Pushing between bodies, amid smoke and loud chatter I eased into the kitchen. There wife Annette, her friend Hedy and the priest were pressed together in intense conversation, their twitching hands grasping glasses of Ray's punch. Across the room he was charging another batch.
"Do you have a recipe for this" I almost yelled.
Ray, a bottle in each hand was pouring vodka and brandy into a brindled ceramic punch bowl. Four empty liquor bottles stood nearby. From the freezer he extracted a half gallon of ice cream and dumped it into the brew. "A recipe? Not exactly." But Ray was always an excellent host. It was October 1966.
Ray Schillmoeller became a national sales representative for TRW and did well. He had an office in Manhattan provided by one of his clients, J.C. Penny and a house in Closter, N.J. Ray's wife Roberta Griffith, was a Professor at Hartwick College and creative artist specializing in ceramics. She had a house in Otego, N.Y. Together they raised two intelligent, handsome sons, David and Mark. For almost two decades Ray worked out of Manhattan and spent weekends in Otego.
In the mid 1970s he introduced me to jogging. Our first race was around a block in Closter. He wore state of the art running shoes - I ran in black wingtips. For the next fifteen years we frequently jogged on weekends in the hills along the Susquehanna River or occasionally on the Palisades overlooking the Hudson. We gossiped about careers, acquaintances, women, politics and recipes. There were two heated discussions I remember over the proper preparation and presentation of "steak au poivre" and Chicken Tetrazzini. During these years Ray would also compete in two New York City Marathons.
Schillmoeller was raised in Detroit (he once made a zip gun for his self-defense) and now labored in a tremendously competitive industry. At one extreme he was abrasive, sarcastic, tough - at the other engaging, empathetic and very funny. In 1975 I had 25 Hartwick students in New York City for a ten week term. I invited Ray over one evening to lead a seminar session. His opening remarks were provocative, humorous and sexist. Three women in the group were offended and glared at him. Aware that he had lost three of his audience he jumped up and moved in their direction dragging a folding chair. Ignoring the other 23 of us he sat down face to face with the offended three. Quietly he began to talk to them - we could not hear what was said. But I watched as the faces of three strong, young women softened, smiled and finally laughing. Ray then popped up, returned to his former location and proceeded to inform and entertain the group for two hours. Ray had a talent.
Years later we were both divorced and occasionally "double dated". For a brief period we were involved socially with two lovely psychiatrists - or perhaps we were simply unwitting research subjects in a study of errant, narcissistic, middle aged men.
Ray would leave high tech sales, semi-retire and then reemerge as a "chef". One of his first jobs was in an assisted living facility in New Jersey. He promptly began the practice of circulating among the residents asking "Charlie, what do you want for breakfast?" "Ruth, what would you like for lunch?" Within the limits of time and resources he would then prepare as many "to order" meals as possible. Ray was summoned to the Director's Office and told to stop the practice. "What the hell do you think this place is - a restaurant?" Some years later when told he should consider entering an assisted living facility he less than politely declined.
During the fourth week of July, 2018, Ray died in his house located on a wooded bank about 100 yards above the Delaware River. I wish to believe that Ray then immediately hooked up with his two long-gone dogs, Tuffi, a gentle German Shepard and a dark colored, sofa loving Akita. At this moment the dogs are happily sitting close to Ray waiting as he meticulously prepares for them gourmet dinners.
