Call Him "Crazy"

Now, at local Samoan celebrations, Ray is "the only white boy that does the dances," Ulberg says. "Raymond will lay down so the girl can step on him — it's a culture thing. Raymond's real good about Samoan customs. It makes me happy. I like it. Better than these guys, Jason and Joe. They don't as much. They just come over and get the food and go." He laughs.

Ulberg raised all three boys to love sports. He's friends with Dan Saleaumua, a Samoan who played defensive nose tackle for the Chiefs in the late 1980s and early '90s. When Saleaumua came over to the Ulbergs' house for feasts, he'd bring other Samoan players, such as former Chiefs running back Christian Okoye and San Diego Chargers linebacker Junior Seau (who's now with the New England Patriots).

Ray went to William Chrisman High School in Independence and spent part of his time in the special-education program there. But Ulberg says he never sought a diagnosis for his son's disability. He thinks of Ray as a 25-year-old who, in his own mind, is still a kid.

Like his brother Jason (who is 30), Ray still lives at home. He has a job loading trucks for UPS. At first, his father didn't approve of his radio notoriety.

"I just kind of figured he might say the wrong thing and, you know, bother the people at the radio station," Ulberg says. "I said, 'You can call at times, but don't call all the time. They will probably think that something's wrong with you.'"

That concern is justified. Ray once found a phone number for Santa Claus' workshop. Joe Jr. says his adopted brother calls it every day.

"I don't know what they think whenever he calls, because he sounds so much older," Joe says. "He always calls to talk about his nephews and how they've been good, and Santa should bring them lots of stuff."

But Ray is no longer the skinny kid he was when the Ulbergs adopted him. He has a youthful face, and his buzz-cut black hair and tan complexion help him pass as a Samoan.

Ray knows his nickname isn't an insult. Of his role on the show, he says, "I made them laugh a lot, with a lot of the crazy stuff I said. That's why he [D.A.] called me Crazy Ray. I'm not really crazy — but we're all crazy a little bit."

He blames some Royals players for "stealing from the company" — taking a paycheck but not pulling enough weight. He thinks that the often-injured Mike Sweeney, who just underwent knee surgery, cheats the Royals by not stretching properly before games and hurting himself.

In Ray's opinion, the Royals and the Chiefs could do better if they simply had more self-confidence. He likes to think that his calls to The D.A. Show light a fire under the players.

That's what he was trying to do last spring when he coined a song about Royals Manager Buddy Bell.

He can ring his own bell-ll-ll, go back to Taco Bell, Ray sang on the air, to the tune of Anita Ward's "Ring My Bell." Go back to Taco Bell, get up, get out of my town, you stupid Bell.

The song was Ray's ticket to the big time.

In the spring of 2006, a man called D.A. to report that a guy had walked into his auto-repair shop off Interstate 70 in Independence and asked to use the phone. The guy had bickered with someone on the phone, then hung up. The mechanic asked if he needed a ride somewhere. "No, my dad's gonna come pick me up," he said.

"Why were you walking along the highway?" the mechanic asked.

"I just got in a fight with my brother, and he dropped me off in the middle of the highway," the guy answered. Eventually, he walked out of the auto shop, and a car came along and picked him up.

"I was listening to the voice, like, where have I heard that?" the mechanic told D.A. "And then it struck me — it was Crazy Ray."

Joe Jr. called D.A. the next day to clarify that it was Ray's other brother, Jason, who had left Ray on the highway. "I would never do that to Ray," Joe said.

Last June, D.A. and his technical crew started putting carousel music behind Ray's calls. Ray didn't appreciate it.

That was clear when Ray paid a visit to the Army recruiting office on Noland Road and told Staff Sgt. Paul Piper that he wanted to enlist. Piper handed him the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery.

Piper thought his voice sounded familiar. "You're Crazy Ray from The D.A. Show, right?"

Ray said yes, then explained that he didn't like 610 anymore because the station made fun of him and played music when he talked.

The next morning, Piper called in to report the sighting.

"He spent probably an hour here," Piper said. "He took a test, ate a doughnut. We talked. It was kind of cool."