The Passing Of Paco Malo

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Blogging wasn’t supposed to hurt. Well, let’s be fair. It’s not blogging that hurts this morning. It’s me, my heart, my soul.

I learned yesterday morning that my blogging brother Jim Kearney – who wrote the blog Gold Coast Bluenote under the name of Paco Malo and posted here the same way – is gone. Notes at his Facebook page indicate that he passed away in his sleep last Thursday, June 5, in his home town of Tampa, Florida.

I hadn’t seen a comment from him here for a few weeks, and I’d thought vaguely of dropping him a line. I should have, but we all know how that goes. There’s always tomorrow, next week, next month . . . but sometimes there’s not.

Thinking back this morning, and sorting through an archive of email from the spring and summer of 2007, I can’t figure out which of us found the other first. Jim started Gold Coast Bluenote in December 2006, and there are references there to an earlier blog called Carnal Reasoning. At GCB, he wrote – far more sparely than I – about music, literature, film and more. I started Echoes In The Wind a little more than a month later, and by sometime that summer, Jim was visiting and commenting here and I was visiting and commenting there, and that shifted to email exchanges that continued sporadically for what’s been seven years.

In those exchanges, we talked about music, of course. He especially loved Derek & The Dominos’ Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs and the work those musicians did before and after that album. We talked as well about books and about film and about how all of those things reflect and inform our lives.

We talked about life itself. We’ve all got our tales and challenges, and I have a good idea of what some of Jim’s were. He wrote in his notes to me, and a little bit at GCB, about some of the difficult portions of his path, and those words came without even a hint of self-pity; things had happened – some of his own making and some of them not – and he’d worked hard and dealt with the outcomes, and he was optimistic, and soon it would be time to head out on the boat and go fishing, and in the meantime, let’s listen once again to Derek & The Dominos’ “Anyday.”

I’m certain, knowing a little about walking the path that Jim walked, that there were mornings when his optimism was hard to find, afternoons when the joys of fishing were thin, and evenings when he was not certain that, as Eric Clapton sings, “I will see you smile.” We shared a little of how we dealt with those times, how we’d learned to have faith that putting one foot in front of the other eventually gets one out of the dark and back to the place where the smiles are possible and the pompano are biting.

When I wrote here about meeting in real life some of the other bloggers whose work he and I both read, folks with whom I’ve become friends in the flesh-and-blood world as well as the virtual world, he told me that he looked forward to the day when I could give him what I’d called “the nickel tour” of my St. Cloud places from both the present and the past. I told him I looked forward to it as well, but now, of course . . .

The idea evidently mattered to him. I checked at Jim’s Facebook page this morning to see if there was any more information about his passing, and I saw nothing new. Then I happened to notice the pictures on the left side of the page detailing things he’d “liked” on Facebook. The first four “likes” in that list were the Bob Dylan film Pat Garrett & Billy the Kid, the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival, Loyola University of New Orleans (his alma mater), and the city of St. Cloud, Minnesota, a place he never knew.

He had at least two friends here, though, as the Texas Gal had also connected with him on FB and read his blog occasionally. And we’ll miss him.

I closed a brief note at Facebook yesterday with these words: “And to say goodbye, I turn to the music that brought us together. Beyond this world there lies a tunnel, and beyond that tunnel there is the light, and in that light, I hope, there is a highway. And I hope that Jim has found the key to his highway.”


One Response to “The Passing Of Paco Malo”

  1. jb says:

    I’m sorry to get this news. All I knew of Jim was his comments at this blog, but they marked him clearly as a member of the tribe. We are diminished by his loss.

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