Johnny Raymond buried yesterday

Paul Hardy has had two years to write a good and thorough send-off for his friend and business partner, Johnny Raymond, who died Saturday, March 22.

That’s how long it has been since Johnny’s health took a serious dip and his future became cloudy.

Back home after having his leg amputated, he summoned Hardy, his partner in St. Agnes Healthcare & Rehabilitation Center. Hardy remembers the conversation well:

“Here’s the deal,” Raymond said. “Paul, will you do my eulogy?”

Hardy and St. Agnes manager Ricky Hayes literally carried Raymond into his home office, stuffed with the memorabilia of a long, exciting and productive life. And it struck Hardy then – no way to capsulize all this in a 15-minute speech.

The military career alone would take hours. Climbing mountains, jumping out of airplanes, helping to develop the elite unconventional cadre of warriors now honored – after a lot of nudging by Col. Raymond – in Veterans Park here.

And he was no less a businessman, a civic leader and a political activist with a long string of accomplishments in each category.

“Of course a lot of people knew Johnny – just look the list of pallbearers and honorary pallbearers,” said Hardy. It includes the sheriff, the mayor, state senator and state representative. (And in the case of Hardy himself, a former state senator, secretary of state and lieutenant governor.)

“One of the things he was proudest of was his participation in the election of many past and present politicians,” said Hardy. “But few people really know how many needy people Johnny helped. He didn’t advertise it, but I saw it myself. He could never say no.”

Hardy knew Johnny Raymond for 40 years, and was his business partner for 30 years, but he says it was the last two years that really gave him a true sense of the man.

“I witnessed the extreme challenges, the physical deterioration, and I was astounded by his amazingly strong and positive mental attitude,” Hardy said. “He knew the score, he knew he was going to die, but he talked like he was going to be participating in every election for the next 20 years.”

Dozens of people were recently witness to Raymond’s toughness when, instead of attending the inaugural membership banquet of the Breaux Bridge Downtown Merchants Association, an organization with his stamp all over it, he wound up back in the hospital facing more amputation. Through the modern miracle of Skype, with his wife, Coatney, directing her smart phone camera at the crowd and Johnny’s pallid but supremely composed face on a large TV monitor, he exchanged quips with guest speaker Lt. Gov. Jay Dardenne, emcee Fred Mills Jr. and others.

There he was, propped up in a hospital bed, oxygen tubes in his nose, literally 10 days from death, and he was as firm of voice and confident of tone as though he were right there at the podium.

“He was the last of the old political warriors,” said Paul Hardy. “You won’t see his kind again.”