A man of many talents, Johnny followed his interest in international health on a sabbatical year to Guatemala in 1971. As a member of the United States Agency for International Development (USAID) and sponsored by The Rockefeller Foundation, he worked on developing a training program to provide basic health care in remote, rural areas of the country. He negotiated the gift of the Hospital Quirigua, built by United Fruit Company in 1913 and abandoned in 1960, to the Guatemala Ministry of Public Health and Social Assistance to be refurbished for the training center. “In many places the grass and undergrowth had risen to shoulder height…a few cows and horses were grazing in the tangle,” wrote Johnny.
“It was covered in mildew and moss,” adds Cynthia Burski, now a veterinarian, who also worked for USAID. “For the next seven years he became not only my mentor but a very good friend. Johnny had a ‘hands on’ approach to everything.” She recalls an event during the process of securing the old hospital: “There he was, entertaining everybody in his dignified manner, convincing them of the need for the program, while waiters in white gloves and formal jackets served aspic in 100-degree heat!” Johnny recorded the story of the hospital in The Beloved Doctor Macphail of Quirigua, published in 2006.
“The project had a tremendous impact,” states Elizabeth Bell, a local cultural authority. “It revived that area of the country. He was a real pioneer.” Elizabeth remembers meeting Johnny when she first came to Antigua as a teenager. Always the gentleman, “He loved to engage in in-depth conversation, but not small talk. It wasn’t about him; he talked about concepts and projects.”
Guatemala had gotten a grip on Johnny, and he stayed. After the earthquake in February 1976, he led the USAID medical aid effort, identifying a location to serve as headquarters for treatment and distribution of supplies. He also worked for Project HOPE (Health Opportunities for People Everywhere), expanding his efforts toward sustainable advances in healthcare education programs and humanitarian assistance.
During his medical career, Dr. Long authored dozens of scientific articles. It was only after retirement–if that word can be used honestly when speaking of Johnny–that he began to write fiction. Jane Swezey, who joined Johnny in writing groups for years, remembers the “fun and delight in his creations which gave us such joy.” His book Fiambre Chapin, published in 2009, is a collection of those writings, to which he referred as “musings and meanderings.”
Also in retirement he became the first actor to speak on the stage of the cultural center El Sitio. The Importance of Being Ernest opened with Johnny’s back to the audience. “He kept the audience waiting while he featherdusted a portrait on the wall, then took his time picking up a handkerchief and finally slowly turning around–capturing everyone’s attention. He loved doing things like that!” laughs his wife, Annette.
In fact, “His sense of humor” is Carole Wilson’s response when remembering Johnny. She quickly adds a list of other attributes and tells of Johnny’s dedication to the group in which they worked together to establish a library in Antigua in the mid 1990s. “He did all the computer work and was a daily presence.” The Duane Carter Library continues to function, a valuable resource for students. Carole also notes that Johnny was a good cook and names his mango chutney as outstanding.
Johnny took cooking classes from Audrey Buderus in Antigua and had many favorites. But her chocolate mousse recipe became his specialty.

Among his recent passions were the December productions of El Grinch, to bring the British tradition of pantomime to Antigua. Debora du Flon, Johnny’s longtime friend who worked with the team of Antigueenos, says, “When the children heard the news they said, ‘Christmas won’t be the same without Johnny.’ He made the season so special.” Johnny himself summed it up best: “The message of El Grinch is clear. Good triumphs over evil, and humor lightens the load of life.”
Words to live by. And he did. Johnny, Dr. E. Croft Long, passed away peacefully on September 2, 2011, but his memory will live on for a long, long time.

1923-2011

Long before I knew Arthur Kennedy, who passed last month at 87, I benefited from his legacy. So have you, if you are among the millions who have traveled Guatemala’s stretch of the Pan American Highway. He was in charge of much of the construction of what remains the country’s principal artery, and its first graded one.

Kennedy learned civil engineering in the U.S. Army during World War II. He saw active duty by the end of the war in the Army Air Corps as a first lieutenant and aviator.

Though Idaho-born, he was related to the famous Kennedy clan, being a third cousin of John Fitzgerald Kennedy. Ironically, Art was a lifelong Republican who never met or even voted for Jack Kennedy. He did, however, meet Vice President Nixon—for whom he later voted—at a 1958 American Legion conference. His neighbors in Panajachel, where he lived since 1977, knew that he was unhappy over the abortive Bay of Pigs invasion of Cuba in 1962.

