Doug Raab (1925-2016)

I lost a friend.

It hurts and it hurts.  

Loving is risky business.  I allow myself to love and I know damn well I leave myself open to pain.  I know you may be thinking, “That sounds pretty depressing and pessimistic!”   But I’m grieving and I’m allowing myself to feel depressed and pessimistic for now.  

I’m angry, too.  I wanted….I needed…it’s about me.  I wanted to say goodbye to Doug.  I wanted to tell him how much confidence he gave me every day by being my friend.  I wanted to tell him how much I admired his intelligence, his worldliness  and his kind heart.  And most of all I loved his zeal for living and his sense of humor toward life.  

Doug owned the Washtenaw Dairy.  I didn’t know him as the owner.  I knew him as the “Boss” at the end of the table.  He was 90 and he had been around long enough to command the title “Boss”.  When he entered the Dairy in the morning his presence was always noticed.  

Doug-with Gray Sweater, at the
Washtenaw Dairy in Ann Arbor

His physical presence consisted of a stooped, gray-haired, cane-using, old man.  I don’t remember a time when he didn’t come in with an empty, brown paper bag with handles.  His personality presence was much the opposite.  

He didn’t stoop.  He looked a person right in the eyes.  His back was as straight as the neck of a guitar.  When he arrived or left,  his cane seemed like it was a possible weapon more than a body support.  It rarely hit the ground he moved so quickly.  And when he put his cane aside it was like he was hanging up his holster and gun.  

He drove his tan car until a few weeks ago.   It had a few scratches and dents and he took the razzing for his driving.  “You have to stop at that stop sign out here!” they’d say.  “Your going to get into an accident and it will be your fault!”

He’d shake his head, side to side, “These people drive too fast going down this road, they need to slow down and watch where they’re going.” (the road was NOT a four-way stop)

I remember just a month ago several people at the Dairy looking out the window and betting whether he’d be able to make the corner into to the Dairy parking lot.  He always made it.  But, being stooped over, sitting low in his car, it was comical to see his tenacity and fearlessness in keeping his independence.

Two newspapers, two waters, an orange juice and sometimes some business paperwork.  Those are the items I remember him putting in his brown paper bag before he left for the day.

Doug never ceased to tease me.  I was always taken for face value every day.  He didn’t treat me as a woman.  He treated me like Maggie.  I loved it and honestly it’s so rare I know I will miss that most about Doug.

After going to the Washtenaw, almost daily, for about a year, Doug invited me to sit at “The Table”.  The table is where all the cronies sit.  They read their newspapers, talk sports, talk politics, talk work and joke with each other.  

Until Doug invited me to sit at “The Table” I’d wait until he was alone to go over and sit next to him.  I’d work on my writing, my German, etc. at the next table, never expecting to have some time with Doug, but always hoping we’d be able to talk.  He’d ask me about my family, my interests and remember every stinkin’ detail I told him day to day. 

Being new to Ann Arbor, he was my rock at the end of the street.  I grew to depend on him.  I’d get up, get ready in the morning, with purpose and walk down to the Dairy.  Even when I was at the adjacent table, Doug would send jibes my way while there were other people at his table.  He was already including me, pulling me in.

“Why are you working on that German?”  he’d say, “Everyone in Germany speaks German, you don’t need to learn the language.”

“What is so important on that computer of yours?”  he’d tease, “Is the internet working for you, here?  We shouldn’t waste money on the internet, you don’t need it.”

“What kind of music do you do?” he’d ask.  He began to bring me schedules of music events and local things I could go to for free.  I told him from the beginning, “I am dept-free, I don’t want to spend money for music when I can look a little more carefully and get just as good performances from free, here in Ann Arbor, as I can at Hill Auditorium.”

One day I brought my guitar in so we could sing Happy Birthday to one of the regulars on a Sunday.  I ended up singing a few songs for some young children in a booth.  Doug never forgot I was a musician.  He knew I wanted to get into a Bluegrass band.  He joked me endlessly about singing at the Blind Pig.  “You have to start somewhere, you might as well sing at the Blind Pig first.  You can’t just sing where you want, you have to put in your time.”

