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Death, love and taxes

Luis Deslis - 1957-2015

My father was stubborn. He didn’t like to be told he couldn’t do something. He fucked the system every chance he got. He was doomed from the start. 

On Thursday, January 17th, 1957, Luis Antonio Deslis was born in Guantanamo, Cuba. He would have none of that. He hated communism, loathed the regime, abhorred living oppressed and not having whatever he felt he deserved. At age 12 he decided to leave. He built a raft to go across the Straits of Florida to the United States. It failed, but his defiance remained. He remained in Cuba for the next 8 years, studying to become a missile engineer for the Cuban Army. He was arrested while trying to cross the minefield into Guantanamo. The story goes they put him in the back of a Jeep along with all the documents –forged, of course– that granted him access to the area. He ate an entire ream of papers, destroying the evidence and giving himself what I can only assume is a high and fairly satisfying dose of fiber. He was dishonorably discharged. 

He told his wife that they could not raise their future kids there. That we deserved better. 

When he heard word of an uprising, he wasted no time. He grabbed his wife and his brother and they sought asylum in the Peruvian Embassy. The Government resisted. Days were spent with barely any food, water, change of clothes, or any of the basic necessities. But his will was strong and the Cuban government cracked under what I can only imagine was the sheer weight of his enormous disdain for it. He was on one of the first boats to the U.S.

My father loved to scheme. The memories of my life with him are filled with hilariously failed get-rich-quick schemes that seemingly no person in their right mind would invest time or money in. In this universe, the rules seem to be that if you work hard and play it safe you will eventually get what you want. So naturally, my father said fuck that. There was no plan too ridiculous for him to try.

He once tried to smuggle shoes from Venezuela to sell in the states. When caught by customs, he said they were display models to create import orders. They made him destroy half of them and drill a hole in the middle of the others. His apartment was filled with 80 unmatched, crucifixed shoes. 

You know that disgusting but popular kombucha tea hipsters love to drink? He was ahead of that trend. Like 20 years ahead. He was fermenting that shit under our kitchen sink since 1993. 

You know that terrible and HIGHLY illegal shark fin trade? He tried to get into that market. Trying to find a way to procure and sell shark fins to some entity known only to us as “The Chinese.” 

Our cable TV service was never purchased, but rather “found”. Our electronics likely fell off the back of trucks. We would hold regular summer family outings to privately owned mango groves and load our entire Ford Aerostar minivan to capacity with stolen mangos. 

I’m pretty sure my childhood home was not burgled as everyone insists, but rather my dad had an elaborate insurance scam in place. At least we got a sweet new stereo set out of that. 

If there was a system in place, a set of rules to be followed, an order or procedure to conform to, he would surely screw it.

Even just now, looking through his phone we found a note about some cemetery in South Florida. Was he doing some responsible end of life planning? Of course not. He was working on some scheme. Probably trying to figure out a way to disrupt some ancient burial ground to sell to some entity called “The Russians” or something. 

And this wasn’t about money. I’m fairly certain that if he’d won those lottery millions he always played for, he would not retire but find a way to waste the fortune on something ridiculous; like a cricket farm because he thought bearded dragons were the future or some such. 

Whatever sense of humor I have, I gained from him. The fact that his kids can laugh between tears is what defines him. There was no problem too large, too serious, too great that couldn’t use a joke to lighten the mood. 

I never had a conversation with my dad that didn’t include rolling of the eyes, exasperated sighing, and holding in chuckles. He knew how to get to me. No matter what we were talking about, he could always make me laugh.

He was caring. He was gentle. He was hilarious. He was loved. He made the lives of those that knew him better. He was the first person I called when life got me scared. The first person to call me when he heard something had happened. 

He taught us that nothing was outside of our limits. It was ok to be ridiculous. That there was no place too far. No dream too big. That failure is ok, and you can pick yourself up and move on to the next dream. 

My dad died as he lived. Defiantly. The same stubbornness that got him out of Cuba and allowed his kids be born and raised in this country is the same stubbornness that would make him ignore his doctor’s orders, disconnect his monitors, get out of bed and suffer his final collapse. He didn’t follow directions. He didn’t like authority. He was a sonuvabitch.

I love you dad, you taught me everything I know.

Luis Antonio Deslis died September 20, 2015. He is survived by his mother, his brother, his three children, three grandchildren and all the lives he touched; all of whom feel a void that can never be replaced. We are better for having him. 

