My Uncle Ray: The Man Who Quietly Changed Lives

Kelly Gardner
Oct 1
3 min read

The day my Uncle Ray died was both devastating and, just a few days later, eye-opening. I was 14 years old, and he was only 54. He had never married and had no children of his own.

What happened that September day in 1977 is something I’ll never forget. At the funeral home in Brooklyn—the city where I was born but no longer lived—I witnessed not dozens, but hundreds of people come through the doors to pay their respects. Most of them I didn’t recognize.

Ray was the oldest child of immigrants from Newfoundland, Canada. After serving our country during World War II, he returned to the home he grew up in at 311 Stanhope Street and went on to work as a token taker for the New York City Transit system. On the surface, his life may have seemed simple and routine, confined to the neighborhood he knew so well. But as I would come to understand, my uncle’s impact stretched much farther, leaving a lasting mark on countless lives.

Some of my favorite memories of Uncle Ray are from visits to my grandmother’s home, where he lived. I can still recall the excitement of climbing the front steps, holding onto the cool wrought-iron railing, pressing the buzzer, and racing down the marble hallway to her apartment door—always left slightly open in anticipation of our arrival. When Uncle Ray happened to be there, it was even more special. He’d peek his head around the door with a big smile, instantly making us feel loved and important.

There were other moments, too, that left a big impression. Once, while I stayed with my grandmother for a few days, Uncle Ray took us to Radio City Music Hall. We saw a comedy show, What’s Up, Doc? and the Rockettes. To this day, that memory still makes me smile.

Ray had a way of making every interaction meaningful. He cared deeply about people—especially kids. Much of his free time was devoted to serving as a scout leader and as a canoeing and kayaking coach at the Sebago Canoe Club. He loved paddling, camping and leading adventure trips to different states and even to parts of Canada.

Many years later, long after Uncle Ray’s passing, my husband, James—who had never met him—was curious to learn more about the man I admired so much. One day, James searched online and discovered an article written by a man in his sixties named Hap, one of the many young men Ray had coached at the Sebago Canoe Club. Hap described how Ray and the other coaches had shaped the person he became, not only through teaching camping and canoeing skills for competitive racing and wilderness trips, but also by fostering character and resilience. The care and attention they gave helped shape him, and so many others, into the men they are today.

In early 2020, James tracked Hap down, and soon we were speaking with him—and, in a beautiful twist, with two other men, Don and Mike, who had also been mentored by Ray.

Before long, James and I began brainstorming how we could capture their memories for our new podcast, Your History Your Story. What followed was one of the most emotional recordings we’ve ever done. Story after story poured out—some funny, some bittersweet, all deeply moving. Tears were shed by each of us as

we remembered the man who had so quietly, yet so powerfully, shaped lives.

When we wrapped up, James turned to me and said, “I feel like I now know Uncle Ray—and why he meant so much to you. To hear grown men recall stories from fifty years ago in such vivid detail, and to see their tears of gratitude, was just incredible.”

Today, I have a Sebago Canoe Club sign hanging in my home—a custom piece that reminds me of Uncle Ray every single day. To me, it’s more than décor, it’s a symbol of his legacy.

And now, when I think back to that day at the funeral home, I see it differently. As a 14-year-old, I looked out at a room filled with strangers and wondered who they all were. Decades later, I’ve come to know some of those very people. Not only have I learned about their lives, but through their stories, I’ve come to know my Uncle Ray in ways I never could have as a child.

Uncle Ray was a giver. He poured his time, energy, and heart into others, leaving behind ripples of kindness that continue to this day.

Because at the end of the day, our histories are our stories—and Uncle Ray’s story is one I will carry with me always.