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"Good morning God's will"
"With Arnulfo Sanchez began my path journalism. He and his family, immense gratitude "
November 26, whose year is not that really want to remember but I do not remember I met Arnulfo Sánchez López. It had been several months since leaving the sale of pies and when I was almost hit by a taxi in front of the New Day as he sold ice cream. It was in his apartment, after traveling all the third and the Echoes of Combeima studies-and no one gave to the fate of rumors, was the dean of radio Tolima.
was with a cousin who was to interview the honorary graduate of the San Simon School. I always duck as he joined me to that cause which gradually became more mine than yours. We arrived at his residence. We attended a friend of hers (which people call a maid arrives.) Like old friends we commanded to follow up settle on the couch. I could not sit still when I saw stuck in the wall an original poem by the poet Charles Baudelaire damn. "He signed the back, look," said the voice which had until then seen leaving the house baffle. Exactly like when I heard saying: "Divine Face" "I do not do that," "great delicacy" and it commits me today: "Jesus Christ of Guam is more conservative than that of Espinal."
And a man's voice came across, looking cheerful and tiny. "Sit down. That surprise was going to feel later when first seen by Antanas Mockus, the maestro Rafael Escalona and a concert by Manolo Otero among many other things that build my admiration for life. I explained that we had to do an interview. Since my cousin was not the need. He only shook his head as the taxi dogs in acceptance. We introduced ourselves and jumped the couch. "Well, I jumped. After licking from my heart with stealth box Baudelaire began working over four hours was interrupted by the lady every time he called to participate.
installed the camera, and I remember I did a thousand shrews to impress. I talked to light, focus, open and closed flat. "My cousin was out in the video so I made the time of cameraman. - Why an honorary Arnulfo Sanchez Lopez? he asked. After responding, got the scoop about the same or more times that Miss domestic service. - Where's the news? How did you become a journalist? What is journalism? What about the practice of journalism in the Colombian context? -. He immediately asked for water. I was stuck with such nonsense. But he answered everything.
even told us of his abduction. I found that part of his journalistic activity is dedicated to collecting paintings mostly tolimenses authors. There retains several boxes which particularly appreciates "The Garden of jersenami", "One Christ" and "Land of Jerusalem." It also has in its artistic heritage gave her a vellum in the fourth house where he was kidnapped. Not going to the movies because he falls asleep and does not understand science fiction, it is very bad reader of prose: have not read The Maelstrom, Mary or One Hundred Years of Solitude, but can read one hundred poems every day and repeat the next day. My cousin? He ended up chatting with this woman.
turned off the camera and explain who loved radio and journalism. Then took a paper and a pen. Put on the table. "Two guys is a motorbike killed a nun. You do ago, "he said. After reacting, I wrote. -Kill another nun later. Confused, I wrote the news. -Kill is also a girl and the mother is. Cold sweat, I hit the note. He asked me to write something about public space and rehearse on Monday. I wanted to write like Daniel Samper Ospina and spent the whole weekend finding the way until I went to the street and found it. Since that day I discovered that the stories are out there. Watered. In cafes, on benches, in the pensioners, in pigeons and counterfeit notes. At 11 pm and gave birth contractions tip text that skinny, ugly, wrinkled and with a lot of adjectives that hung in the navel.
A five-fifty in the morning of that Monday I got to the Echoes of Combeima studies even though he had told me at seven. And a microphone in and making me coconuts, waited for the moment rehearse voice tones. Never happened. At quarter past seven and Agustin Angarita analyst at hand, I jumped into the water. That is today called on the air. I read it as if it was Gustavo Niño Mendoza, my idol Colombian radio. Imitation Of course that cost me lose my voice one day. It's like comparing a lion roar meow cat, and spoiled.
The boy spoke. All my family was waiting. I could not disappoint. Had risked a girlfriend to pursue that dream. And "one does not bathe twice in the same river waters." Breath. I took up the colors and all I remember was hearing Don Arnulfo, "Well, tomorrow more stories to tell of Stivens Parra. That day, light anchor and threw me into the sea with all its storms. I will not stop writing, but when he dies. When, as Whitman says, Oh, Captain My Captain, the port lights are lit Now
And I owe him the chance. In this man named Arnulfo Sanchez. For he knew the radio. For he was a reporter in Combeima echoes. Through him I met great friends. He taught me how to become dean of journalism, a paradigm of leadership, an example of life and improvement. He allowed me to show that this path is to walk it all my life. He took me from my dark room and gave me color, tone and size. He left me to show people the pulse of my pen. The vitality of my voice.
I apologize for referring to Don Arnulfo these terms so precarious. The man who still go up the stairs snails of the station, opens the door, takes his seat in the center, said at six o'clock in the morning: Morning us of God.
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