ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1997, Roanoke Times
DATE: Wednesday, March 26, 1997 TAG: 9703260026
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: C-1 EDITION: METRO
COLUMN: A CUPPA JOE
SOURCE: JOE KENNEDY
For much of his life, Ray Fitzgerald lived in and around the 600 block of Woods Avenue in Old Southwest Roanoke.
A military veteran who later worked for a food broker, he nursed his parents in their final illnesses and helped the widows and other neighbors by shoveling their snow, mowing their lawns, changing their light bulbs, even lending them money at times.
Fitzgerald always pitched in for flowers when someone died, but when he died, he wanted no flowers - and no visitation, only a private funeral and just a tiny obituary that was not to be printed until after he'd been put in the ground.
Fitzgerald died March 14 at age 83, and there was no fanfare.
His friends understood and accepted his wishes but the lack of ceremony left them unable to mourn his passing, recognize his kindness or reach closure.
So they talked it over. Irene Clark, who has lived on Woods for 42 years, suggested they leave their porch lights burning last Friday in Fitzgerald's memory.
Freida Mabe published the suggestion in a memorial on this newspaper's obit page.
"Friends are flowers in life's Garden," it said, and in Ray Fitzgerald, God made a full bouquet.
Friday morning, Mabe and four other residents talked about Fitzgerald in her neat, two-story house. The porch light blazed and an American flag waved in his honor.
He was "just one of the finest men I ever met in my life is all I can say," said Reba Parks, Mabe's mother. "Anything you'd ask him to do for you, he would do it."
When storms downed trees and branches, he brought out his chain saw. When grass grew long, he fired up his riding mower.
When snow fell, one resident said, she made sure to shovel the sidewalk well, for she knew Fitzgerald would be strolling up and down the street.
Plagued by poor hearing, Fitzgerald wore two hearing aids and read lips. He told stories about the history of the block, where he grew up and to which he returned.
He and other longtimers described the horses and buggies, the occasional wandering cow, the streetcars that used to come down Woods as far as Sixth Street.
As the women remembered these things aloud, nondescript white buildings in nearby yards became stables again, and a small white house, barely 10 by 10, became a maid's cabin, though as one of them said, "A double bed would obliterate it."
You could almost see Fitzgerald walking along with the latest in his series of dogs, all named Buddy.
On March 13, Fitzgerald rose as usual at 5 a.m. and drove with Buddy for breakfast at Hardee's near Tanglewood. Later, at home, he began to have problems. The rescue squad took him away, and at five minutes past midnight, he died.
A few days later, Fitzgerald's few relatives asked Mabe and her daughter, April, to meet them at Oakey's.
"They thought they were going down to help with the arrangements and they got there and they were getting ready to bury him," Irene Clark said.
What made Fitzgerald so helpful?
"I think he thought they were all widows here and just didn't want them to spend their money," Parks said. Or maybe that was just his way.
Outside, blue jays cried and daffodils sparkled. Only four porch lights were lit. But that night, nearly every light shone in honor of Ray Fitzgerald - quietly and brightly, like a person who helps others without fanfare.
What's your story? Call me at 981-3256, send e-mail to joek@roanoke.com or write to P.O. Box 2491, Roanoke 24010.
LENGTH: Medium: 74 linesby CNB