Motley crew — Seen is the 1960 Frank Roberts Hornets’ championship football team. Some players wore jeans because there were not enough uniforms to go around. Arturo Flores is seen third from the right in the front row. (Archival photo/Hector R. Barrera, Ph.D.)
By HECTOR R. BARRERA, PH.D.
Special to the NEWS
Today, I received the news that a friend, Arturo P. Flores (1949-2025), has passed away. I have difficulty putting words together to describe someone like him who crosses a person’s path and gives of themselves without asking or expecting anything.
Perhaps you have known a relative or a friend who was or is never far from your thoughts. You remember them because of their genuineness. Their smile radiates a warmth that welcomes you when you meet. They share openly and never presume to know more than anyone. Arturo was one of these rare individuals.
Arturo was raised across the street from where I lived in el barrio El Jardin. He was some years younger than those I hung around with (that included his older brother). In the 1950s and 1960s, it was not uncommon for younger brothers to follow us and want to be a part of our activities.
Although we protested at times, we had no choice as our parents were the last word. Consequently, a group of younger brothers would tag along behind us wherever we went. They trudged along on our long, exploring hikes, swam in the canales and resaca, sold newspapers, shined shoes, and picked cotton with us – never complaining.
During the football season, Frank Roberts’ coach, Mr. Moncivaiz, had to contend with this group of fearless warriors as well. You can see some of them here in the 1960 football championship picture.
They composed most of the team; some wore their jeans because there were not enough uniforms to go around. Arturo is third from the right in the front row.
Despite the difficult and hard times of his early years in el barrio, Arturo never lost that welcoming spark for life. I lost track of him during my tours in Vietnam, but years later, when we reconnected, he was the same – a little older, but with the same big, caring heart. I always looked forward to and enjoyed our visits when I was passing through Texas on my way home. Those moments were filled with laughter and tears, ignited by memories of growing up together.
When he left us, he was married, had raised a family, was an accomplished craftsman, a former police chief, enjoyed singing, and had self-published a book, among other things. So, how do you say goodbye to someone more than just a friend — someone who treated you as family, always respectful?
Someone once said, “…bring me gifts while I am here; not when I’m gone and unable to enjoy them.”
These few cherished words are only sprinkles. We exchanged the gifts of life every time we met, knowing there would come a time when we would say farewell.
Muchas gracias for your unconditional friendship, Arturo, and farewell.
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