From the Frozen Chosin to Churchill: The Biography of Csm Ray Hooker Cottrell as Told to Bob Brooks

By Robert Brooks

This is the story of one such NCO. He is equally versed in training and planning in leading and fighting. Raised from the poverty of the Great Depression, he enters into the service at sixteen. Like what a large number of young men did in WWII, he lies about his age in order to have the opportunity to do more than just survive. It has been argued that there was no such thing as a teenager until the 70s. When you left the house, you were considered an adult. You made decisions as an adult, you were treated as an adult, and you were respected as an adult. This soldier becomes that adult when his first experience in war comes at age seventeen in North Korea of 1950. From Incheon to Suwon, to the Chinese border of the Yalu and the Chosin Reservoir, he travels and fights for his country six thousand miles away from home. He is not old enough to drink or vote, but old enough to die. He grows up in the military under the tutelage of his commanders and leaders. He couldn’t read a compass before he was put in charge of a platoon of fighting men. All of whom are older than him, some by a decade or more. In a few short months, he goes from PFC to master sergeant.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524569181

Book preview

Copyright © 2017 by Robert Brooks.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2016920732

ISBN:              Hardcover                978-1-5245-6920-4

                        Softcover                  978-1-5245-6919-8

                        eBook                       978-1-5245-6918-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 09/13/2018

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

745928

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

The Ray Hooker Cottrell Story

Chapter 2

Getting Ready

The Oath

July 1, 1950

The Train to San Francisco

Inchon

Traveling to Inchon

Chapter 3

Operation Chromite

September 3: Navy

September 14

Chapter 4

No Time to Think

September 18

Home by Christmas

October 26

Best-Laid Plans

October 29

November 19

November 22/23

Chapter 5

Changjin - The Chosin

November 26

Operational Orders and the Confusion

November 30

Ray’s Role

December 3

Chapter 6

Out of the Pan, Into the Fire

Task Force Drysdale

December 6

December 8

December 9: The Gate House

The Summer of ’51

Countering the Chinese

Fun and Games

Wrapping It Up

Chapter 7

Home for Christmas This Time

Is It a Sidewinder?

Meanwhile

October 14, 1962, and Those Pesky Russians

Special War School, Fort Bragg

Chapter 8

May 21, 1963

Why Are We in Vietnam?

Understanding the Enemy

Doing the Job

A Sense of Normality

Chapter 9

Off to Class

A New Launch

The First Mobile Phone

In the Classroom

Out of the Mouths of Babes

Those Damn Phone Calls

Woman of the House

Chapter 10

TET

Ranger Joe

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

The Rat Patrol Revisited

It’s Hard to Kill a Moose

Playing Both Sides of the Fence

Accuracy Is Everything

Karma

NDP Holiday Inn

Bringing It on Home

Back to Spit and Polish

Chapter 11

From Rat Patrol to Rat Race

Learning Normal

On the Road Again

Off to the Races

Venturing Out On His Own

Chapter 12

In the Meantime

A Man’s Work Is Never Done

Don’t Run When You Can Walk

Another Unexpected Accolade

DEDICATION

To my wife Lovell, my daughter Brenda, and my Hero Ray Jr.

With Love, Hugs, and Prayers Forever

Plus One Day

INTRODUCTION

A S THE AUTHOR of Everything watches, mankind has always had a reason to fight. Our cities, states, and nations are formed by the ideas and wants of its people, usually driven by the voices of their leaders. Sometimes they are motivated by needs, such as farming land and resources. Sometimes they are motivated by greed and avarice. Sometimes they fight to prevent annihilation or genocide. When it is not over resources, it is usually over power or ideas.

When these states come into conflict, they look to their leaders to get the job done, to keep the citizens safe, and to take their warriors to victory. We call our leaders by different names such as pharaoh, king, czar, imam, prime minister, emperor, chancellor, or president. In the more modern times, we use terms like admiral, commander, general, colonel, and others. We give them stars or other symbols to wear on their hats, and shoulders so we can tell which one has more authority over the others. We want order to be recognized to prevent anarchy or loss of command and control. It is also a sign of their power and how much power they have. Man wants and needs order in the chaos of war.