When the chorale I was singing in had an engagement at The Ark, he would tease me about The Ark  opening up the side door so I could enter.  I reminded him I didn’t have to start at the Blind Pig, I was starting on the top.

Whenever the ice-cream would break down my resistance, he’d say, “Are you sure you deserve to have ice-cream?  What did you do to deserve to have some?”  I’d tell him I was going to swim, or walk, or I was working on the small garden by my apartment.  My usual was butter pecan ice-cream.  

“We’ll have to quit putting so many pecans in our ice-cream.  Pecans are getting expensive, there are too many in there, “  he’d say as I was eating the dish of ice-cream.  He knew I’d argue with him.  That’s the thing about friendship.  The banter, the underlying humor and affection.

Whenever I purchased a newspaper he’d comment, “Why do you need to buy that?  You won’t read it will you?”  I always replied the same, “Of course I read it!  I have to keep up with you and make sure I know whether you’re pulling my leg or not when you tell me something.”

And I did start reading different newspapers.  I didn’t care before that, but talking to Doug I really wanted to know what was going on in sports, the world and the local area.  I don’t have television, so I was becoming hooked on the local perspective of world and national events.

I remember  this past spring, I was talking to Doug about a small tree, down the road, that was blocking the stop sign.  “I’m going to cut it down!”  I told him, “It scares me.  I keep thinking someone is not going to see someone coming down the sidewalk and they’re going to hit them.  If it’s a kid I’ll never forgive myself for not cutting it down.”

“You can’t cut that down!” he’d say. “Don’t be meddling, you’ll end up in jail! The city will cut it down, they take care of things like that.”  After a couple of weeks of discussing this tree I told him I was going to wait until dusk and then cut it down on my own.  It rained that night and I didn’t go down the street and cut it down.  But, when I walked to the Dairy the next day, I walked past where the small tree was and it was gone!  Chopped down, right to the grass level.

“Did you tell someone to have that tree cut down?  I know you did,” I accused him. 

“Is it cut down?” he asked innocently.  I knew from the sarcastic look on his face that he knew he had a hand in it being taken care of.  I admired his quiet power.  He knew people.  He knew what was right and he didn’t hesitate to get things done.

As the months went by, and I got to know Doug better, I looked forward to visiting with him.  When one of the “Regulars” would come in I’d say to him, “Well, I’ll get back over to my table and give them a seat.”  Several times he’s adamantly say, “NO!  You don’t have to move!  You can stay right where you are.”

Doug with friend, Bob 

I felt flattered.  He enjoyed my company as much as I enjoyed his.  Many of the regulars would say things like, “This is a women-haters table” or “Why are you sitting here?”  I didn’t care.  I knew Doug accepted me to be at “The Table” and he was the boss, not anyone else.  It gave me a chance to get to know the regulars, too.  They wouldn’t have spoken to me if I hadn’t been included.  But, since I was one of the gang, I had a voice.  I could choose to contribute to a conversation or just sit and listen.  Doug generously gave me that voice.  

The Washtenaw Dairy is my small town.  It’s a community I’ve depended on to keep my sanity.  It’s dependable and fortunately not always predictable.  I see each member as a separate being.  I’ve had time to get to know their personalities and their contributions.  When Doug wasn’t there I’d ask if he’d been in.  I got to know that he often watched the horse races on Saturdays.  He started telling me when he’d have a doctor’s appointment and he wouldn’t be there.

Doug passed away.  I miss him already.  This morning I wanted to stay in bed.  But Doug wouldn’t have wanted what he built as a small community to be fractioned, just because he’s gone. He pushed on through his fatigue and pain to sit at the end of the table and start up a conversation.  I certainly can push on and make myself face his absence.

I can also remember.  Remember the power he had to connect with people.  His power was never taking away from someone.  It was always giving a piece of himself to make someone else stronger.  That I won’t forget.  Because I can learn from the love he gave me.  It won’t be wasted.  And I won’t go through the side door, either.  I’ll walk right in the front door and say, “Hi, I’m Maggie….” 

Goodbye, Doug.  Your life was precious to me.  I hope I can make you proud.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SUaXzMrznwU    (Harry Belafonte singing "Try to Remember")