Venezuela – Page 20 – The Pull Of The Land

Have We Been Had?

June 4, 2020June 4, 2020 Richard Barnes

One of the most oft heard refrains in my childhood in Venezuela had to do with disappointments with “democracy.” It was roughly along the lines of, “We’ve been had.” Use of the phrase would invariably result in very animated discussions (not to say heated arguments) about the merits and demerits of the Pérez Jiménez and Juan Vicente Gómez (here and here, for example) regimes versus Rómulo Betancourt and following (see here, here, and here as examples). This blog has written much about both eras and will continue to do so. However, the refrain’s Spanish version has been on my mind for several months now. Since the virus panic, to be precise.

This blog has several posts on the panic: here; here; here; and here.

It would appear that the riots and looting taking place in cities across the United States have pushed the virus off the American news for now. Or perhaps for good.

Yet, while American cities were burning, several virus-related stories were quietly reported.

First, across the pond, in London, a certain professor, known to the world as Professor Lockdown, was being questioned on his opinions regarding Sweden’s rejection of his lockdown prescriptions and whether maybe-perhaps-could-it-be-that his draconian recipes, which were followed by the UK, the USA, and most of the rest of the world, except Sweden, may have been a tad excessive.

Second, some mainstream media reports surfaced, albeit surreptitiously, about the stratospheric death rates in nursing homes, to wit: close to half (maybe more than half) of total US virus deaths took place in nursing homes.

And, third, a large number of public health officials wrote an open letter in effect encouraging “protesting” despite the lockdown restrictions in place, which they had strongly urged, and still urge, upon all law-abiding Americans. So, lockdown is absolutely necessary … unless you decide to riot.

This post extracts from each of the stories alluded to above. [Comments by me are in brackets].

The stories are linked below.

From The Telegraph (London)

The scientist behind lockdown in the UK has admitted that Sweden has achieved roughly the same suppression of coronavirus without draconian restrictions.

Neil Ferguson , who became known as “professor lockdown” after convincing Boris Johnson to radically curtail everyday freedoms, acknowledged that, despite relying on “quite similar science”, the Swedish authorities had “got a long way to the same effect” without a full lockdown. [And, for good measure, if they achieved “herd immunity,” any second waves will have little impact on them, unlike the rest of us. See here]

Sweden has adopted a far softer approach to Covid-19 than elsewhere in Europe, introducing voluntary social-distancing measures and keeping restaurants and bars and many schools open.

The Daily Mail (UK)

The professor whose grim warning that 500,000 Brits [and 2.2 million Americans] may die from Covid-19 without action triggered lockdown has admitted Sweden may have suppressed its outbreak as well as Britain — without imposing the draconian measures.

Professor Neil Ferguson, of Imperial College London, revealed he had the ‘greatest respect’ for the Scandinavian nation, which has managed to suffer fewer deaths per capita than the UK.

He made the comments at a House of Lord Science and Technology Committee today during his first public appearance since flouting stay at home rules to have secret trysts with his married mistress last month.

The epidemiologist — dubbed Professor Lockdown — has come under fire for his modeling which predicted half a million Britons could die from Covid-19 and heavily influenced the UK’s decision to rush into a nationwide quarantine.

Professor Ferguson appeared to praise Sweden for keeping infections low without the economically crippling curbs and said ‘they have gone quite a long way to [achieving] the same effect.’

[He] admitted that lockdowns are ‘very crude’ policies and scientists would like to have ‘a much more targeted approach with less economic impact’;

“I have the greatest respect for scientists there [in Sweden]. They came to a different policy conclusion but based really on quite similar science.”

‘They make the argument that countries will find it very hard to really stop second waves… I don’t agree with it but scientifically they are not that far from scientists in any country in the world.”

Professor Ferguson was quizzed about why Sweden had recorded such few deaths without imposing lockdown, and faced questions about whether the economically-crippling measures were necessary in the UK.

[And what newfangled theory did Sweden apply to this pandemic that had the same, or better, health results as the punitive lockdowns imposed on the rest of us and without the economic catastrophe? Some new, cutting edge research, perhaps? Why, no. They, wittingly or unwittingly, applied the Bible’s requirements: quarantine the sick; leave the rest of us alone. See posts here, here, and here.]

