Tomas Huerta

Tomas Huerta at about age 12, leaning back on my Oldsmobile and trying to look tough.

By John Murphy

Sometime around 1998 I was living in San Bernardino and had time on my hands, so I became a mentor.

An organization called Casa de San Bernardino introduced me to this chubby, 8-year-old boy with an angelic face named Tomas Huerta. He lived in the Muscoy area of the city with his grandmother.

Tomas’ parents were elsewhere and I don’t know all the details. But his grandmother lived in a little house and cared for him. She gave him stability, making sure he was dressed neatly and feeding him the Mexican meals she knew how to prepare.

I’d pick him up once a week, usually, on a Saturday or a Sunday, in the big Oldsmobile that once belonged to my father. We’d often stop at Stater Bros. and buy food. Occasionally we’d hit a Chinese restaurant on one of San Bernardino’s main drags. Tomas liked the orange chicken, but he could only eat half. So he’d wrap up the rest and bring it home to his grandmother for her to eat. He was a sweet kid.

We did simple things – watched ballgame games and movies on TV, played catch with a football, walked my dogs and hit the occasional movie or high school basketball game. I’m not a big believer in amusement parks and didn’t have much disposable income, so we didn’t do crap like that.

The late area businessman and sportswriter Harvey Cohen knew Tomas. His thrift store, Harvey Wallhanger’s, was near my house and we’d often drop by to say hello. “It must be Tomas’ birthday again,” Harvey quipped – teasing me about trying to get undeserved discounts. Harvey was nice to Tomas and sometimes gave him free stuff.

The mentor-mentee relationship typically lasts a year or two, but I stayed close to Tomas for about seven years. By then my life was more complicated, Tomas was older and it was time to part. Not all that was communicated as it should have been and it ended kind of abruptly, but so it goes. I have fond memories of him and I hope vice versa.

We’re Facebook friends now and I take a peek at his profile occasionally. He’s about 30 years old, has a job and lots of friends, plays the guitar, lifts weights, has a philosophical bent and I’m sure is a good person. I hope I played some small role. Anyway, I tried.