DENNIS JOAQUIN
He was born Dennis Joaquin McHale-Esparza on January 31, 1990. His mother and I called him Joaquin, but his older brother by a few years, William Carlos, couldn't properly pronounce his name and called him Quisher. His mother and I would call him as time passed Quisher-Boy. By the time he entered junior high, his buddies had shortened his name to Quish, which they still salute him today.
Both he and Carlos were brought up around music with a white piano in the front room, acoustic guitars leaning against walls and harmonicas strewn throughout the house within easy reach. And there was the non-stop music blaring softly, ranging from country to jazz, from Spanish to rock.
The turning point in his life, in my estimation, came when Carlos celebrated his 11th birthday. I bought him an odd-shaped electric guitar and a cheap speaker.
I knew that Joaquin would simmer with jealousy because I recognized that he was more musically inclined than Carlos. When Carlos raised the guitar in triumph, I couldn't help but notice that Joaquin was bowing his head in disappointment.
"I forgot," I shouted. "There's one more gift!"
I retired to the bedroom and returned with a second electric guitar, the same odd-shaped instrument, and handed it to Joaquin. And thus commenced his religious commitment to music.
In high school he formed part of a popular group called the Cities. They performed all over town from abandoned strip clubs to 14th Street cantinas as well as at other more fashionable hangouts among his peers.
When Carlos graduated from Hanna High School in the early-2000s, Joaquin was going to be a junior the following year. Without his brother as his best friend hanging out with him in the halls, he quit, took his GED and started classes at TSC.
One of his uncles told me, "The first chance that Quish has, he is leaving town."
He was right. At 18 he departed for Austin and has never left the city. He began classes at Austin Community College. Five years later I asked him when he was going to transfer to a four-year college and he replied, "There are so many great musicians that I have as professors that I don't want to leave because I'm learning so much."
It was his piano playing that caught my attention, thus reflecting his studies.
Over a span exceeding a decade, he lived the starving artist's life in the sense of his wandering search for something more profound creatively. And, for the record, he ate well. He has never been a moocher. He likes to buy the first round.
He found plenty of work peddling tourists around the capital's downtown as well as landing jobs in bars and clubs. During this time he was the one of the vocalists and the rhythm guitarist for the bands Holiday and Big Coat.
They played steadily, recorded several songs and produced two CDs. Joaquin wrote many of the lyrics to tunes that fit easily within the genre of the indie sound.
There is no doubt he was thriving in the Austin night life scene that he sees slipping away as Austin evolves into one of the most modern and expensive cities in the country. Then COVID hit!
Suddenly, there were no more tourists, no more clubs and no need for musicians since in any declining entertainment business they are the first to be kicked out the door and exiled to the streets.
He got a job delivering beer as the convenience stores remained busy with most people confined to their homes. But when he didn't receive a promotion that he felt he more than deserved from the company, he submitted his resignation and slowly finagled jobs back in the bars and clubs as the COVID plague receded.
In his early thirties, he had reached the crossroads and was beginning to feel the blues a la Robert Johnson. He saw his friends progressing economically in life via their educations.
They served as perfect role models. He enrolled at Texas State and chose to major in classical guitar. Two weeks ago he graduated. As part of the traditional celebration, he dived into the namesake river that snakes its way through the college town.
With Dad on first, Mom on second and Carlos on third, he smashed a grand slam. As he proudly crossed the plate, he had joined a family of all college graduates. Having that diploma makes a statement.
This summer he will earn his teacher's certificate and after a year of writing more music, his style inspired by both the Beatles and the Beach Boys, he intends to return to Texas State and earn his Master's Degree.
I had the pleasure to watch him in early April perform various classic pieces, including works by Tarrega, Cruz, Carcassi, Brouwher and Piazzolla, in a solo performance at the Texas State Performing Arts Center Recital Hall before a warm and appreciative audience.
Impressively, he wrote short bios on all these greats as part of the program and displayed that he had certainly inherited the old man's writing talents.
He is the bar manager at Esther's Follies, Austin's top comedy club, located off Sixth Street in the heart of the action. He lives with his girl friend, a tattoo artist (She makes good bucks!!!), in a former convent converted to apartments.
They are ensconced in the Mother Superior's former quarters and the two-bedroom hideaway shows all the touches of Catholic art and architecture. And nothing is more soothing to the soul than the church bells ringing in the near distance.
Now he commences the next stage in his life. His mother, big brother, little brother and I love him very much. He has made us proud. As part of his Irish heritage, we wish: "May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind always be at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face and rains fall soft upon your fields. And until we meet again, May God hold you in the palm of His hand."
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