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David K
Honored Nomad
Posts: 65112
Registered: 8-30-2002
Location: San Diego County
Member Is Offline
Mood: Have Baja Fever
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Don Jimmy, have a wonderful 'forever'. I look forward to the time when we can pour through Baja history books and maps, again!
Eli, what you did for your dad was beyond great and your blessings will be many. What a lucky dad Jimmy was having a daughter as thoughtful as you.
Warm Wishes Always,
David Kier
[Edited on 1-5-2004 by David K]
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bajalera
Super Nomad
Posts: 1875
Registered: 10-15-2003
Location: Santa Maria CA
Member Is Offline
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Jim was at Leree's (sp?) in San Ignacio two of the times we stopped there in 1963-64. I had hoped to run into him again somewhere down here, and am
sorry that never happened.
Have a great flight up there, Don J!
- bajalera
\"Very few things happen at the right time, and the rest never happen at all. The conscientious historian will correct these defects.\" -
Mark Twain
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Anonymous
Unregistered
Posts: N/A
Registered: N/A
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I didn't really know Jimmy Smith, but his loss is a loss for all of us Baja people.
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Neal Johns
Super Nomad
Posts: 1687
Registered: 10-31-2002
Location: Lytle Creek, CA
Member Is Offline
Mood: In love!
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Oops, that was me above - it didn't sign me in!
My motto:
Never let a Dragon pass by without pulling its tail!
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Bedman
Senior Nomad
Posts: 523
Registered: 9-4-2002
Location: Orange County, CA.
Member Is Offline
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Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Dylan Thomas
May God bless and hold you in the palm of his hand.
Bedman
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Eli
Super Nomad
Posts: 1471
Registered: 8-26-2003
Location: L.B. Baja Sur
Member Is Offline
Mood: Some times Observing, sometimes Oblivious.
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First of all I want to thank all who have contributed to this tread. The respect you have shown here is greatly appreciated by me, and I am sure my
Papa would agree. Now I expect that it is time for closing on this final chapter of a great mans life. For sure I will print up hard copies of all
your thoughts, and pass them on, so that my siblings may savor and share your kind words with their families, I do think that there will be much value
in all Your comments for them as there surly is for me.
Just a few days ago, while I was reading and writing on this thread, Moses, my brother Raul?s 8 year old kid, came up and asked what all these words
he saw on the screen were about; I explained to him, that his Grandpa was a very well known and much Loved Man and that all this ta-do was folks way
of expressing their respect for Don Jimmy. Well, the boy could certainly relate to that as he thinks his Tata is pretty special too.
As I know that many of You, Dad?s friends and relatives, wanted to, but could not make it to the services and his burial, I will attempt to address
what took place, so that you may some how share in the ritual and know he was buried with the Love and Respect he deserved;
Much to the relief of Dona Lupe, we had a traditional Vellorio for my father that night of the day that he died. His casket was set on the porch,
pretty much in the spot where he always sat in his rocking chair, to the right of the door, when one faces the store. A bunch of PVC chairs lined up
on either side of the walkway. These chairs were provided by the ?funeral folks?, who also brought a giant urn of coffee, and some beautiful tall
freestanding candelabras that provided giant globes of soft warm red light, one in the shape of a cross, stood at his head.
During the Rosary, Dona Lupe took her place sitting at Dad?s feet. Paquito, the favored grandson, the truly valiant one, the boy who inherited so
much of the Ol Man?s persona, held his weeping grandmother in his arms thru out the prayers.
Ay que Paquito, the night before when he sat alone with Papa holding his hand from 2 am until 6 am, I figured out why this boy truly deserved my
Father?s blessings in the form of a ruby and gold ring that Paquito wears with pride. He had received it just a few months ago from Paco, his Father,
who received the ring from Dad. Dad told me that it was my grandfather?s ring, and Dad had passed it on to Paco, with the condition that he pass it on
to his son Paquito on his 18th birthday.
