Hugh Ray Wilson was always the life of any party | Sam Venable
If you’re not of codger ilk, skip this column. It won’t make sense for another, oh, 20-25 years.
Knoxville lost one of its most colorful Baby Boomers when “Hugh Ray” shed his mortal bonds.
If you came of age in (a) South Knoxville and (b) the early-to-mid 1960s, you don’t need to ask, “Hugh Ray who?” For us, “Hugh Ray” could be only one person: Hugh Ray Wilson.
Although I didn’t attend his visitation and funeral — who else but Hugh Ray would plan these events at Ye Olde Steak House? — I’ll guarantee both were the epitome of a celebration of life. I suspect the testimonials, tales and toasts went on for hours. If anyone could wring more fun out of his allotted time in this realm, it was Hugh Ray.
Among Hugh Ray’s many loves were all things Vol. If you ever visited Hoo-Ray’s Sports Bar and Grille in the Old City, you surely saw his Big Orange tux-and-tails on display.
I witnessed that regal attire in hilarious action in the wee hours of Jan. 2, 1986, after underdog Tennessee had upset much-touted Miami, 35-7, in the Sugar Bowl.
Garbed in his orange finery, Hugh Ray drum-majored hundreds of nutzoid Vol celebrants from the Louisiana Superdome to the French Quarter. At one point along the route, the festive horde approached a lone New Orleans police officer guarding the intersection of two streets. I remember thinking, “Oh, Lord, what’s gonna happen now?”
In a scene reminiscent of the parade sequence in “Animal House,” the cop abruptly pointed one way. Hugh Ray never missed a step. Raising his baton in the assigned direction, he turned the mob 90 degrees, and away they marched. It was as if they’d practiced the maneuver all afternoon.
Thanks for the memories, Hugh Ray. Rest in peace.
∎ If you’re 70-plus and insist you’ve never experienced, uh, “abrupt plumbing anxiety,” you’re a biological marvel or a liar.
That’s why I sympathize with K-town municipal Judge John Rosson, who is scheduled to appear in Williamson County General Sessions court in July on charges of reckless driving and going the wrong way on Interstate 65.
As Rosson told the News Sentinel’s Tyler Whetstone, he wasn’t driving on the interstate, per se. He was on an exit ramp.
Seems Rosson had hit a traffic snarl due to a wreck or construction when “the moment” suddenly struck. “I’m 75 years old and had to urinate,” he explained. So he took decisive action.
All of us old croaks understand. Thus, I propose we form a support group called GEE WHIZ. (Geezers Eagerly Exploring Welcome Habitat to Irrigate Zestfully.)
I would call for a vote, but if you’ll excuse me, there’s somewhere I need to go. Quickly.
Make a path, folks!
Sam Venable’s column appears every Sunday. Contact him at sam.venable@outlook.com.
This article originally appeared on Knoxville News Sentinel: Sam Venable: Hugh Ray Wilson was always the life of any party
