Gregg Barrios: In Memoriam

¿Mi hermano, es verdad? It must be. Your nephew called me Thursday afternoon to let me know.

I’ll miss our hour-long phone calls. During our last one, we spoke about the latest changes to your forthcoming collection of poetry, My Life was the Poem, and your latest play—“Candy Barr”—and how you found her years after fame had fleeted and how you interviewed her and became her confidant. One part journalist, one part playwright, and one part poet—that was you. You took your investigative reporting and turned it into art as you did with Rancho Pancho.

Yes, Rancho Pancho—that’s how we met. I published a special edition of Rancho Pancho for the performances at the Provincetown Tennessee Williams Theater Festival in September 2008 at the Fisherman’s Wharf. What a stage for a production: a rustic fishing shack, it’s doors opened to Provincetown Harbor as a back set with sailboats going past.

We didn’t know then it was only the first of many trips to the theater together from the Gregg Barrios Theater in San Antonio to the performance of I-DJ at the Fridge Festival on the lower Eastside of New York. Every time you were in New York, we got together for a meal and a show. Remember we went to the Sunday matinee of the Albee revival of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolf? House lights down; house lights up. In walks Edward Albee to take his seat, and we stand to applaud him. And then there was the infamous brunch at the Spanish restaurant in midtown. I didn’t know it was Drag Queen Sunday, I swear. You still won’t let me forget that one.

What happens to our plans now? You had found a nice bed and breakfast for Jody and I to stay at near your new apartment in San Antonio. We were going to attend the celebration of your creative career at Gemini Ink in October. You were going to drive us around town in your red Cadillac SUV. I imagine you wearing your white Stetson and a cheap pair of sunglasses. By the way, I have a few more pairs to add to your collection.

Who knew that a young teen from Eagle Pass, Texas who wanted to write book reviews would become a Texas man of letters. It has been an honor editing and publishing your plays and poetry. You became my moral compass on the issues dear to you—thank you for that gift.

¡Hasta luego, me hermano!