So Rosario was said for a Man who claimed no formal religion, but was comfortable with his own vision of God, and it was performed by Dona Rosa, of
all people, She, who?s droning repetitive speech my father avoided when ever possible. This is where I had to disappear into the shadows, as I was
attacked with a serious case of giggles when I heard Moses? loud yawn, surly exactly what Dad would a done if he could have, and I couldn?t help
reflect on the irony that Pop couldn?t get away from Rosa this time. Still, in the end, I am reminded of the total immersion of my Father into this
culture and the respect of same as shown by Rosa and all of Dad?s barrio sitting with him that night, yes, I am sure where ever he is, it would make
him proud as it does me.
That night, my Father?s gringo friends and neighbors brought all kinds of food, paid their respects and left. As I sat with one of Dad?s Mexican
neighbors, she commented how odd that the Gringos brought food to a Vellorio and also that they did not stay, and I said it is just a difference in
cultures, that?s how they do it El Otro Lado, and with that, the neighbor shrugged her shoulders, yes, just a difference in culture, no harm done,
that?s for sure.
The next Morning, the church filled up with all kinds of people from every walk of life in our tiny community, they had come to say goodbye. Papa
received mass, holy water was sprinkled on his casket by the priest, and again I was in awe of the clout of this Man, unbabtised in the catholic
church, but receiving the churches blessings anyway.
He was driven to the graveyard in a New Black ford pickup. Truly a Baja Ranchero version of a hearse, so appropriate for Dad and the circumstances of
his life that his last ride be in that truck driven by Jose Tamayo, who is the son of his Ol Comrade gone on before him, Don Chapito. Jose is yet
another boy who became a Man during the span of time since my father settled here. Riding in the back with his casket was Don Manzano, the old
gardener who tends Dona Lupe & Dad?s roses, and of course there sitting on the railing on the opposite side was an equally tearful Paquito. As it
pulled out of the church lot, I also jumped aboard the back of the truck, after all we had been thru together in order to get there, well, I just had
to take that last ride with the Ol Man, and be with these two Loyal Men, one as old as the other is young, both who Love him at least as much as I do.
The procession snaked up the highway and than turned back down into town, so I could see the line of cars that followed, at least a kilometer long.
Dad is Loved by many here, there, everywhere, no doubt about that.
His gravesite next to his Ol Bud, Tom Turpin, was ready thanks to Javier, my daughter?s significant other, her intended and partner, a man who had
once been a baby in my father?s arms. At my insistence that it could only be done by them, it was the Rosa?s clan that built the tomb, Javier had
taken on the responsibility of contacting his cousins up in El Coral to do the work, just as always, they and he did this final job just fine for my
father.
As they lowered the Ol Man into his grave, two piper cubs flew over head, dipping their wings in a salute as they said their final good bye and I
couldn?t help but think, that Dad was up there flying with them, free as an Eagle, enjoying the show and telling us to all let go. He is free now.
The graveyard is on the upper road, which is on the way between home and work for me. I can?t go by without stopping to say hi. Of course, I know that
the Ol Man is not there, his spirit is surly freed from such earthly bounds, but still, I must stop and remember who he was and take the time to thank
him for all he gave me, expect as long as I am here, I will always do that, for surly I am a lucky soul to have such a Dad as Don Jimmy.
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Anonymous
Unregistered
Posts: N/A
Registered: N/A
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Eli, Thank you so much for sharing with us all the lovely tribute paid to your father on his way to the otro 'otro lado', by those whom he lived along
side.
Reading your descriptions makes us teary eyed for sure. We also shake our heads and grin, marveling at a life of a man that was truly 'one of a kind'.
The spirit of Don Jimmy will live on as he will always be an inspiration to us personally, as well as many,many others for years to come.
We look forward to seeing you this spring in your little part of paradise.
Respectfully, Barbara & Matthew Pebley
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