Ray - The Stranger that got away

Back in August of last year, I wrote about the 100 Strangers Project I was embarking upon.  This is a story about a stranger who got away.  Not that he really got away, but he was one of the people I approached who said no to me.

On my walks through the Claremont Village area, I'd see Ray sit on various benches on the sidewalk and converse with people who knew him. Sometimes he'd even converse with people if he didn't know them, he was that kind of guy.  He had long white hair and a long white beard which was one of the things that I noticed about him and why I really wanted him to be part of my 100 Strangers project.

I met Ray in October, I believe, although the exact date eludes me.  I had been walking through the Village looking for some interesting shots and I saw a bird up in the tree next to the bench where Ray was sitting.  After some unsuccessful attempts at getting a good angle on the bird I struck up a conversation with Ray.  We talked about the bird in the tree and some of my photographic endeavors I had been doing at the time.  This brought me around to the 100 Strangers project and I asked him to be part of my project.

He politely declined and I said if he ever changed his mind, I'd love to photograph him.  His response was, "But we wouldn't be strangers anymore."  Every time I'd see him on a bench somewhere in the Village, I'd say hi to him and he say hi back to me.  We had a connection that wouldn't have happened were it not for the 100 Strangers project.

Today, as I was walking around the Village, I noticed a memorial on a bench, the bench that Ray would frequent the most when he was enjoying life in the Village.  I saw this and realized what had happened.  Ray had suffered a heart attack five days before Christmas and had died Christmas Eve.

What I hadn't known before this was Ray's full name.  He was known as Ray Collins, the lead singer of the Mothers of Invention, and the person responsible for bringing Frank Zappa into the group.  Ray was the lead singer for the early Mothers of Invention albums, but parted ways over the direction the band was going in and never really got into music again after leaving the Mothers of Invention in 1968.  Apparently, in his later years he was living out of his van in Claremont, CA. 

The bench has been dedicated by some citizens as "Ray's Bench."  There was a poem attached to the left of the memorial.  It read:

"Come a Day, any day.
Sit on this bench, Ray's Bench.
Speak awhile with him, then leave.
You have not wasted your day,
Just lived it better."

I shall miss seeing Ray on his bench as I walk around the Village.  I'm glad I got to know him, even if it was just for a passing conversation.