San Antonio Express-News (Sunday)
A step-grandfather grieves
Coming to terms with the brutal deaths of their loved ones is a varied, impossible feat for the families of the Uvalde
School massacre victims.
Some have spoken with journalists, or met with Uvalde native and actor Matthew McConnaghey, or posted on social media. Others have testified before Congress. Parents have provided harrowing and graphic details about the murders of their children.
George Rodriguez, 72, delivers pizzas for Domino’s in Uvalde.
The only day he has asked to be off was the day of his stepgrandson Jose “Josécito” Flores Jr.’s funeral. He told me delivering pizzas is how he tries to keep his mind off the tragedy. The 10-year-old boy was one of the 19 third and fourth graders murdered, with two teachers, at Robb Elementary on May 24.
Rodriguez said Josécito’s mother was in prison for most of the boy’s life, so he helped raise him.
When Rodriguez is home, he will spend every hour crying. So, he delivers pizzas.
He cried as he prepared for his shift Wednesday.
“I’m not ashamed to say that I cry for him. I cry because of what happened to him,” he said
through tears.
There’s no shame in crying — America is crying with him.
While recently visiting Uvalde, I was told how Rodriguez continued to deliver pizzas.
Maybe it was watching Josécito’s teacher, Arnulfo Reyes, interviewed by ABC News about the slaughter in his classroom, but Rodriguez called Wednesday and said he was ready to talk.
“Everyone needs to know his story,” he said of the boy. “He was a lovely person. So lovable and respectful. He made my life better.”
Rodriguez used to fill his hours showing love to the boy
with the broad smile. A boy who simply called him George. A boy who dreamed of becoming a police officer. A boy who was so proud of his honor roll certificate the morning of the shooting.
“We gave him all the love we could give him,” he said. “He was a happy kid. A happy boy.”
Once, when Josécito had dental surgery and woke up in pain, he called for his stepgrandfather.
“I want George,” the boy said. He remembers waiting for Josécito’s bus in the afternoons and taking him for hot wings and ice cream after T-ball.
“He played right and left field.
He was just learning,” Rodriguez said.
He remembers taking him to play golf, Josécito “safely” driving the golf cart.
Rodriguez has visited every memorial and those places around town filled with the good memories, like the baseball field, where he cries as he imagines Josécito playing T-ball.
Each day is a struggle between trying to suppress the bad memories and remembering the good. He had just seen the boy Sunday and he planned to see him Tuesday — May 24.
The first message came from Rodriguez’s daughter. “Shots at Robb,” he said.
Rodriguez drove to the school and gathered with other panicked loved ones.
“I went to the civic center where they told the parents to go. Then here come the school buses of kids.”
Next, officials called out names of survivors. But Rodriguez kept hearing:
“Mr. Reyes’ class is not here yet.”
“Mr. Reyes’ class is not here yet.”
“Mr. Reyes’ class is not here yet.”
“Mr. Reyes’ class is not here yet.”
He and other family members waited for hours, but Josécito never arrived.
What happened next is among the most painful of his memories.
Rodriguez received a text message from the boy’s father, but he didn’t understand it at first. After they spoke, the father told him Josécito was at Uvalde Memorial Hospital.
Rodriguez wondered, “What are his chances for survival?”
But Rodriguez read the text message again: “I found him. He didn’t make it.”
“He had already let me know in that message,” he sobbed.
Later, a Texas Ranger told the boy’s father he was a father, too, and he couldn’t allow him to see the boy’s body. The damage from the 18-year-old’s assault rifle was too severe. “He was not recognizable,” the boy’s father said.
By the end of our interview, Rodriguez was crying so hard, it was difficult to understand his words, but not his grief.