Arthur Kennedy would spend most of his life in Guatemala, which he loved as much as the United States. He arrived in 1949 as security adjutant at the American Embassy. When that assignment ended, he began working for the Glenstorm Corporation, under contract to build the highway. He and his first wife, Canadian Barbara Bickford, had four children, all born in Guatemala.

He took his second wife, Georgina, a Guatemalan, to every continent, where he oversaw the building of bridges, tunnels and highways. “Georgie” recalls his particular fondness for Africa. For decades, they operated Panajachel’s Playa Linda Resort, where Kennedy, a skilled chef, designed the restaurant’s menu.

Paralleling Kennedy’s American Legion membership was his service as an embassy warden. By 2005 he was already, according to consul Marty Haas, “apparently senior” to every other volunteer retained by the U.S. State Department. After retiring from what he called “wardening” in 2010, he was honored at an embassy town hall meeting. By then he had clinched the distinction of being the longest-serving warden in the history of the U.S. warden system worldwide.

It was through wardening that my own friendship with Kennedy began in 1999. He mentored me in the practice, and gave me perspective in it. Whereas nowadays wardens depend heavily on the internet to ply their responsibilities, Kennedy relied on short-wave radio in the middle of the last century.

Arthur Kennedy was never short on opinions or hospitality. He was crusty, but kind. He was a hero to my sons, partly because of the citations on his wall, but also because he was always willing to share with them his toffees, his swimming pool, and the company of his terriers and budgerigars.

David L. Jickling (1927-2011)

David loved La Antigua Guatemala. An icon of the community and dedicated historian, he was recognized walking the streets wearing his trademark straw hat and carrying a clipboard. Although often deep in thought, he had a smile for everyone.

David delved into the history of the original inhabitants of the town, naming property owners block by block. Results of his study of a 1604 census of Antigua were published in 1982 by Centro de Investigaciones Regionales de Mesoamerica (CIRMA), a depository of research in Antigua. “The census was done for tax purposes, to be sure everyone paid his share,” David explained to the REVUE in 2005. “That was the time of Caribbean pirates. Money was needed for forts to protect the coast.” His later study of a 1588 census, published in 2008 by the Genealogical Society of Guatemala, looks more closely at residents of the colonial capital and identifies neighborhoods by the trades practiced there.

David was also fascinated by Spanish colonial architecture and traditions in Antigua and co-authored several works on church façades, altars and festivals.

David Lee Jickling was born on July 18, 1927 in Battle Creek, MI. During World War II he served in the U.S. Army in the Philippines and the Solomon Islands. After earning a doctorate in Public Administration at the University of Chicago, he entered the U.S. Foreign Service, briefly serving in the Navy Department, then the Kennedy Administration’s newly established Alliance for Progress and then U.S. Agency for International Development (USAID).

In 1961 David was assigned as a civilian Foreign Service officer to Guatemala. He and his wife, Cynthia, fell in love with the country and, after looking at 50 different properties in Antigua, bought a Spanish colonial home in 1965. The house, built around 1568 across from the Capuchinas Church and Convent, had been the home of a town mayor from 1759 to 1763 and was once one of the biggest and grandest houses of the town, as David told the REVUE in 2006. Later subdivided into five houses and two shops, “We bought what was the kitchen, servants’ quarters, stable and second patio.”

The Jicklings’ five children grew up in the house. One daughter recalls, “As children, we had a lot of freedom here. We played in the neighborhood ruins and…liked jumping in the pila in our bathing suits. Coming here is like coming home.”
Meanwhile, David traveled to and from 35 different countries, developing democratic local governments. A devoted stamp collector, he researched, documented and assembled several collections of stamps from each nation in which he served.

After retirement from the State Department in 1978, he and Cynthia moved back to the family farm in Michigan. Both taught at Olivet College and Western Michigan State University until 1982. During this time they brought student groups to Guatemala for cultural studies. Then they returned to live full-time in Guatemala. David continued to do what he did before, but accepting work on contract, while his insatiable curiosity created continuous challenges. He said, “I’ll retire when no one asks me to do something.”

