Among some of the things Lalo left in boxes at my mother’s house throughout the years, I found a little notebook I gave him when he went to Medjugorje. The following are his travel notes. I have transcribed them exactly as he wrote them, with the exception of names, which I have omitted in favor of initials, which he himself used on most occasions. As you will find, they are in a combination of Spanish and English. The language he originally wrote in I have left in normal script. The translated material is, as usual, in italics.
S.

 November 14, 1993

FRANKFURT

Tired after a long journey, I couldn’t sleep on the plane. “Giddy” with the excitement of the flight. Joking with S. A woman, incredibly beautiful, distractions, wine, food, etc. At the same time, blown away about where I’m going. Mr. G, Mrs. D, Mrs. E absolutely convinced about the Virgin. Lunch at an Italian restaurant; very pleasant.

            Upon arriving at Frankfurt the cold from the North. I recognize it like an old friend (enemy). I enjoyed walking in the cold with the rain stinging me like cold needles, delicious. Europe with a very definite taste. Thinking of U. The end of the world? etc. etc. A certain sadness, lack of definition. What am I going to do with my life?

MEDJUGORJE    Nov. 17

I’ve been here three nights and two days. Many conflicting feelings and thoughts. I don’t like many of the “fanatical” activities but, on the other hand, strange things have happened. Yesterday I was touched by the Rosary, the children saying it and I wept. Mr. G, Mrs. D and E also conflict me; on the one hand, I think they feel and want to see their own desires. On the other hand, I respect them enormously and I think they have something special.

            The journey here was mind-boggling. They didn’t want to let us into Croatia. At last, we took the plane from Zagreb to Split; from there in a van to Medjugorje. Five checkpoints on the road – Soldiers in the night. Rocket launchers, etc. Dead tired at night, we eat dinner at 3-4 in the morning. We wake up at 9:30, I go down to breakfast. Cold, very cold. The mount of apparitions serene, strange, rocks, eroded stones, strange landscape, somewhat arid. Doubts, disappointment: naive people? Fanatical?

            Rosary with children, crying. Crazy New Yorker. Lies? I told S today in the morning, “I’m losing my faith” Medjugorje will serve me as an excuse to party like crazy. Rebelliousness? V. I just can’t make her out. Is she for real? I don’t know. She has a constant, contagious smile.

            After breakfast, Father G threw up. ??? He blessed me. I felt good. I’m going to see the Virgin…ludicrous?? Mr. G loses his temper easily with me. B… hoping for a job. I really like Mrs. D. She and Mrs. E are like little girls, laughing. Confessions at the blue cross with Father H. Adultery… What am I going to do about U? Forget her? Go on alone? What about ’94? Three days of darkness? Many contradictions. If Medjugorje is real, what about other apparitions, etc etc?

            Self-righteousness makes me sick. At times I can’t stand all these people. All of a sudden, Mrs. D. Now are you going to quit smoking pot?

            I’m confused, a little sad. At a definite crossroad. I miss, I long for other times. Help me Virgin Mary.

The Adoration…

I decided to go. I felt very identified with what Mr. G said. I understood something that wasn’t that way. Delicious cold, I enjoyed it. Extremely starry sky. Wonderful. Mr. G after 8. Long drawn out talk. I tell him all about my doubts. I feel much better. I need to find my way. My own way within the Faith. Help me Virgin Mary.

Entre algunas de las cosas que Lalo dejó en cajas en casa de mi mamá a lo largo de los años, encontré un cuadernito que le di cuando fue a Medjugorje. Las siguientes son sus anotaciones del viaje. Las he transcrito exactamente como las escribió, a excepción de los nombres, que omití a favor de iniciales, que él mismo utilizó la mayor parte de las veces. Como verán, sus anotaciones están en una combinación de español e inglés. He dejado el idioma en el que escribe de origen en redondas. El material traducido está, como siempre, en cursivas.
S.

