Ray Haysbert, who died Monday at age 90, possessed “Yoda-like qualities,” according to Baltimore screenwriter Peter Allen. Another friend, Bernie Harper, said: “You could write a novel about Ray.”

Ray’s life certainly had the twists of a Dickens page-turner.

Born into savage poverty in Cincinnati (three of his younger siblings died while he was a child), he was forced to drop out of Wilberforce College to work as a broom pusher at a water plant.

When World War II broke out, he joined the 332nd Airmen and became one of the unsung heroes of the war – an African-American fighter pilot.

Returning from overseas, he moved to Baltimore and built one of the country’s leading black-owned businesses, Parks Sausage Co., and worked behind the scenes on campaigns to break the color barriers at City Hall and the State House.

A gentleman to the core, he favored reason and moderation over confrontation as he pursued a goal that lasted until his death – ending discrimination and empowering the black community through education, entrepreneurship and moral purpose.

Sticking to his Guns

How Ray attained his wisdom and profound generosity took me some time to unearth, for it was rooted in a painful past that he only occasionally mentioned.

I got to know Ray via a group of free thinkers that, even after 25 or so years, still has no agreed-upon name except, very informally, as “the judges” and no organizational rules except to meet every Saturday for breakfast and vigorous conversation. Nowadays, their abode of choice is a reserved room at Radisson Cross Keys.

On my first encounter with the group, arranged by longtime member Joe Wase, Ray wore a cap inscribed with the words OBAMA. Confronted by the room’s near-unanimous verdict that Hillary Clinton was the more electable candidate, Ray stuck to his guns, calmly outlining a scenario by which Obama could win the nomination and clinch the presidency.

As I recall it, only Geraldine Young, the elegant widow of the late Colts running back Buddy Young, seconded his heresy.

Slowly I learned about Ray’s role as an icon of the black community, a man whose advice helped scores of minority-owned businesses start and thrive, and whose spirit lifted thousands of Baltimoreans as co-founder of HUB (Helping to Unite Baltimore) and chairman of the Urban League.

“Ray is very humble and doesn’t toot his horn about some of the enterprises he helped begin for others,” said Joe Wase.

Nevertheless, his business acumen at Parks Sausage was legendary. Teaming up with ex-beer salesman Henry Parks, Ray parlayed a struggling company into an enterprise with 300 employees and a memorable slogan, “More Park Sausages, Mom” (with a plaintive “Please” appended later).

Hero in the Air

But to understand Ray you had to look beyond sausage making. The first clue to me came when he arrived one Saturday wearing a firetruck-red jacket emblazoned with the insignia of the 332nd Fighter Group.

Ray, I discovered, had trained at the Tuskegee Army Air Field in 1942-43 under a cloud of condescension because the military did not believe that African Americans could successfully fly an airplane.

“We got the worst planes because who wants to give a person who cannot fly a brand new plane, a top plane,” Ray said.

This only motivated Ray and the other aviators to train harder. All their efforts paid off when the all-black 332nd Fighter Group achieved one of the best records during World War II. The airmen completed 1,587 missions and downed 400 enemy craft. Their success contributed to the desegregation of the military in 1948.

But the pride Ray felt as a top gun over Italy was cut short when, coming to Baltimore after the war, he experienced an atmosphere filled with bigotry. “I’m not a bitter person,” he told oral historians Antwan Branch and Raven Coleman, “but for years and years I had that deep down inside me, the bitterness.”

Now I could see why Ray had so strongly connected to Barack Obama. Here was another Yoda-serene who had pulled himself up by his bootstraps.

“I’m released now”

Ray would smile beneficently whenever the hot whiff of presidential politics billowed around our eggs and pots of coffee. During the ups and downs of the campaign, he voiced faith that some day, maybe even in 2008, a majority of Americans would put aside skin color and judge a presidential candidate by his abilities.

Pride and joy gushed from Ray following the election. I recently found a clip by Bmorenews.com that captured Ray in that joyous moment.

“I’m released now,” he exclaimed to Doni Glover, recalling the rude shock he got when he came back to America after World War II.

“Finally,” he concluded, “I’m a citizen, first class.”

For those who knew him, Ray was always first class.