Remembering Those We Lost in 2020
As we start this new year, we wanted to take a moment to honor the friends and family we’ve lost. As of the date of publication, the number of people who’ve died of coronavirus in Catalunya since the start of the pandemic is over 18,000. We are all heavy with the weight of those losses, and with the knowledge that the pandemic isn’t over.
In the United States, the current number of COVID-19 reported deaths now exceeds 400,000—more than the total number of Americans who died in World War II (291,557), the Korean War (36,574), the Vietnam War (58,220), the War in Iraq (4,431) and the War in Afghanistan (2,445).
Here in Spain we are in the midst of the third wave and the number is close to 54,000 deaths—a bit more than half the population of the city of Girona.
In the United Kingdom, the number of COVID-19 deaths will soon surpass 90,000 and its citizens are under another strict lockdown as they grapple to contain the virus’ spread.
Culturally, politically, economically, the world is a mess; the COVID-19 crisis has highlighted glaring inequities and in some cases, deepened our divisions. But, it has also reminded us, as crises tend to do, of what we have in common. Something about human nature makes us come together in an emergency. We saw it happen after 9/11 in 2001. Catastrophic events seem to alter our perspective, making all the petty complaints and grievances fade away in contrast to the magnitude of what we’re all experiencing together. The value of friends, family, community are suddenly thrown into focus.
Struggling Together
The year 2020 was arguably the first time in a century that the entire world was united in a common struggle, united in fear, uncertain of how to move forward, filled with anxiety over what it will cost us and worried about the future. It has marked each of us in different ways.
The pandemic has made illness and death topics of daily conversation and 24-hour news cycle headlines. Even though we are reminded constantly of our many losses in countless ways—maybe because of it—it can be challenging to really grasp what the numbers mean. It can be all too easy to forget that these statistics represent real people—actual individuals we used to see on the metro, or at Carrefour.
When someone is suddenly no longer there, we take stock of the space that person filled. For example, when an artist dies, everyone re-posts videos of their old live performances on social media, buys their album, plays them on the radio. I used to joke with my mom that the best thing I could do for my career was die young. The joke seemed funny until friends of mine started dying.
But this is not an article to grieve, even though we are grieving. This is not a list of obituaries. This is us taking a moment in the middle of this crisis to raise a glass and say salut and thank you to just a few of the many members of our community who are no longer here to see what trials and triumphs the new year will bring.
We raise our glasses to those we’ve lost, not just because they’re gone, but because of what they gave us while they were here. As we move forward in 2021—with all our hopes for the future and our fears of the unknown—we do so accompanied by the knowledge, experience, and light that was a gift from those who aren’t here to see it.
Danny Lippitt (Singer and Voiceover Actor)
Better known as “Danny the Lip,” the Atlanta-born American blues singer was a familiar face on the Barcelona music scene for the past 15 years, whether with a trio at upscale private events, with his bands The Gangsters of Love, The Downlow, and Coyote and the Lip, or organizing Tom Waits tribute concerts. He also lent his voice to various commercials as a voiceover artist, and for a while he co-hosted an English-language radio show called Barnamerica on Barcelona City FM, in which he promoted other local and national contemporaries.
The Lip was one of those guys who you’d be just as likely to find in a speakeasy or a rock and roll bar with a beer or a microphone or both in his hand as at home sipping tea and reading Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse. Onstage he was a dynamic performer, one minute singing a heartfelt love song to his longtime girlfriend Ayesha, the next growling into the mic and literally driving staples into his chest for shock value and theatrical effect. (Ouch!) He spoke his mind, wasn’t afraid of exploring unfamiliar territory, and loved music to the bone.
A scholarship for young musicians has been set up in his honor at his alma mater, Tulane University.
Dolors Sala (Housewife)
In the town where she lived, Santpedor, Dolors Sala was a well-known figure. She looked like any other nice lady from around the corner who enjoyed catching up with her neighbors in the square on a sunny day. The Catalan actress and playwright Clara del Ruste, who lived nearby, said in an interview with El Mundo, “you could always find her in the square, chatting with friends.” Writer Ramón Besa described her as kind, dignified, well-loved, but avoiding the spotlight to the point of being almost anonymous.
But one of Sala’s four sons, Pep Guardiola, knows the spotlight very well, and is more than a little bit famous. A former Barça player and trainer, he is now manager for the Manchester City football club in the UK. Back in March, he made headlines for donating a million euros to help the Fundació Àngel Soler Daniel—which is the entity that runs the College of Medicine of Barcelona—purchase PPE, respirators and other equipment to help in the fight against COVID-19.
