Oswaldo

I met Oswaldo 22 years ago almost to the day.

Allison and I bought the crappiest house in Marin in 2000. In Oswaldo’s words: “Es sheety.”

We hired a local contracting company to tear down the master bathroom to the studs and rebuild it per Allison’s demand that she wouldn’t move into this dump until there was a brand new bathroom.

I couldn’t blame her. This place was pretty gross, but I saw the potential.

When we took ownership, I immediately went to work vaulting the master bedroom ceiling while this guy named Oswaldo started the demo process on the bathroom.

I would come home every day from 10am to 4pm, because i worked typical trainer hours early in the morning and late afternoon.

For the first few days, we worked right along side each other without saying much.

We would eat our lunches together and soon started talking.

By the end of the week, I asked him if he did any work on weekends, as I realized I was in over my head.

He said, “I see you tomorrow.”

For the next two years, Oswaldo came over just about every Saturday and Sunday as we slowly tore that house apart.

Three bathrooms, a kitchen, the entire house with crown and base molding, new furnace and duct work, windows, flooring etc.

You name it. I have an old video of Allison on a ladder painting crown molding in a hallway 9.5 months pregnant with our daughter, Lyle (now 20), and Oswaldo squeezing by trying to get the nursery finished in time.

I probably gave Oswaldo’s number to 200 people over the next 20 years, for everything from fences and decks to entire restaurant remodels.

He was a constant in our lives. In those early years, his wife, Sara, became our house and gym cleaner.

His oldest (now 29) ran around during our projects.

Oswaldo ALWAYS came to the rescue.

He helped set up and break down almost all of our TJ’s Rodeo and NorCal Masters events with his crew.

We also endured a tragedy together early on, when one of our friends whom I’d referred to Oswaldo to redo his home, was killed in his early 30’s in a tragic accident. Like me, he’d become like a brother to Oswaldo. He died on Oswaldo’s birthday. Oswaldo and Sara flew on with me to Montana to attend our friend’s funeral. Those early experiences cemented our lifelong friendship. Our friend’s wife made the trek to attend Oswaldo’s funeral. Amazing.

Last month, I sent Oswaldo a text about a small roof leak.

I got a message back saying “Oswaldo is sick, Please call his brother, Roger,” whom I’ve also known for 20 years.

The next morning, I got another text saying, “Oswaldo is really sick.”

When I called the number, his adult son answered the phone.

I learned that Oswaldo (age 52) had cancer all over his body, but they were going to start treatment soon.

When I called back a few days later to schedule a time to go see him at his home, his son said he was now in the hospital, and it wasn’t good.

It’s shocking to see someone that close to death when a few months earlier they seemed fine, maybe a little thin, maybe a little tired, but otherwise fine.

Allison and I sat with Sara and their oldest son in the ICU talking and crying.

We held the hands and patted the head of the man who built the home where we raised our girls.

His fingerprints are on everything. Lyle and Hollis knew him. So did my brothers.

When we saw him the day before he passed, Oswaldo was fully dosed with morphine. We have no idea if he heard us as we thanked him over and over again and told him what a good man he was. I think he heard us. So does Allison.

A few days ago, attending Oswaldo’s funeral, we were shocked at the literally hundreds of people who were there.

We later found out that he was personally responsible for bringing 30 people here from Guatemala and helping them launch their own businesses in the trades.

Five of his six brothers and his sister.

Dozens of other friends and family.

Over 30 years, he made sure people had a better life.

These people are now flourishing, enjoying businesses and extended American families.

I’m writing this because I think this might be as close to an obituary that will be written for him.

I’m writing this because Oswaldo was a man who helped my family and my business in ways he probably never knew.

“Work, work, work,” he would always say to me. That was his mantra. I unconsciously say this to myself as I swing my legs out of bed in the mornings.

Thank you, Oswaldo DeLeon Ortiz. I love you, and I will make you proud. I trust that you’re building a sweet home for us all to reunite in some day.

~TJ