USA Today

Over the last three months, more than 40,600 long-term care residents and workers have died of COVID-19 — about 40% of the nation’s death toll attributed to the coronavirus, according to an analysis of state data gathered by USA TODAY. That number eclipses a count released Monday by the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services (CMS), the federal government’s first attempt at a comprehensive tally. CMS said 25,923 residents had died, but its number only includes federally regulated nursing homes, not assisted living facilities.

Even USA TODAY’s larger total — which amounts to roughly 450 COVID-19 elder care facility deaths per day — is an undercount. Seven states did not provide the number of deaths in long-term care. And New York, the state with the most resident deaths, doesn’t include those who had been transferred to hospitals in its count of long-term care fatalities.

[The article goes on to tell about families whose loved ones died in nursing homes because the homes had been ordered to accepts patients infected with the virus: “I would be at peace … but this did not have to happen,” was how one grieving daughter put it.]

[Given that almost half the total virus-related deaths in the USA have taken place in nursing homes {and that number is understated, according to USA Today}, tell me again: why was most of the country locked down? And why did state governors, such as the much-vaunted Governor Cuomo, order such facilities to admit virus infected patients, thereby sentencing such patients and the entire nursing facility to death?]

In Michigan, the state health department for months failed to track COVID-19 cases in its more than 1,000 assisted living facilities. A spokeswoman said the state began collecting that information on May 22 but doesn’t have plans to release it publicly at this time.

[Imagine that: the Michigan governor won’t release the data. Let them eat cake, I guess.]

In New York, the state’s official count of long-term care residents who have died doesn’t include those transferred to hospitals or other health care settings.

In Pennsylvania, officials released a list of 557 facilities with COVID-19 cases for the first time on May 19. Almost immediately, the state health care association said the list was riddled with mistakes and demanded the errors be fixed. State officials made numerous updates to the data, including lowering the number of deaths and cases at some facilities.

[Why am I not surprised?]

Open Letter (NPR)

Infectious Disease Experts [“Experts”. I am sick of that term, aren’t you?] publish an open letter [encouraging “protests”.]

The letter was started by infectious disease experts [sic] at the University of Washington [the same university whose models, along with those from Professor Lockdown, the government had been using to inform policymaking that proved to be wrong over and over again].

Initially written by infectious disease experts [sic] at the University of Washington, the letter cited a number of systemic problems, from the disproportionately high rate at which black people have been killed by police in the U.S. [this is false, by the way] to disparities in life expectancy and other vital categories — including black Americans’ higher death rate from the coronavirus. […]

Local governments should not break up crowded demonstrations “under the guise of maintaining public health,” the experts [sic] said in their open letter. They urged law enforcement agencies not to use tear gas, smoke and other irritants, saying they could make people more susceptible to infection and worsen existing health conditions.”

The public health experts [sic!] noted the ‘potential for COVID-19 cases to rise in the days to come, according to NPR, and suggested access to testing and care in these communities be increased.

[So we must stay home. Except that we can go out, walk, and run should-to-shoulder with a mob. And throw bricks. “No” to church. “Yes” to riots. I really trust these public health officials, don’t you?]

Have we been had?

A troglodyte’s counsel: you and I have a duty to look askance at any “expert” advice which contradicts the Bible, no matter from whom such advice proceeds.

All articles referred to above are linked below.

‘Prof Lockdown’ Neil Ferguson admits Sweden used same science as UK

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-8379769/Professor-Lockdown-Neil-Ferguson-admits-greatest-respect-Sweden.html

https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/investigations/2020/06/01/coronavirus-nursing-home-deaths-top-40-600/5273075002/

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1Jyfn4Wd2i6bRi12ePghMHtX3ys1b7K1A/view

Can we trust Covid modelling? More evidence from Sweden | The SpectatorJohan NorbergAt last we’re getting a debate about Covid-19 modelling. When people finally got to look under the hood of the f…

How Wrong Were the Models and Why?

