Ray Young was born into a world already shifting. By the time he graduated from Centralia High School in 1968, the nation was steeped in turbulence—civil rights marches, the Vietnam War, assassinations of heroes. It was a time that left an indelible mark on him, and in many ways, shaped the arc of his life.

Raised in Centralia and educated at Lincoln School before the district integrated, Ray witnessed the assassination of President Kennedy while still in elementary school. Four years later, he would graduate high school just months after the deaths of Martin Luther King Jr. and Bobby Kennedy. “It was a very difficult time,” he says, his voice filled with gravity. “We were trying to make sense of the world while it was changing all around us.”

That year, Ray made a bold move: he left Illinois to pursue further education in Ohio, with hopes of enrolling at Kent State University. A job opportunity came first—one that placed him at the epicenter of a national tragedy. “I was there the weekend of May 4, 1970,” he says quietly as we speak last May 6—fifty five years later, nearly to the day. “I’d been working in Kent and living close to campus. I saw the protests. I saw the flares in the sky. I saw martial law roll in.” One of the four students killed, Bill Schroeder, was a family acquaintance. “That moment,” Ray says, “it never left me.”

From there, his life unfolded like a mosaic of purpose: a congressional nomination to West Point that didn’t pan out, a draft notice that did. He went on to serve in the U.S. Army as part of the 82nd Airborne. “You ever watch MAS*H?” he jokes. “I had Radar’s job.” But it was no comedy. His administrative role kept him from being deployed to Vietnam—a twist of fate that, as he puts it, was “a blessing in disguise.”

Following his military service, Ray earned his degree at Augustana College and began a career in education and public service. He taught history, government, public speaking, and coached basketball in Rock Island, Illinois. In just three years, his record stood at an astounding 43–1. He was named Coach of the Year by the Illinois High School Basketball Coaches Association in 1979, the same year he left teaching to pursue broader paths of impact.

And impact he had. Ray became a school desegregation director in Centralia, the Upward Bound Director at SIU, and later joined a Clinton-era federal initiative focused on municipal development and housing authorities across the country. “They told me 8,700 people applied for 200 spots,” he says. “And I made the cut. Just a small-town kid from Centralia.”

What stands out in Ray’s story isn’t just the breadth of what he’s done—it’s the humility with which he’s done it. He’s served quietly and with dignity. He’s taught students, coached athletes, mentored families, and spoken to civic leaders from coast to coast. But when it came time to choose where to retire, there was never any question.

He came home.

Back to Centralia, where he now sits behind the visitor bench at Orphans games, season tickets in hand. Back to the same town where relatives like NBA player Dick Garrett and track standout Ken McBride once made headlines. Back to the soil that holds not just memory, but meaning.

“I could’ve gone anywhere,” he says. “But this is home. And there’s just no place like it.”

Even now, Ray’s service hasn’t stopped. He remains engaged with the community, mentoring young people, offering wisdom to school leaders, and, when asked, delivering oratory presentations that stir the soul. One of his favorites is Kipling’s poem “If”—a graduation card he received in 1968, now memorized and performed with the weight of a man who’s lived its every line.

Ray Young’s life is more than a story of survival. It’s a story of grace, of contribution, of returning—not just geographically, but spiritually—to a place that shaped him. And in doing so, shaping it right back.