Close friend and colleague Jack Leeth remembers David as “always a gentleman and historian, so interested in Antigua…and so terrifically honest in all his dealings.” He will not be forgotten.

by Luke Slemeck

In memory of my second father, loving husband of Helga, proud father of Christina and Courtenay, grandfather of Sebastien and friend of every dog and animal everywhere. A man who lived and enjoyed a rich, rewarding and fulfilling life that touched every continent on Earth.

U.S. Ambassador George R. Andrews of Baltimore, Md., died one year ago this month. George was born in Havana, Cuba, February 26, 1932, as the son of a U.S. diplomat. He had a very international upbringing in Japan, Panama, Chile, England, Poland and France.

He graduated from Princeton with a degree from the Woodrow Wilson School in 1953 and was a member of the Colonial Club. He proceeded to get his master’s degree from the University of Strasbourg, where his father was stationed as the consul general. He joined the U.S. Foreign Service as a consular officer in Hamburg, Germany, helping rebuild the country and relations after the war.

It is possible that he took the job too seriously as he did meet and marry his beloved Helga von Levern Schroeder—in spite of himself and the glass of red wine he accidentally spilled on her. It was probably the best spill of his life. George and Helga’s first daughter was born in Hamburg.

George served in Paris as a consular officer from 1956 to 1957 and political officer from 1958 to 1959, beginning an undying love for the city.

He returned to Washington, D.C., for service in the U.S. State Department to become desk officer for Belgium / Luxembourg. He helped organize the visit of the Duchess of Luxembourg, including a state dinner in the Kennedy White House to which he was summoned at the last minute. Helga was not pleased at having five minutes to get ready. However, the results were so dramatic that she almost rendered President Kennedy speechless—George wished she had!

George and his family proceeded to Stockholm, Dakar, Conakry, Brussels and Strasbourg where their second daughter, Courtenay, was born in a house that was formerly lived in by Winston Churchill.

Stockholm was one of their favorite posts with a house on the seashore and a small speedboat. One morning George went down to the dock to make sure all was in order before leaving for work. A smart suit, leather shoes and a wet deck do not necessarily mix well, and George found out how cold the water in Sweden really was. In his post in Dakar he was privileged enough to dance with Miriam Makeba.
George continued his service in Guatemala under Frank Meloy where the family survived and endured the catastrophic earthquake of 1976.

George played host to Henry Kissinger on his tour inspecting the damage the earthquake had caused in the country and organized relief supplies and assistance from the U.S. He returned to Washington and under President Reagan was appointed to his last post as U.S. Ambassador to Mauritius, a fitting reward to a life so richly traveled.

George retired honorably from the U.S. Foreign Service and became director of the World Affairs Council in Boston, successfully for seven years arranging many interesting speakers, including a former president of Mexico, prime minister of Canada and a former head of the CIA. He retired a second time with his wife to La Antigua Guatemala living in a house that was designed by their longtime friend, Charles Farrington. It is a beautiful home on the slopes of Volcán Agua surrounded by flowers and orchids.

George is survived by his wife Helga, his two daughters, a son-in-law and a beloved grandson Sebastien. His memories and life serve as true inspiration to all of us.

With her divorce complete and her children grown, she arrived in San Miguel Allende, Mexico, which, even then, was home to many expatriates. After her savings ran out, life there remained good. She whetted her lifelong interest in textiles by taking orders for, and sewing, Mexican-style drawstring pants.

This took place within a communal-living experiment, where she emerged as leader and launched a vegetable garden to feed her commune mates. These activities were augmented by tutoring, mostly of English. San Miguel changed during her years there, becoming increasingly expensive, and showing that erosion of authenticity that often comes with expat colonization; it was again time to move on.

Although Lee called herself fortunate to be born in the United States, she “never suffered homesickness.” Consequently, she did not go north from San Miguel, but south.

It started in 1986 with an “open-ended vacation” to the fresher expat haunt of San Cristobal de las Casas. Needing, as always, to renew her visa, it was inevitable that she would see more of Guatemala better, although she had already visited in 1976.

Guatemala, Lee concluded, transcended Mexico. Stricken by the beauty of Guatemala and the simplicity and warmth of the people, she settled there. One draw was the Mayas’ gift for textile patterning, which she called “infinte.” She collected samples of these, and then entire inventories, and made frequent wholesaling jaunts to Mexico.

