One time we walked into class and Solometo was eating something none of us had ever seen before. It looked like a turnover, the kind my mom sometimes used to make, with apple-cinnamon filling. This one was filled with meat. In his raspy voice, Solometo said, “Empanada.” His Argentinian friend was visiting and they’d made the empanadas the previous night. The aroma of garlic and beef had me salivating.
After college, Solometo went to Argentina in 1968, to volunteer on an ecological survey. The trip to Tierra del Fuego had blown his concept of the planet wide open for the sheer variety of bird species and the stunning vistas. The penguins quelled his malaise. After the six-week trip, Solometo stayed in Buenos Aires before returning home to begin teaching. This was long before he ventured out to Ohio.
During that class Solometo shared something he’d written about a time he'd spent hanging around Buenos Aires. He’d become friendly with some street musicians and then with a master pickpocket. The silver-bearded abuelo was known as "El Maestro."
Solometo used his reflection as a model for writing a travel diary, which was about to become our writing assignment. He passed a sheet out to each of us.
El Maestro
I met the man known as El Maestro in the back room of one of the nicer Italian restaurants in La Boca, the Italian section of Buenos Aires. I was allowed inside the dimly-lit room, off the kitchen, because of Eduardo, my recent comrade who busked in front of the subway, playing Dylan and Hendrix covers.
El Maestro held lessons there for aspiring thieves. His dark olive face and bright green eyes contrasted with the long silver beard flowing down past his neck, trimmed neatly up around his mouth and cheeks. The maze of lines above his brow, along his forehead, and around his eyes… the lines gave a hint of his wisdom. El Maestro spoke Spanish, Italian and English, sometimes giving instructions in all three languages. Part of his teaching included rudimentary English so his students would be able to communicate with wealthy tourists in the busiest sections of the city—the prime territory for pickpockets.
I watched as El Maestro demonstrated the bump-and-grab. The seemingly accidental collision that enabled his long fingers to slip into the pockets of a long overcoat or a suit jacket. Or by snatching a handbag by bumping and lowering the strap off a shoulder. He demonstrated in slow-motion. The thieves took notes on notepads and napkins. After a 20-minute lecture and then a demonstration, El Maestro rested in a booth, with an Italian soda and an order of calamari. Before we left, I gathered the courage to say hello. I shook his hand. Long, slender fingers with neatly trimmed nails. I asked him if he enjoyed basketball. He appeared stunned that nobody had told me. Eduardo whispered, “He was a legend on the court first.”
El Maestro pointed to the photo on the wall. A grainy black-and-white shot of a dozen young men with serious faces, arranged in a semi-circle. A basketball hoop in the frame, behind them. The caption of the photo: 1950 FIBA Champions. El Maestro spoke, “That was our team. I helped choose players. Top assistant. Held practices. Nine other countries joined us. First FIBA World Championship. Never lost. Defeated U.S. Won Gold Medal.” El Maestro exhaled with a weary smile.
How did El Maestro go from the high of winning the Gold Medal with that team to the nefarious world of street theft? I’ll never know. Eduardo and I were told it was time to leave and headed back out into the late afternoon daylight.
The rest of class was spent analyzing the text. We had four tasks. Inspect the text for details that added to the overall scene. How was the setting constructed? Which verbs stood out in their description of the actions? What did we think of the character of El Maestro? Was he a heroic character? Was he more of an anti-hero? What questions did the scene leave us with? What happened that led to El Maestro’s dark turn? Had he been born into a criminal family? Was he a lover of basketball from a young age? What had he done before coaching? In our group, we were riveted by the scene.
Solometo ended the class by writing on the board: “In life, there are always more questions than answers.”