I credit Roberto Moreno for introducing me to many wonderful people here in Ecuador. Many of them are now dear friends. He was a gifted net worker, and I sometimes said that he was in the wrong profession. Instead of being an attorney, he would have been great in the tourism or PR fields. He was always introducing like-minded people.
My best memory of him was when I was working on a large painting for his office. A new person was tending the front desk when an older man arrived and said that his wife had food poisoning and was in the hospital. The gentleman had a hearing problem and could not understand what the new gal was saying. Roberto had clients in his office, so I left the library/conference area, introduced myself to the gentleman and asked for details. I told him that I would be sure that Roberto received his message, which I did.
For the rest of the day, I often worried about the stranger and his sick wife. Because I was a guest of the Moreno’s, I worked late on the painting while Roberto worked late in his office. When he finished, he stated, “Lisa. I’d like to go check on the lady in the hospital. Would you mind if we drove over there?”
I was so relieved, and through Roberto, I gleaned two new lovely friends.
Roberto helped with another medical emergency when a person on a tour collapsed one morning at the hotel in San Vicente. He coordinated an ambulance to take the lady to specialists in Guayaquil much sooner than through the public health procedures. She had surgery for a brain aneurysm, so his help most likely saved her life. (She recovered and is doing quite well.)
If stories of his death are correct, I fear that Roberto was battling his own personal undertow. I share this poem from a previous post: The Undertow
THE UNDERTOW by Carrie B. Morgan
You hadn’t ought to blame a man fer things he hasn’t done,
For books he hasn’t written or fer fights he hasn’t won;
The waters may look placid on the surface all aroun’,
Yet there may be an undertow a-keepin’ of him down.
Since the days of Eve and Adam, when the fight of life began,
It ain’t been safe my bretheren, fer to lightly judge a man;
He may be trying faithful fer to make his life a go,
And yet his feet get tangled in the treacherous undertow.
He may not lack in learnin’ and he may not want for brains;
He may be always workin’ with the patientest of pains,
And yet go unrewarded, an’ my friends, how can we know
What weights he may have climbed to but fer the undertow?.
You’ve heard the Yankee story of the hen’s nest with a hole,
An’ how the hen kept layin’ eggs with all her might and soul,
Yet never got a settin; not a single egg I trow;
The hen was simply kickin’ ‘gainst a hidden undertow.
There’s holes in lots of hen’s nests, and you’ve got to peep below
To see the eggs a-rollin’ where they hadn’t ought to go.
Don’t blame a man fer failin’ to achieve a laurel crown
Until you’re sure the undertow ain’ draggin’ of him down.
(From Tony’s Scrap Book, 1940- 41 edition (Anthony Wons))
I extend my deepest sympathies to the family and loved ones of Dr. Roberto Moreno di Donato. Z