Traveler
(Part VI: Medjugorje)

During the time Lalo lived with my grandmother Chayo, way back in the early seventies, he had a dream I remember he told us about. I guess the memory is extremely vivid for me because I had never heard anyone tell that kind of dream before. In the dream, Lalo said he was looking up to the sky when he saw the Virgin Mary appear above him. She had smiled sweetly at him, and had then dropped two carnations into his hands: one white, one red. I recall he was quite surprised with the dream and kept wondering what it meant. Maybe I’m reading too much into it now, but later events seemed to give it a special significance.

        Years later, near the end of 1993, when Lalo was participating in John Grepe’s study group, it was decided a small number of the participants would travel to Medjugorje, where there were claims of apparitions of the Virgin.

Virgin of Medjugorje

                 
      Lalo really wanted to go, but knew it was completely out of the question. There were a number of insurmountable obstacles which made it impossible for him to travel to Medjugorje. First and foremost, there was the question of money. He didn’t have any and so couldn’t pay for the trip. Besides that, he didn’t have his cartilla, the obligatory military document all Mexican males must get when they turn 18 years old. This document indicates that the person in question has completed his “military service”; in Lalo’s day, this consisted of a year of Saturday mornings spent doing marching drills and calisthenics. After that, the document was “liberated”, which meant it had been cleared officially. Without the “cartilla liberada” a man couldn’t get a passport between the ages of 18 and 45, after which the document was unnecessary as his “military duties” were over.

         Lalo had never even gone to get his preliminary military document, the precartilla. In those days, you could have more than one nationality until you turned 18, when you had to decide for one definitive nationality. As usual, for Lalo, luck intervened; he had left the country for Paris a little before his “last” Mexican passport expired and with a brand new US passport. From Paris he had travelled to the US as an American citizen; from the US he had come to Mexico on a tourist visa, had returned to the US as an American citizen, and had again come into Mexico definitely as a tourist. Once here, he had used his Mexican Birth Certificate to get official documents like his driver’s license, and had asked my father to get him a not totally legitimate precartilla with a relative of my father’s second wife; this family member was in the Mexican Army. This he used in all other cases where it was necessary. Most of the time, you could get by with the precartilla, except in the case of a passport. For that, you had to have the whole thing, the cartilla liberada, or there was no getting out of the country unless you still had a valid tourist visa (which allowed a maximum “visit” of six months) or you literally walked across the border to the US with your American Birth Certificate in hand, pretending you were from the US and had just taken a stroll across the border, losing the tourist visa along the way (Lalo, of course, did this a couple of times when he went to the US for a visit with his friend, Carlos). In the case of Medjugorje, there was no possibility leaving without a valid passport and, without a cartilla liberada, there was no possibility of getting one.

        If something like this had happened to any person other than Lalo, it would have been the end. In Lalo’s case? Difficult, maybe, but not impossible. A friend of his within Grepe’s group offered to lend him the necessary money as he believed Lalo absolutely had to go to Medjugorje. Why did he believe this? I can’t remember, but it was important enough for him to actually finance Lalo. But what about the cartilla, the passport, the impossibility of getting out of the country? Some friend of a friend knew a guy who knew a lawyer who knew someone else who got Lalo a temporary dispensation so that Lalo could get a temporary passport which would only last long enough to get him to Bosnia and Herzegovina and back.

        During the trip, I think Lalo found more questions than answers; he couldn’t totally make up his mind about what was happening in Medjugorje. But he did meet another man from Mexico who offered him a great job in charge of the complete musical department of a small Catholic TV channel. Lalo worked with him for several years and was able to cement his reputation as a musician and producer. He also brought back some weird cold virus he propagated among all of us. He did the same thing again some time later when he travelled to Venezuela in search of another set of apparitions of the Virgin.

        Did all this contribute to his fervor? Undoubtedly. Even if he was never sure about the manifestations of the Virgin in those two places, they were a part of his spiritual journey. And, curiously enough, apart from the dream he had as a teen and these two voyages in search of the Blessed Mother, I like to think he was called to her service the day he died: September 8^th, Feast of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and, naturally, a Thursday.

