Jorge Antonio Mora Alfaro

A Tribute to Jorge a.k.a Pancho a.k.a Panchito By Christopher Jordan (step-son, friend)

This is a unique history to tell. For as long as Jorge had been in our lives, there were still a lot of things I did not know about him. It’s something that I will regret. Not asking enough questions. But that’s not to say that I (or we) knew nothing about him. If the time he spent with us, and all he did for the family is a testament to his character and love, well then, there’s enough great memories to paint a great picture of a special man.

Let’s start from the beginning. 

Jorge Antonia Mora Alfaro was born on February 26, 1951, in Lima, Peru, in the midst of a typical hot, south-of-the-equator summer, to his father Jorge Mora Mondoñedo and Mother Angelita Alfaro Viani (mother). Pancho or Panchito, as he was referred to by family back in Peru, had older twin sisters: Lizana and Leonor. Jorge was a catholic school kid who loved the typical boy things—toys, cars, and futbol. He had always been a curious young man who grew up quickly. He loved business. Since he was little, he always had something going. He had a loving family, mainly his aunts, that supported his early endeavors. He would make his money and pay his debt back. Always paying his debts. This is who he was—a bit rebellious, eager, and never wanted anything handed to him. And there was plenty to be handed. Nope, he wanted to earn it. After being accepted to the local university, he made the tough but decisive decision at the age of 18 to venture out on his own, leaving his family and homeland behind. 

He made his way to San Francisco on an invitation from a close childhood friend who had happened to land in the Bay Area just a year before. I remember hearing a story that he had an arrangement to play soccer at USF, but he abandoned that idea to quickly get going on with his American life. Jorge was a worker. He was ready for the hard work and looking to build something for himself. 

In his mid to late twenties, after some time in the states, Jorge made his way to Mexico. My history is blurry on this period, but what I do remember was that he lived in the coastal town of Mazatlan, Sinaloa for a short period of time. Enough time, however, to open and operate a seafood restaurant called Rico Rico. A seafood spot where he would hone in on his famous ceviche, and a plethora of other Peruvian seafood dishes. He once mentioned to me that those were some of the greatest moments in his life. It was something of a personal discovery for him, I think. To see what he could do on his own. He’d eventually return to the bay area, and even attempted to bring that Rico Rico flavor to San Mateo, but it never really did take off.

The 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake that hit the San Francisco Bay Area not only shook-up cities and neighborhoods, it also shook up my little family—in a good way. You see, my parents had just separated, and our life was starting a new chapter. The day after the quake, in a series of not-so-important events, fate would bring Jorge to meet my mother, Joba. Thus began the era of Jorge, the Jordans, and later the Avendanos.

Jorge blessed us with 35 years of his life. 35 years of being a “Nono” for three of my sister's kids, a life partner to my mother, a step-father and friend to me, a staple at family gatherings, a familiar face in many pictures, even a friend to my father, Lucho. Ultimately, he was an unselfish provider of our family.

But “Nono” you say? Isn’t it “Nonno” like the Italian variety? Um, no. Just a funny coincidence.

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Ashlynn (oldest step-granddaughter):

Well, we gotta start off with the reason for calling him Nono! If I remember correctly, he loved making me laugh as a little kid, so tickling me was always the best way. I would try to run away, and when he would catch up to me, he would try to tickle me again and I would say “no no”, and that is why I started to call him Nono. [It was] only to later find out that it meant grandpa, so it was a perfect match! It also stuck for the rest of my siblings. Lol. _____________________________________________________________

After my first stint away from the home my sister and I grew up in, our new Jorge-influenced family landed on Lux Avenue in South City. Those would be some interesting growth years for us. Both him and my mom made sacrifices for us. Like creating their own bedroom in the corner of the living room with the help of black and white checkered room dividers, and a row of house plants just to give my sister and I our own rooms. 

Jorge was in his late thirties when we met him, a relatively young man trying to transition between being a single man to a family man with a woman with two adolescent kids. Every once in a while, he’d be drinking his cold MGDs, and after a few, he’d remembered a lot of his past. The fact that he was away from a country that he loved, his home, his music, his mother and sisters. It made him melancholic. As it would for any of us. There were a lot of things I’m sure that he missed, but in those years getting to know him, I knew that he was searching for the same thing we all do: love, family, and a place to call home. As much as the homeland called, he knew his place was right next to my mother. With us.

