Whether it was ponies or politics, Ray Kerrison was, as one former colleague described him Monday, “the quintessential New York columnist.”
Kerrison, who wrote for The Post between 1976 and 2013 as each a news columnist and a horse racing columnist, covering the thirty second Kentucky Derby and countless other Triple Crown races, died Sunday after a short illness. He was 92 years old.
“Ray was smart, kind, dryly witty and dedicated to his craft, like every journalist I’ve ever known,” said Bob McManus, editor emeritus of The Post’s editorial page. “He was a man of unshakable principles, which was evident in his writing, but in addition a guy who respected the intelligence of his readers. His goal was to influence, not to evangelise, and while his work may be controversial, it was at all times sincere. And he was a friend.”
It looks as if a friend to everyone.
![Ray Kerrison](https://nypost.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2022/12/ray-kerrison-obit-columnist-headshot.jpg?w=300)
“One of the nicest people I’ve ever met,” said Ed Fountaine, a former horse racing author at the Post. “Nobody could say a bad word about him. Working with him was one of the pleasures of my profession there. A real skilled. At the age of 82, he was at the track at 6am in the rain.
Raymond William Kerrison was born on March 2, 1930 in Cobdogla, near Renmark, in the Riverland District of South Australia. He began journalism in his home country and joined News Limited in 1963 in its New York office. Ray went there to edit National Star, Rupert Murdoch’s first American publication, in the early Seventies, then moved to The Post in 1976 to cover horse racing.
“Even in retirement, he was amazed by his journey,” said his son Damien. “He was born and raised in the Australian outback. So coming out of there and being so successful in the New York market was a great achievement. I do know he was greatly admired by his colleagues. Everyone has a soft spot for him.”
“All I can say is that Ray Kerrison was just a wonderful man,” said Greg Gallo, the former sports editor of the Post who began working with Kerrison in 1973. “He was a great journalist, columnist, persistent reporter who kept the stories in full swing. But he was so gracious in the way he did his thing.
“I used to call him the Fred Astaire of Thoroughbred racing because he was the best. He was the classiest guy who ever worked on this beat. No one was higher as a journalist. … We actually lost a special person here.”
“Ray Kerrison was one of a group of outstanding Australian journalists, including Steve Dunleavy, Neal Travis, Peter Brennan, Ian Rae and John Canning, who popped up in New York in the Seventies,” said the Post’s former editor-in-chief, Col. Allan. “Unlike his colleagues, Ray led a less boisterous life but was deeply respected for his principles, honesty and heat. I’ll miss him.”
“One of the nicest people yow will discover, extraordinary in the newspaper industry,” said Eric Fettmann, who has edited his column since 1994. “He was persuasive, but not flashy or dogmatic. And it was a pleasure to edit him – not that his column required many revisions. He was a easy but elegant author.”
Kerrison covered many of the major events of the day, including the assassination of Martin Luther King in 1968, the first moon landing in 1969, and the 1972 Munich Olympics tragedy. . Kerrison was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize for this reportage.
“You ought to know the most amazing thing about my father?” said Patrick, his youngest child. “In 92 years, he never cursed. Not once. There have been seven of us and a wife of 59 years, and we gave him many reasons to do it.
The wake-up call will probably be Tuesday from 5:00 PM to 9:00 PM at the Blackley Funeral Home, 809 Broad Ave., Ridgefield, NJ. Funeral Mass will probably be held Wednesday at 9:30 a.m. at St. Matthew, 555 Prospect Ave., Ridgefield.
Along with sons Damien and Patrick, Kerrison is survived by daughters Catherine, Loretta, Louise and Francesca, and son Gregory, 18 grandchildren and 11 great-grandchildren. Before his death, he was married to Monika, daughter Maria and son Jan.
“I remember sitting with him in the Saratoga press box,” said Patrick. “One of the few times I have been allowed to try this. And he said, “OK, Lovey – he and my mom used to call us all Lovey’s kids – it is time for Daddy to go to work.”
“And I just remember sitting there looking at him with a cigarette in his hand, typing on the keyboard, looking at the race form and considering ‘That is my dad. He’s so rattling cool. ”