If you never met him, I’m sorry for your loss.

Lauren, 

I started by addressing you so you'd know I was talking to you. I mean, you should've known I was talking to you seeing as how I'm standing in front of you, and I'm the only one talking and holding a microphone and we're making eye contact for just a bit too long...

But just in case, Lauren, Stop crying. I figured you'd be crying by now. (She was)

Lauren you cry a lot. You have a lot of feelings about a lot of things, and that's great. It's one of the reasons I love you.

Other reasons I love you include you putting up with all my dumb shit. Like playing too much video games, or complaining about you buying too much hummus, or eating all the hummus I told you was too much, or forcing you to live above the worlds loudest plumbing store because I don't wanna walk more than a block to the train, though you have to admit, it's a short walk to the train.

I love you, not just because you make me laugh, but that you laugh at the stupid jokes I make, which I'm very sure you're aware, I say a lot of stupid jokes.

I love you because every time I lose something you ask if i checked inside of my own butt, even though you know full well that it's probably not in there.

I love you because the first time we hung out we got to third base. 

And because even though I said that with your dad and grandparents sitting right there, you're going to kiss me in a few minutes anyway.

I love you because even though you're deathly allergic to my cat, you still live with him. Oh wait that's not you its me... Never mind.

I could go on and on with all the reasons I love you, but this day isn't about us... Oh wait, yeah it is. I'll keep going.

I love you because even though you really wanted me to take this seriously, you knew I kind've wouldn't and you're totally cool with that.

Lauren, I'm addressing you again. Here, have a tissue. I'm figuring you're crying really hard right now.

I feel like this wedding has been a long time coming. Like we've been married for four years and three days and no ones even figured it out yet. What a bunch of idiots.

Lauren, you don't know how lucky I am to have you. You're my perfect gal and I can finally start making my wife jokes about you and nothing could make me happier. We're gunna be fuckin awesome together and I'll always be by your side... You make me a better person every day.

I love you. Thank you. And I love you.

In Jesus's name, amen.

Dear Hana S., 

My name is Louis Deslis. I was a Jr. Copywriter at Mcgarrybowen up until 3 days ago when they let a bunch of us go. Turns out Verizon isn’t the cash cow we all thought. So, I’m sitting here in my underwear, on my bed, perusing LinkedIn, wondering where I’m headed next.

It’s funny, while in college, all I worried about was getting a job. Didn’t matter where as long as it was in New York. Now, I’ve put in about two and a half years at Mcgarry and I don’t really have the most creative work to show for it. I feel like I’m pigeonholed into this “work that works” category of creative. Maybe it’s all in my head… maybe not. But I think I can do better. I know I can do better. I really want to do better.

So, I’m at this point now where I can survive until February without really being paid much, if anything. It’s like a Louis Deslis Fire Sale… fired sale? Probably.

I fell in love with BFG 9000 before I knew who you were. I saw those Ragu spots; the ones with the song. I showed them to everyone I knew. Everyone who sat next to me probably heard that song 12 times too many. (Looking back, it’s probably the reason I got laid off (Not really, since that was a good year or so ago, but I’m not above guilt tripping you into an interview!)) Then I realized you guys were the ones doing all the other commercials I laughed at. Tiny beer, Kayak’s Brain Surgeon and the Sweater one, most recently the Little Caesar “Arm in a cast” and “High 85”. It’s all fantastic. I want some of that.

Anyway, Wes Falik, a good friend, former coworker, and hopeful voucher-of-my-work-ethic, already told me he didn’t think you guys were looking for creatives right now, [but to hell with that guy, what does he know!] but I figured, since I’m not freaking out looking for a job (yet), I could reach for the stars and maybe get an interview with a place that I really admire before I schlep it to some loser agency like Wieden.

Anyway. I wasn’t totally prepared so I don’t have my resume all prettied up, so here are the cliff notes: I got a B.S. in communications from Florida State, worked at a radio station while I was there, got an internship at Mcgarry, they kept me on for two and a half years, then got canned.

Anyway, my book is at cargocollective.com/louisdeslis.

I hope we can meet. I’m up for anything. Freelance. Paidlance. Part-time. Full-time. Second internship. I just want to woo you guys and win you over. Does that come off as desperate? As stated above, I’m not desperate for another month. Also, I’ve got a partner I can work with, Andrea Jones, if you’re into that sort of thing. Thanks for your time.

Sealed with a kiss,
Louis Deslis