Bravo, Uncle Baumo: A Standing Ovation for Our Superman

One of the greatest mentors, and greatest huggers, I have ever known has left a huge void in my heart.

My Uncle Charlie, “Baumo” Porras, passed away Saturday.

Like so many of the people who have profoundly influenced my life, Uncle Baumo was the life of the party. I was captivated by his charm from the time I was little. He was funny, generous, larger than life, and always made you feel like you were the most important person in the room.

Every Christmas Eve, it was tradition for me to have a sleepover with Uncle Baumo. To a little kid, it was awesome. Pure magic. While my sister and parents shared my grandparents spare bedroom, me and Uncle Baumo were cozy in his king size bed.

I guess it’s finally time to reveal how “Baumo” got his name. i’m not even sure my kids or some of my cousins ever knew the full story. So here you go—an early Christmas gift.

Charlie's siblings and parents playfully called him “Bombo” because he was a chubby adolescent. In Spanish, it was slang referring to a pregnant-looking belly. But when I was little, I couldn’t say “Bombo.”

So Bombo became Baumo.

And Baumo he remained for the past five decades.

Uncle Baumo was an incredible influence on my life.

Uncle Baumo also took me downtown to see my first play, Bram Stoker's Dracula when I was 5-years-old. Before the show, he taught me what to do at the end. So when the curtain came down and everyone applauded, I jumped out of my seat, stood on my chair and yelled, “BRAVO!”

That was my introduction to live theater, and it remains one of my most memorable theater experiences ever.

I also remember Summer of 1982 like it was yesterday. I was 8-years-old and Rocky III and Raiders of the Lost Ark were blockbusters at the movies. Uncle Baumo often took me to the show and usually let me pick the movie.

But not this one particular time.

“We’re gonna see Raiders,” he told me.

I pleaded with him. How could we possibly pass up my man Sly taking on that awesome beast of an athlete, Clubber Lang played by Mr. T himself?

Uncle Baumo reminded me that I had already seen Rocky III twice.

“You’re gonna love Raiders. Trust me.”

Needless to say, I trusted, and, of course, Uncle Baumo was exactly right.

It became one of the greatest action adventures I had ever seen. Afterward, we went to Kmart and he bought me a 12" Indiana Jones action figure. More than four decades later, I still have it. It remains one of my favorite possessions because every time I see it, I think of him.

Funny thing is, to this day my children and I have movie night and I introduce the classics like Uncle Baumo did. The game changers.

The kids say, “Dad, is this a 'trust me' movie?”

And I proudly pick out a legendary film that I feel they must see. Just like Uncle Baumo did for me. When they read this, they will now understand where the “trust me" movie originated.

Who gave me my first real job in high school?

Uncle Baumo.

I worked at his men’s clothing store, William Charles, in Porte De Leau. Every Friday, Uncle Baumo and I faced a very important decision: Sanfratello’s Pizza or Miami Subs?

We knew we couldn’t go wrong with either.

We’d listen to smooth jazz on WNUA and wait for Chicago radio legend Danae Alexander’s 5 o’clock Work Perk and Gato Barbieri’s “Europa.”

Man, those were some of the best times of my life.

As I got older, Uncle Baumo continued to find special ways to remind me how much he cared. He knew about my love for collecting crosses, and over the years, he gifted me several that I will always hold in the highest regard. They were meaningful when he gave them to me, but they mean even more now. Each one will forever be a reminder of Uncle Baumo—his generosity, his thoughtfulness and the love he had for me and our family. They are gifts I will treasure for the rest of my life.

Uncle Baumo was also my first Santa Claus. He would come to our house dressed as Santa and bring us gifts. I had absolutely no idea it was him. It wasn’t until years later, looking back at the pictures, that I figured it out.

He was like Clark Kent.

Actually, to us, he was Superman.

I’m going to miss seeing Uncle Baumo’s sweet smile at our family parties. And Christmas will never quite be the same without him there, making tamales, laughing and cracking up at all the family shenanigans.

At Christmas, our tradition was always to open gifts by age, one person at a time.

For a long, long time, Uncle Baumo was always last.

But not anymore.

Our family will find its new normal. The parties will continue. The tamales will still be made. We’ll laugh, tell the same old stories, and probably create some new ones.

But there will always be a place in the room that belongs to Uncle Baumo.

Although he may no longer be with us physically, he will live forever in our stories, our traditions, our laughter and our souls.

And every time I see Indiana Jones, hear “Europa,” watch a great play, eat a slice of pizza, see Santa Claus, or hear somebody yell “Bravo,” a little piece of Uncle Baumo will be right there with me.

Uncle Baumo, thank you.

Thank you for the movies.Thank you for the theater.Thank you for my first job.Thank you for Christmas Eve.Thank you for Santa Claus.Thank you for the laughs.Thank you for the hugs.

And most of all, thank you for being one of the great influences in my life.

You were one of a kind.

You were our Superman.

And I will love and miss you forever.

Rest peacefully, Uncle Baumo. Bravo for sharing your great life with me.

Damian Rico is the Marketing and Community Relations Director at Hospice of the Calumet Area. The opinions expressed are his own.