and the same right now, that I was a lot more confident riding with Orsie. Orsie was better... In fact, he was the very best.
Where other demon-drivers might stomp for the brake, Orsie would opt for the gas pedal. Nothing gave him more joy, which was perpetually reflected in his boyish grin, than to find his car off the road and plowing dirt thirty feet into the air in a hair-raising broad-slide, just so he could drive it out. Make no mistake about it, Orsie experienced plenty of crashes but he somehow always avoided the ancient oak tree or the concrete bridge abutment which would have obliterated us all. If he ever wore a seat belt I never heard about it.
But to my peers and me Orsie represented a great deal more than a hell-driver. We rode with lots of hell-drivers back then, most of them very skilled at this Appalachian moonshiner's art. Orsie was more markedly one-hundred percent personality. Absent a single lecture of any sort he taught me by example that there was really nothing in life to fear and everything to experience. He did know precisely when to duck but he always did so with a grin. Permit me to now expand a bit further upon the legend of Orsie Delay.
Orsie wasn't much of a planner because he viewed such behaviors as a gigantic waste of his time. He lived for the moment.
I have always harbored a secret desire to master that Crowe Holler Shuffle but Orsie possessed a natural fluid movement, perhaps akin to that of a Native American Indian, which I could never hope to emulate. In fact everything that Orsie did was neat, with an economy of motion, and idyllic to the human eye. He could don a ripped T-shirt and a pair of worn jeans and look far better than I in a wedding tuxedo. Some people are born with this mode of magical ambiance and Orsie possessed it by the bushel.
Given that Orsie lived much of his life outside traditional social parameters, one could say that he was actually quite a lucky person in many ways. Although he often loafed with a rough crowd he was not a man to either harbor or direct any personal malice toward anyone.
Orsie conferred upon our little Hillbilly gang a Rite of Passage which has since benefited us all many times during our respective lives. And he also gave us the occasional cold beer, firecrackers, rides to the drive-in theater in the trunk of his car, and some very shrewd and beneficial tips on approaching girls. I was hardly surprised to see a great many people at his funeral and most, including numerous nieces and nephews, were pretty teary-eyed.
He was my dear cousin Orsie
BIO provided by
Roberta F. "Bobbi" Jenkins
✻ღϠ₡ღ✻
♫ ♫ God Bless America the land of the free ♫ ♫
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