For thousands of years it has been this way. For thousands of years, mankind has not learned that in the end measurement, of all the boots sent to battle, there is almost always boots left behind. The citizenry hears the numbers, but it is the individual families that feel the pain. History reports these conflicts in statistical statements and paint them in broad brushstrokes. It isn’t until the power of communications that brought us instant news worldwide, that the citizenry was given the chance to see war from the eyes of the cameras. With that came embedded journalists on the fighting fields. With that came the court of public opinion. With that came the opportunity for the country to become divided or unified in its endeavors. History tells us that the United States has not won a major war since WWII. In the citizenry and military alike, there are some who hold that is because of the reporter. This book will not debate that issue. It is intended to tell the story of one soldier and to help the reader close the gap between what we as citizens understand about our armed services members and how the armed services see themselves. An education of time and events run parallel with the story of our soldier to give insight on some of the What’s, and Why’s in his history and our history as well.

Since 1778, the non commissioned officer (NCO) in the United States Military has been set along the side of their military leaders. They accomplish many goals for their officers. They could be called the glue that makes it all work out. From generals on down the commissioned officer corps to the platoon leader, it is the NCO that gets the bulk of the labor of the command and missions set before our forces. They have been called to train the new officers who have the textbook knowledge but lack personal experience on the battlefield. They have been called to be the go-between from the officer and the enlisted. They are used for advisors to their commanders and strategists in mission planning. From the Pentagon to the ditches and mud or sand of the battlefield, an NCO can be found.

Each level of the enlisted NCO brings with it unique challenges and tasks. Each individual works long hours and hectic schedules. Work levels are so cumbersome that a week might only allow a couple of hours of sleep a night before the next day begins. They are there when the recruits wake up and there to turn the lights out. When soldiers in the field are sleeping, they are usually working. There is very little rest for the NCO. As they go up in rank, the more their responsibilities pileup. When you come across a good one, you want to access their talents wherever possible.

This is the story of one such NCO. Equally versed in training and planning as he is in leading and fighting, and raised from the poverty of the Great Depression, our soldier enters the service at sixteen. Like many kids in WWII, he lies about his age to have the opportunity to do more than just survive. It has been argued that there was no such thing as a teenager until the ’70s. When you left the house, you were considered an adult. You made decisions as an adult, you were treated as an adult, and you were respected as an adult. This soldier becomes that adult when his first experience in war comes at age seventeen in the frozen land of North Korea in 1950. From Inchon to Suwon, to the Chinese border of the Yalu, and the Chosin Reservoir, he travels and fights for his country 6,000 miles away from home. He is not old enough to drink or vote but old enough to die. He grows up in the military under the tutelage of his commanders and leaders. He couldn’t read a compass before he was put in charge of a platoon of fighting men, all of whom older than him, some by a decade or more.

From the troubles in Germany in a post-WWII Europe, he continues his life on the front lines. Followed by a threat of WWIII in Cuba, to the jungles of Vietnam, he continues to put himself out there on the tip of the spear. He is an NCO that leads from the front. He grows to become geared for action. While well-versed in the requirements of desk work, he is called from within to be on the battlefield. He is geared to succeed.

He will continue with other careers when he retires. Lucky, and skilled enough to be a survivor of the battlefield, this warrior takes his honor and discipline into the working world of the civilian. Ever connected to the army for life, he will evolve into a highly successful individual that goes from used-car salesman to the sport of kings. He sees the world through two lenses: The Mission and protecting the ones that are to see that Mission Completed. He lives for the challenge and fights for success. When others came home broken or beaten, he sticks to his training and overlays it on his new mission. Life. It keeps him going. To put on the breaks is to lay down. The NCO has no time for breaks. A man can wear many hats in his lifetime, but rare is the time when that same man can make the transition almost effortlessly.

In a world of instant messaging and satellite television, this combat veteran sticks to what works from the old world. For him, work is what defines him the most. His standards are high, but so are his morals. He fights to leave no one behind and works tirelessly to move forward, taking as many as he can with him to a better life. He holds that if the planning is done right, and the mission is followed through wisely, there is not much room for failure. Always planning for tomorrow. If self-discipline is the hardest lesson ever learned, he is the mentor that you would choose to teach it.

