[su_label type=”info”]The Devil’s Advocate[/su_label]

Quique Dávila performs at a house party in the author’s home, 2010. Photo: Dulce Barón

As December of 2017 ended, so did the life of Manuel Enrique “Quique” Dávila, a beautiful man, a tremendous friend and a valuable leader of our community.

I find it difficult to write about Quique in the past, because his presence still flutters in my heart, in my memory… and in the hearts and minds of those who had the enormous fortune to have shared his happiness, his music and his liberating thought.

“I’d be a Puerto Rican, even if I was born in the moon!”  In the song (by Roy Brown) when that last verse is sung, the volume of the voices rises, as if reaffirming a feeling deeply rooted in the hearts of the men and women who were born in the little island called Borikén, or Borinquen. Or Puerto Rico. Or “Puertorro.” Whether on the island, or away from it, the Puerto Rico continues to be a homeland.

Quique lived with Puerto Rico in his heart and mind to the bitter end. In each conversation we had, the subject of Puerto Rico always came up, inextricably linked to the need of independence for the island—his island. His motherland.

If that specific theme would not come up, another relevant, interesting, creative or amiable subject would. Hoping for freedom, anxious to be shared, to fly like a warm wind into the consciousness of our people. “Hey, Carlos! We have to get together and write that play! Put lots of music in it! We have so many stories to tell! Maybe this year…”

Quique was generous with his concerns and with his many abilities. Thus, he shared his music and his thinking with those around him, especially his family and friends.

Today, Manolo and Pablo, two of his children, are young leaders in our community, sensitive and rigorous musicians, pioneering teachers, clear heirs to the many qualities that Quique, as well as their mother, Jennie Rodríguez (director of the Mission Cultural Center for Latino Arts, in San Francisco) instilled in them. Those kids learned to navigate the waters of a world where critical thinking, political/cultural activism and the arts (in particular music) reigned.

On a personal level, the friendship between our families goes back more than 30 years. Seemingly forever, our kids have shared a great relationship. There have been many occasions when we got together to enjoy music, food and love, especially around the year-end festivities. Or on our respective birthdays, or during some political/cultural celebration, such as the annual commemoration of the Grito de Lares (The Cry of Lares), a  milestone in the collective memory of Puerto Ricans who have fought and continue fighting for the independence of Puerto Rico.

In all those occasions, Quique was there with his wisdom, his happy accordion and his sharp sense of humor.

The Christmas and New Year celebrations (or “parrandas”) are instances that surface in my memory. There were many times when our families would gather in front of the door of some other friendly family, in order to carry out a musical “assault.” A friendly assault, which according to the tradition, is a pre-arranged event, so that when the doors opened to the “assailants,” they would hopefully be received with some exquisite Puerto Rican food and drinks.

In front of the group, holding his ever-present (and heavy) accordion, Quique was the leader, followed by Jennie expertly scratching a “güiro.” Behind, a few percussionists, with “panderos” and tambourines, singing the traditional verses: “Happy we’ve come, from the mountains, from our happy humble home! We’ve brought flowers for our friends, the best roses from the rose bushes!”  Soon, the “pícaro Boricua” sense of humor: “My mother always told me, not to marry a one-eyed woman… ’Cause when she looks like she’s asleep, it looks as if she is awake!” Or some verses that seem to have been written just a few months ago, thinking about the horrific Hurricane “María,” which practically destroyed the infrastructure of Puerto Rico: “It’s a tempest! It’s a storm! There comes that ugly storm! What will happen to “Borinquen” when that tempest hits our home!”

This column would not be complete if I did not mention the great work that Quique carried out in his professional life, as a mental health counselor in our community. He worked, for many years, in La Raza Family Resource Center. Many are the families, especially Latino families—including, principally, many children—who were helped by the wise advice of  Quique Dávila.

When a big, ancient tree falls in the woods, many small animals, birds and other smaller creatures lose their nests and their habitat. Now that this big, ancient tree fell in our human jungle, there will be many people who will miss the shade and the comfort that Quique provided. With his music, with his sense of humor, with his advice, with the light of his clear presence.

But, I think that he is still with us. Immortality is something you earn by the way we live our lives.  With the way he lived, Manuel Enrique Dávila will be kept warmly in our memories.

I will end with a gift: some verses from the man himself:

“In the silky womb of any given cloud, I’d like to rest my soul at its final moment. / To float: and when pouring down, Spring rain, to water wildflowers and the thirsty paths. /And when my spirit impregnates in it ALL, to evaporate in atoms towards my firmament.”

A memorial service for Manuel Enrique “Quique” Dávila will be held on Sunday, Jan. 21 from 2-5 p.m. at the Mission Cultural Center for Latino Arts. We’ll gather at 24th & Bartlett (2:00PM) and walk to MCCLA, at 2868 Mission St. SF