Analysis of both the Imperial College and the University of Washington COVID-19 models.

Atures and Maypures on The Orinoco, and Humboldt’s Parrot

May 29, 2020May 29, 2020 Richard Barnes

A good number of posts on this blog either direct themselves to or reference the grand Orinoco River, which exercises a majestic “pull” on all in Venezuela, whether locals or foreign residents or long term visitors. It is more of a presence in Venezuela than the Mississippi is to the United States. I suspect the Nile exerts a similar pull in North Africa, especially Egypt, but, having never lived there, I don’t know for sure. But the literature does affirm its centrality to life in that world for many centuries. I’d say the same applies to the Orinoco and Venezuela.

Those readers who have a sense of adventure, or have children who do, cannot do much better than to explore that river, especially the Upper Orinoco. Alexander Humboldt is still a pretty reliable as well as fascinating source of information and background for this.

Shortly after arriving in Cumaná, Venezuela, the “oldest continuously inhabited European established settlement in South America,” Alexander von Humboldt wrote to his brother back in Germany, “What color of birds, fish, even crabs (sky blue and yellow!). So far we have wandered like fools; in the first three days we couldn’t identify anything, because one object is tossed aside to pursue another. Bonpland [renowned French naturalist, Aimé Bonpland, friend and collaborator with Humboldt] assures me he will go mad if the marvels do not stop. Still, more beautiful even than these individual miracles is the overall impression made by this powerful, lush, and yet so gentle, exhilarating, mild vegetation.”

As he made his way to the Casiquiare, that natural channel which connects the Orinoco with the Amazon, via the Rio Negro (see “Orinoco, Casiquiare, Humboldt, and Monster Aguirre” for more Here), Humboldt and his party, including untiring and powerful Indians who at times jumped into the water to pull the canoe from the unforgiving currents, eventually came to the rapids between Atures and Maypures.

Here is a description of this section of the Orinoco, in Humboldt’s own words: “Nothing can be grander than the aspect of this spot. Neither the fall of the Tequendama, near Santa Fe de Bogota, nor the magnificent scenes of the Cordilleras, could weaken the impression produced upon my mind by the first view of the rapids of Atures and of Maypures. When the spectator is so stationed that the eye can at once take in the long succession of cataracts, the immense sheet of foam and vapors illumined by the rays of the setting sun, the whole river seems as it were suspended over its bed.”

That’s quite a compliment, considering it was written by one of history’s most accomplished travelers and explorers.

Atures and Maypures are names missionaries took from nearby tribes. Some years before Humboldt’s voyage, the Maypures had been exterminated by the violent Caribs (see more on the Caribs here and Here) and, according to legend, had taken their domesticated parrots as spoils. Humboldt had come across some Caribs one of whom gave him his parrot as a gift.

The explorer noticed that the words spoken by the parrot did not correspond with the Carib dialect and he asked his host why. The Indian told him that the words he heard were not Carib, but Maypure, the now extinct tribe. So Humboldt was hearing language from a tribe that no longer could speak.

That’s a fascinating tale, although I’ve not been able to confirm it in Humboldt’s massive, multi-volume Narrative.

A few more observations by the great explorer about this area of the Orinoco:

“We passed two hours on a large rock, standing in the middle of the Orinoco, and called the Piedra de la Paciencia, or the Stone of Patience, because the canoes, in going up, are sometimes detained there two days, to extricate themselves from the whirlpool caused by this rock.”

And, finally,

“The Indians would not hazard passing the cataract; and we slept on a very incommodious spot, on the shelf of a rock, with a slope of more than eighteen degrees, and of which the crevices sheltered a swarm of bats. We heard the cries of the jaguar very near us during the whole night. They were answered by our great dog in lengthened howlings. I waited the appearance of the stars in vain: the sky was exceedingly black; and the hoarse sounds of the cascades of the Orinoco mingled with the rolling of the distant thunder.”

We will continue to visit with Mr. Humboldt.

Alexander von Humboldt’s map of a section of the Upper Orinoco River.