Susana Olivares Bari

Viajante
(Parte VI: Medjugorje)

Durante la época en que Lalo vivió con mi abuela Chayo, allá por principios de los años setenta, tuvo un sueño que recuerdo que nos contó. Supongo que el recuerdo es extremadamente vívido para mí porque nunca había oído a nadie contar ese tipo de sueño. En él, Lalo contó que estaba mirando hacia el cielo cuando veía a la Virgen María aparecer

Traveler
(Part V: back to Mexico)

Unless you have never been to Mexico City or you’ve returned to it after having been away from it for some time, it is unlikely you will perceive the incredibly musical quality it possesses. This was something all of us noticed when we came back; my mother and I in September of 1977, Lalo when he returned from the US to stay, around 1980. Mexico City, the Federal District, el DF, is full of sounds associated with all different types of activities.

            There is, of course, the sound of the mail carriers’ pipes. The discordant but not unpleasant blow of a miniature “pan-pipe” of three or four notes, not to be confused with the similar sound of the knife grinder, the afilador,  who blows his own miniature pipes in a more sequenced manner, not all at once.

            There is also the strident blow of the yam seller. He goes around at night, pushing his odd cart made up of a sort of cylindrical drum placed on its side with wheels, a fire raging inside, yams and bananas “baking” on top and a sort of train whistle that explodes from some sort of pressure or steam device with a high-pitched wail that dies down slowly to a sad, low warble. If you happen to be next to it when it blows, not only will it pierce your eardrums, you will also probably die from the heart attack you’ll get from hearing this sudden, deafening howl at your back.

            Then there is the repetitive, mechanical sound of the tortilla stores. They all have exactly the same machinery which makes exactly the same noise no matter where you go in the city or, for that matter, in the country. It would almost seem the manufacturers have given all of their machines the same characteristic clanks, creaks, squeaks and jangles. Anyone who has lived in Mexico can recognize a tortillería just from the sound.

            In addition to all of these, there are the now fading cries of different hawkers, some of which have disappeared almost completely, and the new, noisier versions, recorded and played through a loudspeaker, announcing Oaxaca style tamales or asking if you have “old refrigerators, mattresses, microwaves, any metal for sale!”

            Lalo came back to his birthplace for a visit… and stayed for good. He lived with us on Dakota Street for some time, sleeping on the couch in the living room. He got a job as an English teacher, something he was extremely good at, and began to play violin in a bluegrass group on the weekends.

            Later on he moved to the city of Cuernavaca, the famous “city of eternal spring”, about one hour away from Mexico City. There, he played at different restaurants and nightclubs with different fellow musicians. During the days, he would play classical music in some elegant restaurants of the city and at night he would play in nightclubs in jazz ensembles and rock groups. He also founded a company that made jingles for TV and radio commercials.

            At some point during this rather large time period (about 10 years) Lalo met John Grepe, a man who had originally been a follower of the Fourth Way of Gurdjieff and Ouspensky, but had converted to Catholicism together with Rodney Collin, the direct “inheritor” of the teachings of Ouspensky. Grepe was tremendously influential in Lalo’s life and in many ways became a stable father figure for him. It was through John Grepe that Lalo “returned” to Catholicism and became ardently dedicated to his childhood faith.

            Grepe directed biblical study groups that also undertook charitable works. Among some of the things they did was the staging of Nativity plays in homes for poor elderly people. Little by little, Lalo became more immersed in religiosity. Although on some occasions his religious extremism led us to some disagreement, it is also true his faith supported him through his disease and helped him face his death the way he did. When he was given the news that the cancer would only allow him to live between six months and a year more, Lalo said to my mother, “I don’t want to die, but if God has decided it’s time for me to go, then I’ll just have to go.” I have never seen anyone face death with the composure, serenity and dignity that Lalo exhibited to the end.

Susana Olivares Bari

Viajante
(Parte V: de regreso a México)

A menos que nunca hayan visitado la ciudad de México o que hayan regresado a la misma después de estar ausentes un tiempo, es poco probable que puedan percibir la cualidad increíblemente musical que posee. Esto es algo que todos nosotros notamos al regresar; mi mamá y yo en septiembre de 1977, Lalo al regresar de EUA para quedarse definitivamente alrededor de 1980. La Ciudad de México, el Distrito Federal, el DF, está lleno de sonidos asociados con todo tipo de actividades distintas.

