Canto CDXXVII: One Final Ofrenda for Rudy Cordova

Gentle cabrones:

The video I received was as moving as it was short.

A suburban home somewhere in SanTana. A mariachi on the back of a flatbed truck decorated in papel picado. A group of people listening to the music from the porch, surrounding the man of the hour: Rudy Cordova, bundled up in a wheelchair.

Santanero to the max. Son of Mexican immigrants from Guanajuato, son of the city. Father to three sons. Created a gift shop in 2005 with his then-wife Jackie called Calacas that bridged the gap between the mexicanos who looked south for their cultural cues and Chicanos who’ve been here for generations. Taught them them to take pride in their shared SanTana, the biggest little barrio in the world.

Connected with the Centro Cultural de México to grow their annual Día de los Muertos celebration, Noche de Altares. Spun off with his brother Gabriel their own Day of the Dead event, Viva la Vida. Opened with Jackie a delicious cafe called Cafe Calacas that eventually turned into the wildly popular Cafe y Cultura. Became a sales manager for Suavecito. Co-owner of downtown pizza spot Santos Pizza.

Everywhere you look in SanTana, there’s Rudy’s legacy. Murals, protests, lowriders. Fundraisers, book signings, punk shows. Rudy created the spaces or supported the spaces or supported the santaneros doing their things with money, with promotion, with connection and always, always with his manpower and radiant smile.

Rudy couldn’t give himself completely to organize this year’s Viva la Vida, held Nov. 1 in downtown SanTana. He was ill. He had been ill. So those who took his torch brought one final ofrenda to him — complete with a catrina — as gratitude for everything Rudy had brought and taught to SanTana.

Rudy Cordova died two days later. He was 52.

This past Monday, the city that loved him so came out to honor Rudy one final time.

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The Waverly Chapel at Fairhaven Memorial Park and Mortuary was packed when I walked in Monday around 9:30 in the morning. In front of it was a fleet of lowriders, including Rudy’s immaculate white-and-orange Bel Air station wagon. Nearby was where Rudy’s final resting place would be, in the Cordova family plot.

People sat inside and lingered outside. The shells from an Aztec dancing troupe rattled around a corner. At the main entrance was an ofrenda with mementos from Rudy’s life.

School IDs from Saddleback High to MacArthur Fundamental Intermediate School. AYSO soccer coach. Certificates of recognition from the state Senate, the County of Orange, the city of Santa Ana. Photos from vacations, from protests, from family gatherings. Jerseys: Mookie Betts #50 with the Dodgers, an L.A. Galaxy one and a green Mexico soccer kit with 73, the year of his birth.

Paper marigolds and monarch butterflies, of course. Photos from his life, never not smiling. Covering the table that held the altar was a Mexican flag. A stack of memorial cards featured Rudy in the front and a dicho in the back: La muerto no existe, la gente sólo muere cuando la olvidan; si puedes recordarme, siempre estaré contigo.

Death doesn’t exist, people only die when they’re forgotten; if you can remember me, I’ll always be with you.

I saw Rudy as recently as earlier this year around the opening of Santos. About a month and a half ago, I heard that he was ill. I lost his cell so made a note to try and reach out to him via social media sooner rather than later.

I never did.

I’ll always remembered his quiet laugh and how he was always on the move to help. How we were always too busy doing our things to really, truly hang out except the one time I went over to his house with his family to watch an episode of Lost (before the ABC show — no pun intended — lost its way). I’ll forever treasure the artwork he made and gave me of a small mirror surrounded by a wooden frame painted with oranges and freeways and “ORANGE COUNTY” in Gothic script.

A gentle giant, a cultural giant.

Not gone.

Día de los Muertos is not my thing and never will be, for reasons known only to me. But I’m glad it’s become a cultural phenomenon thanks to people like Rudy mainstreaming the holiday. The general idea is that the dead never leave us — that they’re always around if only we care to pay attention, as Rudy’s memorial card reminded us. For one day, we’re allowed communion with the faithful departed and thus put out candles and decorate altars so they can return and indulge in what they loved during their mortal life. It’s also a chance to let others know about who that person (or people) were.

We live in the SanTana Rudy Cordova helped to create, a city that will go on as a perpetual ofrenda to him.

I couldn’t stay long for the viewing and at all for the service and burial. But offered my condolences to Jackie and Gabriel. More people were streaming in as I left, photographers and librarians and DJs and activists and poets and musicians and Dreamers and people I didn’t recognize. Before I left, someone let me know there would be a celebration of Rudy’s life in front of Santos later that afternoon.

As the event went on in the evening, friends asked where I was. Teaching my History of Orange County course at UC Irvine, where I’ll be including Rudy next year in my lectures the way I already do in my Latinx History of Orange County class at Chapman University.

I rushed out of my UCI course to try and catch the end of Rudy’s celebration but it was over by the time I arrived. They had blocked off the street in front of Santos, just like Rudy used to do for so many events, his and others. On Instagram, I saw musical groups and photos and even more people of what had happened just hours — just an hour! — before.

