Ron Bailey: Man Among Men
To borrow from an old saying (hopelessly paraphrased): “Give your roses while they can still be enjoyed.” Ron Bailey will probably live to be an hundred – he deserves it. But I don’t want to take the chance of never having tried to tell him how much I appreciate him and admire him. So, here it is.
Ron Bailey is a man among men, a pastor, father, grandfather, timber-man, business man. Perhaps his greatest strength lies in what his son, Keith, once told me: “He has this deep down determination to really make a difference; to really help people make it in life.”
I had the privilege of working for Ron and with Ron when Jane and I lived in Salem, Illinois. He was older than my father but always treated us in a way that combined father/boss/friend/mentor/sergeant. We loved the sergeant – who wouldn’t? Funny, determined, creative, free-spirited. He could contradict reason just to aggravate you, all the while with a hidden smile, moving, usually, in the direction that reason dictated. And then there were the many times when you thought he was against reason only to realize that he was the wise, experienced one and you best be quiet and watch him work.
Many memories come to mind that give a picture of this remarkable-ordinary man. I spent many a day in the woods helping him drag out timber. He owned this skidder – an amazing, powerful machine that could drag and winch and push and pull – whatever it took to get topped trees out of the woods. By the way, Ron, thanks for being patient with me so many times. I was determined to do well driving that thing, as much as I often hated it. I often did not listen, and you knew it – what a pain that must have been. In a convoluted sense my stubbornness was this effort to be out on my own – to learn on my own. But that was, as I say, convoluted. You were forgiving, and I thank you.
Anyway, one January morning the skidder had run out of diesel and for some forgotten reason Ron had to do some siphoning. Seems like the hose was stuck down into the fuel tank and Ron was sucking on it. Finally it came and Ron got a good taste. He spit it out and said: “That’ll bless ya!”
Well, I’ll never forget that. He didn’t cuss and yell and stomp – perhaps that is reason enough to remember this. But it was this life approach that stuck out – this determination to see life as it is and to accept it that way without either sugar-coating or whining. He saw no sense in being grumpy and complaining about reality – that wouldn’t change it or fix it or even help one deal with it. Nor did he think one had to be unreal about it, as in, after tasting diesel, sitting down on a stump and smiling about it so as to appear really “spiritual” or something. No, instead he recognized with mild sarcasm that tasting diesel is no blessing, and that the best thing is to see it as it is – something worth spitting out.
There are an hundred stories, and the Salem gang could keep them going for days. One of my favorites comes from one of his shenanigans at the saw mill. Ron’s son, Keith, owned and operated a saw mill and Ron would often stop and help us. His amazing wife, Dorothy, always sent a large thermos of hot chocolate and we always looked forward to the 10:00 break. One morning – another one of those January days – Ron took the normal thermos and filled it with dirty water. The thermos with real hot chocolate was hidden over by the shed. Somehow, Steve, my co-laborer, caught on to Ron’s scheme so we quickly hatched a scheme of our own. A few minutes before break time, while Ron was loading the log ramp, Steve and I quickly dumped out the dirty water, rinsed out the thermos, filled it with the real thing and put it back, ready to be served.
In a few minutes Keith shut the saw down and we gathered by the edger for break. Ron’s ever-present grin had a bit more sparkle that morning and we tried to hide what we knew. There was nothing in the world like watching his reaction when we began to pour hot chocolate out of that thermos. He couldn’t talk – rare indeed! He couldn’t do anything but go along – another rarity for this wonderfully free-spirited man. We carried on with break as if all were normal until finally, able to take it no longer, he spoke up, wondering what had happened. We all had a good laugh and he took it like a pro. Of course I remember it and enjoy it so much because it was one of the few times we got one over on him. He was a great one for simple, down home fun in the middle of all kinds of hard work, and that is probably why he enjoyed this one along with us, even though we had turned it back on him.
Last month I learned that Ron had an accident in the woods in which he lost part of his thumb. Being the kind of man he is, he drove himself to the hospital where Dorothy met him and he went through the rigors like a man should and would. He wouldn’t make much of it and neither should we, perhaps. Life is what it is with pains and joys and lost thumbs. Love and work and keep pressing on – what else is a man supposed to do?
Well, there are a lot of memories that bear recording and someone should write a book. But now is not the time for that. I simply want to close with this word from the heart: “Ron, you were very good to me, always a truly loving pastor, willing to do or say anything that you thought would help, and I thank you. You always made me want to be a better man. Thank you for the love that you and Dorothy showed to Jane and me. We are truly grateful. I hope you have continued years and blessings worthy of the investments you have made in so many, and I pray you can know how much I admire you.”
And now, it is a February morning and I am going to go have some coffee. No dirty water, no diesel, but plenty of memories of life in the timber and elsewhere with my pastor/boss/mentor/friend, Ron Bailey.
February 14th, 2006 at 10:39 pm e
Randy,
Steve & Becca Hoard told us about this. I must say, tears flowed as I read your kind memoir. Thank you. I will print this out for Dad since he doesn’t have his own email presently.
Laura
February 15th, 2006 at 7:17 am e
Randy,
Steve and Becca Hoard emailed us and told us about this. Our hearts were touched by the memories and a renewed awareness of how our lives do affect people. Thank you for sharing your heart.
Keith and Rachel
February 23rd, 2006 at 3:15 pm e
Ron’s daughter passed this article to me. Ron and I are now renewing our friendship of 54 years ago when we were both assigned to the Fleet Weather Central at the Naval Air Station, Agana, Guam. Whew!! It’s been a long time, but I see he is still at it. Ron used to torment me with his jokes. Thanks for sharing your thoughts of him.
Regards, Ted Reiley, USN retired