Of Roofing and Pig Trucking.

(Names changed to protect the guilty.)

Hey Ray is of the conviction that there is no construction project a half dozen beer-fueled hillbillies can't handle in a day.

When the century-old farm house he lived in got to the point where a new roof was essential, his trip to pick up materials included a stop at the liquor store for a couple cases of Pabst and three bags of ice. He already had the galvanized wash tubs ready and waiting for the beer.

Hey Ray, was called this because his dad was “Big Ray” and would step on the porch and call his son, “Hey, Ray, get up here.”

He was a real mix up. A country-living hillbilly who taught High School math. He stood about six one, and weighed about 140 at the most. He was a master at what he called “Tom Sawyering,” getting his friends to do work for him. The friends involved in this roofing project should have known better. Some of them had previously been involved in what became knows as “The Great Christian County Pig Rodeo.” That was an afternoon when Hey Ray and three friends had, after sufficient Pabst, decided to load a 250 lb. Duroc Sow into the back of his pickup. The pig had no plans for a pickup ride that day. Let it be known, even 600 (combined) pounds of hillbilly are not a match for 250 pounds of Sow when there is a difference of opinion about transportation.

Back to the roof.

The project, and the top popping began about 9 a.m. on a sunny Saturday. It was a big job. Even the decking was bad, so the roof had to be stripped clear down to the rafters; then re-decked with plywood, covered with tar paper, and finally shingled.

After stripping the old off, the work began on the front-facing slope of the roof. That was finished by noon. As the crew took a Bologna and Beer break for lunch, Hey Ray stood on the front slope surveying the progress. He walked backwards up the slope to the peak of the roof. He wasn't thinking that so far ALL of the replacement work had been done to the visible front. Opinions differed as the story was later told as to whether it was Ray Hey's general inattention or some combination of sun and beer that led him to take that one more step back across the roof ridge. A step that led off into empty space between rafters.

You'll remember we described Hey Ray as tall and very skinny. He was also very lucky.

He happened to fall precisely between two rafters, and stayed lucky as his fall took him between, and not on, two ceiling joists. He hit above the kitchen ceiling, and the insulation, plaster, and lathing of the old house served to break his fall.

We need to introduce another figure in the tale here. Hey Ray was married at the time to a woman none of his friends much liked. As Ray said, “While we were gone on our honeymoon, she had ordered 40 pounds of ass and a ton of bad attitude from Montgomery Wards, and they delivered it all the day we got home.”

Wife was occupied with her usual mid-day activity. Sitting at the Formica and chrome kitchen table, eating chocolate marshmallow cookies, and reading a movie magazine.

In a huge cloud of plaster dust, insulation, broken lath, and a century's worth of attic dirt, Hey Ray landed flat on his back in the middle of that table.

Miraculously unhurt, (a piece of luck he attributed to The Blue Ribbon Angel) he stood up, brushing himself off and looking around a kitchen that looked freshly bombed. His gaze finally landed on his shocked, open-mouthed wife. “Dayum, woman,” he said, “Me and my friends are workin' our butts off to put a roof over you. Least you could do is take a dust rag to this place.”