Alexander von Humboldt camped on the shores of the Orinoco River.

Between Atures and Maypures rapids. Note one of the granite stones which so impressed Humboldt.

Orinoco rapids between Atures and Maypures. These delayed, fascinated, and at times frightened Humboldt’s party as they made their way on the Orinoco towards the Casiquiare.

Illusions and Picaresque

May 12, 2020May 12, 2020 Richard Barnes

Carlos André Pérez is usually known as the Venezuelan president who, in the early ’90s, sought to apply some sound economic policies on the country and steer it away from her headlong rush into Socialism. However, his attempts were clumsy, sudden, and, at the time, gave the concept of free markets a bad name in Venezuela. His approach caused large riots and even Hugo Chavez’s attempted coup in 1992.

What is less remembered is his first term in the late 1970’s whereby he expropriated the iron and petroleum industries and plunged Venezuela further into the Socialism that alarmed him a mere decade later.

Shortly after his first inauguration in 1974, I walked into an elevator in Ciudad Guayana and saw someone standing at the buttons asking “qué piso?” I thought he was joking. But no, he was one of thousands who now were “employed” thanks to a presidential decree which compelled building managers/owners to install a flesh and blood “operator” in each elevator which, up to then, was perfectly controlled by a mere push of a button with the floor’s number inscribed.

With one “presidential decree” we were all thrust to the 1935 Waldorf Astoria, sans the luxury, with uniformed elevator operators handling the controls, only these controls were push button automatic, not manual.

It “looked good” in the sense of, “Wow! Look at all these new jobs!” But an elementary school kid could also see what was not seen: the other jobs or capital improvements that were set aside in order to budget for unneeded elevator push buttoneers.

This is illustrative of how the “seen” does not necessarily reflect reality, but rather an illusion.

A few years ago, McKinsey & Company, the well-known and highly regarded global consulting firm, published a paper, Where Will Latin America’s Growth Come From?, which delved into the reasons why seeming economic growth in that massive and resource-rich continent was actually an illusion, or at most, was less than met the eye.

One of several disquieting indices is that Latin America (Mexico, Central and South America, and the Caribbean) whose sovereignty exceeds 13% of the earth’s area, constitutes a mere 7% of the world’s Gross Domestic Product (GDP). The comparable figures for The United States are 6% and 15%, respectively, an almost perfectly inverse relationship: half the sovereignty and double the GDP.

In addition, there is little if any measurable economic growth in Latin America. While global annual growth averaged 3.5% in the last three years, Latin America’s averaged 1%.

For the most part, McKinsey’s conclusions and recommendations are rather predictable, not to say pedestrian.

For example, the report criticizes the weak enforcement of “stringent regulations”. Which is it: weak enforcement, or stringent regulations? Why not take the more politically incorrect position of recommending the lifting of Latin America’s sclerotic regulatory empires?

McKinsey rightly, but inconsistently, criticizes the monstrous labor laws that make it very difficult for employers, and employees, to act freely, whether this means firings or re-assignments.

And here is an eye-opener:

“Service sectors, too, suffer from poorly enforced regulations that encourage informality and therefore constrain productivity growth. Informality arises as many firms have strong incentives to avoid becoming formal because of high taxes, poor auditing capabilities, and low levels of sanctions. Inefficient informal players stay in business and prevent more productive, formal companies from gaining market share, constraining overall productivity. ….the substantial cost advantage that informal companies gain by avoiding taxes and regulations more than offset their low productivity and small scale, and distorts competition. Regulations are therefore needed that reduce the cost of formal employment … and raise the risks of noncompliance (for example, better monitoring and prosecution of informal operations)….” (emphasis mine)

Bravely spoken.

In sum, what McKinsey skates around is that there is an “informal” (underground) economy in Latin America that is not measured and that avoids the implacable obstacles and barriers to business set up by the bureaucratic Latin American regimes. This underground economy is so efficient and pervasive that it depresses the “regulated” economic performance.

