Showing posts with label People. Show all posts
Showing posts with label People. Show all posts

5.23.2010

Rafael Pérez Estrada

Rafael. I remember as if it were yesterday: the phone call from Ballesteros, near midnight. That's it. He's gone. We knew it was coming, but it still seemed impossible. Mari Carmen Troyano came over so the girls wouldn't be alone. Asun on the trek to Santiago. The walk over to City Hall where the majestic Salón de los Espejos opened its doors one last time for Málaga's favorite son. But Rafael was now horizontal, in a closed casket. I remember the faces, the profound sense of loss. Pablo, Juvenal, José Ignacio, Berjillos, Ballesteros, Paco, Rafael's brothers... Antonio was here in the US. Ironies. Ten years have passed, and the anniversary was celebrated with the birth of the Rafael Pérez Estrada Foundation. Esteban Pérez Estrada has seen it through.

I find trying to describe Rafael a most difficult challenge. He was quite formal in manner, but at the same time gregarious. His personality was magnetic and listening to him always a privileged lesson. Cosmology. A poetics of life. Humor and an unparalleled imagination central tools of his pedagogy. Wednesdays were sacred. Bilmore our temple. To walk in, see Rafael at the bar and be greeted with an "ah, mi príncipe". From anyonone else it would have been simply ridiculous. From Rafael, very funny. And very special. I'll be a student forever. This morning in Diario Sur, Soler expresses it best: "Bilmore was the name we had for friendship and a weekly miracle, but also, although it wasn't written in any of our irreverent statutes –words to the wind– a way of understanding literature and society, and a way of recovering that atmosphere of vanguard that once identified Malaga." Indeed. In those last months Rafael let it be known, subtly and emphatically, that Bilmore had to continue. We tried. They tried. And it did go on, has gone on, but it's not the same. It can't be. When the center is lost, the periphery doesn't hold.

Ten years. Seems like yesterday. Here is a link to the first texts of his I had published in English.

4.11.2010

Madlyn Orloski

Yesterday we said our final farewell to Madlyn. It was a nice service, but I was sorry I couldn't go to the reception afterwards. Madlyn was a fine friend. She was a tough cookie and had little patience for nonsense. I think I'll remember her most for our time together on the Drug and Alcohol commission. She was not a frequent participant in the discussions at the commission meetings, but she did ask pointed questions. I also have very fond memories of those other meetings we'd attend together. Madlyn was wonderful with the way she could reach even the youngest, most reluctant women who would sometimes come in, full of anger, negativity, and feeling defeated, sometimes even worthless. She really wanted to help them, and she was often successful. Madlyn could have a sharp tongue, but her heart was soft and true. Her humor was self-deprecating and she was always toughest on herself. She reminded me sometimes of my aunt Jo, another tough woman with a soft heart. I can hear her voice, and I miss it terribly, "Mark, it's Maaaadlyn..." And those curt answers when she'd call you out on your b.s. "Ya. Un huh." And she'd look right through you. Cosmos, be on alert. Madlyn is here!

2.25.2010

Rafael Argullol's Spiritual Vitality

Rafael Argullol is a philosopher, poet, and all around interesting writer. I've been enjoying very much his 2007 book, El cazador de instantes, (The Instants Hunter), a collection of short texts of an eclectic nature: philosophical, enigmatic, sententious, poetic, humoristic ... and almost always paradoxical. Here's a quick translation of one of my favorites:

A good sign of spiritual vitality is to have an appointment with God and forget to go because you are busy with more important affairs.


