A Brief (For Me) History of the First 15 Years
By: Jamie Kaplan
“True friends stab you in the front.”
- Oscar Wilde
Ray and I lived by this creed for our 51-year friendship. I write only of the initial 15 years, which are not as widely known — albeit perhaps more colorful — as Ray’s and Linda’s 36 years together.
Ray and I met the first week of college in line at the dining hall. He seemed like an affable fellow whose Cranston accent belied that he spent the previous year at a toney New England prep school. Brown had insisted that Ray spend a year at the finishing school to polish his rough edges. The effort failed miserably, another reason that attracted me to Ray. Finally, my then 12-year-old townie girlfriend lived in Ray’s hometown. That coincidence of gargantuan proportion sealed the deal on our friendship.
As our friendship progressed, it soon became quite apparent that Ray and I shared the same level of intellectual curiosity and academic work ethic. We also strongly believe in the necessity to regularly supplement our courses with a potpourri of extracurricular lofty learning experiences. These included TV offerings full of invaluable teaching and insight like the the Who, What, Where Game, Hollywood Squares, and Jeopardy. We recognized that Brown had no professors who were nearly as erudite as Wally Cox (upper left-hand corner square) or possessed the sheer creative genius of Paul Lynde (middle square).
Our college years passed ever so quickly, and Ray and I made a seamless transition together to law schools in Washington, D.C. Ray’s legendary religious fervor led him to Catholic University. For similar reasons, I chose Georgetown. We shared a rented house with two Brown classmates and the large, welcoming Roach family. Even though the Roach family far outnumbered us — counting only the offspring that lived in our toaster oven — they refused to pay rent, a major issue for 4 recent college graduates with no money or skills to earn an income.
After a mere 5 or 6 weeks, seams emerged in my transition, and I decided to leave law school and Washington in search of a destiny that was not manifest. I ultimately landed in California just the same. Not one to bear grudges, Ray never forgave me for leaving.
Ray and I remained in regular contact, and I rejoined him in Washington in 1980. He had worked at the Federal Home Loan Bank Board, the agency that regulated the totally corrupt system of the savings and loan industry. He left the agency in disgust with the industry’s practices, and began to build a law practice representing major players in the field. Always with his integrity intact, Ray had an uncanny ability to persuade regulators that his clients’ malfeasance was somehow legitimate. Needless to say, his practice boomed. His travel was extensive and exhausting, but still didn’t explain how he once confused Little Rock with town of El Dorado in Arkansas.
Fast forward a few years to when Ray and his housemate, Tim Durkin, hosted a party that was a rager by any standard. Many guests, including me, met at least one person who they believed would be their life mates. Unfortunately, none of us remembered their potential life mates the next morning, except that one guest who never forgets anything vividly remembered Ray. She was a sweet, innocent, classically midwestern, pediatric cardiologist named Linda Bradley.
A day or two after the party, Linda happened to jog past Ray’s house on what must have been a training run for an Ironman Triathlon, judging by the distance from her house to Ray’s neighborhood. Her timing was remarkably fortuitous as Ray was sitting on his front porch when Linda was coincidentally winding down from her training goal of a marathon for the day.
Ray’s eyes met Linda’s and the die was cast. Almost immediately after this encounter, Ray’s friends all transformed into Jewish mothers, and badgered him not to let pass an accomplished doctor with a bright future. The truth is that he was no match for the now fiercely determined Dr. Bradley.
A few years later, Ray and Linda were married in a most convenient place for their many guests from the Washington area, Franconia Notch, New Hampshire. Indeed, they are oft-cited as the historical first of today’s norm for millennials —The Destination Wedding.
The wedding was held in a classic New England church. The service was moving, especially when (as I’ve reported elsewhere) the Pastor defined Ray’s and Linda’s true love in the words of Justice Potter Stewart: “I know it when I see it.” A heartfelt description, but the only problem was that Justice Stewart used those words to define hard-core pornography. At this point, most of the attendees cried, to avoid the more normal response.
And now to you, Ray-Ray. That we remained dear friends for more than 50 years is a tribute to you. You overlooked my many imperfections and were always there for me in times of need. I’m equally grateful for the laughter, honesty, mutual respect, and love for one another and each other’s families that were the constant threads throughout our friendship. And when one of us jokingly stabbed the other, it was always in the front. You will be a special part of me for the rest of my life.