Traveler
(Part IV: Iowa and Illinois)

Lalo lived with Mimi, our grandmother, for some time while he studied music at St. Ambrose University in Davenport, Iowa. Later on he changed to Augustana College in Rock Island, Illinois, across the Mississippi River; years later, Augustana would commission a piece for their “Music of the 20^th Century” series from him. Acapulco en la Azotea, a quintet for trumpet, tenor saxophone, vibraphone, classical guitar and double bass was premiered the 27^th of October of 1998, the night before his birthday, giving birth to tropical minimalism in classical music.

            Of all the stories Lalo ever told me about his stay in the Quad City area between Iowa and Illinois, the one I most remember is what I’ll now call “The great pot tree incident”.

            Lalo was renting one of the units of a vertical duplex; his neighbor, a girl we’ll call “Sandy” for purposes of anonymity, was incredibly gorgeous, had blond hair and blue eyes, a body to kill for and was adorably sweet… in addition to being a dealer.

            Some friend of Lalo’s had heard a rumor that there was an enormously gigantic marihuana bush growing somewhere in the nearby countryside. One weekend, Lalo and his friends drove out to the country in search of this mythical plant. When they finally found it, they were totally amazed. It was truly enormous!! “The only way you could describe it was as a marihuana tree it was so huge!” he told me.  They enthusiastically cut it down, hid it in the trunk of their car and drove back to Lalo’s house. They carefully took the “pot tree” out of the trunk and decided to hide it in the attic, where they hung it upside down to dry. The thing dangled from the rafters and hung all the way down to the floor. Some time later, when it was completely dry, they tried it. It was the equivalent of smoking oregano. The humongous plant had no effect whatsoever. Not knowing how to get rid of it, they left it up in the attic and forgot about it.

            Now then, something you should know about the attic in the vertical duplex is that one of the walls had a hole that communicated both units.

            Time went by and one day Sandy decided to move out of the duplex. Lalo said that Sandy’s “side” was a lot better than his, so he asked her if they could trade units, as she would no longer be living in hers. She said yes and so Lalo moved all his things into what had been Sandy’s unit. Although she wouldn’t be living there anymore, she told him she would not be vacating a small bedroom on the ground floor. It was secured with a huge padlock and she told him that if anyone should ask, he was to say he didn’t know what was in there; that it had been left that way by the previous tenant.

            Apparently, she must have suspected something was going to happen because one fine day, the police came and pounded on the door. They had some questions. Lalo told them he had just moved in (he didn’t mention where from) and knew nothing of the previous inhabitants. When they asked him if they could search the place, Lalo stepped aside and told them they could do whatever they wanted.

            They immediately asked about the padlocked door, to which Lalo answered what Sandy had told him to say. When the police forced their way into the room, they found part of Sandy’s stash, but not anything significant. They kept looking and, of course, eventually went up to the attic.

            When they saw the hole in the wall and peeked through, there was the gigantic pot tree! They were enormously excited! They went in through the hole, recovered the plant and dragged it down the stairs out into the street, where two officers held it up with difficulty, posing for the photographs that were published in the newspapers the next day, together with the story of the “major drug bust” they had achieved.

            When they finally left, they thanked Lalo profusely for his cooperation and apologized for the mess of leaves and twigs they left on the stairs after dragging the pot tree out of the house. Lalo kindly offered to clean up the mess.

            On their way out, one of the officers said, “Don’t try smoking that stuff, now, you hear?” in a warning voice. Lalo promised he wouldn’t.

Susana Olivares Bari

Viajante
(Parte IV: Iowa e Illinois)

Lalo vivió con Mimi, nuestra abuela, durante un tiempo mientras estudiaba música en la Universidad St. Ambrose en Davenport, Iowa. Más adelante se cambió a la Universidad Augustana en Rock Island, Illinois, al otro lado del Río Mississippi; años después, Augustana le comisionaría una pieza para su serie “Música del Siglo XX”. Acapulco en la Azotea, un quinteto para trompeta, saxofón tenor, vibráfono, guitarra clásica y contrabajo, se estrenó el 27 de Octubre