Then there were those moments that Jimmy made sure you’d never forget, like those occasions when he would slip off both prosthetic legs and place them in front of himself to answer someone who believed they had cornered the market on hardship. Jimmy and his wife Lupe in an undated photo. “He used to say the only time he’d used his handicap to his advantage was to get to the front of the line to volunteer.” “He was such an example of faithfulness, he never used what some people saw as a handicap to get out of anything if anything, he used it as an opportunity,” said Audrey Hamamoto, a friend and the wife of his deacon classmate, Joe Hamamoto. When he was 49, both of his legs had to be amputated due to diabetes.Īnd yet, anyone who knew him knew he was never one to complain, never one to ask, “Why me?’ If anything, what some saw as physical challenges, Jimmy viewed as a spiritual advantage, especially when working with others. Jimmy had been afflicted by numerous ailments and illnesses for a good deal of his life. Jimmy’s favorite saying was, ‘The only time you look down on a person is when you’re picking them up.’ ”įather Scott gave the homily during the Mass, calling Jimmy “a hero to me,” because he “never quit, never gave up,” though no one would have faulted him if he had. If he encountered someone experiencing homelessness, Lupe said, “he would not only give them money, but many times food, and ask, ‘Hey brother, what’s your name? Joe? OK, hello Joe Jones.’ He always respected someone’s dignity. Besides his various duties as a deacon, he worked with men in prison, incarcerated juveniles, and delivered the Eucharist to those trapped at home. (Victor Alemán)Ī devotee of the Cursillo movement that trains Catholic lay people to become active leaders and examples of Christ’s message, Jimmy embraced the call to evangelize. Jimmy and Lupe Salas with Archbishop José H. He did that for so many, brought so much joy to so many people.” “It was beautiful: you’re in prison, you get out, now what do you do? You go to Jimmy’s house! Just beautiful. “A guy would get out of prison, Father Al would bring him to Jimmy’s house for dinner, maybe watch a movie and then talk about his reentry into the world,” said Deacon Brian Conroy, who was part of Jimmy’s diaconate class and oversees diaconate formation for the Archdiocese of Los Angeles. These were the kind of hugs you’d get at a family reunion or backyard barbecue, the kind Jimmy and Lupe, his wife of 42 years, often threw for friends and those they served, including those they met through the Kairos Prison Ministry. Cyprian Church in Long Beach resembled the activities of a particularly close-knit beehive.īut these hugs were different, offered with arms and smiles wide and accompanied often by backslaps, sometimes laughter. Lots of hugs, so many hugs before his June 25 funeral Mass that the interior of St. There were hugs when they came to say goodbye - for now - to Deacon Santiago “Jimmy” Salas. Of course, these are usually hugs of consolation, the kind offered in support and accompanied by grim expressions, sometimes tears. It’s not unusual for people to hug at a funeral.
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