Would it not make more sense then, to imitate and replicate that “informal” economy? To find why it succeeds? To reduce the regulations that ensure it continues unabated? But no, McKinsey recommends tossing a massive wet blanket on that economy and bringing it to heel along with the rest of the slow-moving, molasses of business that operates under “stringent” regulations.

In other words, “inefficient” informal players hinder more efficient formal ones, according to the report. Could it be that the “informal” players are very efficient? They’ve figured out how to make a living by setting themselves free from the heavy regulatory load imposed by clueless bureaucrats and politicians who believe that forcing the hiring of employees to push elevator buttons will increase employment overall.

Could it be that such “inefficient” informal players cannot be measured since they are underground, after all? I wonder what Latin America’s true GDP is. Could McKinsey apply its considerable talent and figure out a way to measure Latin America’s informal (underground) economy and incorporate it to the conventional measurements?

When it comes to Latin America, I believe the standard measurements are an illusion.

I have utmost respect for McKinsey and such consulting firms in general. Having cut my teeth at Arthur Andersen I do appreciate the hard work and effort required to prepare a report addressing a business entity, let alone a massive region of the world. However, the professions do tend to have conventional views, despite their reputation as beings who know how to “think outside the box.”

But modern consulting firms take far too little account of the folks who, because of circumstances (regulations and obstacles) imposed on them, must either die or learn pretty quickly to live by their wits.

This brings us to the picaresque, whose etymology hearkens to Spain.

We will look at this term and its implications to Latin America next time.

(The McKinsey report has other observations worthy of further discussion. We’ll return to it in future posts.)

Manual controls: when elevator operators were needed.

In 1974, pursuant to a presidential decree, elevators in Venezuela henceforth had to be operated by an elevator operator employed to push buttons like the above.

It is not unusual for street vendors such as the above (Quito, Ecuador) to put their children through college selling mangoes. Instead of more regulations to discourage these hard working folks, how about *less* regulations to encourage them to become “legit”?

Security

May 7, 2020May 7, 2020 Richard Barnes

“Security can get on the nerves just as much as danger.” (Brown in Graham Greene’s The Comedians – 1965)

I am in a minority in refusing to see politicians and bureaucrats as beings before whom we, as bleating sheep, must bow the knee as if they were our wise and compassionate shepherds.

In general, I do not think they are wise, and I do not think they are compassionate.

I am in an even smaller minority in my viewing church leaders with deep disappointment in how we are responding to the current state of affairs. (But those country churches, mostly non-denominational, whose leaders still have the backbone of our forebears, have earned my respect in recent weeks.)

It has become very clear that, in general, if our founding era’s church leaders had been like those of today’s, we’d still be speaking the king’s English.

Spare me the theological expositions and explanations. Looking at the fruit tells me what I need to know. And that fruit lacks courage.

This is the context in which my respect for my father, which was already of the utmost, has in recent weeks done what I would have considered to have been impossible a mere month ago.

It has grown.

He was not a great reader or student of philosophy or theology, although he, and my mother, played a key role in preparing me to appreciate such, and more.

But he was courageous.

And he was loyal.

He loved God and he loved country and he loved home. Besides him, I can think of very few men — very few — whom I would want with me in a foxhole, or in any trial or crisis of life. One I can think of died many years ago. I still see him as he walks from his little shack up to the labor camp alongside his burro. Another, died relatively recently. I see him as he drives his truck up my driveway on a Sunday afternoon as I’m listening to the BBC on short wave radio.

I used to think I am easily impressed. I guess I’m not.

The scene: San Félix, a town on the shores of the Orinoco River. It’s about 10 P.M. on a night in the 1940’s. Communist militants and sympathizers have been active. My father and the company controller, Mr. T, have been at the town’s movie theater and are now heading to the company pickup to drive back to Palúa, the riverfront camp.

A group of about 10 men accosted them and one ran up to Mr. T and struck him in the face, knocking him down. His glasses hit the ground and cracked.

Striking a man with glasses was considered cowardly. Striking an older man, such as Mr. T, was unforgivable.

My father instinctively swung and landed his fist with a violent blow against the jaw of the perpetrator, who fell back awkwardly and heavily with a muffled thud on the dusty street. Then he realized: the man was drunk.

