Harold Lester Rapier was a renaissance man. There were not many like him, and still to this day, there are very few men like him. A man filled with dreams and hope, integrity, and talent.
He left his home when he was barely 16 years old to join the navy and to see the world. Off he went. The tide carried him out over blues waters filled with a young man's dreams of making life what he wanted it to be. He explored Italy, Sweden, and following his time as a petty officer, joined the Merchant Marines. He married the beautiful red-haired maiden Mary Caroline Link and settled down, (well sort of) to begin raising a family of 8, (which would become 10, his perfect number).
Harold, (Ray to many) went on to Barber college after sailing around the world. Barbering would be his way of supporting the large family that he and Mary dreamt of . That wasn't enough though as his artistic ability was calling him. He studied art at the Art Institute in Chicago. He was a gifted artists mastering a multitude of mediums.
Harold's first wife, the mother of the first 8 passed away leaving him a widower. A few years later he met yet another beautiful red-haired maiden, Nancy. Nancy brought with her a son, who became Harold's son, and together they bore a son, giving Ray, his perfect 10, 5 boys and 5 girls.
You will get the opportunity to view some of his amazing works time to time by way of ArtSees Diner through the generous permission of his wife Nancy. You have already witnessed some of his masterpieces at work. His greatest masterpieces, well, if you asked him, he would say..."have you met my kids?" You have met a few of us.
Sweet Peach Wine the poem was written with my father in mind, much after some of the stories that he shared with me one stormy night in 1983 while I sat in my farm house, alone in the country with two sleeping babies.
Sweet Peach Wine the story was written with the poem by the same name again, it is an intermingling of my father's childhood and mine. Much of the imagery is from my youth, when we would play in the crick (creek) behind my father's barber shop. The characters reflected are my father and his sister Kate.
For My Father
I kiss you on the head
never goodbye, only hello
the feel of flesh beneath my lips
tears stain my face
I trace the face, the lines
the map of many journeys
salt water stinging the face
dreams of youth sustained
through storms and loss
Word weaver
philosopher
watercolor memories attached
to canvas of steel
terra cotta moisture formed
in a potters hands
clay ten clay pots all
different
distinct
each with the fingerprint embedded
Renaissance man of ages
beginning with searches of copper
precious metals gave birth to pride
enabling a start in new shoes and britches
no stinkin' thinkin' for the lad
hands of strength and firm
first to pick up lead and begin
to record opinion and legacy passed on
Ten word weavers in tow
