The Stained Tie and the Steady Hand: How One Man Shattered Us and Another Saved Us

Unwelcome Shadows — A Family Tested

Like many kids growing up in the 80s and 90s, divorce spread like the flu — fast, disorienting, and everywhere. One minute you had a family unit, and the next you were dialing your best friend Cody on the only phone in the house: a wall-mounted rotary. It took ten minutes to crank out a phone number, and if you messed it up mid-dial? Hang up, start over.

I still remember the moment I told Cody my parents were splitting. Funny thing — he’d make the same call to me not long after. His parents divorced, too, and along with other kids in our neighborhood, we bonded over shared experiences of broken homes. We leaned on each other, brawled like brothers in front yards, and had each other’s backs through playground fights and backyard chaos. “Boys will be boys,” one of our moms would say — probably Diane Schutz or one of the dads. Who really remembers?

But what came next wasn’t in any childhood handbook.

Enter Roy — And Exit Normalcy

At age 10, the concept of dating made no sense. My family unit was fractured, and suddenly my mom had a boyfriend. That wasn’t the whole story behind the divorce, though at the time, it sure felt like it.

That man’s name was Roy Robinson. He was an old friend of Mom’s, and within weeks, it felt like he’d moved into our lives... and into our home. Tall, slim, with dark features and a handlebar mustache straight out of a dated soap opera — Roy was a psychologist by trade and a full-blown alcoholic by everything else.

His arrival marked the end of our dry household — we were strict Seventh-day Adventists, and alcohol simply didn’t exist in our home. But Roy brought it in buckets. His beer lived in the garage fridge, and so did his bad behavior. I was 11 when he accused me of drinking his beer. To be clear: I didn’t even know what beer was. Now ice cream, on the other hand? That was my weakness. If it was in the freezer, it didn’t stand a chance.

The Abuse, The Lies, and A Stained Tie

Roy was chaos in human form. Whether he was passed out on the couch in a drunken stupor, urinating on himself, gifting me a used and stained tie for Christmas, or creeping toward my sister with a look that made our stomachs turn — he was destructive.

Once, Cody and I stood up to him, and Roy responded by slapping me across the face. Another time, he tried to kiss my sister. I wish I were exaggerating. I wish this was one of my tall tales — but it wasn’t.

He tried to bond with me on several occasions, but one afternoon, we played catch with a baseball in the backyard. For a few moments, it felt normal. Then, without warning, he started hurling the ball as hard as he could — not playfully, but with a kind of fury. I dodged what I couldn’t catch, and that only provoked him.

What followed was drunken aggression. Slaps. Punches. His twisted idea of toughening me up for baseball.

And of course, there was the constant verbal abuse that came along with it. Bonding? That was never on the table.

I remember thinking: Touch me again, and I swear I’ll hit him over the head with a shovel. Big, brave eleven-year-old me — stomach full of ice cream and milk duds — gearing up for war.

He had credentials, sure. He was a “notable psychologist,” even once connected to David Koresh, the infamous leader of the Branch Davidians. I remember learning about that connection from Mom during or shortly after the Waco siege in 1993.

But his title couldn’t mask the darkness beneath. When I realized alcohol flipped a switch in him, I took action. I snuck into the garage, poured out every can of beer in the fridge, and chucked them in the outdoor trash. It wasn’t clever. It wasn’t subtle. But it was driven by the logic of a kid trying to protect his family.

A Faceplant to Remember — And a Long-Overdue Goodbye

Roy once fell naked off a diving board at the house he’d bought after finally moving out. My sister and I laughed about it — more out of relief than amusement. His ego was massive, but his charm was nonexistent to us. If he thought he was James Dean, reality said he was more like a horror-movie version of the Three Stooges.

The final straw came when Mom discovered that Roy had been seeing another woman behind her back. Call it what you will, but that moment triggered some serious soul-searching. She quickly realized she was done being mistreated — not just for herself, but for the way Roy had treated Toni and me.

So, she did what strong women do. She put on her big-girl boots, stood tall, and headed to church that Sabbath (Saturday) morning — reclaiming her strength one step at a time.

And that was it. Roy was gone.

A Question That Still Lingers

Here’s what’s never sat right: I don’t remember fully telling anyone outside the house what was happening. My family — Dad, uncles, aunts, grandparents — they were gentle souls, not the confrontational kind. But I was a loud kid. I couldn’t keep secrets. I know I said something. And I’m sure my sister said something.

Did anyone talk to Mom? Did they step in?

I asked my sister recently, and she was confident no one knew. No one saw. No one acted.

I used to wish I had an older brother — someone who could protect me and Toni from all of it. At the time, I didn’t even know Karl existed.

I wouldn’t meet Karl until I was fourteen. He was seven years older than me — strong, thoughtful... but too late. Too late to be the shield we needed back then.

Yep, Karl — that’s another story I’ll tell.

Short version?

Mom put him up for adoption at birth.

Fast forward 21 years, and Karl finds her.

We meet. Family grows—one of my favorite memories.

But what I do know is this:

Mom stepped in.

And that man never came back.

Years later, Roy would be found dead in his car.