He looked up and saw that the other men stood, staring at him. Some were drunk, while others seemed sober, but sullen.

“Men, your friend is drunk. Otherwise, I am sure he would never have struck an older man wearing glasses. I assume you do not want to see your friend get hurt. Help him get up and return to his home! There is no need for us to fight. If you have any grievances, you must know by now that we will happily [con gusto] receive you and talk with you about it. Will you help your friend?”

As he spoke to the men, in perfect Spanish, Mr. T, following my father’s whispered commands, slowly made his way, undisturbed to the pickup, glancing back at my father, knowing that if the situation got out of hand, there would have been little for him to do to help out.

No one moved, except for the man on the ground, who rolled over on his stomach and vomited.

He clearly was not going to get up unassisted.

A man stepped forward and knelt by the fallen man, taking his left arm and wrapping it over his shoulder, “B, listen to me, I am going to stand up slowly, but I need you to hold on to me. Escúchame!” Then, looking over his shoulder, “Men, I need your help! Vengan!”

At this, the men stepped forward, almost in unison, and, having come to the area where B had fallen, strove to help the kneeling man rise along with the other, who was rapidly gaining full consciousness.

Eventually, about 5 or 6 of them accompanied the man helping B towards the south end of the town. The group, composed of individuals insistent on helping out one-by-one or two-by-two, continued southward, looking like a receding Rorschach test image. Others remained nearby, looking at Mr. T in the pickup as my father, leaning on the passenger side’s door, talked with him while also looking back, off and on, at them.

I did not learn about this incident from my father. In fact, I never heard him talk about it.

One summer, in the 1970’s, I interned at the mining office and, during my breaks, I’d visit the archives and read the dusty, decades-old memoranda submitted over the years by the general managers and controllers to the Pennsylvania home office. I came across a memorandum with a vivid description of my father’s actions many years before. The controller freely admitted, in his own writing, that my father likely saved him from great bodily harm that night in San Félix.

I know of several other such incidents involving my father, at least one of which occurred in my presence.

The circumstances for each were different. But they all pointed to one common constant: courage. A man’s refusal to be governed only by security. In doing so, he, ironically, created security for himself and for others.

We need to learn from such men again.

Palúa was about a mile west of San Félix (now part of Ciudad Guayana), and 180 miles from the Orinoco River delta.

San Félix, circa late 40s, early 50s. The theater (not pictured) was about a block to the right.

San Félix at the Caroní River ferry crossing, circa mid-50s

My father and Mr. T, circa 1948. San Félix, Venezuela.

My father and Mr. T, circa 1960. El Pao, Venezuela.

My father and me, circa 1963, on the Orinoco River, headed towards the great Orinoco delta on the Atlantic Ocean

El Loco

April 17, 2020 Richard Barnes

El Loco’s haunts were unknown. For the most part.

Mining camp residents spotted him occasionally, and only when they journeyed to or from San Felix, the port town on the banks of the Orinoco River, about 40 kilometers north. If they were lucky, their trip would coincide with an El Loco sighting. He’d be seen walking jauntily, swinging his arms in an exaggerated, yet nonmilitary-type, arc; unmindful of the storms of dust raised by cars or trucks as they passed him, always slowly, because everybody wanted to see El Loco and laugh with him, and the sightings seemed too few and too far between.

He’d always laugh and lift his arms in childlike, yet firm salute; one hand always gripping a staff, as if some sort of rudderless Moses wandering the El Pao – San Felix road for generations.

Probably no American had seen him up close. But, judging from 30 or 40 feet away, a consensus of sorts had developed among them affirming El Loco was probably in his early thirties

He seemed to be much taller than average in that era and in those regions, maybe five feet nine or ten inches; wiry, strong, virile, and with huge hands. These judgments-from-afar were about as much as could assuredly be said about him, as the distance did not permit inspection of his physiognomic features. More on that further below.

Of course, everybody understood that someone had to be “taking care of” El Loco, else he could not survive. Here, perhaps, the legendary Venezuelan hospitality played a critical but hidden role.

