Some time ago, I found myself inside a Paris-themed bistro on the outskirts of Savannah, a city some might refer to as the Portland of the south. The bistro, although pleasant, had fewer employees and more customers than ideal. As such, I found myself sharing a table with a unique gentleman. Although some might see him as elderly, a more accurate description would be ageless, perhaps even timeless.

So, timeless, in fact, that at no point during our conversation, did the man surface a cell phone, smartphone, laptop, or any other modern device of distraction or convenience. As such, I felt the need to match his attention and therefore left all of my own gadgets unattended for the next several hours.

The man spoke of many things, travels to places near and mostly far. People, places, and things he had done in what seemed to be a most fulfilling life. Oddly, I felt his storytelling had little to no sense of braggadocio, but rather a certain warmness as if he was passing on some insights and secrets into how our big world works, that I might find to be useful at some point.

Most interestingly, we exchanged laughs and tears, as if old friends, yet again, this was our first-ever conversation. Eventually, the crowded bistro became less so, until only the man, myself, and a singular attendant remained in the building.

I excused myself to go to the men’s room, and when I came back, I was surprised to see that my new friend was gone. The attendant then appeared to ask me if I was done with my evening and if it would be all right for her to close up the shop. It seemed only fair to acquiesce. I inquired if she had seen the gentleman leave and, if so, did he leave any parting words?

A simple shrug and smile from the young lady informed me of her lack of knowledge. She then asked, speaking slowly, as if to an idiot, “Who exactly are you talking about? You’ve been here for hours by yourself.”

***

Seven years later, I received an unmarked envelope on the floor of my foyer, apparently via the mail slot. Opening it, I found an invitation to Ricardo Montez – A Celebration of Life.

I scratched my head in wonderment. Who is Ricardo Montez?

Could the man I met in Georgia that night years prior be this same Mr. Montez? I recalled that he never had spoken his name. Had I even asked for it?

Out of respect to his refined behavior from our singular meeting, I chose not to “google” or otherwise hunt down Mr. Montez with technology.

Rather I decided to attend this event.

What follows are some photographs and a short video from The Celebration of Life from Mr. Ricardo Montez.

Until the next coffee in Savannah, kind sir.

***