With so many distractions in the world, and a drop in respect for our men and women in the military as a whole, the gap between how the civilians see the military and how the military sees itself is noticeably widening. This book hopes to bridge that gap so that they will see a little better eye to eye. Our soldier’s life within these pages hope to accomplish just that. Along with that challenge, it is hoped that current military and the military retiree or veteran can take away with them the hope and outline to become as successful in the service as they can become outside of it is obtainable.

With so many clicks of the clock, we lose veteran after veteran. The personal stories of these fighting men and women are hardly recorded. It is the hope of the author to capture the insights of this particular brother-in-arms and challenge the reader to gather all that they can of our other veterans before their knowledge and wisdoms are lost to the ages. History, once lost, can never be rediscovered to its highest possible value later.

CHAPTER 1

The Ray Hooker Cottrell Story

T HE TEMPERING OF our souls is brought about through the test of the fires of our life. Few have walked harder or have been tested more than Ray Hooker Cottrell. This is the evolution of a warrior. From Cowboys and Indians and erector sets to battle, every so often a person is born into the world with a path that leads to the highest level of mastery of life. And even more so, a path that comes naturally. Their roads will take them through so many aspects of the world and to so many places that the mere experience generates a wisdom for the ages. It is even more valuable when that same person takes to it like a fish to water. Their purpose is easily identifiable to themselves even if they are not paying attention to the road signs. God lays before them the test and obstacles, and if the individual sticks to their moral compass, the results are exceedingly wondrous. It creates the type of human being that should not only be admired but also remembered and copied. Life presents no path that is easily walked. For that is not the lot for any man. It is for us to work with what we have and make the best of what we are given.

Ray is eighty-three and still has the mind of a warrior commander. At 5:00 a.m., before the alarm goes off, he will slip out of bed and start his day. He opens the shop hours before the rest are even expected to be there. Even if employees come in early, two pots of coffee are already hot. The newspaper is spread out and glanced over like Admiral Vanderbilt would do. The lights are warmed up, and the television is turned on to the news. The weather is checked. Any unfinished paperwork is signed and put into the outbox. A full day of work lies ahead of him, conversations with customers and credit managers. He oversees every aspect of the business to ensure no snags are accrued along the way. He does all the things that any good manger would do. He does not lead with an iron fist, but he does lead from the front. His management style would fall into the category of casual and family-like to anyone on the outside looking in. But to earn trust from him should be considered and honor. At closing time, he is there when the lights are turned out. At this age though, he might leave an hour before closing as long as he knows everything is going to close out smoothly. More often than not, he will be there himself. Then it is home for dinner. A nap in his recliner and up again to make a little family time with the wife. A quick check of the evening news maybe, and then it is off to bed for a good five hours of sleep to prepare to do it all over again. This is the routine seven days a week. Not bad for an octogenarian.

What sets Ray out from that pack goes even further. He could boast as having more valor medals than Audie Murphy, but he doesn’t. He would say, "I might have more than him, but they are not as high ranking as his." [1] Then you would see a sheepish look come over his face almost as if he was embarrassed to even have to make that clarification. He always has a sense of humbleness in his voice and actions that is spattered with a sly sense of humor reminiscent of Hawkeye Pierce from the TV show Mash. Hardly what one would expect from a seasoned combat veteran, he seems uncomfortable to tout his own accolades, even for someone who is in his eighties. People of this age range don’t typically show a sense of shyness.

In that same vein though, Ray has accomplishments that would make most people jealous. His philanthropy has allowed him to commit to so many causes that they are too numerous to express them all. Personal stories of his dealings with individuals and families are more than just a charity given but in his mind more so just doing the right thing.

Ray does not throw his money out there wildly either. He has a very black-and-white concept of what and when to give his attention to in any given situation. As Mr. Kuster, a close friend who has followed in the same division and regiments as Ray was associated with, but ten years behind him, would say, Ray doesn’t change. Work doesn’t change him. Money doesn’t change him. Prestige doesn’t change him.[2] On that note, as we did our interviews, you will always see his tie pin showing his admiration and affiliation with the U.S. Army. You will always see his work badge showing Ray’s Ford with a hand-scribed Ray in blue marker underneath the logo. Kuster is right. Ray doesn’t change. Ray would attribute this to one fact. One of his own personal standards is this: You treat everyone the same. He truly believes in the saying All men are created equal. This has the added bonus of not only keeping him from having to change who he is in any given situation but also offers a steadfast consistency for anyone that comes into his life. It helps make him the rock that he is.