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Jennifer (oldest step-daughter): Jorge was a great step dad, I love him for loving my mom, and then tolerating her children! Jorge was a workaholic, but he enjoyed his party time. He liked his beer and his tequila. When he was feeling it he would get up and dance! Jorge was a kind-hearted and giving person, he was not stingy with money, he would spoil my mom and send her on trips to Peru to see her family and help support those [family members] in need. I will always remember him for being a hustler, working all kinds of jobs just to keep busy! He loved his grandchildren, he would do anything for them, he catered to all their wants: from fried plantains to his famous guacamole to making fruit platters. He also made yummy ceviche, and did whatever my mom wanted. [My mom was] definitely a spoiled Lady! Thank you for letting us be your family, and for loving and trusting us with your love. You are now at peace and with your mona! We miss you guys so much, and Nala [or Nola] will miss you, too. _____________________________________________________________

Jorge had always been a bit of a hustler. Some would call him a workaholic. He managed a lot of jobs and careers in his 74 years of life. He had been a bus boy, dishwasher, cook, restaurant owner, ran an illegal yet “exclusive” weekend restaurant in our apartment on Olive Street in South City in the 90s, a waiter at El Torito, filled up the San Francisco corner newspaper racks with fresh off-the-press news, delivered hot pizzas within 30 minutes around San Francisco and Daly City, sold knock-off hats, shirts and hoodies in the Mission, couriered lab specimens all over the Bay Area down to the Monterey Peninsula and as far south as Kettleman City, hawked stacks and stacks of eggs and produce to neighbors and friends that he picked up on his courier visits to the fruitful Monterey area, bused dishes at an Elk Grove diner, and finally, as a last hustle job, a maintenance worker at his nearby Walmart before retiring. Oh Jorge.

But that was him. A truly unselfish person trying to do what he could to help his family, get ahead as best as possible, and bring meaning for himself. 

Jorge could also be somewhat of a joker. He’d say things to make us laugh. My mom would roll her eyes often, but sometimes I feel like those eye rolls were just for show, so as to not egg him on anymore. I remember anytime he would mess around with my mom, annoyingly to her, he’d do this funny and crazy little dance where his legs would bend in and out like a 20’s flapper all while putting his hands on his face, gesturing as if he was crying like a mad man. Phew, I hadn’t thought about that in years.

Jorge would always find a way to show you his love. Jorge loved his produce. Loved it. He’d show that by buying avocados for Ashlynn and Anissya, strawberries and grapes for Eli, and mangos for Oscar. His love languages were definitely acts of service and physical touch. Always selfless and giving. Always loving and caring.

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Anissya (middle step-granddaughter):

One funny memory that I have with Nono was when Nono, Joba, and I were in the kitchen, and Joba was making an orange kind of sauce in the blender. She went to get Tupperware from the cabinet which was a decent size! As Joba was blending her sauce, Nono came up to her and said, “I don’t think that will all fit in there,” “you need a bigger one!” And Joba was like, “no it’s going to fit!” Then Nono looks at me and goes, ”Niss, do you think that it will fit in there?”, and I said, “I think it will!!” He goes okay, let me make a bet with you. If that all fits in the container, I will give you 100 bucks, and if it doesn’t, you owe me 100 bucks. I was like okay let’s make that bet!! After Joba was done, she says, “you guys ready” and we said, “yes” and she started to pour all, and I mean all the sauce, and the sauce fit perfectly in there, all the way to the top! We all looked at each other in shock, and we started to laugh. Nono had such a funny and goofy personality which I loved. He would always mess with me and try to scare me in the kitchen when I wasn't paying attention! He would always get me avocados, and told me “you need to eat these, they are sooo good!!” He’d always eat anything left in the kitchen, and I’m not going to lie, I had a lot of leftovers from whenever we went out to eat, and he would always eat it if I didn’t!! I love you so much Nono!! _____________________________________________________________

Since Jorge came into our lives, and until his final days, he spent a lot of time with us. From the time I was 12 to my early twenties, he had been a great friend. And pushed me from time to time like a good friend would. When he felt it was time for me to fly the coop, he told me:

“Ya es tiempo que te tires al rio. Salta!” “It’s time for you to jump into the river. Just jump!”

