Pete was a California Mexican, which he pronounced "Metz-can". Didn't speak a word of Spanish except for a profanity whose meaning he didn't know, so he used it whenever he wanted to sound like Ricky Ricardo tearing his hair out. He looked kind of like a Hispanic Edward G Robinson in a loud shirt, if the mental picture doesn't frighten you too badly. He was so generous that after he died people would approach his wife to thank her for huge favors she never knew they'd done. He had his flaws, like anybody else, but overall, Pete was just plumb good people.
We thought of him first this weekend when it turned out that Don Ho had died. Pete was fanatical about all things Hawaiian, and was a wedding DJ by trade. I'll bet Don had all of ten minutes in heaven before Pete shook his hand and invited him in to play.
And now I run across this, courtesy of Wicked Thoughts. Pete would have laughed his butt off:
A Mexican family was considering putting their grandfather in a nursing home. All the Catholic facilities were completely full so they had to put him in a Baptist home.
After a few weeks in the Baptist facility, they came to visit grandpa.
"How do you like it here?" asks the grandson.
"It's wonderful! Everyone here is so courteous and respectful," says grandpa.
"We're so happy for you. We were worried that this was the wrong place for you. You know, since you are a little different from everyone."
"Oh, no! Let me tell you about how wonderfully they treat the residents here," grandpa says with a big smile.
"There's a musician here -- he's 85 years old. He hasn't played the violin in 20 years and everyone still calls him 'Maestro'!"
"There is a judge in here -- he's 95 years old. He hasn't been on the bench in 30 years and everyone still calls him 'Your Honor'!"
"And there's a physician here -- 90 years old. He hasn't been practicing medicine for 25 years and everyone still calls him 'Doctor'!"
"And me......, I haven't had sex for 35 years and they still call me 'The F*cking Mexican' "
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