Vote for Ray!

Me with Alan and Dad's 1966 Campaign Poster.

In the first draft of my memoir, I wrote that Dad had lost that 1966 election. Since then, through my research, I have discovered that he actually won. I was in kindergarten in 1966, so I guess I just wasn’t paying close enough attention. Or any attention at all.

I must also not have been paying attention to the obvious age of Lynn and me in the pictures taken of us going to Dad’s office. There’s no way those pictures were not taken in the 70s. It had to have been during that first four-year term.

Me, Dad, and Lynn on our way to "Work." Probably 1969.
(I'm sticking out my gum. Sorry, Mom!)

Funny how a little research can suddenly make things seem so obvious.

To confirm how wrong I had been, I found the election results, which showed Dad had lost his 1970 reelection bid. In that campaign, Dad had used a picture in his newspaper ad showing him and Mom with all their offspring in front of the family station wagon. The picture was a black-and-white Polaroid taken by our neighbor Margaret Umland.

All my siblings have copies of that photo. Mom is holding baby Karen, and Dad is holding three-year-old Jeff (With my newfound knowledge, I now know that Jeff and Karen were born during Dad’s first term as Assessor). The rest of us are arranged in front of our parents: Alan, 7; Steve, 5; me, 9; Dick, 13; and Lynn, 11.

The famous floating head polaroid. 1970 

That iconic Polaroid has been copied over and over until Dad’s shoulders in his white shirt have completely disappeared into the sky behind him. Looking at that picture, my niece once asked, “Why is Grandpa’s head floating above that tie?”

Once you hear this, you can’t unsee the floating head.

Dad lost that election even with that magic floating head and at least five of us kids smiling... Karen was just a baby, but what is up with three-year-old Jeff and that grimace?

But wait! Recently, with the help of the Clinton Public Library, I received a copy of the actual ad, and the photo we have is NOT the one that was used in the ad. I have to assume the photo used in the ad was better and that everyone is smiling. But because the copy I received is printed from microfilm, most of our facial features, and essentially all of Karen, have disappeared, like Dad’s shoulders in the other shot. Since we have the other copy, we know Mom is holding Karen, but in this microfilm copy of the ad, Karen is invisible.

The actual 1970 Campaign Ad. Printed from microfilm. 

When I texted the ad to my siblings, Karen claimed, “I have been invisible my whole life.” To which Steve replied, “Who said that?”   

Back to my dad’s political career.

I also found through old newspapers that 1970 was not the first time my dad had lost an election. His first endeavor in politics was in 1964 when he threw his hat in the ring in a reportedly “highly contested race” for County Commissioner.

At that time, we lived in Centenary in a tiny house with no indoor plumbing. Dad was running a bait shop and was a member of the volunteer fire department. Even with those impressive credentials, he did not win that election.

Where my dad got the idea to run for a political office is a mystery, but it was probably sparked by a conversation in a bar over beers and a pool table. One of his drinking buddies likely told him, “Look, Ray, if you want an easy job, run for public office!”

Once Dad had those first four years in public office, his career goals were set:

• Get 16 total years of service to the county and retire with a pension
• Let Mom pay for everything so he could put his money in a safe-deposit box
• Save as much money as possible and buy an RV to travel... without kids
• Retire and let Mom keep working so she could keep paying for everything

After losing the 1970 election, Dad took a break and sat around in his underwear drinking beer. Luckily, Mom was working (see the goals above).

One of the neighborhood kids used a piece of poster board and a reference to the old series Gunsmoke to post a sign declaring our dad was “Marshall Ray Dillion” and listed Ray’s “Ten Commandments.” These included “Thou shalt sit around the house all day in your underwear while your wife works.” Mean kid, right?

Taking a short break from sitting around in his underwear drinking beer, Dad ran for Circuit County Clerk in 1971. He even had postcards printed up and hand-addressed them. But he lost that one, too. So, it was back to his underwear and beer until the next election year.

Looking back, I think he was probably depressed. He drank a lot and had some mean spells. He was not fun to be around. But that’s another story.

Thanks to the good voters of Vermillion County, Dad was elected Assessor again in 1974 and 1978, getting him out of his underwear and putting eight more years under his belt, which he needed since he was back to wearing pants.

I was in college when he lost the election in 1982, just four years shy of the 16-year pension requirement. He quickly threw his hat in the ring for County Commissioner and used another family photo in his ad, this time with his mostly adult children.

He lost that election too, which seems to illustrate that putting us in his ads was not the best idea. Fortunately, Dad had friends in high places and was appointed Zoning Administrator, which would net him his last four years toward that pension.

Eye on the prize, Ray. Eye on the prize.

In 1986, in anticipation of his retirement and with only two kids left at home, Dad bought his dream RV. It was smaller than he had hoped, so maybe just a daydream. And because he had traded in his truck, he drove that RV to the courthouse for his last few months of work. He was 59 years old when he retired and never worked another day. Mom was 47 and had worked long enough to have five weeks of vacation each year. Dad determined that would be enough time for them to travel, so she would keep working, as per his plan.

Dad and Mom with his new RV. 1986
(The man NEVER wore a shirt at home!)

So, in his obituary, published almost 17 years after his retirement, my dad was said to have had a 16-year career. According to Google, the average American man works 35-40 years over the course of his life, usually starting in their early 20s and retiring around 62 to 65.

Not bad, Ray. Not bad. 

Granted, my dad did work a lot of different jobs throughout his life. He had been a painter and a light-truck driver, and had served in the Army for 18 months, all before marrying my mom. He had no occupation listed in the 1950’s census, but his first wife was listed as working 48 hours per week in a restaurant. Yet he was listed as the “head” of the household. That census worker must have been impressed.

In 1961, Dad’s occupation on my birth certificate is listed as “Fire Truck Driver.” But since the fire department in Centenary was volunteer, I’m not sure he was paid for that occupation. Or, for that matter, if it was really an occupation. He owned a bait shop, which maybe didn’t sound good enough for my birth certificate. He later raised chickens and pigs... but that’s yet another story.

On my recent visit to the Vermillion County Assessor’s office, except for having to go through a metal detector, not a lot had changed. In the days of visiting Dad’s office as kids, we all climbed up and down the marble steps and rode the elevator so many times that the elevator operator would ban us.

Some of the old wooden office chairs were still there, and the wooden coat rack my dad hung his coat on was still just inside the door. The counter had been enhanced with an enameled county map along the top and an applied design on the front, but the built-in drawers and file cabinets behind the counter were the same.

Here I am behind the same counter pictured behind Dad and his "Right-hand woman," Margaret Crowder.
(I made that sign for his 1978 campaign.)

The current Assessor, Paige Kilgore, who has been in the office for over seven years, had not heard of my dad. And there is nothing there to indicate my dad ever served in the office. Too much time has passed. Paige showed me a drawer full of campaign promotional items from past assessors, but there was nothing with Raymond C. Carty printed on it.

I know there were printed materials, like pens and emery boards, but if I know my dad, he didn’t leave anything behind that belonged to him. And likely took a few things that didn’t.

I personally own a Raymond Carty for Assessor retractable/clicky ballpoint pen, but just like Dad, there’s no way I’m giving that up.