The Mission and the revolution, as lived and told by Roberto Vargas
One of those kids was Vargas' son, Mission poet Ariel Vargas, who will read in public with his father for the first time this week. "Cardenal baptized him when Ernesto came to bless the new Mission Cultural Center in 1977," Vargas says. "He had offered to baptize any children who also might be there. In the end, there was a line of families around the block on 24th Street who had brought their children for Ernesto Cardenal to baptize. Ariel had already been there every weekend on his hands and knees sanding those huge gymnasium-like floors with us. The Mission Cultural Center is still there and that is our monument." As he discusses the Mission, Vargas forgets the problems of the Nicaraguan revolution and begins talking nonstop again at last. He comes back to the stories that started our conversation. "You know, I lived at 110 Mullen on Bernal Hill," he says, his excitement gathering. "Mike Rios was my neighbor. Rene Yáñez lived on the block. So it was all happening right there! Carlos Santana lived down the block at around 180 Mullen or something. We used to hear him and his band jamming all the time. The Arts Commission had a stage truck and I'd take it out to Precita Park and put the stage down for Carlos to play on." I think of Cardenal's vision of the repeating cycle of time, the promise that the empire will always fall and the hero will always be reborn. Much in the Mission has changed. But Vargas, the old poet, still looks out from Bernal Hill today and sees lost cities beneath the surface.