Raymond Fraser: 1941 – 2018
Though we knew one another quite well, I only met Ray Fraser
once; in 2009, at Westminister Bookstore in Fredericton, New Brunswick - Ray’s
home town - while on a speaking tour to promote my debut literary effort, Atlantic
Canada’s 100 Greatest Books.
After I had finished reading and answering a few questions
from inquisitive readers, Ray saddled up to me in his brown leather jacket and
old fisherman’s cap, sunglasses shielding his eyes from the overhead lighting.
With an extra-large coffee in hand, he looked at me with a wide smile and said
simply, “Howdy partner…”
He was exactly as I imagined him to be; physically slight,
lanky, even a little disheveled in places. Intellectually, he was on his game
and for the next several hours we mused over the merits of region’s writers,
many of whose works appeared in my aforementioned anthology.
Five of Ray’s books made that list, and he was deservedly in
the company of some of the finest scribes that Atlantic Canada, and the
country, has produced; Alistair MacLeod, Lucy Maud Montgomery, Wayne Johnson,
Donna Morrissey, Lesley Choyce, and our mutual friend David Adams Richards.
That first impression made a lasting impression upon me, and
over the next nine years I anxiously awaited each new book to better know the
man.
While Ray did dabble in non-fiction - essays, memoirs, biographies,
anthologies, etc - my favourite of his works were “fictional autobiographies” -
including The Black Horse Tavern, Rum River, In Another Life, Bliss, and his
final work, Through Sunlight and Shadows.
This past September, I had just received a signed copy of the
latter - the touching story of a young boy coming of age in a tiny New
Brunswick town - when Ray emailed me with difficult news;
“Hi Stephen, it appears time is running out, as it does with
lung cancer, so no need for me to keep quiet about it. The timing was good
though. I was just able to finish another novel while I still felt strong.
“You have been very good to me, so I just
wanted to say adieu. Within the next couple of weeks I will enter palliative
care - the gateway to the next life. I consider myself blessed to have made it
to 77.”
Accompanying the note was a short video of him playing the
guitar and singing a country-western ditty.
I smiled - Ray can’t sing worth a damn - and then I cried, and
then I reached for his new book and read until the wee hours. The next morning
I collected myself and replied to his email;
“Amigo…I am shocked by this news - utterly crushed, in fact. Talk
to me…”
Over the coming days and weeks we emailed each other a few
words here and there, speaking by phone once; his voice was weak, and his
spirit waning with the words “I am ready…”
Ray died on October 22. I received notice of his passing via
Facebook, where family, friends and fans shared their thoughts and feelings on
the man and his work.
A true literary lion, he left behind a legacy of words; 14
works of fiction, eight books of poetry, two biographies and a fantastic,
moving memoir called When the Earth Was Flat. In 2012 he was made a member of
the Order of New Brunswick, and in 2016 he received an honorary Doctor of Letters degree from his
alma mater, St Thomas University. The following year, he received the Canadian
Senate Sesquicentennial Medal in recognition of valuable service to the nation.
Born in Chatham, New Brunswick, Ray studied at St. Thomas
University in Fredericton, where his love of both sports and literature were
born and nurtured. It was there that he worked on the student literary
magazine, later honing his craft as a freelance writer and editor. Moving to
Montreal in 1966, he continued to ply his trade with a number of outlets,
paving the way for other emerging authors and creative types.
His battle with the bottle nearly did him in on numerous
occasions during that period (“Well, it was the 60s…” he would say with a
smile), but he would later “put the plug in the jug” and return to his native
New Brunswick to hanker-down at this desk each morning with coffee and
cigarettes, determined to “get it down, and then get it right.”
Ray often got it right; like the author himself, his work is
warm, witty and wise. A master storyteller, he understood the power of things
left unsaid, leaving just enough space between the words to invite audiences
in. Many who read his books noted that, though they had never met the man, they
knew him intimately.
Our last conversation, just days before his death, was
both encouraging and prescient;
“You are a fine writer my friend…perhaps you can write
something nice about me when I am gone.”
~Stephen Patrick Clare