11.10.2009

Dick Armey

On Sunday the NYT magazine had a profile on former House majority leader Dick Armey. In the article he is quoted as saying the following at a public talk in North Carolina: "“Nearly every important office in Washington, D.C., today is occupied by someone with an aggressive dislike for our heritage, our freedom, our history and our Constitution.” That is not just political hyperbole. It's an intentional, mean spirited lie. Shame on him! Such nonsense. The right's cynicism, its pandering to the know-nothing fringe is fascinating. And it's not going to win them many elections. The article contains several gems, including his belief that Lawrence Summers is not "a real economist." Armey reveals himself to be a political philosopher of profound intellect: “Europe is governed by a concern for the well-being of the collective. That’s what they care about. What makes us different is we begin with the liberty of the individual. We got it right, and they got it wrong." This nonsense is repeated often by the American right and exemplifies how they so often conflate "freedom", "individual liberty", etc. with a regulation-free business environment. Ok, well, I guess it's true that buying a semi-automatic weapon may be just a tad more complicated in Europe than in the US, but that's one freedom Europeans are happy to sacrifice. Freedom of the press? Just as well defended in Europe. Freedom of assembly. The same. Freedom of religion? The same. Rights? How about the right to access health care? Score one for Europe! Dick Armey is the leader of the right wing group FreedomWorks.

8.16.2009

Memorials

A week ago I took Daniela and Elisa to Washington for a quick visit. Our first stop was the Lincoln Memorial. I've been there at least a dozen times, but it never fails to move me. In general I'm very leery of grand memorials or monuments of any kind, but I've always admired Lincoln and his way with words, so I feel tolerant as I look up at the massive figure in his big armchair. The Gettysburg Address is a real gem, a marvel of concision. On the other hand, when I look out from the Lincoln Memorial to the Washington Monument and, way back there, Congress, I feel it's unfortunate that some of the more intellectually interesting figures of our past get such short shrift in the capital, and in our collective memory generally. Where's the monument to Thomas Paine? Benjamin Rush? Hamilton? After paying homage to Abe we went by a very different kind of memorial: the one dedicated to those who died in Viet Nam (and Southeast Asia generally). Always sobering. Then it was a superficial museum tour: Air and Space, the new Native American museum, and Natural History. Impressive places, that's for sure. On the way home we stopped by Gettysburg and so Elisa got an extra dose of US history and was able to connect the words inscribed inside on the right hand wall of the Lincoln Memorial to the place where they were pronounced.
Yesterday a different kind of memorial: the funeral service for Rod Hough. Lots and lots of people. Rod died quite unexpectedly, so I was a little surprised at what a "festive" atmosphere seemed to dominate. I stood in line for over an hour to make my way to the family to offer condolences and during the wait got to greet lots and lots of folks, mainly from AA, who I hadn't seen in a couple of years.
And today it's up to New York to bring the young malagueña to JFK. Another little detail for my memory: as I write my forearms feel on fire: the itching of poison ivy. Oh man, am I stupid! Know your weeds!

12.06.2008

People I'd Like to Meet (III)


