| Biographical Non-Fiction posted September 18, 2022 |
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A most colorful friend.
One Night with Ray
by Terry Broxson
Jean and Zoe (my wife) had been best friends since grade school. Jean married Ray a few years before I met them. When I met Zoe, the deal included Jean and Ray.
Age-wise, Ray and I were a year apart. At six-three and one hundred eighty, I towered over Ray's five foot ten, two hundred thirty pounds. Ray was strong, very strong. Ray could have broken me in the middle like a matchstick if he ever wanted.
A little background on Ray is in order.
Ray worked in the oil well service business and was semi-famous because he did dangerous work worldwide. In Saudi Arabia, he commanded respect as "The Man With No Nerves." One of the things Ray did was drop nitroglycerin down the shaft of a raging oil well on fire.
If the dictionary had a picture of the epitome of cool under pressure, the image would be Ray.
Ray's boss was Red Adair, famous for his work, the company he founded, and a movie of his life starring John Wayne. He began working for Adair after graduating high school. He started as a gofer. Ray would become Executive-Vice-President of the company.
Ray's work provided him with a very nice income commensurate with the danger he faced on the job. His company car was a new Mercedes every year. Ray lived as a kind and generous man. But he did not suffer fools gladly.
There were occasions when Ray's choices outside the job might be brought into question. I am going to tell you about two such events. The first I heard from him. The second, I was by his side. I can assure you Ray would smile at the memory of these stories. There might be a little regret in his smile, but maybe not.
In 1976, I had never heard of Dubai. Ray had been there many times. He described how he spent some time in a Dubai jail.
It all started innocently enough. Ray had arrived in Dubai on an assignment and stayed at his usual hotel, the Dubai Hilton. He was sleeping when someone knocked on his door a little after midnight. Ray opened the door, and a stranger asked, "Where is Shelia?"
Speaking in real clear Texan, he said, "Ain't no Shelia here, pardner. You got the wrong room." Ray slammed the door.
Knock. Knock. Knock. Through the door, Ray heard, "I know she is in there."
He told me, "I had no choice. There was no Shelia. The fool had the wrong room. I opened the door, and one uppercut later, the stranger lay in the hall, out cold. I went back to bed."
At about two in the morning came another knock on the door. Ray opened it to find a member of Dubai's police force. "Sir, there seemed to be a problem earlier I need to talk to you about."
Ray explained. "I was not in the mood to talk. One more uppercut, and I went back to sleep."
A loud banging on the door at four in the morning awakened Ray. Ten of Dubai's finest greeted Ray as he opened his door. Five managed to get handcuffs on him, and three did get him to jail.
Red Adair told Dubai's Minister of Oil Operations to release Ray, or we will not work in Dubai again. Red paid a ten thousand dollar fine, and his private jet brought Ray home.
Red personally completed the assignment in Dubai and charged the Oil Ministry Three hundred twenty-five thousand dollars for two weeks of work. The bill was gladly paid.
Ray said the fee was fifty thousand dollars more than usual. An annoyance fee had been added.
***
My wife and I lived in Dallas. Ray and his wife lived in Houston. The ladies had been out of the country on a girls' vacation. They were returning on a Sunday. Early Saturday morning, I drove to Houston, planning on spending the night at Ray's and going home with my wife on Sunday afternoon.
It sounded like a good plan.
Ray usually opened the bar at about ten in the morning, either at his house on the weekends or his workshop office during the week. Of course, he didn't consider drinking Lone Star Beer to be actually consuming alcohol. For Ray, real booze started about four in the afternoon with Crown Royal Whiskey. That is how Saturday began.
A few days earlier, Ray had taken delivery of a new Corvette. That was my first time riding in a Vette, which was cool. Late in the afternoon, we hit a burger joint. We had some drinks and food. Ray said he wanted to shoot some pool. He said he knew a good place to go. A better choice could have been his house. He had a pool room and a well-stocked bar.
We went to a Texas-style roadhouse with country music on the jukebox. This place had a long well-worn wooden bar with just about any drink one might want. It did have a couple of nice pool tables and three or four of Ray's friends.
Ray and I played a few games of pool with the guys. There was plenty of drinking, and Ray bought the rounds. I am pretty sure some guys gambled. Not me, because I had no money and limited pool playing ability.
I had lined up a pool shot when Ray grabbed my arm and said, "We gotta go."
"Okay."
We get in the Corvette. He takes off like we are in a drag race.
"Where are we going?"
"To my house, we need some guns."
WE! "Why do we need guns?"
"Those two guys that came in right before we left are undercover cops. I am pretty sure they are gonna bust a couple of my buddies for gambling."
UNDERCOVER COPS! PRETTY SURE!
I am trying to think as fast as the Vette is going. "Ray, I think we should stop, have a drink, and discuss a plan."
Nothing from Ray.
"Besides, you've been buying drinks all night; it's my turn to buy."
"That's a good idea; I know a place."
A few minutes later, we were in an upscale bar. An attractive barmaid said, "Hello, Ray, long time no time." She brought the first round. I paid. Guns, undercover cops, and pool hall buddies were never discussed. I never heard another word about it.
Ray never spent another night in jail. He also never went back to Dubai. I never heard of any shootout involving Ray.
When the first Gulf War ended in 1991. There were hundreds of oil wells on fire. Ray played an essential role in controlling those fires. He was interviewed on the Today Show and in newspapers worldwide. His picture was on the cover of Time Magazine. He was a folk hero.
Ray lived to the age of seventy-six. The doctors explained he had a heart attack and died while riding his Harley. The Harley crashed into a ditch. But somehow, the shock of the accident restarted his heart. He would live another year, dying of natural causes.