After Lee landed in Panajachel for good in 1990, her children began coming for extended stays; one, Laura, also made her home here and raised her own daughter, Delia, in Panajachel.

“Mom loved words,” Laura recalls. “Whenever she discovered a new one, she’d run to a dictionary, like it was candy.” By the 21st century, Pana had its own burgeoning expat population. And yet, as Lee often pointed out, the town retained its authenticity to a degree that San Miguel had not.
Lee herself remained a salient figure in Pana; even past 80, she took long, daily walks with her gentle Akita, Toto, reputed to be Panajachel’s biggest canine. Her mind never faltered; she readily conversed with the same erudition that she commanded decades earlier in Acadème.

“Maybe what Huck and I, and others like us have done,” she once remarked, “is not to escape civilization, but rather, to extend it.”

Lee Valenti is survived by three children and three grandchildren.

Brooks Buderus

Brooks loved sports, especially the teams of his beloved alma mater, the University of Michigan. When the Wolverines failed to live up to his lofty expectations, he would become the cranky fan, spewing out a lengthy list of coaching errors and player mistakes unbecoming of a squad from the storied institution. Soon Audrey would pour him another cocktail and Brooks would slowly revert back to himself as the sting of defeat was overcome by quality liqueur. And when his team left the field victorious, he would raise a glass in celebration, secure in the thought that he had done his part to help will them to victory.

He also loved music with a passion that few of us understand. He carefully collected records, and then began converting his albums onto cassette tapes. He maintained meticulous catalogues of every recording he owned and was able to delve deeper into the music through his record keeping. Brooks would often sit quietly and intently listen to jazz or classical recordings for hours at a time. He gave the music his undivided attention in an effort to hear the real spirit, the soul of whatever piece was he was listening to.

Audrey and Brooks loved to gather with their friends to enjoy great food and drink as well as lively conversation. Audrey is the master chef and Brooks was smart enough to stay out of the kitchen, content to make sure that everyone had a full glass and that a good time was had by all. Brooks wasn’t bashful about sharing his views on a variety of subjects. There was never a question of where he stood on an issue. But once you gained him as your friend, he was a loyal compatriot who would stand with you through thick and thin.

He also loved the arts, not unusual for a man who devoted his work career to designing beautiful buildings that dazzled the eye while serving the utilitarian needs of the occupants. Brooks loved beauty in paintings, jewelry and sculptures. But if he were here right now, so that we could ask him about the true beauty in his life, there is no doubt that his answer would be—Audrey.

Finally, he cared deeply about his children and grew to love Audrey’s sons, which many say can be a difficult task. Family was important, yet Brooks yearned to live life on his terms. With Audrey by his side, they ventured out into a brave new world, building a life together that has deeply touched all of you gathered here tonight—as well as their families and their friends in the States. Not a day went by in recent years without Brooks thinking about his brother, whom he lost in World War II in the Pacific. He asked that his remains be placed in the Pacific Ocean, so in the end, he would be with his brother again.

Lift your glasses high tonight on Audrey and Brooks’ 41st wedding anniversary, and shed no tears, for Brooks wants us to celebrate, not mourn his passing. He had a great run and surely appreciates all of you for making his life so special, meaningful and entertaining. Let us drink to our friend, Brooks Buderus, as we promise to keep his memory with us always.

Salud!!!

Over the years, Smith and Riegel distributed 8×10 printed enlargements of photos to their own subjects. They became locally famous for this, drawing crowds of jostling children wherever they went in the Atitlán Basin. Most of the parents were too poor to lose a day’s work and hire a studio photographer to do this for them, but Smith and Riegel never charged a choca. CD collections of their photos are still available in bookstores.

Smith and Riegel owned many Revue magazine photo credits. It was my privilege to collaborate with Jerry on myriad occasions. For me as a writer in search of an image, he was my stitch in time.

His do-gooding did not end with the free photos. Jerry, whose knowledge of the Maya was encyclopedic, was dedicated to them personally. The Canada Maya Scholarship called him the “anchor” of its project in Guatemala. He built the internet blogs, scouted scholarship candidates, helped with formal interviews, photographed the students, collected their documents, befriended, monitored and advised.

