"Ramon, do you know why the violin has the most beautiful sound? Look carefully how the violin is held. It's played close to the heart. Music is in the heart of life and there joy will always be, my son."
Everyone knew him as Macias. By day he was the mailman. He would deliver his mail on foot, from door to door. By night he was the poor man's music teacher; he taught because he loved music and he loved young people who wanted to learn. A thin brown skinned Mexican man, with command of not one but three languages. To me he was Joe, one of Dad's best friends. They grew up together in their hometown. Together they knew everyone in the mission hamlet of San Fernando.
Joe had the gift of gab. I so enjoyed listening to his mellow, gentle and resonant voice. He spoke English perfectly well with only a hint of his Spanish accent. He was mild mannered and soft-spoken, his movements laced with the grace of a conductor directing a symphony. His wife and children, who were constantly rushing about him through their daily lives, flanked his persona.
I came to know Joe well because of his knowledge of his third language, music. I wanted to learn how to play a guitar; most every kid in San Fernando did after Ritchie Valen's tragic death in a plane crash; also killing music idols Buddy Holly and the "Big Bopper." Ritchie Valen's music, life, and death were all a significant part of our lives in San Fernando. Dad knew Ritchie and especially his Mom and Dad, and so did Joe.
Joe began his lessons by saying,
"Ramon, the guitar, she is like a woman. If you spend time with her everyday with practice, practice, practice, she will reward you with hours of joy and pleasure. But if you ignore her, if you do not spend time with her; she will become jealous and most definitely punish you; as you laugh but not all of your laughter, and cry but not all of your tears."
He would pause for a moment.
"Ramon, are you sure you don't want to learn to play the trumpet?"
I was insistent on playing the guitar.
Joe continued.
"The first step of learning to read music is to practice with the singing of SOLFEO."
"DO - REY - DO - REY -ME -DO -MEEEEE REY - ME - REY - ME - FA - REY - FA - ME - FA ME - FA - SO - FA - SOOOOOOOOOOO"
Along with the reading and singing of notes was the keeping of time with your hand as you motioned much in the same way a conductor would a baton.
The lessons continued with Joe's knowledge of how I was completing my studies in a Science/Math Major at Sylmar High School, while lettering in Football as well.
"Ramon, music is mathematical in nature," he would say. "Theories are now being developed to describe tones of notes in a three dimensional matrix. Hmmm, are you sure you would not prefer to be a conductor of an orchestra?"
I was steadfast on learning to play the guitar. But eventually the stress of maintaining high grades in all my classes, playing football, and music lessons resulted in my developing a gastric ulcer. Something had to be given up, and so reluctantly I chose to stop the guitar lessons.
Macias remained in my life always. I visited him often after I started my studies in college, and on one particular occasion sought his advice while facing a life changing decision.
Many years later my wife Connie and I were moving to Santa Barbara. As we finished our packing I found a picture of Joe my Dad had taken when Joe was in the Army. I looked at the picture and felt an indescribable sadness.
"Ray what's the matter?" Connie asked, taken aback by the sudden change in my mood.
"I don't know. Something is wrong. Something has happened; I feel someone is saying goodbye."
24 hours later we learned that about the time I had found and gazed at Joe's photograph, he had suffered a bursting aneurism and died as an ambulance rushed to his home.
A Military Honor Guard stood in readiness as the order was given to fire, and just beyond the echoes of each volley a thin veil separated Joe's flag draped coffin from heaven and earth. And within the gathering of mourners, the wind whispered Joe's last echoing touch of the world.
"Ramon, do you know why the violin has the most beautiful sound? Look carefully how the violin is held. It's played close to the heart. Music is in the heart of life and there joy will always be, my son."
A Beautiful Sound
By: Ray Duarte
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