As I wrote in my last post, I still actually buy a printed newspaper sometimes, and yesterday was one of those days. I was downtown, having just made a few visits to internship sites and felt in need of a coffee break. It had been a very busy morning and I hadn't had any breakfast beyond the initial early am coffee. So I got El País and went into a little bar for breakfast. Like the bar of the title of the famous Hemingway story: a clean well-lighted place. But when I sat down it was late morning, not late at night. And no coñac for me. (How many years has it been?) There's a man around my age at the bar having a beer. He looks depressed, worried. It's quiet. The young man who serves me is pleasant enough. A woman is going back and forth bringing trays of tapas out to the counter, getting ready for the midday rush. Unlike in the US, you don't have to be a drinker to enjoy bars here. I still love them. Then again, a bar in Spain often has little relation to those dark places you go to for drinks in the US. When I put down the booze I wasn't much of a bar frequenter in the US, but they immediately became of zero interest to me. Anyway, I was brought some fresh squeezed orange juice, toast and olive oil, and another cup of coffee. Wonderful! And I got to read the amazing story of Víctor Hugo Rodríguez. Víctor is a soldier, finishing up a tour of duty in Irak for the US Army. But he's not an American citizen. Víctor is Bolivian. Here's a short version of his story: in 1997, at age 19 and in desperate poverty in La Paz, Víctor decided he had to make a change. So he left for the US with $20 in his pocket and a dream in his head. He crossed Peru and Ecuador by helping truck drivers load and unload in exchange for rides. He told border guards in Colombia he was going to be a university student. He made it to Cali and hoped to get a bus from there to Panama. No buses from Cali. Only five dollars left. So he walked through the jungle with a Colombian and a Brazilian he had just met. Seven days of walking, no trail after four. They made it to a river. Shots fired. The other two disappeared. He received assistance from indigenous people on the Colombia/Panama border. Eventually he made it across Central America and into Mexico. Got across the border and into Texas on his second try. Five months. From Texas he made it to New York and got work in construction. In 2000 he married a fellow Bolivian and now he and his wife have two daughters. In 2006 he joined the army. When he gets out of the army he wants to go to university and become a journalist. He is due back in the US in February, and shortly thereafter he will become a US citizen. I wish him great luck. For the full story go to http://www.elpais.com. You can find the story in the archive: December 5th, International, the article titled "De La Paz a la guerra en Irak". And some people complain. This young man has many lives worth of adventures already. He had a dream and he went after it. How much easier it would have been to give up. I'd love to meet Víctor and his family someday. I'd like to thank him, to hear more of his story, and to learn how his dreams are progressing. When I finished reading about Víctor it was time to get back to work. Too bad, I could have happily spent an hour or two in that simple little bar. Dreams today in Malaga look promising: Daniela is here, the sunrise was spectacular, and the coffee is ready. It's a holiday: Constitution Day and this year marks the 30th anniversary of the 1978 carta magna. (In the photo above, Calle Granada, which continues to the left, just before it ends in the Plaza de la Constitución.)

11.11.2008

More People I'd Like to Meet

Strange. I woke up this morning thinking about Spud Webb. Remember him? He played in the NBA for the Atlanta Hawks back in the eighties and I think into the early nineties. Spud was the first of the modern day really small guys to make it in the NBA. He was usually listed as 5' 6'', but he looked closer to 5' 8'' to me. Still, not exactly a tall guy. (Well, there was Calvin Murphy, going back to the seventies, but he was just short, not super short like Spud and a few others later, Muggsy Bogues being perhaps the most memorable among them.) And Spud won the slam-dunk contest one year! I read somewhere that he was just 5' 5'' when he dunked for the first time in H.S. Imagine that! Anyway, I'd like to meet Spud, hear what he has to say about his playing days. As I write this it occurs to me that I've been tremendously fortunate in that I have, in fact, met so many really interesting people, some well known and others just as anonymous as the rest of us. If I could get together with Spud, it might be fun if Manute Bol could join us. Remember him? He was the super tall guy who played at the same time as Webb. Spud once dunked over him. Forget basketball for a moment. I'd also like to meet Ildefonso de Matías Jiménez. He's the guy he runs Madrid's subway system. Stephen Hawking, I'd like to have some time with him, too. None of this, of course, has anything to do with Malaga. But when I wake up in the morning and I'm preparing the coffee I'm definitely not ready to start focusing on work. And I can't exactly turn my brain off completely. I'm working on it, but I'm not quite there yet. About as close as I am to my first dunk. (But the jump shot is still there!)

