garrison beau scott

I met Pablo in May of 1993 during orientation for Brooks. At the time, Brooks was still privately owned and run by the family who started the school and class size was small. I think there were 14 students in that BA-1 class, but even in that intimate setting, Pablo was still a bit shy. But who could blame a kid from Guatemala for that? The thing that struck me about Pablo immediately after was how nice he was, probably one of the sweetest people I’ve ever known.

For the next four years, I’d have plenty of opportunity to get to know him as our paths at Brooks would run almost parallel. Even though the program was intended to last just 3 years, both Pablo and I took time off and found ourselves graduating together in February of 1997. One of Pablo’s trademarks was just barely getting his assignments in on time. You could often find him in the lab mere minutes before critique putting the finishing touches on his project, and then the Guatemalan Hurricane would dash off to crit. I have many memories of class having just started when the door would burst open, Pablo would enter with his print in hand, place it on the crit rack and then calmly walk to his seat. A look of relief and a bead of sweat replaced by that million dollar smile of his.

But my favorite memory of Pablo comes from the morning of graduation. True to form, he’s working up to the very last minute before the assignment is due, in this case, himself. Only this time he needs a little bit of help. He doesn’t know how to tie his tie. It’s in his hand and he’s looking around for someone to do it for him and then he spots me.

“Of course Pablo, I’d be honored to tie it for you.”

We talked briefly about how fitting it was that four years after we first met, with everyone from that original BA-1 class either graduated or dropped out that we’d both be standing there together with me helping him with his tie. Our conversation was about joy and satisfaction, the irony of the moment and a bit of the reminiscing that occurs on graduation day. Not once did we mention cancer.

On that morning cancer was the farthest thing from our minds, the cancer that would ultimately claim Pablo’s life was still a few years away and his million dollar smile was allowed to shine without the strain of life’s unfair test. I fixed his tie, giving it a dignified knot and then we walked into graduation.

I’d have contact with him many times after that day. We exchanged prints, spoke on the phone a few times and I even had to hunt him down once when a friend of mine saw a photo of his on my site and wanted to publish it in a book she was producing. That was the last time I spoke to Pablo. I could hear his smile, though I could also hear it being tested. We talked about a few things, including life since graduation, the tie, and then about cancer. He said he was going to beat it. I think that was the only time he ever lied.