Ray was raised in the Southern state of Virginia in the 1930s and 1940s, one of the original colonies and the eighth state to formally secede from the Union. He was born on May 11, 1933, in Richmond, the third child of seven siblings. He grew up in a racially segregated time, living in the central part of Virginia less than seventy years from the Civil War.

Children of that time were often born in their homes, and Ray was no different. Getting the mother to a hospital oftentimes proved dangerous, and it was good thing that the doctor made it to the house. This was a time of midwives, four years into the Great Depression. Ray was born to a Baptist family.

Image%201.jpg

This is Ray’s childhood home post-1933. The steps and handrail were added after he left the house. It originally had makeshift steps. [3]

As a child living in the Great Depression, he found life a bit of a struggle. It was a time when 25 percent of the country’s population was unemployed. Water bowls and pitchers on nightstands was the form of cleaning up. Life was tough living on a farm or in a city. Hundreds of thousands of people were living on the road or migrating in search of work. This speaks volumes to the work ethic that the family must have had. Having seven children during the peak of the Depression was a daunting task for any family at that time, perhaps even more so in Richmond.

Ray was born to uniqueness and luck from the onset. It is as if he was born under a special star. Ray Cottrell was named after his family physician, Dr. Raymond Cottrell Hooker. His mother, probably at a loss for naming the child, called him Raymond Hooker Cottrell as a compliment to the doctor. When putting things into perspective regarding the time, location, and economics, it really is no great surprise at all. Women are still known to name their child after ambulance workers and doctors. This was not a time when ambulances and crack specialists in the medical field were abound though. The action of his mother is a sign of respect for the doctor’s ability and commitment to the family.

Their home is small. Makeshift steps get you into their four-room house. A picture of his childhood home hangs on an opposite wall, just to the right of his desk. The house appears to be only twenty-five feet wide at the front. He tells me, "One needed to get to bed before the others if you wanted a good place on the bed."[3] His childhood consisted of three kids sleeping in one bed. Running water was an issue for most people of the town: a commodity in his childhood. Not all homes had running water. Natural gas in homes was not introduced until 1950. Shit on a shingle is a good meal for the day.

Image%202.JPG

Ray with his pet on the road that leads to the backyard of his house. The road continues to Sugar Bottom and the watering spigots. [3]

His parents were on rocky ground in his preteen years. This was his life. He has few memories of his childhood now. His father was a truck driver for a meat company. His mother was an egg grader. His grandparents on his mother’s side are only referenced to as Mother and Father.

This is a childhood memory that Ray still holds, and it serves as one of the many roots of the boy that would later be the man. It is hard to imagine in our time what it is like to not have clean running water in the house. But this is the time of outhouses and no TV. Radio and newspapers are the media outlets. His home is located on one side of the community water fountain. Its location is approximately a quarter mile down the dusty road that runs directly toward his backdoor. The water is only obtainable by carrying or carting it. At this location, if someone needed clean drinkable water, this was about the only place to get it. The water spigots are below ground level in a concrete walled area with stairs leading down to it. There are four spigots at this location: two for drinking and two for filling containers with. On the far side of the watering hole, and about a mile and a half further down the road, is the start of the black community of the town, often heard of as the other side of the tracks.

It is 1944 and segregation is in full swing in Virginia. While accompanying two of his friends, Ray was found playing in the area just outside of the neighborhood called Sugar Bottom. Lewis Taylor is one of these friends that is with him. Sugarbottom is a black neighborhood just down the road at the back of his house. He overhears a raucous taking place down at the watering hole. As they look over the retaining wall, looking down at the area of the spigots, they see a group of boys giving a young black girl a hard way to go. She is there doing the daily run of water for her family. She has pulled a wagon with two five-gallon containers in it. This is not a blazing red American Flyer type of wagon. This is a wagon built for chores, not for play.

In a post-1941 world, everyone is doing their part to support the war effort of World War II. Metal, rubber, and a host of other normal possessions have been usurped for the war effort. The task of obtaining water, as with many children of the time, is troublesome to say the least when you overlay this effort in comparison to the modern conveniences of our times. Roads are not well-kept. Sidewalks are either nonexistent or limited to certain upper areas of town.