This passion even diverted him from his own gainful employment as a structural engineer. In the old country, Jerry, a native of Cape Cod, Massachusetts, refurbished mansions and customized yachts for the wealthy, but he also restored historical buildings, sometimes pro-bono.

He began visiting Guatemala in the ‘70s, and once told me that his permanent arrival in 2000 was a “millennial transition.” But whatever his motives, he was as sanguine as they come: warm, affable, never angry, nonplussed by his own generosity, and able to converse with dazzling erudition on any topic. He was also conspicuous for his grasp of software arcanities; I habitually introduced him as the world’s foremost computer expert over the age of 25.

In his senses of humor and of irony, he had few peers. His talk was always at the level of ideas; with little preamble, Jerry might accost you in the street with his latest take on an archeological find or a world event. We will miss him terribly.

Visit Jerry Smith’s website: www.atitlan.net

The Girl Who Drew With Her Feet

There was a small shrine on the sidewalk a few weeks ago, consisting of a flickering candle in a tin can, a few flowers and a smiling photograph of Marcía with a large black plastic garbage bag made into a wreath and the typed notice of her recent passing.

Age 28 and crippled since birth, unable to use her hands or walk, she graced the stone sidewalk on the west side of Central Park in La Antigua Guatemala every morning. Bound to her wheelchair and assisted by her daughter, Cristina Sarai Sis, Marcía made the bus trip from nearby Jocotenango every day. The bus fare cost her almost as much as one of her sketches. Her father taught her at an early age to draw, using her deformed feet, to sketch animals, butterflies and her favorite bird, the quetzal. She died recently, set free from her earthly ties by a cerebral hemorrhage.

I confess that when I first moved here, I found myself avoiding her gaze. She was never like any of the other mendicants on the sidewalks, hands out for alms, displaying their infirmities. She never asked for money but always gave a smile for free. I found myself helping her daughter more than once as they left at dark for the bus station many blocks away.

The daughter wasn’t large or strong enough to negotiate the steep stone steps at the end of the passageway, burdened with Marcía and her wheelchair. I’d hold the top, near Marcía’s head, and her daughter would catch her feet, as the wheelchair bumped its way down two steep stone steps. She always smiled and thanked me.

I never knew they lived that far away. I will miss her smile. We’d begun to wink at each other lately, and I found myself stuffing spare change in her tip jar. I wish I’d bought one of her sketches, but I didn’t know she’d leave us so quickly. The American Legion has set up a scholarship fund for her daughter. I’ll be putting money in that pot and missing one of Antigua’s brightest stars, the girl with the Mona Lisa smile and the heart of gold.

Reference note: Profile and video of Marcía Sis, Revue Magazine, August 09 edition online

Dr. John Cheatham, 1940-2009

John was born in Griffin, Georgia, on Nov. 29, 1940. He graduated from high school at the Westminster Schools in Atlanta. After serving his country as a sergeant in the Army Special Forces, which included a tour of duty in Vietnam, he completed his undergraduate work at Georgetown University. Not content with traditional career patterns, however, he earned a commercial pilot’s license and then set out to travel the world. John frequently worked as a bush pilot in Africa and New Guinea. He seemed to show up in places of civil unrest, though always he denied any involvement in these affairs.

During this period of John’s life, there was a stint as a crocodile hunter on the Amazon. While in the region, he somehow persuaded his sister, Elizabeth, to accompany him on a 2,500-mile trip down the Amazon in a non-motorized dugout canoe. The trip started at the river’s headwaters in Peru and finished in Manaus, Brazil, where civilization then began. Along the way, there was a particularly troublesome encounter with an anaconda longer than the boat.

Briefly succumbing to conventional pressures, John returned to the United States and attended Columbia University where he received an MBA degree. Then followed a financial career abroad, but one in which he never felt fulfilled. Business was never John’s passion and he simply refused to live life without passion. Though John was never one to be imprisoned by what others thought he should do, it was not until his late 30s that John identified his life purpose and set out to become a medical doctor working with the poor in the underdeveloped world. He decided upon ophthalmology as a specialization, as he considered cataract surgery to be the most effective medical procedure in the poor world. He saw the opportunity to give sight to the blind who lived in areas too remote to be helped by others.

