Remembering Juan Gabriel: Jan. 7, 1950 - Aug. 28, 2016
by Richard Vásquez I remember my first conversation with Juan Gabriel. I sat across from him in the dining room at his house in El Paso, Texas. He was tired, he admitted to me, of touring in the US, and everywhere else for that matter. He said that people only saw him as a meal ticket, a way to get rich quick. He said plainly that if that was what I was trying to do, I should line behind every other promoter who could probably deliver more and what he was used to already. I asked him what he meant by that, and he took a sip from a glass of fresh tomato and ginger juice his homemaker Luisa, had just squeezed for us, and he began to recount his experience as a major touring act in Mexico, the US and Hispanic America. It was 1988, he was just realizing how big he had become. He was emerging as the voice of a generation of immigrants eager to make their mark in an America that was already beginning to feel the seismic shift of Latino immigration and native births. He told me abou