A year ago Harry had left Pátzcuaro where he visited my friend Celia and was staying at the home of his friend Omar in Morelia. Harry walked all over vast Morelia during the day while Omar worked. Then came the weekend. Omar, a skilled charro, invited Harry to attend a rodeo in a town some distance away. Such a day! Harry was made an honorary charro and given charro clothes to wear that were exactly his size: suede pants with a rust-orange stripe down the side, a special charro belt that rested on his hips, a long-sleeved sky-blue cotton shirt, a rust-orange butterfly tie splayed on his chest like puffed wings and a wide straw sombrero. Knowing Harry, he didn’t stop smiling the whole day. Oh! He looked fine! At the rodeo Harry was given a horse to ride and had his picture taken both astride and standing with Omar and his friends. Harry posted those pictures and another picture in which he was seated on a long wooden bench in front of a red brick wall, a triangle of cement behind his head accenting the circle of the sombrero and his twinkling eyes. In the picture his long legs are stretched out in front of him and his long fingers rest on a bottle of tequila in one hand and a bottle of Corona in the other, props that promise Good Times! hell share with Omar and his fellow charros. Harry called to tell me that the rodeo and Omar and his friends were amazing. Amazing! They all had regular jobs but their passion was the rodeo. Each had skills honed over years. Harry spoke of how we in the US are more likely to know what another person’s job is than what brings that person joy. He spoke of how lucky Omar and his friends are to have a passion that means close contact with animals. He swore they were so in sync with their horses they seemed to share one mind. There was no question that the men were the ones in charge, their horses intent on doing exactly what was needed. Omar’s specialty was calf roping and he was splendid. The coordination, concentration and skill it took were mind boggling to Harry. Some people try to figure out who they are all their lives,” he said. “Omar knows. Omar and his family and his friends all know. .... How great is that! Harry liked and admired them all. He was so grateful to Omar’s parents and to Omar for their hospitality. I remember Harry told me there was one particular street vendor near the Martinez home he had become friendly with. He said he knew it was time to move on when the street vendor greeted him like an old friend. If Im a fixture in the neighborhood, it means Im starting to impose on my hosts hospitality, he said. I thank Omar and his friends and family for being so good to Harry, for making him welcome in their home and Omar’s home away from home, the rodeo, for showing Harry how deep their roots in their lives go, for making Harry feel he belonged the whole time he was there. “When they say, “Mi casa es tu casa,” what they mean is “Mi familia es tu familia. Mi vida es tu vida. Mi cama es tu cama. Mi comida es tu comida,” Harry said. I mentioned this in some of my radio interviews while the search was on. Harry told me he was going to write all about his time with Omar at his next stop, which was to be the butterfly sanctuary. One of the ideas he had for his book was to select single days that would give the reader an insight into lives vastly different from their own but lives where you could see the scope of human beings in their wonderful variety. “I want people to feel they’re right there with me,” he said. “To see what I see. To feel what I feel. To think what I think. To know what I know. What a family!” he would say. “What a world! What a wonderful world!” How Harry loved people! How glad he was to be on the road, his eyes, his mind and his heart wide open. How glad to share his life with us all, old friends and new, and me, his Ma. The world needs witnesses or it does not exist, says his cousin Bernard, a priest in France. A witness like Harry surely must go on, his energy neither created nor destroyed but only changed in form. Harry is here still, nest-ce pas, Bernard? - Ann, Harrys Mom
Posted on: Sun, 18 Jan 2015 19:16:34 +0000
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