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  • Remembering L. A. Murillo (1922-2020)
  • James A. Parr (bio)

There will be no more early-morning breakfasts with Luis at the Green Street Café. Luis would be waiting for me curbside in front of his condo at precisely 7:00am (he was early to bed, early to rise). We would drive the few blocks to the center of town to a remarkably tranquil main drag, park there on the west side, jaywalk nonchalantly across Lake Avenue, continue to Green Street, and were usually the first customers of the day. Often Luis would walk there and back alone. Frequently he would walk to Cal Tech, to use either their library, swimming pool, printing facilities, or all of these. He also walked regularly to the US Post Office to collect and send mail. Luis did not stroll; he walked with purpose and vigor everywhere he went locally. For a day's outing, he would occasionally take a city bus to USC or UCLA.

Luis was not one for modern gadgetry. He did not own a computer or a cell phone. He made do with longhand, a manual typewriter, and a landline that had a mind of its own.

Over the years, he was an occasional guest for dinner and always for any Sunday soirées Patricia and I might organize. He would occasionally remind us that our neighborhood had been a pasture for goats when he was a lad. His sly wit was endearing and always welcome. He was a great friend to each of us. He would send Pat a birthday card and a St. Patrick's Day card every year! (Acknowledging her given name and Irish heritage.) He was a gentleman of the old school, in the best sense of the term. We knew something must be amiss this year when there was no St. Patrick's Day card in the mailbox. Luis lost his long-standing battle with cancer six days after that, March 23 rd, aged 97, [End Page 11] and was buried on April 1st, here in Pasadena where his life's trajectory, as the son of immigrants from Mexico, began. He had come full circle and he did it his way. At his request, poetry was read at the gravesite and only the immediate family was present.

A hidden dimension of Luis's early life, one that he never mentioned, prompts one to review his relationship to Cervantes. Both were veterans of life-or-death exposure to war. In WWII, Luis logged fifty missions as a ball turret gunner on a B-17 heavy bomber, making runs, often in broad daylight, over Germany and other parts of Europe. It is fair to say that there are few more hazardous assignments. I have some difficulty reconciling that younger version of Luis with the mild-mannered academic I knew. I did know that he had served in the Army Air Corps, but only that, and I envisioned him as a clerk typist or someone who provided ground support for those engaged in combat. Fortunately, he was not wounded.

Another largely unknown dimension of this remarkable gentleman scholar was his thirst for knowledge of language and culture in general and his desire to share the knowledge that he systematically acquired in his forays into areas that somehow, in his hands, began to open new vistas for understanding and appreciation. Here is a sampling of the thoroughly researched and documented pamphlets he had printed and distributed at his expense in his later years: 1) "The Archetypal Artist: Cervantes and James Joyce"; 2) "The Spanish Language in California, a Bilingual Guide"; "The State of California 1850-1950;" another covering "The Spanish and Mexican Periods, 1769-1850"; others on other periods; and one in particular is a long poem of his about the Los Angeles River, the Río Porciúncula, and its iconic bridges. Another, chosen at random: "DIALOGUE: Miguel de Cervantes / Galileo Galilei." His pamphletic history culminates with the present: "1950 to the Present, Global Economy and Technology."

It is my understanding that these materials, along with the 4,000 books and other items that constitute the L. A. Murillo Collection can be accessed at USC's Doheny...

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