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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Nopalero = one who deals with/sells nopales [edible prickly pear cactus leafs/pads] Aiiiii, Jimmy -- what shall we say, now that you've gone, worst fear realized: your body discovered, days later, in your filthy Mexican rooms, amid the soiled paper littering the floors, reeking of cat urine and layer upon layer of dried and fresher feces. These feral cats were your most faithful companions. You thought yourself their benefactor and, perhaps, their savior. We were told that, after your demise, when the door opened, all 21 fled, never to return. You left us, unbathed, smelly, shunned, just weeks before your birthday, having almost (but not quite) suffered through 80 years, the last 30 spent in bordertown Mexico. You, daily, crossed the bridge to claim your mail -- which (for a fee) promised to guarantee you would be a winner of lotteries, sweepstakes, miraculous windfalls. You subsisted on senior coffees at McD's, on your pitiful government assistance. You blamed your life on abuse by brothers (all dead long before you) and you could not understand why richer acquaintances -- virtually everyone -- were unwilling to share with you their bounty. In the plazas, you were a familiar sight, selling whatever you could: you were "el viejo gringo," "el Jimmy," "el nopalero," and other less generous (but, perhaps, appropriate) "apodos". You knew animals, had some expertise with birds. Your chief preoccupation was yourself, and your main complaint was that you never got your just deserts. No one deserves to end as you did -- unclaimed, a foreign body, interred in Mexico in an unmarked pauper's grave: a "fosa comun." You only wanted to be loved. RIP my friend; I did not mean to be unkind. James Milford Pierson, 27 February 1934 - 2 February 2014.
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