You would have to know Felix Quintanilla to fully appreciate this tale. It is completely a Felix story.
It dates back to Aug. 14, the day a notice ran in this newspaper on the death of his nephew, Navy Corpsman Anthony Christian Garcia, 21, killed by a roadside bomb in Afghanistan.
Anthony was actually a nephew of Quintanilla’s ex-wife, Lucy. They remain close, though, and Anthony’s death devastated the whole family.
Quintanilla had awakened early that day and, as always, grabbed a cup of coffee and his newspaper before taking a morning stroll about his southwest Denver neighborhood.
He took special notice of the last line in the news story on his nephew’s death: “Gov. Bill Ritter has ordered flags to be lowered to half-staff today to honor Garcia.”
I have written of Felix Quintanilla and his morning walks before, how they led the retired painter to walk with a bucket of paint to cover graffiti, how he single-handedly defeated the taggers in his neighborhood.
He knew that the various neighbors in his North Holly Park community had flags. Could they put them out for Anthony on this day?
“Everyone I asked,” Quintanilla said, “did so.”
Walking north on Sheridan Boulevard, he saw multiple flags flying, none at half-staff. He walked into each business with a flag flying. He told them of Anthony and his sacrifice. Each agreed to lower Old Glory.
At St. Anthony Central Hospital, he buttonholed a security guard. He told him of Anthony. Could he maybe . . . ?
He and the guard together lowered the flag to half-staff.
Just up the street was a motorcycle shop. He walked in. Quintanilla asked a group of men he didn’t know: Could they do him a favor? Together, they lowered the shop’s flag.
Quintanilla is, by his own account, simply a man who relishes beauty in this life.
Graffiti is an abomination to him, hence his silent, personal war with the neighborhood taggers. Also, he is a man who volunteers his time to help feed the street people at his downtown Denver church every Wednesday.
“People are always asking me why I try to make things right all the time,” says Quintanilla, 69. “I always tell them someone has to do it.”
On his way home that morning, he passed the District 4 police station, its flag raised to the top. He stopped in. Could he ask them a favor? He told them of Anthony.
The lieutenant in charge agreed straight away.
The family was dressed for Anthony’s service when he finally returned home. They should go ahead, Quintanilla told them. He would catch up.
He began placing calls to city hall.
“The city should have across-the- board protocols in place when a soldier from Denver falls,” he said, “especially when the governor has requested it.”
There are no protocols in place for such things, a worker told him.
He persisted.
“This young man,” he shouted at them in subsequent calls, “gave his life so you can have your freedoms!”
Maybe it was the passion in his voice, Quintanilla says now, but the mayor’s office later called and told him every police, fire and government office will be in sync should another Denver resident fall in battle.
“I am not looking for a stroke or anything,” he says sheepishly, acknowledging that he never made the funeral that day.
“You know me. I had to make things right.”
Bill Johnson writes Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Reach him at 303-954-2763 or wjohnson@denverpost.com.
