SENOR WENCES

My father was
a brilliant, talented, funny man.
He was also disappointed,
depressed,
bitter and angry
for much of the time I remember.
A classical musician by profession,
he was the harshest judge of everyone,
especially himself.
So if someone earned
my father's respect —
when someone's achievements excited him,
made him laugh and come to life,
it must have been someone very special indeed.
Among this elite group,
immortalized in my mind
by my father's admiration, are:
Prokovieff.
Jascha Heifitz.
Victor Borge.
Kurt Weill.
Ornette Coleman.
And one with no connection to music,
but who struck a special chord
in my father's sense of humor:
Señor Wences.
Oh how we laughed,
the whole family laughed,
at Señor Wences,
that eccentric, offbeat ventriloquist
whose silly little fist-characters
were a particularly joyous kind of funny
because my father was laughing.
Senor Wences just died at age 102.
My father died
too
many years ago
at age 66.


© Ellen Azorin