Have you ever had a friend who at one time was very caring and fun to be with, but at other times was exasperating or even off-putting? I have, but through it all I enjoyed his friendship, at least most of the time. His name was Ray McInroy, who unfortunately passed away 18 years ago from lung cancer after a lifetime of smoking.

Ray was the one who, no matter what he was doing, had to be the fastest, strongest, the best, and in charge. Many times, we found it was easiest to let him have his way and get on with things. In many ways he was an overachiever and he carried those traits throughout his life and into his business career. He just wouldn’t settle for second. But sometimes in our early life we used that to our amusement.

To earn spending money, most of my friends and I picked strawberries for two to three weeks in the summers after the 6th, 7th, and 8th grades. My mom would get me up at 5:30 each morning, pack me a lunch, and make sure I got off in time to catch the bus to the berry fields. We worked every day except when it was raining, which was the only excuse for not going.

When we arrived at a field it was always cold, and the berry bushes were wet with dew or overnight rain. It usually took an hour or two for everything to warm up and dry off, but until then we would be crawling on our knees in wet dirt, so we always went home pretty filthy. Most days it got pretty hot by noon.

We were required to pick only the ripe berries, and if they had any green still on them, we would leave them for the next day. Since the berries we picked were going to a cannery we had to twist the berries off by grasping the stem with one hand, placing our thumb between the stem and the berry and twisting it off with the other hand. We then put the berries into one of six small boxes in a “carrier” that we scooted along in front of us.

When the “carrier” was full we would race with them to the collection station and get a ticket, which we would turn in at the end of the day for cash payment. If we left any stems on, we had to remove them before we could get a ticket. On a good day when the berries were large, I could pick enough to earn five or six dollars. That was hard, dirty work, which I was glad to leave behind when I entered high school.

Some friends didn’t take this work very seriously, and occasionally a berry fight would break out. But this was frowned upon by the “berry boss,” who immediately put a stop to it.

Another fun diversion centered around Ray. Remember his traits I mentioned earlier? He couldn’t stand anyone picking more berries than him. He would immediately hunker down and furiously go to work the moment we got into the field and wouldn’t even stop for lunch. All throughout the day he would ask how many “carriers” other people had filled, so for fun we began to inflate our count to egg him on. If he thought any of us were close or even ahead of him, he would bear down and furiously keep picking and we would quietly snicker.

At the end of the day when he found out we had lied, he would get angry. Yet he never seemed to learn. When we would do this again, he always took the bait. That may sound a little cruel, but there is no doubt Ray gave as much as he got, over time.

I do have other fond memories of times spent with or around Ray that I probably will recount as time goes on. Ray and I went to different high schools and our lives took different paths after college, so our adventures were less frequent. But we kept in touch until he passed.

Ken Kaiyala
5-27-2023