At that time, however, no one John’s age was ever admitted to American medical schools and he was rebuffed in his attempts to study medicine for years. However, John refused to give up his dream and spent 10 years struggling to overcome obstacles before finally getting his medical degree. Early on, he simply bought medical books and self-taught himself enough to pass Part 1 of the national medical boards and this before ever attending medical school. Then there were years of multiple schools in multiple countries, with his study of medicine including elements in French, Spanish, English and Portuguese. Eventually, two influential people recognized what John had to offer the world and took up his cause. They managed to bend rules to have him admitted to the Medical College of Georgia where he excelled. Quite likely, John is the only graduate of that school who never completed a single pre-med course.

John went on to practice ophthalmology for 20 years in the underdeveloped world. In that time he never received a dollar of salary nor charged a patient for the surgery received or for the all-important logistics that made the surgery possible. John had taken the time to learn the needs of the poor; he walked amongst them. He understood how difficult it was for the poor and blind of remote areas to find their way to medical facilities. Instead, he went looking for them, always contending that the surgical aspect was the easiest part of giving sight to the blind. John knew it took a lot of mud on the boots as well as well as good medical skills, and he was prepared to give both. Though he certainly never kept score, it seems safe to say that over 20,000 people regained their sight due to his efforts and the team he led.

John’s other interests over the years included flying, parachuting, judo, scuba diving, travel (people would try to name a country that he hadn’t visited), languages (he spoke 11 and many fluently), hiking, reading and the study of history. In May of this year, he embarked on his greatest adventure of all when he persuaded his longtime companion and often co-worker, Dr. Anne Schlueter, to marry him.

Many have said that John strongly influenced their lives. We know that his life example inspired quite a few people into medicine. Others considered him to be their mentor. All who crossed his path found him encouraging. Being around John just left one with the feeling that they could do better in their own lives and with the desire to want to try.

Throughout it all, John lived a simple life. He did not own a home, a car, or a cell phone. His possessions consisted only of a closet full of items at his mother’s home and that which he carried with him when he traveled. Yet with so few accessories, he accomplished so much. People often marveled at John’s life and asked if he would ever write an autobiography. This question he would laughingly dismiss, saying that too many people write books while too few read books. However, he did say once that should he ever change his mind, the book’s title would be A Life without Furniture.

On Friday, Nov. 6, in accordance with John’s wishes, he was cremated and his ashes scattered without ceremony or memorial. He wanted no flowers to be sent or donations made on his behalf.

A single life produces much radiance when that person follows his dreams, tries to do what is right and refuses to let obstacles stand in the way. John Cheatham did all that. The world is better for his having lived. We are better for having known him. Though his life may have ended too soon, it was a life complete in so many ways.
John is survived by his wife Anne, mother Elizabeth, sister Elizabeth, brothers Jackson and Harvey, nieces Lizzie and Anne-Marisa, and so many here and abroad who called him friend.

Publishers Note: This obituary was obtained at www.missioneyes.net/latest-news/1/457-a-life-without-furniture-john-cheatham-md-1940-2009 where you can read postings honoring Dr. John Cheatham from friends the world over. Friends in Guatemala can also add remembrances.

Thomas Griffin 1934 - 2009

 He was born in Oklahoma and raised in Texas. Lake Atitlán expats called him “Mississippi Tom” to distinguish him from another Texan, also named Tom, and because he settled in Mississippi in the sixties after stints in harvesting wheat, being a grocer, and trapping king crabs off of Alaska. In Meridan, Mississippi, he ran a janitorial business, and restored several old cars to mint condition.

To his Guatemalan neighbors in Santa Cruz la Laguna, he was not Mississippi but Tomacito. He became a salient personality there, popular for his kindness, charm and generosity, but also for his recall of fellow crooner Presley’s lyrics, which he enjoyed singing a capella. He also entertained the curious with his yodeling, an art form rarely seen in highland Guatemala.

Griffin had come to Santa Cruz in 1992 looking for somewhere to eventually retire, drawn by the lake’s beauty. While there, he built a house in the town for himself and his wife, Linda, and then a second house. At about this time, Tom gave up marathon running, which he had done for decades, but increased his fishing for crappie and lake bass. He kept only what he could eat, and gave the rest to neighbors.