I asked those who remained if I could help break down, but someone said they were just happy I showed up, even as late as I did. Around us, people lugged chairs and mics and speaker just like Rudy would’ve done.

Rudy’s beautiful Bel Air suddenly revved up. Its lights switched on. Someone told me his sons had worked on it in the wake of their dad’s passing to bring the car back to life.

Rudy would’ve been proud. Rudy would’ve helped. Rudy would’ve smiled.

**

Enough rambling. This was the semana that was:

IMAGE OF THE WEEK: The group photo for Guti’s Fookin’ Ingrate Book Club’s last meeting with Lisa Alvarez (Canto CDXX) and her brilliant Some Final Beauty: And Other Stories. You’re missing out on my book club, folks, so JOIN.

QUOTE OF THE WEEK: “Well, you can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs.”

“Where’s the omelette?” — George Orwell, to a Communist sympathizer defending the Stalin regime.

LISTENING: “Devuélveme a Mi Chica,” Hombres G. Even before I got into rock en español, I knew this classic — how could I not as a continually heartbroken nerd with vengeance in my dreams that never happened except knowing I would be a winner in LYFE? The wails at the end, the smarmy lyrics, the shimmering guitar strums — and what the hell is picapica? A harbinger of Pikachus vengeance to come? Hence included in Gustavo Arellano’s Weekly Radiola of Randomness YouTube songlist, where I’ve included every song I’ve ever featured in a canto — give it a spin!

READING: “The Mythical Mahogany that Helped Build the American Empire”: When I was in college, JSTOR was one of two databases where I dreamed the academic papers I wanted to write would one day end up (the other was Project MUSE). I still use it to find the works of others, but I especially love their JSTOR Daily, where academics dive into papers from the past to make those findings understandable to the lay person. Like this paper, which is all about imperialism and rapacious capitalism — the headline is a bit sensationalistic, but the final sentence is a dagger.

BUY MY NEW CO-BOOK! People’s Guide to Orange County tells an alternative history of OC through the scholarship and reporting of myself, Elaine Lewinnek, and Thuy Vo Dang. There’ll be signings all year — in meanwhile, buy your copy TODAY. And, yes: I’ll autograph it!

Gustavo Events  

Dec. 5, 6 p.m.: I’ll be in short conversation with El Martillo Press publisher Matt Sedillo after his great tribe of contributors read at The Untold Story, 301 N. Anaheim Blvd., Ste. D, Anacrime. Reading, FREE; books, BARATO.

Dec. 6, 11 a.m.: Join me as I get FAAAAAADED with Lalo Alcaraz as he sells copies of his 2026 calendars along with his legendary prints at my honey’s Alta Baja Market, 201 E. Fourth St., Ste. 101, SanTana. Hanging out, FREE; booze and calendars, BARATO.

Dec. 14, 2:45 p.m.: I'll be in conversation with Ilan Stavans and Margaret Boyle, co-authors of the spectacular Sabor Judío: The Jewish Mexican Cookbook at the Skirball Cultural Center as part of their Hannukah Festival, 2701 N. Sepulveda Blvd., Los Angeles. $20 — but that get you access to the full festival!

Gustavo in the News

“Faith Leaders Offering “Moral Clarity and Sharp Contrast” Against Mass Deportation”: Made it into a press release!

“Federal immigration agents hit Charlotte, N.C., this week. Residents fought back”: A Los Angeles Times newsletter you should subscribe to plugs a columna of mine.

“UC Irvine Digest”: UCI’s roundup of stuff its various schools and departments wrote about themselves plugs Clockwork Coker’s writeup of me, complete with photo.

Gustavo Stories 

“Grítale a Guti”: Latest edition of my Tuesday night IG Live free-for-all.

“Westminster designates street in honor of Charlie Kirk”: My latest KCRW “Orange County Line” commentary talks about the headline at hand.

"Columnist: 'The Trump administration really goes for the easiest people'”: I appear on the first time on CNN’s The Story Is, the new show by Elex Michaelson, who used to have me on Fox 11 all the time — and here I am! Like I told Elex what Ronnie Hawkins told The Band in The Last Waltz: big time!

“To fight for immigrants, Pope Leo XIV should highlight his own heritage”: My latest National Catholic Reporter columna talks about how the pontiff should stand up to the Heritage American pendejos of the world. KEY QUOTE: “My America is that of what Catholicism became in the United States after the sins of Serra: a faith founded on immigrants whom church fathers largely encouraged to hold on to their own national devotions and customs because all our parallel roads led to the glorious roundabout that is Mother Church.”

“Car wash workers already had it tough. Then immigration raids slammed them to the ground”: My latest L.A. Times columna talks about one of my favorite pieces of music EVER. KEY QUOTE: “Melendrez waved to a section of the office covered in black tarps — they’re turning that section into a room so its volunteers and workers can speak with the families of detained carwasheros in privacy.”

You made it this far down? Gracias! Follow me on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram while you’re down here by clicking on their logos down below. Don’t forget to forward this newsletter to your compadres y comadres! You can’t get me tacos anymore, but you sure as hell can give them — and more — to the O.C. Catholic Worker!