September
9th, 2004.
My grandfather passed away that
morning. Though he had been in hospice care and we knew it was coming, it
didn’t make things much easier. My dad had come to pick my brother and I up
that morning to be with the family. As we climbed into the truck my dad slid a
CD into the player and said “I want you guys to hear this song, this song is
for you.” The song?
Pocho…
I first
heard of Ramon “Chunky” Sanchez from a newspaper article I read sometime in the
mid-to late 1990’s. The article told of his activism in the community, the
Chicano Movement and most of all, his music. I don’t recall a whole lot about
the article other than it piqued my interest in Chunky and Los Alacranes. This
was a new thing for me, I had never gained interest in a musician or group
without hearing them first. I honestly don’t know what drew me to him, there
was nothing in the article that stood out and made me say to myself “I need to
hear this man’s music.”
Whatever
led me to him was most definitely bigger than me and my thought comprehension
at the time. Either it was something within my subconscious, within my soul
that led me in his direction, or a force outside of me gently nudging me. What
it was I will never know, and that’s not very important to me. What is important
to me is why I was led in that
direction.Sometime after the dawn of the new millennium I was out for some shopping on a warm Sunday evening. The radio was on 92.5 and that’s how I remember it being a Sunday, it’s the only day of the week I listen to that station. A song came on, unannounced by the DJ. The warmth of the guitar immediately caught my attention, an attention that went far beyond my ears. Before a single word was sung my soul was touched by the undeniable spirit of the music. Then, when Chunky said “In the city of San Diego, under the Coronado Bridge…” I knew the song to be about Chicano Park.
Most of what I had known about the park came from word of mouth, local papers didn’t talk much about it. But there it was, the true story from a man who was in the middle of it all. Still then, I wasn’t sure who sang the song and they went immediately into another song, title and artist I do not recall. Later, I thought of that article I read a few years before and decided it must be from Los Alacranes
Back then,
less than half the people I knew had internet access and YouTube was still half
a decade away. I couldn’t find a copy of “Chicano Park” anywhere.
Weeks
later, there was another media mention of Chunky, this one about his work in
the schools. I turned the TV up, hoping to catch some of his music as they
played a soundbite from one of his many performances for schoolchildren. I
watched the jovial man with the mustaches talking to the kids and I suddenly
remembered, “I’ve met him before!”
It was in
the summer of 1998 and we were going full-bore on the Ballpark Campaign. My
fellow Pad Squad mates and I were canvassing the Gaslamp District, going into
every bar a restaurant to promote the ballot measure. We met Chunky sitting at
the end of the bar at Baja Lobster and he gave two of us a lecture I will never
forget. With a furrowed brow, he asked us “When
that ballpark is built, what’s going to happen to the homeless people who are
there now?”
They had
trained us to answer nearly any question we could expect when promoting the
Ballpark, but this was one question I had no answer for. My coworker and I
looked at each other then back to Chunky, who waited patiently for our answer. “It will be a good thing for the City of
San Diego, for the fans and for the community, but the homeless are part of the
community too, que no?!”
His words
sank deep into me, changing my perspective of the homeless in that very
instant. Before, I had a stereotype of homeless people as drunk, maybe on
drugs, begging for money all the time and sometimes causing trouble. In other
words, I did not see them as humans.
Chunky
didn’t criticize me for wanting the ballpark, he didn’t accuse me of not caring
about the homeless. In fact, he informed us he was going to be voting “Yes on
C” that November. What he did do was ask me to think. He asked me to think
about my fellow man.
My
perspective was changed forever that night. After all, we are all just one
house fire, one major earthquake, one riot away from being homeless ourselves.
Aside from the change to a more compassionate human being, the thing I take
from that night was the way Chunky spoke to us. He spoke with truth, he spoke
with conviction and most of all, he spoke with love.
Fast
forward six years to that warm September morning when my grandfather Rudy
Gonzales Sr. passed away. Throughout grade school, I was made fun of by the
Mexican kids for not speaking Spanish and I was made fun of by the white kids
for having a Mexican last name. There were even similar insults from within my
own family and punishment for showing resistance to such insensitive and
ignorant remarks from grown adults, because they were “just joking”.
After a
lifetime of being insulted by the word Pocho, that morning I learned it was a
title to be proud of. I learned there was nothing wrong with being a product of
both sides of the border, even though I spoke only the language of one side. I
learned there were others who had suffered the same insults, and turned those
insults into their own inner strength. Most of all, I learned why I was so
drawn to the man and the band I read about in a newspaper article nearly ten
years before.
When a
loved one passes, we are often filled with nearly as much regret as we are
grief. The grief comes from such a tremendous loss and quite frankly, I feel the
San Diego community has not been hit so hard since we lost Tony Gwynn and Jerry
Coleman mere months apart in 2014. In a way, I think the Chicano Communty has
been hit even harder than our baseball community was two years ago. I don’t
think I would get any argument from someone who not only knows but feels the
gift of love Chunky gave to us all.
We grieve
and at times, we regret. We regret because we think of all the times we wish we
would have said what we wanted to say, or done something we wanted to do before
a loved one’s time came. I have a long list of people who have passed without
my telling them how much they meant to me, how much they have made my life
better for having them in it. I am eternally grateful this is not the case with
Chunky. For you see, I told him the story of the first time I heard “Chicano
Park”. I told him about the morning my grandfather passed away and how I hadn’t
been so moved by a song since well, the first time I heard Chicano Park. I told
him how I try hard to look at not only the homeless but all human beings with
compassion as a result of the conversation we had in the Gaslamp in the magical
summer of 1998.
In short,
Ramon “Chunky” Sanchez, pillar of the community, musician of the people and
Chicano Icon made me a better man. It was always a joy to see him at the ballpark,
it was not uncommon for me to leave my position on the field before pregame
ceremonies to hit up my beer connection and bring him a few Miller Lites. No
matter where I was in the ballpark, I would recognize that mustache from across
the field.
In my life
I have made a few decisions I am not proud of; I have turned right when I
should have turned left, I have gone to the liquor store to look for a drink
when I should have been out looking for a job. But one of the most important decisions
I have made was following my heart when I read that newspaper article so many
years ago. It led me to wonderful music, it led me to being a man with a bigger
heart and most important, it led me to my friend Chunky…
Sincerely,
One
Grateful Pocho
