Ray's Ways

On October 26, 2011, four days after I turned 25, I started writing my first book. But the story of how I discovered the topic of that book starts three years earlier after my college graduation. I graduated from Texas A&M in December of 2008. That evening, we had dinner to celebrate at a Mexican restaurant, La Margarita, in Georgetown, Texas. My dad had finished giving a tearful speech of how proud he was, and I had made my attempt at a speech that quickly turned into sobs. My Grandpa Raymond Mickan rushed to my rescue. He announced to my family and, much to my surprise, that he had chosen me to write his biography. Of course, I was flattered, but I still didn’t know how I, as a freshly graduated twenty-two year old, could be capable of doing justice to a biography.

A branding firm in New York City, Siegel+Gale, had offered me an internship for the summer of 2009. I knew this would be an invaluable opportunity so I chose to take it, not knowing that I would fall in love with the people, take a full-time position, and stay for two years. However, as usual, sometimes glitter on the street is just glitter and not gold. I started to miss my family and the great state of Texas.

But New York served me well. It made me put my dreams and my life in perspective. When you are able to see celebrities, writers, photographers, and actors attempting to live normal lives and shake the hands of CEOs, you are able to see them as a real person. You discover that anyone is capable of doing great things, even little old you. I started thinking of how I was holding myself back. I kept thinking, “I’m too young,” or “I don’t have enough experience.” Going to New York made me realize I should take advantage of my talents and passion now because the only one putting restrictions on myself was me.

I told my Grandpa about my plans to start on the book during a trip back to Texas in early 2011. His eyes welled up with tears and so did mine. As I started to tell people about the book, at first I would laugh and say, “Well, I’m going to write my Grandpa’s biography.” However, with each person’s reaction a funny thing happened. They would say, “I wish I would have done that with my grandfather.”  One of my great aunts even said, “When you’re done, you should write mine!” No one questioned or scoffed at my idea, like in my greatest fears. It was the convincing I needed as a first-time book writer.

The first question they would ask me about Grandpa was always, “What has he done?” My usual reply would be, “Well, I don’t know. That’s what I’m going to find out.”

Outside of our family and Williamson County, Ray Mickan isn’t a famous man. There aren’t any plaques to commemorate him, except there was a rumor that he was referenced in the population sign in his hometown of Walburg as the “1 old grouch”. Those who don’t know him would see him as a seventy-seven year old retired mechanic. He’s lived on the same plot of land his entire life. First, he lived in a house that his father built, then, in 1955, he moved to a house that he himself built for his wife Ethel—all nestled along the same curve of a Farm to Market road. He went to a Lutheran church and school just down the road, which he still attends to this day. He has a passion for music, and a fondness for church organs. He once told me that a particular organist, who played for my sister’s wedding, performed so well in a church service on the Fourth of July that it brought tears to his eyes. His own deep voice can make a church pew sway, and has been known to produce wet eyes.

Those who do know him gather around to hear his stories. He sits behind the front counter of Mickan Motor Company, the automotive shop that was handed down to him from his father, which he handed down to his son Danny in 2000, and chats with the customers, occasionally answering the phones or taking payments from customers. Some people walk in the door looking to chat with him.

My Grandpa has always been a storyteller. When we were little, we would gather to hear him tell us tall tales—never short. My Uncle Tim is quoted for saying, “Give me the short version of the story.” My family would go to Walburg, Texas at least three times a year, for Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, if not more, so there were plenty of opportunities to listen to Grandpa. My dad’s dad died before I was born, so Ray is the only grandpa I’ve ever really known. But now writing his book, I’m realize how little I know about him. I didn’t know that in his younger days, he and his dad were known for their paint jobs on cars. Or that he was the smartest person in grade school, but he was asked to leave high school. I didn’t even know how he got to be called Ray—a name he earned from singing a Johnnie Ray song in the school talent show. When we were little, he told us stories of how the Kookaburra Indians made their Kookaburra tree grow simply by blowing into its branches, or tall tales of lions, tigers, and bears while we drove deep in the jungle of Walburg, which was a low-water crossing through a thicket of trees. Now I finally get to hear the rest of the stories.

When I moved back to Texas in the spring of 2011, I got a final confidence boost as my grandpa proudly introduced me to all his friends, neighbors, the pastor, and random passersby as “the one who’s going to write my biography.” And so here I am.

With this, I’m chronicling my attempt at chronicling Ray’s Way of Life.