🎖️ Center Stage — The Man Who Changed Everything

Lee Ray Hennington April 23, 1952 – November 30, 2023

Raised in the oil fields of eastern New Mexico, Lee grew up in Lovington — dirt poor, hardened by circumstance, and forged by resilience. He volunteered to fight in Vietnam as an infantryman with the US Army’s First Infantry Division — “The Big Red One.” What did he live through during that war? We’ll never fully know. Just like one of my biggest heroes, Uncle Bill, Lee rarely spoke of it.

And that silence? That’s where the word “hero” lives.

After the Army, Lee returned home and worked as a roughneck on oil rigs stretching across eastern New Mexico and West Texas — arguably the most demanding job in America. Long seasons. Brutal weather. Dangerous work.

But Lee wanted more.

He saved every penny and made his way to New Mexico State University in Las Cruces. With a degree in hand, he went on to have a successful career as a Senior Field Engineer with Lockheed Martin, supporting the Patriot missile system worldwide. Respected by colleagues. Valued by the military teams he supported around the globe. Quietly remarkable.

🤝 First Impressions & Instant Respect

Mom took her time before introducing Lee to Toni and me. She’d learned from before.

I still remember the day I met him — standing in our home on Aspen Ave in Las Cruces. Black cowboy boots. Fitted Wranglers. A perfectly pressed western shirt under a designer-style black leather jacket. Short hair, nearly a buzz cut. His mustache was just shy of full handlebar territory.

He looked me in the eye and said, “Hey buddy, I’m Lee. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” Then he reached out his massive hand, rough from years of labor, and wrapped it gently around mine.

That moment? I knew he was different.

🎸 On Team Lee Ray

It didn’t take long before everyone was on Team Lee Ray. He introduced me to Metallica, Van Halen, Brooks & Dunn, and Meat Loaf, among others. Toni and I didn’t grow up with extravagance. We didn’t miss it either — maybe because we didn’t know what to want. But Lee gave us each our first Discman and CD. No more cassette tapes. No more timing the radio to record our favorite songs. My first CD? Meat Loaf. I probably listened to it for days straight.

He loved cars — trading them in almost every year. From brand-new trucks to Corvettes, to the custom restoration of a 1967 Chevy Camaro, featuring a 327 small block engine and four-speed manual transmission. Lee splurged within reason. He never forgot where he came from.

👔 Best Man in Black Wranglers

After about a year of dating, Mom and Lee got married. I stood next to him — in black Wranglers and a western-style tuxedo jacket — as his best man.

His closest friends, Randy and Matt, might have earned the title of “best friend,” but that day it felt right. I knew it meant something.

Lee knew about Roy and the damage left behind. So, he was cautious about how he drank around Toni and me. He enjoyed a beer or glass of wine, but always with class and control. And he never missed a single game, concert, or event. He showed up, every time.

One of the things he said about my dad stuck with me forever:

“I don’t want to take your dad’s place. I just want to be your friend, your confidant, and someone who helps guide you when you need it. I really like your dad — he’s a good man. I respect the hell out of him.”

How many stepdads say that?

🐓 Cowboy Boots on the Beach

Lee had quirks, too — like his comical fear of water. The man couldn’t swim, never learned, and wouldn’t be caught dead in shorts. He claimed it was because of his “chicken legs.” For the record, they weren’t that bad.

In 1998, Lee, Mom, and I drove to San Diego to visit my brother Karl.

We spent the week bouncing between the zoo, SeaWorld, and La Jolla beaches, where Karl lived and worked. Lee wouldn’t let us miss a single moment — so there he was, sweating on the sand in cowboy boots and Wranglers, refusing to wear shorts, just happy to be with us.

🚗 Drunk in Mexico, Designated Driver at 17

Back when you could cross into Mexico without a passport, we drove to Rosarito with Karl and his then-girlfriend Chasa. Tequila. Beer. Endless margaritas. At midnight, Lee looked at me and said,

“Travis, you’re driving us across the border.”

Lesson received: Always have a designated driver, even if it's your 17-year-old stepson.

It was my first time driving in a foreign country. No GPS. Just road signs, paper maps (which we didn’t have), and Karl — fluent in Baja — guiding us north like a pirate with a compass.

Lee stayed wide-eyed and focused the whole 2+ hour drive. Everyone else? Asleep on and off.

Every few minutes, in a calm coaching tone, he’d say:

“Good job, buddy. Stay smooth. Between the lines. Oh — never mind, good job again. What’s your speed? Good. Stay focused. You got this.”

We hit a string of roundabouts, which I had zero experience with.

“Stay on Hwy 1… no, RIGHT — no right…” I missed it.

Lee, chuckling:

“I see what you’re doing… living out your NASCAR fantasies.”

Despite the extra laps, we made it. Border agents waved us through without question. Times have changed.

🧡 A Man Who Helped Build Me

There are more stories I’ll share about Lee. Moments and lessons that helped shape the man I am today. I was lucky — damn lucky—to have the support system I did in those pivotal years. Growing from boy to man takes a village. Lee Ray was a pillar in that village.

Prom: 97 or 98?

I’ll carry his voice, his spirit, and his lessons with me for the rest of my life.