My Dad was a giant of a man, born in Cherokee, Iowa, on Aug. 21, 1930, to Helen Betsworth and Max Gray. He died on Nov. 7, 2021. As there was no hospital in Fort Stockton, Texas, Helen returned to her Iowa family to give birth to her only male child. Soon after, mother and son returned to West Texas where Dad was raised. And what a childhood he had! On horseback, he explored the mesas and canyons, arroyos, and rugged terrain of a vast, largely untouched, ranching and oil country.

His father Max believed in hard work. He put Dad to work as a child selling watermelons near the old ice house in Fort Stockton. Dad had to pay for the watermelons from what he sold each day. That was the beginning of a lifelong work ethic and understanding of the importance of having one’s own money.

Helen had rigid rules, and it was her way or the highway. Among other lessons, she taught Dad to love Christ, be a gentleman, respect others, have discipline in everything he did, and loyalty to those who deserved it. At 11 years old, Dad lost his father to pneumonia, a difficult experience for one so young.

Helen remarried Glen Whitman, who became Dad’s step-father. Dad admired and respected him. He once told me that he was scared to death of Glen, although Glen was no way near Dad’s 6’3”height and muscle. Glen never lifted a finger to Dad, and he was good to him, he said. His step-father put Dad to work as a roughneck on a drilling rig at the tender age of 13 where he made lots of money, but was too tired to spend it. They went fishing in Canada together. It was a trip Dad would always remember. Glen died prematurely in Dad’s 20s, and was always spoken of with much love.

Dad attended Fort Stockton High School, home of the Panthers. There, he played basketball and football, once breaking a collarbone in the fray. The doctor who set it did so twice without the benefit of pain medication, a pain that trumped anything yet to come, he said.

One Halloween Dad and his friends led a cow into the high school gym and left her there. That was great fun, they thought, until the principal deemed them guilty, and made them clean all the cow pies that accumulated over the two floors of the high school.

Dad was a beautiful, graceful swimmer, who taught me to swim. Wanting to impress him, I jumped off the deep end of Comanche Springs swimming pool and swam to him after spending weeks in the shallow end. Dad loved Comanche Springs, and spent his youth at the original natural springs. He also loved to water ski at the lake, then called Granite Shoals near Kingsland, Texas, where Helen and Glen had purchased a summer place. There, he taught me to ski, fish, and float around in a giant inner tube, and to look out for swimming snakes.

Dad was also a licensed pilot, purchasing a much used J3 Piper Cub, and learning to fly on a shoestring budget. He later upgraded to an A1Luscon. One of the few, I would fly with him until one day we split the distance between a telephone line and a barbed wire fence coming in for a landing. When he thought we might not make it, he yelled “Hold on kid, this may be it!”

Thank the Lord Dad had a good aim. Perhaps he acquired it after years of dove hunting. He cooked those wild birds slightly seared just as he ate his steaks barely warmed-over.

My mother, Margaret Haynes Gray, spotted Dad at a convenience store in Fort Stockton. It was close to New Year’s Eve. When her brother-in-law asked her who she wanted for a date on New Year’s Eve, she pointed to Dad and said, “him.” The rest, as they say, is history. They were married on March 29, 1957. Dad legally adopted me, and they were married for over 40 years until my mother’s death. He later remarried Barbara Dee Lane, who also predeceased him.

Dad was a Fort Stockton High School graduate, class of 1949; had an honorable discharge from the U.S. Navy in 1954; graduated from Sul Ross State College (geology) in 1957; and was a son husband, father, patriot and friend forever.

After graduation from college, Dad went to work for Firestone, driving one million miles testing tires. If you can imagine driving around a repetitious circle for hours on end, you might also imagine the creative ways my Dad invented to pass the time. I doubt that Firestone would have approved, though.

Dad got his chance to apply his education and Navy experience as a machinist mate, boiler, and valve expert when he went to work for Sivalls Tanks in Odessa, Texas, as an instrument foreman and sales representative. He worked all across the Southwest for 10 years selling and fine-tuning oilfield equipment.

That job segued into what would become the opportunity of his lifetime. He was hired by Duval Corporation to be the instrument technician at their Sulphur mine in Pecos, Texas. The plant ran, or not, depending on my Dad’s repair and maintenance skills. He spent many long hours trouble-shooting the glitches, often not showing up at home for days.

He made a lasting impression on a visiting VIP from the corporate office in Houston, Texas, who offered Dad a job as the plant manager of Duval’s Galveston seaport terminal. Dad resisted moving, but after being pursued and given an offer he could not refuse, he and Mother made the Gulf Coast their home.

The Duval Sulphur Company was eventually bought by Pennzoil, but throughout Dad’s 20+ years with them, he was likely the best, most dedicated terminal manager in the world. Vast responsibilities fell to him, and scores of people worked for him. Born into a frugal family, this particular virtue saved the company millions of dollars in hundreds of ways. Dad was hands-on, and nothing, but nothing, escaped his attention, nor did anyone who worked for him. They were his family and he truly cared about them.

He built a railroad for the company, oversaw the Marine Duval, a monster of a Sulphur-hauling vessel, and of course, he directed the manufacture of the final complex sulphur product shipped from Galveston all over the world.

The details of his out-sized job and his accomplishments do not matter as much as his legacy. The terminal in Galveston is still operating, the ship’s anchor Dad had cemented into the ground is still in front of the guarded gates, the train still runs on the tracks and there, sulphur is still king despite the danger of working with such a volatile product. If a book were to be written, Dad, as well as his best friend Herschell Devoll who worked many years with my Dad, would go down in company history as the stuff of legend. After retirement, the two of them continued to meet weekly for coffee or lunch to reminisce. Herschell was Dad’s dearest friend for life.

Dad took his crew and responsibilities seriously. I remember that he would not leave the terminal during the worst of hurricanes. He rode them out right there on the property while my mother telephoned for him to please leave the island.

On behalf of Duval, Dad gave away money, plaques, watches, and honorariums to deserving philanthropic and educational organizations. He dined, drank good Scotch, quaffed some very good ale, and made friends everywhere. As I said, my Dad was a giant of a man. He knew everyone, and everyone knew him. He retired from Duvall/Pennzoil in 1992. From there, he became a property investor, which he did as much for having something to do as for business reasons. He could never resist “a good deal.”

He leaves behind his daughter Jo-Ann Gray Costa, of Pagosa Springs, Colo.; his grandson Sean McNeill of Bainbridge Island, Wash.; his sister Kathy Calhoun (Jim) and their sons of Plano, Texas; his niece Sandi Conklin and her children of Clifton, N.J.; his daughter-in-friendship, Sandy Bergquist (Michael) of Port Mansfield, Texas; and his constant companion and beloved pet Rufus.

Dad was greeted in Heaven by Max, Helen, Margaret, Dolores, Glen, Steve, Carl, Shirley, and G.H. Rainwater, his college partner in crime. 

Dad’s life was filled with a joking good humor, deep faith, and abundant color. He traveled all over the world, grew up a Presbyterian, and later, any holy place of worship was his spiritual home. He loved the Lord with reverence and awe.

Thanks for everything Dad. I love you.

A graveside service and interment will be inside the Gray family plot at East Hill Cemetery in Fort Stockton on Saturday, May 14, 2022, at 4 p.m.