An American cattleman with business interests in Venezuela once wrote his personal impression of Venezuelan society saying that it was the most open and cordial in all of South America. He further noted that, unlike the Argentines and Brazilians, who used hotels or restaurants or clubs to entertain visitors, the Venezuelans entertained in their own homes; in that respect, he concluded, they were very much like the Americans.

That observation was true, though too limited. Venezuelans didn’t invite only known, or business, guests to their homes; they compelled strangers, especially the poor, and the “locos”, apparently mindful that, at times, some, unawares, had entertained angels.

Then weeks would go by with no one having seen him. Where was he? At such times I would hear speculation when accompanying my mother at the commissary in the Otro Campo (known to the Americans as the labor camp), or with my father in the American Camp bar. Some voices affirmed, as if they were eye-witnesses, that El Loco was still on the road, but, in fact, no drivers or passengers had seen him. Others rumored El Loco was on jungle paths, headed temporarily for other destinations, as if looking for side adventures to spice up his El Pao – San Felix routine. Still others did not really care or think about it, and just assumed El Loco would reappear on his favorite road soon enough. And he eventually did, as if he had been nowhere else. As if he would live forever.

Regardless of opinions as to his whereabouts, the Venezuelans along the El Duo road just shrugged, confident in the truth of the old Spanish aphorism, “God takes care of the widows, the orphans, and the crazies.” It did not occur to them that God used them to do the caring.

El Loco walked with a swinging gait, a long, thick staff in one hand. His dusty jet-black hair shagged over his collar and a bit over his ears. He always walked with, never against, the traffic. Whenever I heard or read about a man in rags, I’d picture El Loco. His rags were always in khaki, just like the men in El Pao, only very worn and torn. And, instead of a dull yellow, El Loco’s khakis seemed rusty red.

Once, on a drive to San Felix, we saw him up close.

As we approached him in our car, to my utter, indescribable delight, El Loco swung round and stopped, looking toward the Oldsmobile as it slowly approached. El Loco began jumping in place, raising his arms and waving them. He was strong; he could wave the arm carrying that staff as easily as the other. Then he yelled a loud, croaking-like cheer as he laughed. His entire face laughed. And his teeth shone a bright white.

To me, laughing with my parents as we all saluted El Loco, it seemed even the Oldsmobile laughed. We drove slowly by El Loco, as we waved at him while he waved back, croaking, yelling, laughing, screaming, jumping. His cheeks’ bony arches seemed like sharp hills guarding his oviform eyes, whose color matched his hair, only brighter. And they seemed, to the boy, to be looking right into his own eyes.

Unlike most adults, El Loco was able, with absolutely no awkward self-consciousness, to look at someone in the eye, no matter what the age, and sustain that look until naturally broken. I just knew El Loco looked only at me, as if he knew me. As if we’d met before. Somewhere. There was no fear in me. On the contrary, like all children, I considered El Loco as very approachable, a dear friend and protector.

I stuck my head out the back window resting it on my arms on the frame as I looked back at El Loco, who was still jumping and yelling and laughing, forming a striking, puppet-like silhouette against the green, as the dust rose behind the car.

What most knew about El Loco was limited to the fact that he spent his days and years striding between El Pao and San Felix. Clearly folks cared for him; after all, it was assumed, he ate and slept. The I recall once, and only once, during an unusual mid-day drive to San Felix, seeing El Loco sitting peaceably in a chair in the front, porch-like structure of one of the cabins off the road. The farmer sat across from him, as the wife served him lunch and the children stood by. Sometimes El Loco would not be seen for what seemed to be weeks, before he’d reappear again on the road bringing joy to folks, especially children, who drove by.

I don’t remember the last time I saw him. He just melted away, like a mirage, into the jungle and before I knew it, I realized I had not seen him in years, maybe decades.

But I think about him. I can see him walking firmly, soldier-like, on the right side of the road, gripping his staff with his right hand, wildly swinging the left. El Loco whirls round and there is that wide grin once again, mouth way open, white teeth flashing. He lets off that loud cheer as he raises his hand and staff, pointing to the heavens.