ON THE SUNNY SIDE OF THE STREET

I met Wray in the fall of 1998. My husband and I had just moved to Tecumseh, near Windsor, and were settling into our two-bedroom apartment. Wray’s wife, Teddy, the more outgoing of the two, introduced herself to us in the elevator on moving day.

My husband responded by introducing us.

“This is my wife, Netty. My name is Brad.”

“I know,” said Teddy.

“What floor do you live on?” I asked her.

“The same one you’re on,” replied Teddy. “My husband, Wray, and I live just down the hall from you.”

Apparently, news travelled quickly in this apartment building that was home to many seniors. A young couple in their mid-thirties moving into the building had prompted a flurry of excitement amongst the elderly residents.

“Well,” I promised Teddy, “we’ll have you over for tea once we settle in.”

A few weeks later, Brad came home with a basket of plums that one of his parishioners had given him. I remembered my promise to Teddy and decided to invite our new neighbours over for tea and plum pie the following day.

The next afternoon we were sitting in our kitchen, empty dessert plates pushed to the centre of the table and with a second cup of tea in our hands. Conversation flowed freely between Teddy, Brad, and me. However, I was keen on involving Wray. So I began to ask him questions. His answers were limited to one or two words.

As time passed, I noticed Wray looking at the piano in our living room. I asked him if he played an instrument. At that, Wray’s eyes lit up. He told me about his band, The Wray Chapman Orchestra. For three years, before World War II, Wray and his band played in the Sarnia-Glencoe area. He then left to serve his country as an operating room nurse in a front-line field hospital. After the war, Wray’s love of music never faded. He played with different bands in the Windsor area. If he wasn’t playing for audiences, he was playing for family and friends.

I asked Wray if he’d be interested in getting together occasionally to play. Again, his eyes lit up.

For the next year, Wray shuffled down the hall once a week to our apartment, music stand in one hand, guitar in the other, and a bundle of sheet music under his arm. I would meet this eighty-two-year-old halfway, taking his music stand in my one hand and his arm in my other. As we made our way back to my apartment, I’d listen to him outline the repertoire for our afternoon session. We would then settle in for the next hour, allowing the music to flow out of our hearts, me on piano and Wray on guitar.

In 1999 my husband and I purchased a home and left Wray and Teddy at the apartment in Tecumseh. We kept in touch and, over the years, witnessed a decline in Wray’s health. In December 2001 we visited Wray in the hospital before leaving for Montreal, where Brad could complete some courses at Presbyterian College.

Brad said to me as we left Wray’s hospital room, “You’d better take one more look at your friend—it might be the last time you see him.”

It was.

We received a call from Wray’s family a few weeks later. We went home, and on February 20th, Brad assisted at Wray’s memorial service and I played Wray’s and my favourite song, “On the Sunny Side of the Street,” alone.

It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.

Windsor, Ontario