They
were raised in farm country and not wealthy. Both
men traced
their ancestors far back, one to a
conquistador traveling our valley in 1598, the
other to a young Brit
who immigrated in 1635.
One
served four years in the Navy during World War II, the other
graduated from the Naval Academy right after the war.
Each
was a partner in a loving, lifelong marriage that could be an example
to all of us. (Death ended one after 63 years and will soon end the
other after 76.)
They
were deeply religious (one Catholic, one Southern Baptist, until the
Baptists ceased letting women be pastors.) Both were gentle,
courteous, and thoughtful, yet could be firm when appropriate.
As
boys, both saw ethnic prejudices up close.
One
was Hispanic/Anglo. When he and his wife moved out to an old house
in Mesilla (not yet so fancy), visitors from his professional life
said, “You can’t raise your kids in this sort of place.” He
replied, “I was born in this sort of place.” The other, a white
southern boy, lived in a village populated mostly by “coloreds.”
His staunchly segregationist father let him befriend Black farmhands’
kids. Both grew to oppose racism passionately.
Both
continued to serve the public into their 90s. When one retired from
teaching, he got talked into running for our state legislature and
served 20 years, known as “the Conscience of the Legislature.”
For the rest of his life, he actively supported progressive ideas and
inspired and mentored younger candidates. The other, after politics,
won a Nobel Prize and was fostering peace and hammering nails with
Habitat for Humanity for decades.
J.
Paul Taylor was a beloved friend, with a great sense of humor. He
repeatedly amazed me. Meeting scores of people, he not only knew
everyone’s name but asked after each person’s parents, siblings,
or dog. Listening to him talk about the legislature with a mutual
friend who’d known him back then, I wondered if he ever forgot
anything.
I
never met Jimmy Carter. Wikipedia notes that “As a dark horse
candidate not well known outside of Georgia, Carter won the 1976
Democratic presidential nomination.” As a young reporter in Las
Cruces in 1975, I suddenly noticed all these middle-class folks from
Georgia walking our streets, visiting with people. They said that
soon we’d be hearing about their wonderful friend and neighbor
Jimmy Carter, ‘cause he’d be running for President. They were
sincere and persuasive, but no one felt real sure they were sane.
The
first time candidate Taylor canvassed in Mesilla, he emerged from the
first house at the same time a supporter finished a whole block. One
year, a constituent’s dog bit him. Days later, someone asked if
he’d confirmed with the owner that the dog had been vaccinated
against rabies. He said he hadn’t, because asking would make the
owner feel so terrible about the bite. He just looked over the fence
every so often to make sure the dog was acting normally.
Both
fought for justice early, without waiting ‘til it was fashionable.
J Paul did much to lessen inequality here; and Carter’s early
antiracism positions were startling in a southern politician. (Right
before and right after Carter, Georgia’s governors were virulent
racists.
These
were special people. One died this month at 102. The other, 98, is
receiving hospice care at home. Each enriched our world
considerably.
–
30 --
 |
J Paul Is 95!
|
[The
above column appeared Sunday, 26
February
2023,
in
the
Las Cruces Sun-News and on the
newspaper's website
and
on
KRWG's
website. A related radio commentary will air during the week on KRWG
(90.7
FM)
and
on KTAL (101.5 FM / http://www.lccommunityradio.org/)
and
be
available
on both
stations’ websites.]
I
previously wrote columns on J Paul June 10, 2012 ( "A
Saturday Afternoon in Mesilla" ), May 11, 2014 ( “An
Admirable Friend” ), September 7, 2015 ( "Where
Love Abides - J Paul Taylor is 95!" ) [this was prepared
as a column but events preempted it], September 3, 2017 ( "Heroes
at 97 - Marthe Cohn and J Paul Taylor" ) [this one’s
less about J Paul and more about Marthe Cohn], and September 2,
2018 ( "Civil
Political Discourse -- an Endangered Practice" ), and
mentioned him in numerous others.
He
was a wonderful man, a great friend, and, obviously, someone who
helped many, either privately, in personal relationships or as a
teacher, or publicly, as legislator and respected and beloved elder
statesman.
