A farewell for Ramblin' Ray A friend remembers WYSO disc jockey who shared a love for early country music XENIA -- There is something about radio that will never change, no matter how many gadgets we invent to send, receive and play digital files containing music or the spoken word.
I'm not talking about satellite or Internet radio, that you can get anywhere, anytime and with no interference.
I'm talking about real radio, the kind that requires a tower to broadcast AM or FM waves that can only travel so far. What you can pick up on a radio depends on the time of day, the weather, and the station's equipment and broadcast license. It also depends on your radio itself, its antenna, and whether its indoors, outdoors, in a car or tilted just the right way.
Who hasn't driven slower in hopes of holding on to a radio signal long enough to hear what song a disc jockey will play next, or the next man up to bat in a Reds game?
It's that combination of unpredictable uncertainty and the individual human touch that gives radio its magic, its power to cut through the crackle of static and grab you by the ear with a new, strange sound or one that's familiar and comforting.
The pre-rock'n'roll country music that Ramblin' Ray Garrison loved had all of those qualities, and Ray delighted in bringing that music to WYSO (91.3 FM, Yellow Springs) radio listeners for more than 25 years, the last several years on his Saturday night program, the Midnight Ramble.
I got to know Ray when I hosted Bluegrass Breakdown, the show preceding his, for almost four years. Ray always showed up about a half hour before he went on the air, already prepared with a detailed playlist, often on a specific theme, and a satchel full of neatly stacked CDs, and sometimes records, culled from what must have been a massive home collection.
Joe Colvin, another longtime music host on WYSO, said many people have made it a point to tell him how much they enjoyed listening to Ramblin' Ray, his unpredictable selections and his gentle delivery. Despite Ray's incredible knowledge of just about every hillbilly band, musician, songwriter or record label that did anything at all between Edison's invention and Elvis's arrival - I never failed to learn a fact or two every time I talked with or listened to him -- he came across not as a professor giving a lecture, but as a friend sharing a joy.
I got to see the twinkle in his eye as he introduced a song, and, while putting away CDs after my show, I occasionally spotted him through the studio glass singing along or dancing a little, believing himself to be alone with the music.
Several months before I left my program in early 2003, Ray told me he had cancer. Of course it bothered him, but he never changed his approach to hosting the Midnight Ramble, even though he had to miss some shows to get treatment, traveling to the Cleveland Clinic for at least one extended stay.
His wife Kathleen began driving Ray to the station from their Beavercreek home, just to be safe in case he took a weak spell. While Ray might have seemed shy to a stranger, Kathleen is one of the most outgoing, happy people I've met. With support from her, it's no wonder Ray responded well to treatment.
Having been out of the WYSO listening area for a couple of years, I noticed that Ray sounded a little different when I tuned him back in a few times over the last year or so. But it was the same Ray and the same great music, and he wasn't about to quit.
"A model of courage" is how WYSO General Manager Paul Maassen described Ray. "It was the love of the music, really, it comes down to that," said Maassen. "He did [the show live] even when he wasn't feeling well. We offered to let him come in during the week and record the show, but he just insisted and said, 'I want to do it live.'"
Ray never made a dime from the show, volunteering his time and talent far past the time it was convenient to do so.
Ray was 63 and had fought cancer for six years when he died last Thursday, Oct. 4. He had been married to Kathleen for 36 years, and is survived by her, by daughter and son-in-law Mary and Danny Schurig, and by his grandson, Casey, whom he loved even more than his music. Ray had worked as a computer specialist in the University of Dayton's IT department for about 18 years.
From now on, whenever I hear Gid Tanner's fiddle, Jimmie Rodgers' blue yodel or Hank Williams' lonesome wail coming through the radio, I'll think of Ray and where he might be ramblin' now.
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