Few things are as cherished as an old — and I do mean old — friend. This particular friendship goes back to 1966
As long as I have known him, Ray Oines has been 6 months older than me. That will continue, as he hits 66 on Tuesday, Feb. 27, while I remain a mere stripling at 65.
Of course, he was much younger when we met. Ray was 8 in the fall of 1966. We were third-graders at Estelline Elementary School and both of us were new kids in the class. I had arrived in April 1966 when we left Brookings and moved to the family farm five miles northeast of Estelline. Ray’s family lived outside Bruce, and when that school closed, he came to Estelline.
It was a small class, around 30 kids, but we were seen as outsiders. Many of our classmates had known each other since kindergarten or even before then, so at first, we were seen as strangers.
It helped us form a bond, along with our friend Kevin Welk. For a few years, Lawrence, Oines and Welk, or Oines, Welk and Lawrence, or Welk, Lawrence and Oines were a tight trio.
By sixth grade, Ray and I were best buddies. Happily, that hasn’t changed in more than half a century. We also became close to our classmates, and I am pleased that bond remains as our 50th high school reunion approaches.
Damn, that was a quick five decades.
Through it all, Ray and I laughed a lot, and we still do when we are together. We share a sense of the absurd and an appreciation for humor, from Laurel and Hardy to George Carlin to our own jokes and stories. Some of the happiest moments of my life have been spent laughing like loons over something, with another explosion of laughter fast on its heels.
Ray owned comedy records he listened to over and over and memorized. He could reproduce a clever, wacky Bill Cosby routine or a profane but hilarious Carlin riff. We spent hours telling the stories over and over, breaking up every time.
Our friends Dale, Calvin, another Calvin, Danny and Steve also loved comedy. We told each other jokes and told funny stories when we were riding a school bus, passing a study hour or disrupting a class.
We also played a lot of sports together. Ray was taller than me — still is, damn it — and was a good basketball player. He could shoot and rebound well, while I hustled around playing guard, passing the ball and making some of the long shots I directed at the hoop.
He also was a skilled hockey player, while I never attempted to ice skate. We have played tennis and golf and shot pool. The games were fun, but it was mainly a chance to spend time together and find another reason to laugh.
We played softball with and against each other, and the summers we were teammates were special. We even played some ball when we weren’t drinking beer.
We have had a beer or 10,000 over the years. Ray and I enjoyed a cold one, or maybe two, at bars in Estelline, Bruce, Brookings and Watertown, and we enjoyed each one because we were together laughing.
It hasn’t all been fun, of course. Life just doesn’t work that way. We were there for each other at our parents’ funerals. Sometimes, just being there is the best thing you can do for someone you care about.
My family will always be grateful to Ray for stepping in to serve as a pallbearer for Mom that cold, icy winter day in January 1995.
A cousin was unable to make it because of hazardous road conditions, we asked Ray to fill in. He did so, and that meant so much to us. After the service, we went to Dad’s place, and it was just siblings, a cousin or two — and Ray. He’s family to me and to my siblings.
Ray and my dad had a special relationship. Dad had a marvelous sense of humor, which Ray loved, but he also liked Dad’s perspective on life. He said when you get a bad break, you can’t give up.
“What are you supposed to do, throw up your hands?” he would ask.
Ray agreed, smiling at the thought. It’s still a line we share every time we are together.
I haven’t seen him for a few weeks, and probably won’t be able to buy him a beer or tell a joke on his birthday. I’ll owe him one of each.
But as you know, with old friends, people you hold close and have years of memories, the connection is made. You might not spend time together for a while, but when you see each other, the conversation picks right up.
That’s what happens with Ray and me. The laughter quickly follows, and I hope it does for many for more years.
Of, course, no matter how many years pass, Raymond Carlton Oines will always be 6 months older than me.
Tom Lawrence has written for several newspapers and websites in South Dakota and other states and contributed to The New York Times, NPR, The Telegraph, The Daily Beast and other media outlets.
