By the time of my earliest recollection, Uncle Ray was in his seventies. He was my maternal grandmother’s brother. He lived with his two older sisters, “Mabe” and “Marge.” They shared one flat of their large house behind their South Buffalo corner store—at the intersection of South Park Avenue and Marilla Street. They were from a family of nine children; and, following the World War I death of his brother Frank, Ray was the only male.
What I remember most about Ray was that he liked horse racing. In that regard, he differed from his two roommate-sisters, who religiously played bingo (and his younger sisters who augmented their bingo with regularly scheduled poker games). In contrasting his hobby with that of his elder sisters, Ray was the source of my early economics and statistics education—communicating to me, in no uncertain terms, that playing the ponies was much more predictable and lucrative than bingo.
He was a nice old man, with good economic sense.
After his passing, at age 85, I started to understand that there was more to Uncle Ray.
At Ray’s funeral, the priest, referred to the departed as “James.” That seemed like an odd mistake, particularly from our pastor, who was not prone to such embarrassing slips. After the service, I mentioned the error to a family member, and it was explained to me that Father Stanton was probably technically correct because Ray may have changed is legal name from Raymond O’Laughlin to James Loughlin. This was because of some “trouble” he had gotten into as a youth, or was necessary when his brother-in-law helped him get a job on the railroad, or some combination of the two. An intriguing fact, but I did not expect to hear more details.
Two decades later, I started to research our family history. I stumbled across twenty-two year-old Ray’s WWI draft registration card. It was stamped EASTERN NEW YORK REFORMATORY. On the line for occupation, it listed “inmate Eastern New York Reformatory.” That was interesting. But, again, I did not expect to ever hear more details.
As additional context, I note that Ray’s mother, Mary Ann Calden, died when Ray was fourteen. A year later, the 1910 census identified Ray as a rivet heater in an oil refinery. By today’s middle class standards, extremely tough work for a fifteen year-old!
While searching old newspapers, I found an article mentioning Ray and my great-grandfather Patrick O’Laughlin. On 27 December 1911, the Buffalo Express ran the below notice titled “Court Lectures Youth.”
The complainant would have been Ray’s stepmother. It sounds like an unpleasant domestic scene, and apparently Ray spent his 17th birthday and Christmas behind bars. Ouch. (I wish I knew what my grandmother, who turned twelve during this interval, thought about this situation.)On request of the boy's father, Judge Maul in city court yesterday lectured forcefully to Raymond O’Laughlin, seventeen years old, of No. 98 Walter street….
Since October 29th, when he was arrested on his mother's complaint, he has been in the penitentiary. Yesterday his father, Patrick O'Laughlin, said he would sign a $1,000 bond if the judge would give the boy a severe lecture. Judge Maul agreed and Raymond was brought before him.
The early life story emerging from these historical documents appears to contrast with the quiet, nice, great-uncle I knew. Is this dragging up irrelevant ancient history and harming the memory of Ray? No, I do not think so.
To me, this reinforces (on a magnified basis) that old cliché that no one is perfect, and, more importantly, that people change. It is good to forgive, but there is no lesson if we completely forget.
Ray turned out just fine. He lived a long, productive, life. His lifetime accomplishments certainly outweigh his youthful indiscretions. I am glad that I knew him. His life reminds me that we can all turn out fine, despite our hardships, failings, and poor choices. I will try to remember that lesson as my children grow and need forgiveness for their misdeeds. Or, when I need to forgive my own misdemeanors. I hope that I learn to be a nice old man.
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