As they look on, the bullies surrounded the young girl, spilling her water onto the ground. Name-calling and unwarranted nasty harassment of the racial kind takes place. They have called her names and told her that she was not allowed to draw water from this spot and should go somewhere else to get her jugs filled. They warned her to never come back there. As many young teens and preteens would show their angst and cluelessness of the things going on around them, they were not aware that they had been caught. Seeing the despair on the young girl’s face, Ray’s crew, the Lucky crew, moves down and goes into action.

As they confronted the boys face-to-face, the encounter turns violent. The boys are overcome by these would-be knights in shining armor. Ray adds to the equation with a stern scolding and a warning. Should these guys ever try to harass this girl again, they would ensure another ass-whooping of a greater proportion. From that point on, whenever the young girl’s path would cross Ray’s, she would make eye contact and wave to him as if to say thanks and that he had made a new friend. He says, "It was not unusual for the girl to wait for me to come into view just to wave hi." [1] A great reward for just doing the right thing. Even early on in his childhood, a sense of responsibility and respect could be found in young Ray, an attribute that would serve him well in his careers and life to come. Ray would say, "I knew even then, that you treated everyone the same way." [1] But anyone can see the warrior side and lack of fear coming out early in his life.

Young kids of that age were often left to their own devices in this era. There were creeks to walk, crawdads to find, fishing the James River, and the usual risk-taking that most parents would be aghast about if they knew what their children were up to. Ray has become a pretty street-savvy young boy at this age. When chores were done, he would be off like a rocket. He was quick to do things to make a dime or a quarter if he could find it. Cut some grass for a neighbor, move some boxes for a stranger, bag groceries for the local store. Basically he hustled for pocket change to do the things that a boy needed money for. Independent thinking might be an understatement. Having an allowance for him is unheard of.

At the age of eleven, Ray found himself on a bus to the other side of town. Bus riding was common for him as he would often ride to church with his grandmother and to watch movies at the local theater. He was no stranger to the streets, but this day would prove to be different.

Richmond is fairly big in the mid-1940s. The things for a young boy to do often took him away from the house to do it. Being street-savvy is not a thing to underestimate or disrespect, especially when thinking about all the things that come to the mind of a young boy wandering through Virginia. This is just the nature of things at the time. Ray learns and appreciates personal freedom, independence, and the responsibility that comes along with it.

After watching the 10-cent Saturday night flick, it was time to go home. Night had fallen, and it was getting late. Before boarding the bus, he discovers that he only has 13 cents on him. That would not seem like such a big deal, but the bus ride home was 14 cents. Thinking that he could slip one past the driver, Ray dropped his money into the glass-walled box that is used for taking fares. He remembers, I quickly went to the back of the bus as fast as I could, hoping that the driver wouldn’t notice, or at least didn’t care.[1]

Unfortunately, he couldn’t be more wrong. The driver did notice, and he was quick to inform the young rider to return to the front. When charged to come up with another penny to take the fare, he was unable to. The driver quickly put him off the bus. The bus driver did, however, send the money down the holding box. No returns, no refunds. After sundown on a summer evening on the far side of town from his home, Ray is forced to walk home.

Richmond in the late ’30s to mid-’40s was experiencing record growth. It had a population of over 255,000 in 1936. The growth rate of businesses from 1935 to 1946 boomed by 250 percent. By 1945, it was sending 350 million pounds of material for the war effort. By 1946, it was the fastest-growing industrial city in the United States. This was the landscape of his journey. He sees the sights and sounds of an industrialized city as he treks his way back home in the late evening. A mother today would lose her mind in these modern times if she knew her youngster was hiking across town alone in the middle of the night.

One would think that this adventure was anything but lucky. As the story unfolds, he recalls, "When I got home, I made it a personal note to never not have money in my pocket again. To this day, if I find a penny on the ground, I will pick it up. My grandfather gifted me a 1933 50-cent piece. I carry it with me every day so that I would always have money on me. I still have that coin and never go without it." [1] That coin is well worn but still in his possession. At some point, that coin took on a greater value.

This is why to this day, if Ray sees a penny on the ground, he picks it up. This is a family tradition handed down until this day. If the old adage has any weight to it—"When you see a penny pick it up, and all day you will have good luck"—then one can only imagine the blessings and luck that the Cottrell family has enjoyed.

