I was on the website of the Ramona Bowl when I stumbled upon the news that its longtime maintenance man had died. Carlos Torres’ passing had left Bowl officials “so very devastated and heartbroken,” the announcement began.
Torres “did absolutely everything for us,” the message continued, such as preparing the Bowl for the annual “Ramona” pageant, a Southern California staple, and building the stage for summertime youth theater plays and concerts under the stars.
“He did it quietly and with good humor, always adding the ‘Carlos’ touch like an umbrella for shade even when we didn’t ask,” the message read. “Carlos, we are so lost without you.”
A GoFundMe drive had exceeded its goal for funeral expenses, allowing Torres’ family to say farewell to him with dignity.
Who was this beloved figure, I wondered?
A trusted, good-humored, hard-working immigrant of 66, Torres died Oct. 21. He’d had a hernia, underwent successful surgery, then suffered a fatal heart attack, his son Erik told me: “It was very unexpected.”
Torres was born and raised in Mexico City, where he later drove a taxi. Based on my own visit to the Mexican capital a decade ago, which included a couple of cab rides, driving a taxi there involves treating traffic rules as suggestions, freely ignored, and honking your horn every few seconds. The job is not for the faint-hearted.
He slipped undocumented into the United States in the 1980s, possibly to follow a brother or two who were also in Southern California, according to his friend Ronald Carr, who met the new arrival in 1985.
Carr, then a building inspector for the city of Hemet, was told by a City Hall janitor that a friend from his Spanish church was looking for labor. Carr, who owns rentals around town, hired Torres to clean and paint a newly vacant unit, and a friendship was born.
“I didn’t speak hardly any Spanish and he didn’t speak hardly any English,” Carr recalled. “There was a lot of pointing.”
He hired Torres to do yard work at his mother’s house and she would bring lunch out to him on the front porch. Before he ate, he would pray, a gesture that impressed her.
Soon Torres was doing more jobs for Carr. One day Carr mentioned in passing that tenants had just left a mobile home of his and it was filthy with dog excrement. The next day Carr went over to start work and found Torres tearing out the carpet in strips and joking, “Muchas stinky.”
Carr let Torres stay for free in a guest house in exchange for taking care of the property. They became close and found they had traits in common despite their disparate backgrounds.
When Carr married in 1997, his wife, Shellie, whose parents were deceased, asked Torres to do the father-daughter dance with her. The song was a surprise pick of the disc jockey’s, a fast number — Carr thinks it was “La Bamba” — and Torres really went at it, spinning her around the dance floor.
Torres had been a cook at Rodolfo’s Pizza in Hemet besides his odd jobs, but he found his calling at the Ramona Bowl, an outdoor amphitheater set into a hillside above Hemet. His brother, Jose, became head of maintenance and hired Carlos. That was a little over 20 years ago.
A 168-acre property means a lot to maintain, and then there’s set-up and take-down for weddings, plays, dinners and, of course, the “Ramona” pageant. “He’s the reason everything got done,” said Lori VanArsdale, the Bowl’s immediate past president.
“Ramona” is the play based on Helen Hunt Jackson’s novel about star-crossed Native American lovers in 1850s Southern California. Performed at the Bowl annually since 1923, it’s legendary as the longest-running outdoor play in the United States.
Torres brought his children every year. The Bowl was “his passion,” Erik said. “He was there every day of the week. He found he liked the work and being a part of something bigger.”
The wavy-haired Torres, who wore a black vest with the Bowl’s orange logo on the back, greeted patrons and waved to runners or hikers passing through for exercise.
Once some runners going up the hill were injured. Torres saw them fall, went to help and stayed with them until aid arrived.
“My dad, he was really caring, really helpful,” Erik said.
People around the area knew Torres from the Bowl, making him almost a local celebrity when he was spotted around town. Why was he so popular? “He knew how to converse with people. Even though he had that language barrier, he was able to make people laugh,” Erik said.
Carr can attest to Torres’ sense of humor. Torres and Shellie would say goodbye using every word for farewell they could think of, including “sayonara” and “hasta la vista,” and some they made up.
Or when Torres, riding in Carr’s passenger seat, would whistle at a woman on the sidewalk, then sink down in the seat, so that she’d look over and see only Carr, blushing. “He thought that was hilarious,” Carr said ruefully.
Bowl president Stacey Bailey, who has a bad hip, would ask Torres if she could get a ride in his golf cart. He would deadpan, “It’ll be $20.” Well, he was a former cab driver.
The Bowl’s post about Torres’ passing had 90 shares and 34 comments. “That big smile and warm greeting gone,” one person lamented. Another wrote: “Carlos has been the undercurrent that has kept the beauty of The Bowl alive. Gracias.”
Wrote another patron: “He will be greatly missed, his beautiful smile and his quiet presence. His thoughtfulness when he would bring us umbrellas when the sun was too bright!”
The GoFundMe drive generated mostly small donations, but enough, $3,420, to meet the goal. A bake sale brought in another $1,000, much of that simply from gifts. The proceeds paid off hospital bills and allowed for a funeral service, which took place outdoors Oct. 27 at Miller-Jones Mortuary.
That brought close family and friends a measure of comfort, Erik said. But the loss, he admitted, was “unfortunate, hard.” Torres is survived by six children, eight grandchildren and his mother.
The Bowl, which had to cancel what would have been the 97th pageant as well as all other events, says: “We will do a special memorial for Carlos at the Ramona Bowl. Date and time will be announced.”
If only Carlos Torres could be there to help set it up and greet everyone.
David Allen greets you Sunday, Wednesday and Friday. Email dallen@scng.com, phone 909-483-9339, visit insidesocal.com/davidallen, like davidallencolumnist on Facebook and follow @davidallen909 on Twitter.
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