By John Murphy
Recently I’ve been remodeling my house on the north side of Redlands. More accurately, I’ve hired companies and handymen to do it. I only remodel sentences.
There are alleys on the north side, an unusual feature of the area. One is behind my back fence.
That’s where an unusual man hung out, in an alcove he claimed as his own.
He had an artificial leg and a silver walker and he drove a beater car. He was jovial and greeted me on occasion.
But mi Espanol es malo. I usually didn’t understand him. It didn’t help that it was always 95 degrees and I was talking over an eight-foot fence.
Then this: “On Friday, October 3, 2025, at 3:25 p.m., the Redlands Police Department responded to the 1000 block of Texas Street in Redlands. Carlos Serrano, a 58-year-old resident of Redlands, was pronounced deceased at the scene.”
So that was his name, Carlos. He was the man who was so upbeat despite his situation and who liked to feed stray cats out of tuna cans. Some of those empties remain, three days after this death.
There is a shrine to him now. “RIP Carlos” it says. Pink rosary beads decorate a wood cross. Candles are lit. His walker is off to the side.
This is the fragility of life; how someone is gone in an instant. You learn this lesson as you age, then you relearn it.
I’m sorry I didn’t know Carlos better. He was a nice guy. Que en paz descanse.
Main Street Dog 