I once met a giant. He was huge. Maybe 7 feet tall if he was a foot. He stood in front of the
Mexican dusty prints that his worn, uncomfortable looking cowboy boots left behind him. He would not walk, for he was to wise to walk. He would strut like the playboy he wanted to be, and maybe, possibly, once was. He would talk in the lowest voice I can fathom remembering, a bass-line throat low that could level mountains. When he shook your hand, you had no choice but to surrender to his timeframe. If he liked you, or you were somehow part of his history, your hands could stay intertwined for minutes. Few got to shake Homero's hand. But those who did are now in mourning. a few days ago, Homero's heart gave its last beat inside the largest and most passionate, humble, courageous and loving man I have ever known.
Homero was the first and only Mexican to accept the likes of Jeff Jackson and Kurt Smith on his properties, years ago, during the golden age of Potrero. When every one else would snub and even refuse to serve food to the "gringos" with colourful haircuts, Homero protected them.
Homero's dream was to be that dream. To let you walk and run in his back yard. If you had a car problem, he would do his best to help, and usually, it would work out, minus a couple spare pieces here and there. No matter what time your flight was, he would be ready to drive you, even at 4am. Maybe, even, still a little hungover from a night out with his boys.
I have had many loved ones fall around me over the years, but few of them have actually gotten me to question my life, its patterns and trajectory. Homero, will certainly be missed in all his forms, mystic, legendary, stories or be it counts of heroism in the face of grand battles.
My friend, my father, my hero and the one and only man I could ever say I truly loved.
Good-bye my friend. Till we meet again.
But not yet.
But not as of yet.
Ulric
Homero was the first and only Mexican to accept the likes of Jeff Jackson and Kurt Smith on his properties, years ago, during the golden age of Potrero. When every one else would snub and even refuse to serve food to the "gringos" with colourful haircuts, Homero protected them.Homero's dream was to be that dream. To let you walk and run in his back yard. If you had a car problem, he would do his best to help, and usually, it would work out, minus a couple spare pieces here and there. No matter what time your flight was, he would be ready to drive you, even at 4am. Maybe, even, still a little hungover from a night out with his boys.I have had many loved ones fall around me over the years, but few of them have actually gotten me to question my life, its patterns and trajectory. Homero, will certainly be missed in all his forms, mystic, legendary, stories or be it counts of heroism in the face of grand battles.
My friend, my father, my hero and the one and only man I could ever say I truly loved.
Good-bye my friend. Till we meet again.
But not yet.
But not as of yet.
Ulric
i remember a few years ago when i came back after a long hiatus from climbing and i drove onto Homero's ranch and for some reason rumours had surfaced that i had had a sex change while working in the music industry. Homero walked towards me with a calm look and stop short inches from my feet. His large had swooped and before I could understand what was happening he had my crotch in his hand. it lasted less then a second, at which point he welcomed me back and we drank whiskey and tequila until the sun started rising over the mountains. Homero was a man of few words and grand gestures.
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Ulric thank you very much for your words, I am a cousin of Homer. Thursday was the funeral of Homer in the cemetery that is in front of the mountains that you both enjoyed and loved. I'm sure he knew your friendship.
ReplyDeleteJavier Villareal