10.03.2008

Some Men I'd Like to Meet

Thursday was a most pleasant day, even though it didn't start that way. Sometimes the alarm clock goes off at the wrong moment, and that was the case yesterday. I must have been in a deep slumber, because that annoying jingle my cell phone makes really startled me when it went off at 5:45. I don't always get up that early, but the Red Sox were on and I wanted to see the end of the game. A slow game: I sat down at the computer and it was only the top of the sixth. Beautiful. I was just getting my eyes to stop watering and, crack, Jason Bay smashes a two run homer. Then in the bottom half of the inning Lester boy strikes out the side. And so it went. I go to the terrace and the sun is just coming up, and for the first time of the season, it's rising over the water. Wonderful. I'm sipping my coffee, thinking a little about the Sox and feeling very placid and benevolent, so benevolent, in fact, I decide it's time to really cleanse myself completely: I'm going to forgive the big goat from 1986. No, not Bill, middle name omitted, Buckner. I forgave him years and years ago. I'm talking about John No Brain McNamara. Buckner will always be the poster boy for that historical meltdown, and he of course was the one who blew the routine play, a gaffe that happens to be, for his eternal misfortune, antonomasia for little kid mistake: Billy baby, you stop letting the ball roll through your legs when you're 10 or 11 years old! But poor old Bill should never have been out there in that situation. All through the 1986 season, when the Sox were ahead in the late innings, Dave Stapleton had been sent in as a defensive replacement. So why did McNamara change the routine? He wants the old veteran out on the field for the celebration. Get real! (Compare that to Francona's  recent explanation of why he left Timlin off the roster: yah, Mike's a great guy, and it's tough, but this is about putting the best team possible out there. You tell the guys the truth straight up and that's that. We're professionals.) And McNamara pinch hitting for Clemens and sending up Greenwell, leaving Don Baylor on the bench. Don Baylor and his 31 home runs that year! Greenwell was a rookie! McNamara, the bum. The Bum! But yesterday, the sun was coming up beautifully and I thought, it's ok. John is no doubt a nice guy and I'd even like to meet him and I would no longer have any bad thoughts. It's gone. All gone. And so I'd like to meet Buckner, too, poor guy. And while I'm at it, I'd like to meet Bob Stanley, and Mookie Wilson, and even, I'm going out on a limb here, Calvin Schiraldi. It's all ok. But I don't want to meet Dick Stockton. Is there a worse baseball announcer out there? I just heard him durng the ninth inning of the Dodgers/Cubs game. Truly awful. That too, is ok.

6.28.2008

All the help I can get... (2)

Eva Castillejo is another person who helps me out here in the neighborhood. She cuts my hair and she's very good. (Even Mariza, the woman who cuts my hair in Carlisle, was very impressed.) Eva is kind and likes to talk while she's working. She always remembers the girls' names and asks about them. She's got a great sense of humor. She's from Córdoba, but that's not her fault. I don't know what else to say about Eva, it's not like I get my hair cut every week or anything, but it's nice to go get your hair cut where you know it's going to be done well and the person cutting your hair knows something about you.

5.31.2008

Darío's Impossible Loves



It's always a pleasure to discover new poetry that interests you. That was certainly the case yesterday. The Bilmore group had a nice lunch with Pablo, who was in town to receive the Medal of Honor from the Academia de San Telmo. That event was Thursday evening at City Hall. In any case, Pablo, at his 85 or 87 years of age, still seems like a kid and is doing just great. During the lunch Julio mentioned that there was a reading in the evening with a Colombian poet by the name of Darío Jaramillo Agudelo. I'm so glad I went. Jaramillo turns out to be a very interesting poet, full of irony and elegant clarity. During the reading, which was really more like a conversation, moderated by Fernando Valverde, Jaramillo discussed the distinction he makes between possible and impossible loves. He was very funny: impossible loves are the ones we just dream about, Quixotic and fantastical. They have many of the advantages and none of the inconveniences of possible (real) loves. He declared that his great impossible love was Ingrid Bergman. But there was more than just humor. In fact, the few love poems he read were quite moving. Between poems he discussed his creative process and the importance for him of letting poems 'sit' for a long, long time.  After all, he joked, when we are really in love, it's simply impossible to write coherently about our condition because love makes us completely idiotic in a verbal sense. Good poetry is that which can be successfully digested when eaten cold. Anyway, after the event I was able to chat with him for a couple of minutes and I joked to him that Ingrid Bergman was my impossible love. (I'll never forget the first time I saw Casablaca. Wow!) He joked that was yet another of the great things about impossible loves–there's no problem sharing! On my way back to the Malagueta I ran into Soler, who was playing host to the novelist Clara Sánchez, here for the Book Fair.  So I ended up having a light dinner with that group.