Jose Prada, RIP
WICKER PARK — After a month-long battle with covid, Jose Prada died last Wednesday, Feb. 2, 2022. He worked at Lubinski Furniture in Wicker Park for 40 years. He was 59.
Why does death feel so shocking and unfair when it is so inevitable? This is not a regular obituary. I’m sorry in advance. It’s also exactly one year late as I’d never finished writing this last year.
He would joke that I am his best friend, which was not true, he had a lot of best friends. Everyone loved Jose, including his son Jimmy who also works at the furniture store, which is owned by third-generation proprietor Ken Lubinski.
February 2 is also Jimmy’s birthday. Today Jimmy turned 42 on what will now be remembered as the anniversary of his father’s passing.
Jose insisted that I “need something to take care of,” and so he gave me a stuffed animal.
He named him Poncho and the stuffed dog eventually led to a real one. Blu would join me at the furniture store, where I reported from most days. The store was across the alley from my apartment and I would leave my back door to walk over to the back door of the furniture shop, to report to the “Wicker Park bureau” newsroom.
Joe marveled at Blu’s smarts. Once, when I was busy working on a breaking story, he walked Blu and brought him back to my place.
“I couldn’t remember your apartment number, but Blu knew his way, he led me right through the door, into the elevator, down the hall,” Jose said, smiling and shaking his head.
Jose loved to fish and swim and to visit Mexico, where his family had a house in their home state of Morelos. He was an extremely proud father of three, a husband, an uncle, a cousin, a friend.
My father died when I was 15 and in many ways, Jose was a father figure.
On days when I would be pounding away at my keyboard, trying to file a story by deadline, Jose would magically appear by my desk and remove something from the pocket of his dress pants. It was usually a package of Belvita crackers, he’d give me a wink and place it on my desk. I never saw him wear blue jeans, he was the consummate furniture showroom salesman. But not pushy.
Over four years since I moved to Portland and Jose’s handwriting is still on my dry erase board. He’d write out Spanish phrases on scraps of paper and I’d stick them on my desk.
“Todo va a estar bien,” or everything will be good, is something he said that carries with me, along with the memories of the times we shared in that quirky storefront along Milwaukee Avenue.
According to Ken, near the end Jose didn’t want any more treatment and somehow found the strength to yank out the various IVs and respirator keeping him alive.
He wanted to swim with the dolphins. His ashes were scattered in Mexico. He won’t be forgotten.
Thanks for reading.
