I
once sent Pucho (as his wife and grandchildren called him) a couple bad poems I wrote which at the time I thought were good. He read them over and suggested some changes, but about one poem he said something
that struck me:
“The
Painter is a beautiful poem. Regretfully, though, the thought of death is always present. Your poetry deserves a try to sing
of the beauty and mysteries of life.”
We
could dwell on the thought of Pucho’s death, or we could remember what an amazing life full of beauty and joy he lead. Someone once told me the reason we live is to have lots of people come to our funeral. While I don’t necessarily think that is the reason we live, simply looking around
this church today, and being at my grandparents’ home the last few days amidst an endless stream of phone calls and
visitors, serves as a testament to the wonderful life Pucho led, the many lives he touched,
and the many people who felt his love.
Pucho
was one of the best individuals I have ever met, and one of the best individuals that I ever will meet. It’s hard to put into words the love we have for him. He
was full of kindness, compassion, and love for others. Much of this can be attributed
to his wife, who proves the saying that behind every great man is a great woman. They
raised 5 wonderful children together who all made him proud, and these children have raised quite a few more children themselves.
Pucho
had a brilliant, and yet amazingly open and objective mind, even in his old age. When
he first came to this country to attend the University of Pennsylvania’s
Wharton School of Business, he was just learning the language and spoke with quite a thick accent, if you can imagine that. One of his professors during his first semester told him that he was wasting
his time and didn’t know English well enough to study at Penn. Pucho got a B in that class. It was the
only B he ever got at Penn, graduating valedictorian of his class of 1955.
Of
course, Pucho was brilliant, but at the same time he appreciated the simple humors of life.
When I visited Spain with my grandparents
a few years ago, Pucho and I began the custom of communicating to each other via animal noises, horse neighs, and a series
of grunts. It reached the point where Mom Charo told us that it was embarrassing
to be seen in public with us, and that if we didn’t stop, she wouldn’t come out with us anymore. So we stopped, at least in front of Mom.
Rarely
in life is one so lucky as to meet such a loving, kind, humble, generous, and humorous individual as Pucho, much less spend
years of our lives with him. And rarely does one person touch so many lives
in such remarkable ways. We are all lucky to have known Pucho, and to have him
as part of our lives.
None
of us got to say goodbye to Pucho, but I imagine as he sat down for the last time in the Kennedy Center he took a deep breath
and thought about what a wonderful life he lead as he said goodbye to each of us. The
way we can say goodbye to him, is never forgetting what an amazing person he was, and by striving everyday to live in such
a way that he would be proud of us.
Thank
you for everything Pucho. We love you, and we will miss you very much.
Shaun
J. Loria
Wednesday,
February 1st, 2006
