I want to tell you a story about my old friend, Ray. I won’t mention his surname as Ray was never keen on being identified – not, at least, by the government or by the police. At the same time though, Ray was also one of Australia’s greatest Elvis impersonators. He was a strange mix of the public and the private.
I never knew where Ray lived, and I don’t think he’d ever had a driver’s licence or anything you could identify him with. Even so, you couldn’t miss Ray when he showed up. I’d be holding some church BBQ in the backyard when suddenly the quiet mutter of parishioners would be shattered with a loud, “SINCE MY BABY LEFT ME …”
I’d met Ray through a member of the parish who had spent time in prison. I don’t think Ray ever did time himself, and I never saw him do anything illegal, though he did tell me how he’d once had to firebomb some office that had records on him. “Had to do it, Dave”, he said to me. “I’m sure you didn’t have to do it, Ray”, I said, but he just nodded along as if I was tacitly agreeing that I would have done exactly the same in his situation.
Ray had this idea that we were spiritual twins of sorts. He once said to my wife, “Me and Dave – we’ve both run brothels, both seen the dark side of life.” My wife said, “I don’t think Dave has ever been in a brothel”, but Ray didn’t hear that. I was one of the boys as far as he was concerned, and I didn’t mind, though it did get me into some interesting situations, such as the night Ray introduced me to his friend, ‘Nick, the debt-collector’.
It was mid-winter and close to midnight. I was at my desk in the rectory office, and in the middle of a crisis.
Over the twenty-five years I ran our youth drop-in centre, the biggest problem we ever had was with … well, I don’t like using the word ‘paedophiles’, but let’s say, with adults who preyed on children, or with adults whom we suspected wanted to prey on our children, and over those twenty-five years there were three separate occasions where I took action and involved both the police and community services.
The most serious of those incidents was with a single man who was living quite near our drop-in centre, and there were kids who were part of our Youth-Centre community who started visiting him in his home. I was initially alerted to the problem by reports from the kids themselves, which led me to talk to the police and community services about the man. Then one day I saw a scooter parked out the front of the man’s residence, suggesting that one of our young people was inside there alone with him.
I wanted to bang on the door and burst in, but by that stage the man in question had already had me appear in court for things I was allegedly saying about him, and I had been warned by my Bishop not to say or do anything further that might interfere with the process of having him removed from the area. I did nothing on that occasion, and maybe that was the right thing to do, but I was feeling tormented about that when I received the unexpected visit from Ray.
As I say, it was the middle of winter and near midnight, and I did not expect to see Ray at the door. “Just passing. Thought I might drop in for a drink”, he said. “Of course,” I said.
My wife was still up too, so the three of us sat in our living room and made small talk until Ray said, “I’ve got a friend with me. Do you mind if I bring him in?” This stunned me. I said, “you mean you have someone waiting in the car outside, in the dark?” “Yeah”, said Ray. “Please, bring him in!”, I said.
Ray reappeared at the front door a minute or two later. Alongside him stood a short and thickly-set man with a gnarled face, starting at the ground. It was immediately obvious from the man’s expression and posture that he had a mental illness of some kind. Ray introduced his friend. “This is Nick. Nick is a debt-collector. He’s a very good debt-collector. Nick has come to have a few words to your mate who lives a few doors down”.
I was taken aback. “How did you know about the guy a few doors down?” I asked. “Oh”, Ray said, “I hear stuff.” I said, “Why don’t I get you boys another drink?”
Some very tense minutes followed. Ray kept chatting in his usual fashion while my wife and I sat in stunned silence. Nick, the debt-collector, continued to stare at the ground, letting out the occasional quiet chuckle for no obvious reason. My wife then headed to the kitchen to get more snacks and asked for my help. When out of earshot she said, “This guy is a hitman. There’s no way back if you go down this path. Don’t go there”.
After refilling the glasses of our guests, I said to Ray, “Brother, we’ve got the police involved. We’ve got community services involved. I think we’ve got this one covered, though I do appreciate you trying to help.” Ray paused for a while, then looked at me and said, “Clean broom sweeps best, doesn’t it, Dave?” I said, “That’s it, Ray! A clean broom. A clean broom.” So Ray put the debt-collector back on his leash and they returned into the darkness from which they had emerged.
I’m not sure I made the right decision that night. The man we were concerned about was moved on within a week or two. Even so, if I discover one day that some poor child was molested in the period between the visit of Nick, the debt-collector, and the man’s eviction, well … I’ll have to answer for that. Perhaps God had sent me Nick, the debt-collector, to do what no one else would do, just as God once used Samson and some of those other great heroes of old, whose God-ordained role was to ‘take out the trash’.
I don’t know, but I do know that dear Ray died shortly after that under mysterious circumstances. That was a few years ago now and I can’t remember whether I took the funeral. What I do remember though was that there were at least three women there claiming to be Ray’s true love, all staring daggers at each other across the graveside.
He was a larger-than-life figure – my friend, Ray. I do miss him.