In 2007, Tom moved to Panajachel, where, among other things, he joined the Panajachel Players, a group of local thesbians made up of expats and Guatemalans. One memorable performance was in April, at a Vaudeville directed by Barbara Ramey. In Tom’s rendition of Presley’s I’m All Shook Up, he sang and shimmied opposite Players star Thilda Horn, a Santa Cruz neighbor. Their act earned more laughs and cheers during the run of the Vaudeville than did any other gig.

Surviving Tom is his daughter, Kathy Wright, also of Panajachel, two granddaughters and three great grandchildren in Lubbock, Texas. “He was a good man,” Kathy says. “Everyone will miss him.”

Pat grew up outside of Philadelphia, Pa. During World War II she trained as a nurse at Bryn Mawr Hospital and later worked as a physician’s assistant, an insurance broker, a real estate agent and an agent for a classical guitarist and a jazz band. A tennis and badminton player, Pat also organized events in the sport of indoor badminton for many years, running a U.S. Open, national and Mid-Atlantic championships and several international competitions. She coached a junior badminton program for 30 years and taught badminton at Swathmore College, Springside School and Germantown Friends School.

In addition to her many years in Guatemala, Pat was an avid traveler, with extensive trips to Europe, including Greece and Italy; Latin America; Asia; and Africa. Pat also wrote poetry and children’s stories, including a book that was published in Guatemala. She was an excellent bridge player and, earlier in her life, played classical guitar.

Pat is survived by her two children and their families, Diane Cornell and Margaret Flinner, Peter and Jo Cornell, her sister Janet Graham; and brother Edward Rainsford. She will also be remembered fondly by many friends in Guatemala.

Memorial services were held for Pat Cornell in the United States. Contributions in her memory may be made to WINGS, 793 Ashbury St, San Francisco, CA 94117. The website is www.wingsguate.org.

Publishers note: To know Pat was to love and admire her. She lived her life with integrity, with grace and with great humor. Her passing was a loss to friends from all walks of life, the world over. We will miss her so much.

Jack Clinton McGovern, 64, beloved teacher and movie lore expert, has lost his battle with cancer. The Tarzan novel he was writing remains unfinished.

Jack McGovern (in hat), at his 2001 retirement (from LIFE School) party, makes a humorous attempt at dapperness.

During his 20 years in Panajachel, Jack was respected by expats of every ideological bent and by uncounted Guatemalans, many of whom studied under him at LIFE School. He had a crusty, and, in his early years in Guatemala, underclad exterior. But all who knew him even casually knew he was kind, though nonplussed by his kindness. He grew gardenias and regaled students’ mothers with them.

Jack had taught abroad in places like Chile and Sweden. While still employed at Guatemala City’s American school, expat Jennifer Martin cornered him in Chalo’s grocery and hired him as the first teacher at LIFE, which Martin had just chartered. He was the only person available with proper teaching credentials, if not proper attire.

“He was ‘Shirtless Jack’ back then,” Martin notes. “All he wore was shorts.” As a new staffer at LIFE, he added T-shirts and flip-flops to his attire.

“I had the unique honor of having Jack teach all four of my kids,” Martin adds. “He was the most inspirational teacher. All my kids felt the same. He really taught them things that served them in their lives. Peace, Jack!”

“Jack was my true mentor in Panajachel,” says LIFE principal George Nippo. “I arrived fresh from college to teach at LIFE. He took me under his wing and taught me the ropes.”

“The world is sadder without him.” says friend Gary Hagan. “I’m sure he’s still cheering the Cubbies.”

Humanitarian, entrepreneur, and one of the founders of Modern Panajachel

Bruce Barclay, founder of a worker’s paradise in Panajachel, has died. The New Yorker of Jewish heritage was 60.

After arriving in Panajachel in 1978, Barclay had a vision for the east bank of the San Francisco River, which bisects Panajachel. He purchased the upper riverside and created a magnet for impoverished Mayas seeking a better deal from life. Bruce Barclay offered them one.

These people possessed what stoneware maven Ken Edwards calls a “corporate artistic gift,” a talent shared by whole communities. The local Mayas can take an introduced artistic medium and, without training, instinctively render it in new and beautiful permutations.

Anthropologists had long been fascinated by the phenomenon. But while interest was high, capital and connections were scarce. Barclay changed all this, first by launching a ceramic cooperative to produce authentic items for export.

