It was all but impossible to stroll past The Rev. Ray Masterson of Santa Fe and his assistance dog, Dawson, on the streets of Santa Fe without stopping to stare at the slender free spirit with frizzy reddish hair.
Pushing 60 years old, the unusual artisan who says he’s a veteran and claims he’s done darned near everything a man can do (including some he admits he shouldn’t have even considered) spends most prettier days tying animal balloons for the kids “who say please” at the northern end of the city’s farmers market on Saturdays.
He doesn’t charge for his inflated artwork. Yet he doesn’t refuse generosities that, along with some subsidies, help keep a modest roof over his and Dawson’s heads. Ray has spent lots of years without even that much protection after living for years as homeless with others in the hills around Santa Fe.
I met the colorful character while again visiting New Mexico’s state capital just a daylight’s drive west of Fayetteville. While we share the same last name, and his father was born in Arkansas, we both doubted we shared an extended family. Still, I was intrigued to meet a stranger named Masterson experiencing such a different life than my own.
Ray is a gregarious, some even say iconic, peddler in “The City Different.” He’s well-recognized, frequently appearing in local parades on the adult tricycle he acquired a decade ago, and charming children with his unconventional appearance as 5-yearold Dawson, a malamute, sits securely in the rear basket.
Many see him as a colorful philosopher with a ready grin (missing most teeth) who never meets a stranger. His open, casual personality fits with the man’s copy-machined paper business card that describes him as a “street minister.”
He and Dawson regularly roam the diverse city on their brightly decorated tricycle with an American flag waving in the high desert breezes. That expression of patriotism meshes well with his flappy, olive-drab cap adorned with a Marine Corps pin. Asked about his military service, Masterson spoke of the post-traumatic stress and limited peripheral vision that still afflict him.
“Let’s just say I served four years in the Marines as a bitter, angry young man and leave it at that,” he said with a grin. “I haven’t always been the person I am today. I’m not proud of that fact. I had to bury that person.” So Ray and I didn’t go there.
Sitting together beneath an outdoor patio table one drizzly morning, the disheveled man who freely quotes Steinbeck (and has some definite philosophy about the significance of life formed during hard, lonely years on the streets) talked about his balloon art and desire to help others since turning his life around years ago. Dawson stretched out and yawned on the damp ground beside him.
He soon laid a large brown scrapbook on the table. “Love” was the only identification on its cover. Inside were two certificates of ordination issued a decade ago from non-specific Christian denominations. As I examined the book, he inflated a long, slender yellow balloon, shaping it artistically into the form of “Bubbles” the bear. With a mischievous wide smile missing front teeth, he belted out for all to hear: “I call my balloon art ‘air-ogomi!’ Get it?”
Masterson said his late father, James Buchanan Masterson, was born somewhere in Arkansas. That’s all he knows about that since he grew up in foster homes until enlisting. “It was either enlist or flip burgers,” he said. “I never really had any adultwho cared enough to guide or help me as a kid.”
Since his return to Santa Fe in 1999, Masterson said he’s served on local panels and city groups that assist the homeless, as well as with Veterans for Peace.
His scrapbook is peppered with personal notes of gratitude. For instance, Kay and Bill Willie wrote: “With affection and appreciation for all you do.” A woman named Julie wrote: “Thank you for all the hard work you do to help so many people. Thanks for being just a wonderful person.” It becomes evident that, despite the exterior that reflects meager means, there’s some serious depth of heart beneath Masterson’s worn denim jacket. He’s clearly well-read and contemplative, as revealed by just a smattering of his observations:
“For every sorrow there’s a joy, and for every good a bad,” he says. “Everything has its opposite.”
“The only way to truly change a heart lies inside each person.”
“The relationship between man and dog is symbiotic. Dawson also has an inborn sense of self.”
“Lots of people mistakenly believe it’s selfish to love yourself. Not me. Love has to start somewhere.”
“The Lord hates injustice and loves infinite variety. We should love one another in mind, body and spirit.”
“It’s not quantity but quality that truly matters over our lifetime.”
“John Steinbeck always wrote about how one speaks to the world through their heart.”
Encouraging Dawson back into the basket to trike off together into the drizzle, this Yoda of the streets (who proudly sports a peace emblem) looked back with a laugh to add: “Ya know it’s true that wisdom sometimes can come even from the mouths of fools.”-
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Mike Masterson’s column appears regularly in the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette. Email him at [email protected]. Read his blog at mikemastersonsmessenger.com.
Editorial, Pages 17 on 09/28/2013