Obituaries

So very sorry to hear of Raymond’s passing! He was a wonderful friend of our family over the years. He and my dad Melvin Gill fished the Pamunkey River for years with Cleve Hall and Pop Moody! Oh the adventure’s they shared!

“He was Granddaddy Raymond to me”
I don’t recall Granddaddy calling me Trip very much. “Young fellow” was how he most often
addressed me and my brothers. My youngest memories of him are almost exclusively from our
adventures outdoors when he would take me and my older brother, Richmond, to explore
Melvin Gill’s farm on the Meherrin river in Southern Virginia.
There was a spot of land on the side of Dixie Bridge Road where Mr. Gill had a couple heavy
machines to dredge sand from the river and load it into a truck. Richmond and I loved that spot.
Granddaddy would take us there and keep an eye on us while we played king of the mountain
for hours on the tall piles of sand. He had a .22 pistol he would bring and shoot at the vines
hanging from the trees across the river. He taught us about gun safety. He would teach us
about safety in everything we did. He was very analytical and a patient and meticulous teacher.
His garden was meticulous as well. He studied it like a scientist. We worked with him out there
some, between the perfectly spaced rows with each plant appropriately mounded and
supported, but mostly he would teach us the things he learned for as long as he could hold our
youthful attentions. I remember when I was in college one summer, we had a bad drought.
Granddaddy had adopted a strategy of cutting the bottoms off plastic liquor bottles he saved
from the Moose Lodge, turning the bottle upside down and burying the mouth of the bottle right
on top of the root base of the plant. He drilled a small hole in the cap to allow only drops of
water to seep out right on top of the roots He was very conservative with water, as he was with
everything, because he grew up in a poor family during the depression. Even in his eighties he
was still innovating his process to adapt to a new challenge. I was impressed.
Granddaddy Raymond would tell us stories of his childhood during the depression. They
trapped mink to sell their pelts for income. He knew exactly how many traps he would check and
how many his brother, Bill, would check each morning before school. He described the walk he
would take through the Virginia countryside on his trap-checking route. I’m sure he never forgot
those streams and fence lines. I wonder how accurately I’ve pictured them in my mind my whole
life. I still picture them the same way I did as a child when he described them to us.
He told us with humble resignation that they had to eat songbirds for food during the darkest
times. They survived The Great Depression by living off the land. There was no pride when he
shared this with us. He told us to keep us from getting spoiled by our easy lives with
unquestioned food security. It left a deep impression on me. I am known for not wasting food to
this day, even at business meetings in fancy restaurants. When people make comments about
me cleaning my plate, and sometimes their plates as well, I jokingly say that I grew up during
the depression; I just did it vicariously through Granddaddy’s stories. The lasting impact of his
family surviving off the land rippled throughout his life. He was bonded to the land. He slept
indoors, but he was at home outdoors in Southern Virginia, where he spent most of an entire
century.
His most recounted story was essentially his resume. When he was a teenager, he had two
jobs. One was sorting cucumbers by their quality, and the other was as a lifeguard at the pool. I
think he earned a nickel a bushel for grading cucumbers. I don’t recall his pay at the pool, but I
don’t think it was on a per-rescue basis. His next opportunity was at the movie theater running

the projector. It was a skill. He taught us to acquire skills whenever possible. “Every skill is an
asset,” he taught us. In 1995 he took the initiative to buy a computer for us to have at home so
we would develop those skills from a young age. Knowing how to run a projector paid dividends
when he was in the army. His duty was to show training films across the Pacific Theater during
WWII. It was a relatively safe way to serve in a war.
When he left the army and returned to his hometown of Lawrenceville, Virginia, he was
presented with two opportunities. One was to run the theater for some absurd salary, I want to
say $40 a week, or he could go to work for the power company working on the electrical lines
for $22 a week. He recounted this lesson to us many times. He taught us to think long term.
There was no room for growth running the projector, and it turned out that theaters declined
quickly when the TV was introduced into homes, but the power company offered progression
with ongoing training and promotions. He spent the rest of his career as a lineman until retiring
at 60, before I was born. I recall meeting folks around my parent’s hometown of South Hill when
I was out with Granddaddy. They would excitedly come up to say hello to the man who had kept
the lights on in everyone’s homes for so many years, and he would proudly introduce me as
Lisa’s second son. I was so proud to be the grandson of such a well-respected man.
When I was about twelve years old, he was so excited to give me my first shotgun. It had been
his first shotgun purchased from Sears and Roebuck for $14 when he was around the same
age. He would have liked to have brought home a deer one of the many times he took me
hunting, but we never did. He had limitless patience for me, and I had very little for sitting still
too long. I remember Granddaddy Raymond exclusively as a loving and patient person. He was
far too kind to prioritize killing a deer, at the cost of admonishing me, above spending peaceful
quality time with me. We sat in the woods reading books together and sharing a pack of nabs
and a Coca Cola in a tree stand beside the river. That, and playing with Richmond on the
sandpiles, are my most cherished memories of Granddaddy.
I knew as a child how fortunate I was to have him as my grandfather, and I am so grateful for
having had his guiding light shine so far into my life. I loved Granddaddy Raymond so much.
Mama always loved her Daddy so much. I’ve never heard of anyone who did not love Ray
Braswell.

Condolences

Praying for you and your family, Lisa. I am so sorry for your loss.