Strip-Mall Music Man: ‘One Foot in the Grave, the Other on a Banana Peel’

An old bald guy with honey-colored skin is a regular solo performer outside the 99-Cent Store on Hilltop Drive in Redding.

The summer day he and I first met he was hunkered comfortably upon his battery-operated, awning-covered scooter.

He played gospel and rockabilly tunes on a shiny white electric guitar. Sometimes he belted out the lyrics. Other times his long, tan fingers took over and went to town. 

Only the deaf could miss these amplified shopping-center concerts, front and center to handicapped parking spaces, a hodgepodge of metal newspaper racks and a trash can that routinely pigs out on empty Pepsi cups, cigarette boxes and Wendy’s wrappers.

It was about 105 degrees that August day, yet the musician’s grin was frozen serenely on a weathered face accented with parenthetical dimples, bookends to a ready grin.

Nearby, a steady stream of squinting, frowning shoppers exited the air-conditioned discount store as they made their trek across the hot asphalt. The pushed purple 99-Cent Store carts heaped with thin white plastic sacks filled with everything from apples and zucchini to aspirin and hoodie zipper-pulls.

The guitar-picking gentleman requested I not publish his last name, please. 

“Just call me Ray, darlin’.” 

Ray strummed as if he were upon a real stage before an adoring, attentive, paying audience. His tempo and smiles remained consistent, whether anyone gave him so much as a notice or a nod or even the barest acknowledgement of his existence. 

Ray’s made some observations of his own during these outdoor gigs.

For example, he can count on the fact that a few people tend to pause just long enough to turn their heads a little so they can track the source of this unlikely concert. Those people never stop and say hello.

Then there are those who stop dead in their tracks and stare at him, but they watch warily from their vantage point, and never step one inch closer.

The majority of people are the most predictable. They keep walking without any outward indication that they saw or heard anything out of the ordinary … like an old man on an electric scooter rocking out on an electric guitar for hours on end on one of the hottest days of the year in one of the most sweltering cities in the country is something you see every day. Sure.

The minority are those Ray likes best. They’re the ones who actually move toward the sound of Ray’s enthusiastic two-chord twangs and rapid vibrating plunks. They’re the ones who stand near enough to him that they could touch him if they wanted – and some do. They’re the ones who smile and say thank you. They’re the ones who bob their heads, tap their toes and sometimes get carried away and clap to the beat. They’re the ones who always applaud, and once in a while even let out an appreciative hoot or cheer. 

Jesus is my Savior, I shall not be moved;
In His love and favor, I shall not be moved,
Just like a tree that’s planted by the waters,
Lord, I shall not be moved …

Welcome to Ray’s “church,” where this divorced father of four grown sons and grandfather of 18 shows up three to four afternoons a week for his self-scheduled, one-man jam sessions.

On this particular day, Ray wore khaki shorts and a crisp, sky-blue, long-sleeved cotton shirt. His “power scooter” seat was parked in the shade and displayed a small American flag stuck to a tall skinny white rod, which, when he’s traveling to and from his Redding home off Hartnell Avenue, allows traffic to see him.

Ray proudly describes his heritage as a “little Cherokee Indian ‘Okie boy'” who came out of a dirt patch and grew up picking rich man’s potatoes and cotton. He said his mother was half Cherokee, half Norwegian, and his maternal grandmother survived the trek along the Trail of Tears from North Carolina to Oklahoma when she was just a teenager.

Before we say another word, Ray wants everyone to know that he’s absolutely not the “singing old guy who begs for money.”

Yes, sometimes folks will drop a dollar or two or three or even a five-dollar bill in the container on the front of his scooter as a token of their gratitude. Ray said he only included the tip jar after so many people expressed the desire to donate a little something.

Money, Ray said, is not why he plays. Rather, Ray said he performs at his favorite spot between Ross’ Dress For Less and the 99-Cent Store because he’s seen for himself that the more he plays the better people seem to feel. In fact, Ray said some people are so moved by his tunes that they linger and tell him all kinds of personal problems about relationships, drugs, finances, alcoholism, whatever.

He’s heard it all.

“I’m not a preacher,” Ray said. “But when I have the opportunity, I tell folks I’m lucky to be alive.”

Those who ask why he’s lucky might hear Ray’s testimony that turns the clock back 18 years. They may hear about the day when Ray unwittingly sat in the middle of a deer trail and came home covered in ticks. They’ll hear about the whole-body rash that came later, and how Ray was eventually diagnosed with Lyme disease, which he says damaged all his major organs, including his heart. They might even hear how he started falling down a lot a few years back, which is why he bought the scooter.

“I’m 77 — a pair of 7’s, darlin’ — and I’m a rolling miracle,” he said with a chuckle.

“I have one foot in the grave and another on a banana peel. I look to my source — Jesus — but I don’t push it on anyone. People come up and ask why I look so happy and I tell them. Sometimes I say, ‘Maybe you might take a look at that.’ I only share with them what works for me.”

I shall not be, I shall not be moved;
I shall not be, I shall not be moved;
Just like a tree that’s planted by the waters,
Lord, I shall not be moved.
In my Christ abiding, I shall not be moved;
In His love I’m hiding, I shall not be moved,
Just like a tree that’s planted by the waters,
Lord, I shall not be moved.

A blond woman and two young men stopped to listen.

I shall not be, I shall not be moved;
I shall not be, I shall not be moved …

Ray said he sees his music as therapy, and he likes to share it with others. Even so, he tries to remember his prayer, too: Lord, would you please put one arm around my shoulder and one hand over my mouth …

“My playing — it brings people up,” he said.

“I play some Buck Owens, a little Elvis, honky-tonk and gospel. “

When not performing for strip-mall-shoppers-turned-accidental-audiences, Ray said he provides food for single mothers who live in his housing complex. And Ray said he encourages people to give up drugs, and that he used to volunteer at care facilities that cater to stroke victims and the immobile elderly.

“It’s not because I’m a good and holy man,” he said.  “I do it because it works for me. If I give to God’s kids, then he gives to me. Working with people is a joy.”

You might wonder how he came to play at strip malls in the first place.

“I work intuitively,” he said.

“The first time I thought, ‘I think this will work’ — and I was right. People would come up and say, ‘This makes me feel so good’ — over and over again. There’s room for improvement, I know, but it cheers people up more than you might imagine.”   
Just like a tree that’s planted by the waters,
Lord, I shall not be moved.
If I trust Him ever, I shall not be moved …

“I’m a blessed man and I’ve gained favor,” he said.

“Not that there aren’t bumps in the road … but I’ve learned to deal with them. I’m doing OK. And you know what? I think it’s entirely possible that the work we do here can do some good. Right now I just try to be sincere without taking myself so darn seriously. I try to laugh and have some joy. Life isn’t peachy keen all the time — what it is is pretty much how it is. But I’ll tell you this — I don’t believe in accidents anymore.”

He will fail me never, I shall not be moved,
Just like a tree that’s planted by the waters,
Lord, I shall not be moved.