I do not know about you reader, dear or not, but my innate anger, like a geyser, tends to expand in situations violating any logical explanation, in terms of human interaction or neurological diseases, If I may.
Check this out. ONE know this black fellow since high school, (Gautier Benitez High) between 1966-69, when he, our painter hero, was a popular, successful negro track and field star from Gurabo City, a town next door. Luis Aguilu, RIP, was also a lighter skin track and field club member from those years.
We all went to the same college. Cayey City UPR, campus. Pablo had a nice looking sister, Luz Delia, for whom I called to find out if she she was dead or alive today. But I will get to that later.
Since the lord work in dark and mysterious ways, Pablo Marcano Garcia, went to Mexico, got a Masters and returned to the concrete/asphalt isle.
I am writing about the 70's, you remember: Vietnam, Nixon, Chile, and Pablo our hero, painter, kidnapped with other fools, the consul from that long, excellent wine producer, south American country, for some political issues that evade me memory, the subject of this post.
Well, what would you know? Pablo Marcano Garcia, found guilty as charged, went to a nice, cozy federal prison in Ottisville, New York, for five years or so.
Meanwhile the most humble, productive, original blogger in his neck of the woods, was doing time in Northampton, MA, where I herd the news of Pablo's darkie painter from Gurabo City, doing time in Ottisville.
I had at the time some black and white pictures, taken in 1969, our last high school field day. I, a lousy basketball player, does not show in them photos, but Luis Aguilu, Miguel Lozada and others, did.
I found the prison address for Pablo Marcano, sending him a letter with the pictures, wishing him the best, while I was self exiled in Northampton, as stated before.
Pablo, the scum bag answered the first letter out of duty. Meanwhile, learning to draw/paint from one of our greatest artists, Carlos Irizarry, a weirdo, also imprisoned in the same federal golden cage. This guy would paint huge portraits of Marx and Engels, real works of art, but
who would hang them in their living room or hotel lobby?
To make the so fun and different, short story amusing, let the record show that when I call Pablo, the darkie painter today and asked about 'tu hermana que esta/estaba bien buena', the moder sucker, Celso Barbosa look alike, stated that he did/could not understand/refer to his female relatives as I was. CABRON.
But as my readers may infer, know I was a serious student of linguistics, not the academic kind, but the curious...When I changed the utterance to: Well, what about your cute, handsome sister..Then the expensive, darkie, with nice signature paintings uttered the most stupid cliche: She is surviving. CABRON!
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