That's My Story

LITTLE THINGS GREAT

Originally Published in Western Outdoor News the Week of January 22, 2008

In our everyday hubbub of life we met and run into all kinds of people. The mailman. The bank teller. The guy who walks the dog by your house everday at 10 in the morning. You can tell the time of day by them.

You smile. You say howdy. Perhaps you exchange some pleasantries. We call them “friends,” but actually more like good acquaintances. They’re part of the fabric of of your life. You know they are always there right as rain. You almost don’t pay attention to them or give them more than the few moments of thought when you chat with them or pass them by during the day.

But then one day one of them is gone. And you feel it. There’s a “disturbance in the force “ as they said in the Star Wars movie. Something’s not right with the universal fabric.

Arturo was a Mexican “taxista” … a cab driver. Like thousands of other guys lining the Mexican roads, airports and hotels in their garishly painted vehicles.

That is all he has ever been. In his early 60’s, I’ve known him for over a decade. Rain or shine, he was always parked in that old yellow and orange Ford Torino station wagon taxi out front of the hotel. Calling it a “jalopy” would be kind. But he was as proud of it as any vaquero would be of his cow pony.

A more pleasant man you could not find. Small of stature, with shiny dark eyes and peppered mustache, he would polish that station wagon between fares until it gleamed. Quick to smile and easy to laugh, he’d hustle to open the door for a client or pick up suitcases that seemed to outweigh him.

He always made a point to shake his client’s hands…with both of his. I would hear from some of his passengers who would tell me about his wild rides. It wasn’t that he drove too fast, it was that his car often went too slow! It topped at 45 and almost had to be pushed up steep grades. With a bad suspension and mis-aligned tires, that old Torino Taxi wiggled, wobbled and veered it’s way from destination to destination.

Clients never forgot. Nor did he. If he saw an old client at the hotel, he could remember their favorite restaurant; how many kids they were towing; and sometimes where they were from.

He always dreamed of visiting the United States, but never got around to it. “Algun dia” (someday) he would say smilingly. Right now, I am tan occupado (too busy!) Even when he hadn’t had a fare in hours. He’d go back to polishing his car ready for the next fare to hail him down.

He was a father and grandfather.

During our last chat after Christmas, he and I were laughing that the Mexican minimum wage had been INCREASED to a whopping $4.87 cents. Not per hour. That’s cada dia (PER DAY!)

He said that was good and asked about minimum wage was in the U.S. I embarrassingly told him that it was about 8 dollars cada hora (per hour)! I thought he’d jump on Americans or make a comment about us having too much money. Instead he said, “That is good that America takes care of it’s people. Things are expensive in America so they need to earn more. Mexico should take better care of it’s people too.” And he went back to lovingly polish his car.

We would have chatted more, but he got hailed and someone wanted to go into town. He excitedly said, “Adios, Jonathan, mas tarde” and lightly stepped around the taxi to open the door for the young couple. Shaking their hands as if meeting new friends and greeting them to his home.

“We want to go shopping downtown, please,” they said, as they slid into the backseat.

“Claro que si, amigos!” He lightly bowed and stepped across the front of the car and into the drivers seat. Happy to have his first fare of the day that would net him perhaps 8 dollars and a tip, he waved and winked as he drove by me on the way to town bouncing down the cobblestone driveway. That was our last.

Arturo had a heart attack several days ago and passed away. His funeral yesterday was attended by half the taxi drivers in La Paz.

I was looking through some paperwork and came across an envelope addressed to him. It was a Christmas card I was supposed to give to him before the holidays. But we just kept missing each other.

Once the holidays passed, it’s not the same giving someone a Christmas card. So, I stopped trying.

They say if you can’t do great things, do a lot of little things great. Maybe the planet would be a better place if we all stopped trying to hit home runs in our lives and just took care of our own little space on the planet making it better for others.

That was Arturo the taxi driver. There are so many people in Mexico we come across that do a lot of little things great. We barely notice them because they are good at their jobs. Waiters. Bellmen. Deckhands. Room cleaners. There’s a long list. But despite stereotypes, they take a lot of pride in their work.

The Christmas card was simple. It said, “Peace.” I wish I had made more of an effort to give it to him.

That’s my story. If you ever want to reach me, my e-mail is riplipboy@aol.com.