At age thirteen, the morning starts out with delivering newspapers, Monday through Sunday with no days off. Up before dawn, and down to the paper route drop off point. The only thing that slows him down is a little bad weather, but that would never stop him from getting the job done. It must be done because every penny counts.

Then it is off to the grocery store to bag groceries for 25 cents an hour. A good forty-hour week, if he could get it, would fetch him ten bucks. Because his mother was an egg grader, she had access to the product. There would be eggs for breakfast and even at times when it wasn’t breakfast. His mother and father make do with what they have. Oftentimes, dinner would be chipped beef from a can. Added to water and bread instead of dumplings, this would make for a fine dinner. This was good eating and good times to the young lad trying to make it through. There is a difference between being a kid and eating, and being a kid and eating well, but when you are poor, it is never noticed. It is just another day.

Because of the war effort, everything counts. Everyone is pitching in. Ray takes advantage of this need for materials as a way to supplement his income. A one-pound can of bacon grease in a jar, if it could be collected, or tin cans crushed up, could gain access to things otherwise unavailable. Ten of these cans could allow admittance into the movie theater. Bacon grease in a jar would allow the same. Anything of value could be repurposed for the war effort. Taking advantage of this is just a common thing to do. For Ray, it is a necessity that must be followed. Just another day in Richmond.

Four years of running the paper route afforded him some other opportunities as well. On occasion, he picked out four or five customers to magically not receive their paper. He is careful to not pick customers that would be fast to complain. He learns this process the hard way. At the end of his route, if he had a few papers left over, he could head to the street corner and sell them for three cents. Oftentimes, these buyers would just give him a nickel and tell him to keep the change. That was always a lucky event.

Being a streetwise kid had its advantages. He is not getting rich, but he is affording himself opportunities that some other kids his age cannot or do not have. An occasional trip to the movies or the chance to pick up some fishing hooks to take down to the James River makes for a good day and a break from the trials and tribulations of being a kid.

Life running the streets also comes with some hurdles. Scrapping with young gangs of boys is somewhat commonplace. Ray is a fighter though. Backing down from such clashes can have long-term effects, while winning some of these clashes have beneficial results. They don’t fight over territory grounds. They could fight just for the fact that one boy thought he was stronger than Ray or maybe didn’t like the look on his face when something was said. Winning fights like these keeps the bullies at bay and thus prevents rehashing these petty squabbles later. Losing a fight would tend to mean that there would be a rematch at some unexpected, unannounced, and inopportune time. He is not prone to start a fight, but he is all in when there are no better choices. The young warrior must scratch out his place, and he has no tolerance for people who do stupid, aggressive, or just mean things to the innocent.

He understands what it takes to make it on the streets. This type of understanding would qualify him as a very young wise guy if he stayed this course. One becomes intuitive of others and insightful of what could happen next. This wisdom does not prevent the bad things that can happen from happening. But intuition is a requirement if one is to make it on the streets. Each new experience, good or bad, generates knowledge and molds the person going through the process.

Ray was raised by his grandparents after leaving his father’s house. By the time he was a teenager, his parents have divorced. His father attempted to keep the boy, but the friction between Ray and his stepmother proved to be too much. At thirteen, Grandfather Cottrell insisted that the boy would stay with him from here on. By fifteen, he has saved enough money to buy a car.

He would often return to his maternal grandmother’s house to visit. Still young, he would indulge himself with the distractions of the time: hunting, fishing, and swimming down at the watering hole. All the things that a scrapping boy would do at the time. While there, he would often make time for the next-door neighbor’s daughter.

Her name was Lovell. She would go by the nickname of Tootie as a child. The two of them had befriended each other very early in life. This friendship would turn serious as time went on. Tootie, whom Ray affectionately calls Lovey, would one day become his wife. But not yet. Many things would have to happen first. There were classes to take, chores to do, friends to run around with, and trouble to get into. Lots and lots of trouble.

In his sixteenth year, while attending school, Ray was on the football team. From time to time, teachers would let athletes leave class early to prepare for practice. George Hatfield, the school’s running back, and he are close friends. Both of them are in the hallway making their way down to the practice field. As they made their