I gave Matt my camera so he could take a few shots of us. I’m hardly ever ready to relinquish the role as memory-capturer, but today was a special occasion. This marks my last day with the StoryCorps’ team. We only gathered three times during my tenure at StoryCorps. We met for training, we met for a mid-year retreat, and now we meet again for our departure. Five of us our leaving, a sixth leaves in late August.

I’ve never worked with a more mature, dedicated, smart, humorous, passionate and loving group of people. They’ve set the level extremely high for my next job. In fact, I’m terrified I’ll spend time without collaborating with gifted individuals like you see above. When words fail me, I turn to images that say what I cannot. Below, a tribute to the year that I’ll be reflecting on for the rest of my life.

Farewell To A Great Year from Alejandro De La Cruz on Vimeo.

I looked over to our table and chairs and saw a man sitting by himself. He didn’t fit the bill, but there was a chance it was our participant. I went over and introduced myself. He was alone. And he was ours. Someone was scheduled to meet him, but the person canceled at the last minute.

I facilitated my last conversation today. Lilly interviewed him. His name was Juan A. and he talked about his life as a Chicano activist. I had questions, he had answers, and in the end it ended exactly as all the others. I lean over to the recorder, stop, look back and thank them for allowing me to listen.

8 cities. 12 months. I don’t know how to reflect on a year of recording Latinos and Latinas in the United States, so I’ll simply say thank you.

I imagine my thoughts will be riddled with vignettes, flashbacks and snippets of participant’s stories for the rest of my life.

Tomorrow is my last day of recording. It’s unlikely I’ll be a ball of mush. It’s just not my style. But it doesn’t mean I’m not grateful. This role – the most unique position I may ever hold – is a gift. The cuentos, historias, canciones, and dichos will be with me forever. From the Pachucos in Los Angeles, the Braceros in Fresno, the Coyotes (not the smuggling kind) in Albuquerque and the countless participants who shared the most intimate details about their culture and identity and let me listen, I say gracias. Above, a participant talks about the importance of oral history and the preservation of her community’s culture.

We have two of these. We’re separated by the Mississippi, or at least that’s what they tell us. This is the West booth. I’ve only spent 3 weeks on the East booth.

I spent 8 weeks in this office during my Colorado trip, spent 6 weeks with her in Houston and now 10 weeks between Los Angeles and Fresno. She’s become the familiarity I enjoy on the road and our relationship is strong. I’ll see her again in Albuquerque, with the same coworkers, but I’ll bid farewell forever after that trip. I wonder what I’ll say then?

“Your air conditioner sucks, but I still love you.”

Peace out, Fresno.

P.S. I would argue, with no proof, that this song played every time I was in a vehicle in Fresno. Thanks to OG for the upload.

I didn’t expect to find a rising art scene in Fresno, Ca. Then I drove down Broadway Street toward San Joaquin in Downtown Fresno, hit the breaks and swerved to park. I saw a colorful horse, vibrant, galloping on a giant canvas in a parking lot. I almost dropped my camera after it snagged on my seat belt buckle, but the adrenaline shot from that propelled me to run even faster toward the open gates of the lot.

The beautiful piece above is from artist Robert Amador. There are also murals from artists unknown to me all around Downtown including this one, this one, and this one. Here’s a crop from the last mural, located at Iron Bird Lofts. If you’re in the area, here’s a mural map to guide you.

Now I just need to find the local karaoke dive joint…

Update: Robert Amador describes painting the Downtown Fresno mural.

I grew up in Los Angeles, CA but it’s never quite the same for me whenever I return. I have so many different LA experiences that I never know which one is the legitimate one. I was raised in the San Fernando Valley in a suburban home, with suburban parents looking for the American dream. They found it, thankfully, but it wasn’t my dream.

I lived a suburban life for much of my adolescence and then moved to Westwood and West Hollywood during my UCLA years. I cultivated a loving relationship with everything over the hill during those years, but then I graduated, and a powerful force motivated me to leave. I haven’t lived in Los Angeles since then. Usually I visit for one or two weeks at a time, stay in that suburban home, with my lovely suburban parents and settle into valley-living. Most days I abstain from leaving because I can’t fathom driving 35 minutes to meet friends at a bar. Then I sulk.

Yesterday I moved into luxury residences overlooking NW Los Angeles, and near Downtown. No, it’s not permanent. It’s temporary work housing that, to be clear, is completely unique in its swank. But it will be home for six weeks. Los Angeles is different from this vantage point. Everything seems so close. The mountains, ocean, Hollywood sign, skyscrapers of Century City, Santa Monica and Hollywood all appear to be within walking distance. I enjoyed the sunset from high above for the first time in a long time. The sky turned a reddish-orange with hints of brown, and clouds gravitated towards the sun as if it was time to run home. They say the smog is what gives us these gorgeous sunsets. I think 17-story apartments with balconies help too.

I heard a nugget of creative wisdom yesterday that made me smile. My coworker said – and I’m paraphrasing – “you’re at your most creative when you’re most exhausted.” She said exhaustion leads to breakthroughs and I wondered how much of that was true for me. Coming upon a breakthrough, or moment of pure and distinct progression, is an exhilarating experience, but I couldn’t think of the last time I had one.

Our retreat ended yesterday with a display of odd talents, jokes, performances and skits. We all laughed and clapped for each other because we recognized that exposing one’s talents is actually really difficult, but fun to watch. My moment on stage came when I stood in front of my coworkers, jammed my finger in my eye and made “that squishy sound I always make.” No one booed, or sat silent. Instead, everyone laughed, moaned in disgust – equivalent to clapping in my book – and cheered. I didn’t hesitate to showcase my freakish gift, which led me to believe I’d arrived at a level of trust with these people.

Then everyone jumped in a freezing pool with their clothes on. I’m not sure of the definitions, but I think that’s a breakthrough for all of us.

Every photograph I’ve taken for this project has been on the day of the posting. This photograph was taken at 12:03am on Wed morning. My coworkers and I decided a nighttime swim would help us get to know each other and it did.

This week we’re implementing fierce discussion and debate about our goals as an organization. We’re coming up with ways to better include a large demographic of American society that is harshly ignored. We’re maneuvering towards better ways of capturing the true American voice. We’re having healthy debates, lots of chatter, throwing ideas into a cauldron and stirring. For a brief moment today, we realized being on the verge of something great and clarity was inevitable. Then there was a breakthrough. Essentially, we were creating a splash outside of the swimming pool and I think that’s why we’re here.

This is the place where collaborations will emerge and blossom into something tangible and beautiful. We’ll focus on interacting with each other to create an influential plan of execution that will affect the lives of strangers from all over the country. This is the place where we’ll invent, discuss, merge, debate, contend, agree and progress. The Green House will be home for the next week.

I haven’t seen Jeremy since Rochester, NY: July 2009. Welcome back, Señor.