Reading
through those five columns, and reflecting on more private times with
Paul, is like leafing through a photo album. (And most, particularly
the one from his 95th birthday, include many photos.)
What
none of this quite says is how delightful he was to spend time with
one-on-one or in a smaller group. He stayed witty, sharp, curious,
and caring at ages most people won’t reach and many will be
querulous, quarrelsome, or no longer home. It helps that he was
beloved. (I can remember only one person in the past decade who had
something negative to say about him, and, as I recall, it was a
political grudge more than personal.) But he was beloved because he
made himself beloved, by who he was and how he treated others. (A
cherished personal memory is of his face when he spoke of my Sunday
columns and added, “I get so mad when they attack you!”)
One
day we took a ride to the home he grew up in. Kari and I interviewed
him, while Rob and sometimes I shot video. It was an interesting
visit to his past, adding a dimension to our knowledge of him.
The
second of my Sunday columns on Paul includes this:
It's
not something we've discussed, but I think he lives each day with
gratitude, as all of us should. He mourns his wife, one of his sons,
and who knows what and whom else; but while J. Paul is alive he will
not only enjoy each day but bring some joy to others.
Though
he would likely demur, he has at every stage of his life been an
example to his community. As a young man of mixed ethnicity in an
unwise world, he got on with his work; was a loving husband and
father, and a caring teacher; and (without a chip on his shoulder)
said what needed to be said, probably in a way uniquely capable of
being heard by those who needed to hear. Later, at an age when most
are preoccupied with golf or bridge, he battled politically for what
he believed. At an age most of us won't even reach, he continues to
stand up for what he believes is right. Quietly, with an apparent
humility that only makes his words more effective.
That
column was also interspersed with this a poem, for what it’s worth:
In
Mexican dress
the
children dance as they've learned.
The
village elder
has
only to smile and clap
with
delight he seems to feel.
He
has seen seasons
come
and go, fought many fights.
Now
they honor him.
His
body fails more and more,
as
they learn to control theirs.
He
waves as they pass.
He
knows all the village kids,
taught
their grandfathers.
When
a great tree dies, it leaves
a
huge hole where its roots were.
The
account of his 95th birthday party, at the Farm and Ranch
Heritage Museum, gives a flavor of J Paul:
J.
Paul is a gentleman. He is smart, funny, and sweet-natured; but when
he stands up for what he believes, he has a spine of steel.
. . .
Now,
as Paul speaks, the Organs are visible through the window behind him.
I remember listening when he spoke briefly at an outdoor press
conference of Hispanic leaders calling for support for the Monument
proposal. The nearby Robledos Mountains, part of the proposed
monument, were named for an ancestor of J. Paul's. Tonight a state
official reads a tribute birthday letter to Paul signed by Mr. and
Mrs. Obama.
. . .
Some
folks have a quality of time and culture I respect. Their generations
intertwine like vines, growing thick and strong with the decades.
They did not arrive last year from Michigan.
 |
Mark Medoff with Hope
|
The
room is full of Paul's family and friends. Many are my friends too. I
photograph a man in his
seventies, kissing his infant granddaughter, and see the 28-year-old
professor he was in 1969 who held his fiction-writing class out in
the Corbett Center lobby because classrooms were too dull. I greet a
retired judge whom I have not seen for forty years by apologizing for
what I wrote about him in the newspaper back then. (He reminds me
that trial lawyers develop thick skins.)
Watching
the genuine joy and affection with which Paul greets all these people
from so many moments in his long life, I remember his reunion at that
book-signing with a schoolmate who now lived in Hatch. They hadn't
seen each other in years. With neither able to drive, they might not
get to talk again soon – or ever. I do not see him tonight, and
wonder whether they will meet again.
Paul
combines love of history with openness to new ideas; Catholic faith
with progressive politics; and the wisdom of age with youth-like joy.
Paul
combines love of history with openness to new ideas; Catholic faith
with progressive politics; and the wisdom of age with youth-like
joy.
Paul's
beautiful house in Mesilla is a state monument that will teach
generations of children and tourists something of what life was like
in a vanished time and place.
One
of Paul's daughters said that what mattered most in that house was
“the love that abided there.” I see it in Paul's eyes.
You’ve
more than earned your rest, amigo!
