Dan Dalton, known to Patagonians as “Miner Dan,” passed away in September. The “smallest violin” was the most wonderful, magical gift he gave me one day after he came home from the hospital.
We always ate lunch at the Senior Center, where I’d sit at the “old guys table.” It was my favorite place to sit, with Wally, Ramon, David, and Arcenio. One day I walked into the center, and Dan was in his usual chair at the head of the table. As I was walking toward him, he had his eyes locked on mine. “You’re late!” he said. As I was stammering my excuse, he pointed his thumb at me, running his index finger back and forth across the top of it, saying, “Do you know what this is?” I stood there with my mouth open, but no words were coming out.
Dan said, “This is the world’s smallest violin playing ‘My Heart Bleeds for You.’ From that moment on, whenever I saw Dan, I would only talk about my blessings. No more excuses for me, and I don’t need to pass them on to others. I try to talk about positive things and take time to compliment the efforts of others. No more reinforcing a negative outlook.
Every time I think of spouting off some negative comment, I think of the world’s smallest violin playing “My Heart Bleeds for You.” Thank you, Dan. I will never be the same, and you will always live in my heart, right where you have been since the day I met you at Charlie’s Politically Incorrect Gas Station, the place you loved to be.
Thank you, Charlie and everyone, for the wonderful party for Dan. Before Dan’s wake, I didn’t realize all the amazing things he had done during his life. It was great to meet his kids. They did the most awesome job of painting the picture of their father’s life for us all. He is my new hero.
The best part of the wake was when they poured everyone a shot of whiskey. You could drink to Dan, or pour it in the crack of the sidewalk by the gas pumps where they put some of his ashes. I drank half of my shot and poured the other half in the crack, drinking with him.
There was so much food. Angel Murrietta serenaded us with his guitar and sang all the oldies that I’m sure Dan knew. His good friends, family, and neighbors pitched in, and there was a huge turnout. We all love you, Dan.