Missing Carlos Guerra Part 2

So many of you were excited to share your memories of Carlos Guerra that we had to do a second version of memories of him, to follow up the first one. Thanks again to those who came out to the event Saturday.

Lluvia Mares was mentored by Carlos Guerra for several years and Carlos frequently told me about her (“That’s her real name! Isn’t that great?!”). She shares her memories of him with us:

“My mom once said ‘Ese no tiene pelos en la lengua.’ He was so tough and aggressive when it came to getting the truth out and telling the story. That’s what a real reporter was — someone who wasn’t afraid to tell the world what mistakes where being made and by whom. To Carlos, it wasn’t about being liked; it was about telling the truth no matter what. He was the type of journalist I wanted to be. I was a teenager when I met Carlos. It was during the floods of 2001. My mom encouraged me to write an email — I have to admit his column picture was a little scary — telling him that I wanted to meet him and show him my work. To my surprise he wrote back. If Carlos were here, he would say he thought some of his friends made me up as a type of joke. My email conveniently came during the worst rainy season San Antonio had ever seen. When I showed up, Carlos was a little shocked that I was a ‘real’ person. For at least the first half-hour he kept looking around to see if one of his friends popped up, they never did. He graciously read my work and offered some advice and asked me what kind of writer I wanted to be. I wanted to be like him, and I still do. He would always tell me to ‘work three times as hard and do three times as much research, and never be afraid.’ That’s how I met Carlos. Since then, Carlos has been an amazing mentor and an even more magnificent friend. He inspired me, encouraged me, and helped me work my way up to becoming the journalist that I am today. I love him very much and will miss him every single day of my life. He truly was an amazing person and one in a million.”

Carlos’ friend Armando Villarreal remembered his friend as the consummate cook:

“I was just back in Corpus from Peru and Carlos was staying at my place. I walk in and there he is in the kitchen at the stove working a pile of julian green bell peppers on a number 12 iron skillet.’Hey Mando— ¿Como te fue en Perú?’  He said it like I was just back from the HEB. He had thin slices of fajitas on a dish and an empty bowl next to itwhere he dumped the now wilted peppers. He covered the peppers, then re-oiled the skillet and added onions, and molcajete ground ajos y cominos. Of course the aroma flew everywhere. He turned the heat upand added the fajitas, stirring wok-style, and placed a cover on theskillet and turned the heat down. ‘¿Y Perú, que ondas?’ he asked pouring some wine. He was helping me ona strategy for Mario Vargas Llosa’s campaign for president. I gave my general impression of things. We hit on that Vargas Llosa was being dragged down by manyorganizations, empty ranchitos, each hankering to be the pack leader,demanding too much, and no customers. Carlos turns to the stove and uncovers the skillet, turns the heat upand adds the wilted peppers on top of the fajitas and gives it a quick stir and turns the heat off.”