Rayl, The Indomitable Freeloader!

     When I lived in Manhattan, on the Upper Westside during the 50's, I had a spacious ground floor apartment with 3 bedrooms for $130 a month. My two roommates, Sperie and Bob, each paid me $50 a month for room and board. We had our own bedrooms, I shopped and cooked meals.
     Ray, the freeloader, dropped by every other night for leftovers. He was in his late 20's, resembled "Kramer" in the Seinfeld TV series and spoke with a lisp. Ray never turned his back on anyone. A few years later, I found out why. Ray was stone deaf and had to read lips. He was also a cheapskate and a deadbeat. Ray ate like a horse, always hungry.
     But we felt sorry for him. Ray had been kicked out of his family apartment near Columbia University when he failed in college and could never hold on to a job. At dinner, Ray would recite his latest misfortune and tolerate our amusement. For example, his last job lasted only a week, working for a Brooklyn company that manufactured accordians, $395 wholesale, retailing for $795.
     Ray's error was shipping fifty accordians to KCMO, that he thought was Knights of Columbus Missouri, instead of Kansas City, MO. Then he billed the music stores $3.95 for each instrument.
I forgot to mention that Ray was also an idiot.
     Sperie, Bob and I finally became tired of feeding Ray after a month when I served him dog biscuits covered with chocolate syrup for dessert. He lapped them up and smacked his lips with thanks. This was after he ate a baked potato, skin and all, and it had been in the oven only five minutes. He even wanted seconds!
     I asked Ray not to return for food because we just couldn't afford to feed him. He was out of our lives. But not so fast. An opportunity arose to throw him a bone, so to speak. I was scheduled to attend the Midwest Band Convention in Chicago at the Shorham Hotel, representing Premium Drums for two days of promotion.  But I had forgotten I was also booked for a lecture at the Eastman School of Music in Rochester, NY.
     Ray agreed to attend the Chicago convention as me and mingle with the musical instrument dealers, wearing my name tag. He also had to be me for the hotel room, as the Shorham was sold out. I would cover his expenses, plus he would return with a hundred dollars. A lot of money in those days.
     The plan was working. Alan Abel is now on stage in Rochester performing before 1,200 students, and he is also attending the Midwesst Band Convention in Chicago. Well, almost. Halfway through my lecture, the Dean walks out on the stage, I stopped talking, he whispers in my ear: "you have an emergency phone call backstage." I excused myself to the audience and said I would return shortly.
     During those steps to the telephone I could only imagine some tragedy within my family. But I remained calm, picked up the receiver and heard Ray's voice from Chicago:  "Alan, I know you said I was you in my hotel room and on the convention floor. But right now I'm on the balcony and don't know if I should be you or me."
     I assured Ray he could be me on the balcony and returned to my audience with the excuse,"that was my mother. everything is fine." The program was well received, I received a check for $300, returned to my car in the parking lot, rolled up the windows and screamed very loudly.