He profited by selling what he bought from his beneficiaries to his own small chain of storefront clothiers in the U.S. and to other retailers. He did as much as anyone to bring Guatemalan típico into the vogue it enjoyed in the United States by the 1980s. In doing so, he helped scores of families avert the bleak privation suffered by transient seasonal laborers and sharecroppers.

“He treated indigenous folks with deep respect,” says Rosa Queché Can, who as a teen began working for Barclay in 1980. “He looked out for our families in every way. He was always bettering our lives.” Barclay even paid for the construction and staffing of a free clinic, which opened not just to his workers but to their needy neighbors—some of whom would became loyal employees.

Barclay named a parcel of his land Las Manos (The Hands) to honor the artisans’ handiwork, then built houses for them on property outside of the Las Manos compound. (Eventually, the surrounding neighborhood also came to be called Las Manos.) Barclay deducted the costs for this from his workers’ wages; but, at the same time, he compensated by paying them far above the required minimum, enabling them to afford their “mortgages.” In effect, Barclay gave them homes even as he preserved their dignity.

Barclay built other cottages at Las Manos and rented them at below-market rates to starving artists, peddlers, volunteer humanitarians and anyone else needing a break. For all of these, and for his workers’ families, he added a swimming pool. He electrified the district at his own expense, buying transformers so that not only his people but others outside of Pana’s core (electrified in 1961), could enjoy modern comforts.

Over time, woodcraft, jewelry, tie-dye, stained-glass and other workshops joined the ceramic taller. Barclay also initiated Panajachel’s first-ever recycling program, and established a school, now public (see Escuela Tzalá sidebar).
In 1996, Barclay chartered the Las Manos Foundation to preserve and continue his legacy. Two years later, he moved to California, but made frequent trips to Panajachel to shepherd Las Manos’ industries. One trip followed Hurricane Stan in October 2005.

“The first thing Bruce wanted to know,” says his longtime assistant, Rufino Caníz, “was if everyone was OK [since people were killed during Stan]. He was relieved to hear that they were.” Only then did he inquire about the property. Flooding had carried off about 30% of the compound, including the pool, workshops and five houses.

“Bruce was irascible, a champion cusser, and seemingly cynical,” says one Panajachel neighbor. “But his greatest joy was in seeing others make good with the hand he extended them. That restored his faith. But he was embarrassed by people’s reactions to his generosity, so a lot of it was anonymous.”
“He had his faults,” says Californian Steve Cleaver, another friend. “But he had a big heart.”

“He was way more than just a boss,” adds Caníz, who will manage Las Manos. “He was my friend and father for years. A truly great guy.”

“If anyone deserves to be in God’s presence,” says artisan Margarita Can, “it’s Don Bruce. He did so much for my family. We are what we are because of him. We’ll see him in Eternity someday. God bless him.”

Barclay is survived by four grown children: Terra, Bella, Kenneth, Gwendolyn, and JoJo.

The Short, Happy History of Escuela Tzalá

Many do-gooders come to Guatemala, but few leave an entire school in their footprint. Bruce Barclay was one who did.

Barclay’s workers’ paradise would have been incomplete without a school, so he built one on his own property. He paid all the construction costs from his own pocket, then furnished the rooms, bought teaching materials and hired teachers.

Though Barclay built the school for his artisans’ children, he found that he could not turn away other kids whose families wanted them to attend a school that was not only in their neighborhood, but a cut above any other in town. In fact, Escuela Tzalá is today recognized as one of Guatemala’s finest public schools, thanks to a sponsor whose generosity reached legendary magnitudes.

At first, the school offered only two grades. The plan was to add one grade per year but, by 2003, it was a full K-through-six school. After Barclay had paid teachers’ salaries for five years, his assistant, Rufino Caníz, petitioned the education ministry to assume responsibility. This they did in 2003, at which time a ministry official arbitrarily renamed the school Escuela Tzalá.

The institution was moved down the street and rebuilt, but it still bears Barclay’s mark and owes its genesis to him. A movement is afoot to change its name from Escuela Tzalá to Escuela Bruce Barclay.

“I’m talking to the people from the education ministry about this,” Caníz says. 
“I think it will happen. It should!”