Sala’s attitude towards fame and the international press was indifferent (unless it had to do with her son) but football clubs around Europe, including Manchester City, FC Barcelona, and A.S. Roma all paid public tribute to Sala after her passing from complications due to COVID-19.
Jaume Espina (Journalist)
Born and bred in San Cugat, Espina only became a journalist after he retired from corporate life at the age 65 and surprised his family and friends by enrolling in the journalism program at the Universitat Autónoma de Barcelona. After successfully completing his bachelor’s degree, Espina launched himself on the adventure that would be his second full-time career. He talked often and at length about the importance of “real” journalism, and of looking for the truth behind people’s motivations when telling a story.
It’s a hard call as to which was the true love of Espina’s professional life: sports or journalism. He not only covered sports for the local newspapers, he was also one of the founders of the Mira-sol Football Club and participated in all kinds of other sports-related community organizations, including acting as president of the Basketball and Tennis Sports Union of Sant Cugat.
Near the end of his life the sportswriter surprised everyone again by announcing that he was working on a blog and a possible book documenting local tattoo culture. Known for being generous and full of life, his sweet smile and mild manner hid strong opinions. The mayor of Sant Cugat, Mireia Ingla, took to social media to mourn his passing.
José Manuel Sánchez Ortega (Surgeon)
Dr. Ortega was a celebrated digestive surgeon, having worked at several of the major hospitals in Barcelona: Hospital de Sant Pau Hospital, Hospital Vall d'Hebron, Hospital de Bellvitge and finally the Hospital del Mar, where he was Emeritus Chief of Surgery. His reputation as a surgeon was so good, other doctors would specifically request that he be the one to operate on them if they needed surgery. His friends used to say he was so tall and thin, he reminded them of Don Quixote.
There are countless stories of patients whose lives he saved, as well as of his humility and kindness. He won awards for professional excellence, yet all descriptions of him call him a great surgeon but an even better person. One former patient tells the story of having run an errand for Ortega back when he was a very young doctor in a town near Salamanca—how “José” as he insisted on being called, also insisted that the boy he’d sent to the tobacco shop keep the change from the purchase because he’d “bothered” the boy while he was playing ball with friends. The change, two and a half pesetas, was five times the boy’s weekly allowance, and meant a lot to the family at the time.
Dr. Ortega was one of the first doctors in Catalunya to die from complications due to the coronavirus during the pandemic.
Manuel Alferez Canos (Photographer)
Canos was all over the local scene, covering events both large and small, from rehearsal spaces to Barcelona’s biggest stages. He loved the nightlife, and in spite of his tough-looking exterior was known for his consistent kindness, upbeat demeanor and unflagging support of local artists. His photos documented the authentic underground scene in Barcelona over the past thirty years. He was more likely to promote the underdog than worry about adding names to his portfolio.
A friend and fellow photographer tells the story of arriving late to an event at the Apolo. As he was trying to make his way through a packed crowd towards the front, he saw a group of photographers clumped together to the right of the stage and thought, “Ok, everyone is on that side of the room, so I may as well try to capture a different angle.” (The Apolo as a rule doesn’t designate any particular area or “pit” for the photographers.) As he pushed his way all the way up to the left side of the stage, he felt a hand clap onto his shoulder. It was Canos, who had arrived early and had been already comfortably situated with his camera at the ready. But seeing his friend headed in the wrong direction, Canos left his well-defended spot and fought through the throng all the way from the other side of the stage to say, “Hey man, there’s a pit for once—that’s why we’re all on the other side!”
Canos was also founder of the online magazine La Hormigonera de Rock, dabbled in DJing, and was a bassist in the iconic Spanish punk rock band Decibelios.
Ángel Castillejo Pizarro (Factory Worker)
Everybody knew him as Elías. The relative who went to register the baby boy’s birth in the official registry thought that the name Ángel was a more appropriate one than the name the parents had picked out, as it was a traditional name for the males in the family. This anonymous relative never informed the parents of what he’d done, so Pizarro only found out that his given name was actually Ángel when he was called up for mandatory military service.
Like so many others during the 1960s, he emigrated to Catalunya from Andalusia. He got married, had three children, worked hard and partied hard. He was known for being the life of the party, a joke always at the ready.
According to his nephew José, who works at a medical center in Barcelona, Pizarro loved the small pleasures in life, and always had a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other—regardless of his doctors’ orders. He even used to bargain with his family when he was in the final stages of COVID-19: either they let him smoke a few puffs of one of his favorite cigars, or he wouldn’t take his insulin for his diabetes.
“A leopard can’t change its spots,” says José. “That’s who he was. But that’s why we loved him.”
Each of these anecdotes was constructed from firsthand stories and/or quotes by people who knew them personally.