Jean and Zoe (my wife) had been best friends since grade school. Jean married Ray a few years before I met them. When I met Zoe, the deal included Jean and Ray.
Age-wise, Ray and I were a year apart. At six-three and one hundred eighty, I towered over Ray's five foot ten, two hundred thirty pounds. Ray was strong, very strong. Ray could have broken me in the middle like a matchstick if he ever wanted.
A little background on Ray is in order.
Ray worked in the oil well service business and was semi-famous because he did dangerous work worldwide. In Saudi Arabia, he commanded respect as "The Man With No Nerves." One of the things Ray did was drop nitroglycerin down the shaft of a raging oil well on fire.
If the dictionary had a picture of the epitome of cool under pressure, the image would be Ray.
Ray's boss was Red Adair, famous for his work, the company he founded, and a movie of his life starring John Wayne. He began working for Adair after graduating high school. He started as a gofer. Ray would become Executive-Vice-President of the company.
Ray's work provided him with a very nice income commensurate with the danger he faced on the job. His company car was a new Mercedes every year. Ray lived as a kind and generous man. But he did not suffer fools gladly.
There were occasions when Ray's choices outside the job might be brought into question. I am going to tell you about two such events. The first I heard from him. The second, I was by his side. I can assure you Ray would smile at the memory of these stories. There might be a little regret in his smile, but maybe not.
In 1976, I had never heard of Dubai. Ray had been there many times. He described how he spent some time in a Dubai jail.
It all started innocently enough. Ray had arrived in Dubai on an assignment and stayed at his usual hotel, the Dubai Hilton. He was sleeping when someone knocked on his door a little after midnight. Ray opened the door, and a stranger asked, "Where is Shelia?"
Speaking in real clear Texan, he said, "Ain't no Shelia here, pardner. You got the wrong room." Ray slammed the door.
Knock. Knock. Knock. Through the door, Ray heard, "I know she is in there."
He told me, "I had no choice. There was no Shelia. The fool had the wrong room. I opened the door, and one uppercut later, the stranger lay in the hall, out cold. I went back to bed."
At about two in the morning came another knock on the door. Ray opened it to find a member of Dubai's police force. "Sir, there seemed to be a problem earlier I need to talk to you about."
Ray explained. "I was not in the mood to talk. One more uppercut, and I went back to sleep."
A loud banging on the door at four in the morning awakened Ray. Ten of Dubai's finest greeted Ray as he opened his door. Five managed to get handcuffs on him, and three did get him to jail.
Red Adair told Dubai's Minister of Oil Operations to release Ray, or we will not work in Dubai again. Red paid a ten thousand dollar fine, and his private jet brought Ray home.
Red personally completed the assignment in Dubai and charged the Oil Ministry Three hundred twenty-five thousand dollars for two weeks of work. The bill was gladly paid.
Ray said the fee was fifty thousand dollars more than usual. An annoyance fee had been added.
***
My wife and I lived in Dallas. Ray and his wife lived in Houston. The ladies had been out of the country on a girls' vacation. They were returning on a Sunday. Early Saturday morning, I drove to Houston, planning on spending the night at Ray's and going home with my wife on Sunday afternoon.
It sounded like a good plan.
Ray usually opened the bar at about ten in the morning, either at his house on the weekends or his workshop office during the week. Of course, he didn't consider drinking Lone Star Beer to be actually consuming alcohol. For Ray, real booze started about four in the afternoon with Crown Royal Whiskey. That is how Saturday began.
A few days earlier, Ray had taken delivery of a new Corvette. That was my first time riding in a Vette, which was cool. Late in the afternoon, we hit a burger joint. We had some drinks and food. Ray said he wanted to shoot some pool. He said he knew a good place to go. A better choice could have been his house. He had a pool room and a well-stocked bar.
We went to a Texas-style roadhouse with country music on the jukebox. This place had a long well-worn wooden bar with just about any drink one might want. It did have a couple of nice pool tables and three or four of Ray's friends.
Ray and I played a few games of pool with the guys. There was plenty of drinking, and Ray bought the rounds. I am pretty sure some guys gambled. Not me, because I had no money and limited pool playing ability.
I had lined up a pool shot when Ray grabbed my arm and said, "We gotta go."
"Okay."
We get in the Corvette. He takes off like we are in a drag race.
"Where are we going?"
"To my house, we need some guns."
WE! "Why do we need guns?"
"Those two guys that came in right before we left are undercover cops. I am pretty sure they are gonna bust a couple of my buddies for gambling."
UNDERCOVER COPS! PRETTY SURE!
I am trying to think as fast as the Vette is going. "Ray, I think we should stop, have a drink, and discuss a plan."
Nothing from Ray.
"Besides, you've been buying drinks all night; it's my turn to buy."
"That's a good idea; I know a place."
A few minutes later, we were in an upscale bar. An attractive barmaid said, "Hello, Ray, long time no time." She brought the first round. I paid. Guns, undercover cops, and pool hall buddies were never discussed. I never heard another word about it.
Ray never spent another night in jail. He also never went back to Dubai. I never heard of any shootout involving Ray.
When the first Gulf War ended in 1991. There were hundreds of oil wells on fire. Ray played an essential role in controlling those fires. He was interviewed on the Today Show and in newspapers worldwide. His picture was on the cover of Time Magazine. He was a folk hero.
Ray lived to the age of seventy-six. The doctors explained he had a heart attack and died while riding his Harley. The Harley crashed into a ditch. But somehow, the shock of the accident restarted his heart. He would live another year, dying of natural causes.
 Recognized |
#26 September 2022 |
Artwork by MKFlood at FanArtReview.com
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