It was his way of telling me that I needed to move out of the house, and go live my life.

After I moved away, Jorge spent formidable years with my sister, brother-in-law, and their growing family. They were almost inseparable. Well, until they were. There was an eight year hiatus where my mom and Jorge lived their own lives in San Mateo. It was the first time my mom and Jorge had been 100% away from any of us. It was a unique time for them. 

They both ultimately reunited with the Avendano’s in 2020. Jorge’s health at the time, and the pandemic had a lot to do with that move. It would end up being the last place they’d both move to. And we had moved around a lot.

Jorge would always remind me to call my mom. Call her. Call her. She misses you, he used to say. He was always thinking of her. 

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Eli (youngest step-grandson):

I only have good memories with Nono, and I think that’s what he wanted. I will miss our little chats we had when we would both be eating our lunches, or when I’d be playing video games and he would walk by or try to sneak up on me with something cold and put it against my face to mess with me. He always did his best to keep up with how I was doing, and always asked me how my day was, or how sports were going.

A funny memory was when he came back from the hospital. I went to go see him even though it was hard to talk to him, but he was first to ask about how I was doing, and how my football game went the week prior. It’s funny to me because I should’ve been the one asking how he’s doing like, dude you were in the hospital! But I will miss him getting me fruits like watermelon and cantaloupe and all the other things he bought for me. Like Joba, I’m glad I got to get to talk to him more when they moved in with us. After Joba had passed, I promised her that I would try to talk to Nono more, and make sure he won’t feel lonely. All I hope for is that I fulfilled this promise. Even though it hurts for both Joba and Nono not to be with us anymore, I’m glad they will be with each other once again. _____________________________________________________________

Jorge made lots of friends wherever he went. He wasn’t shy to talk to neighbors, strangers, the lady at the checkout stand, the guy selling strawberries in the Wal-Mart parking lot, anyone who looked like they spoke Spanish. He had the knack of just sharing stories, making someone smile and laugh.

There aren’t a lot of photos of just Jorge. Many of them on our phones were of him with my mom, us, and family. And that’s a special way to be remembered. Unselfish. 

When my mom passed away earlier this year, a part of him died, too. It wasn’t the same. The house was quieter. The room was colder. My mom and Jorge shared a lot of great moments together. A lot of tough ones, too, but those were the ones that tightened their bond as a couple. 

Days after my mother passed, Jorge wound up in the hospital himself. His heart was starting to fail him. But he fought to get better, and after a week or so, he was released home. Jorge knew he needed to reset things. It was hard at first. For weeks after she passed, he would stay in his room for long stretches, sit in my mom’s chair, think of her, talk to her, repeatedly in shock that she was gone. It had been a tough year for all of us, but it definitely took its toll on him. As he started to feel better, he started making plans to return to Peru to visit his family. His sisters. His country. Full circle. He was just waiting to make sure he was healthy enough to make it, and come back.

Off he went. He’d walk everywhere in Elk Grove. He ate healthier. He stopped drinking. And he kept to his routine—take out the garbage and recycle, do the dishes, clean the kitchen, make sure the bathrooms at the house were well stocked with TP and paper towels. Jorge would spend hours walking, getting in shape, doing what he could to prepare himself once he got the ok from his doctor. He also wanted to make sure all his current debts were accounted for so that he could travel in peace.

In the end, that day never came. My mother spent four days in the hospital before she passed. We spoke briefly on her last day. Jorge had three stints in the hospital over a 7 month period. I had spent a lot of time with Jorge. Taking him to appointments or to Wal-Mart to do his shopping. While in the hospital we talked a lot. Remembering things. Remembering things for him, too. His memory wasn’t great. We’d talk about sports, the weather, his family, and I was always trying to get some stories out of him. I never expected that I would end up being his decision maker when he no longer could. It was the hardest thing I had to do. To make decisions for the health and life of another.

Jorge, there hasn’t been a day that I haven’t thought about you. Thought about my mom with you. But I’m glad you are now back together. I’m happy that you found your way to her. I’m happy that you no longer have any back pain, can sleep comfortably, not take any meds or have to deal with getting your meds. It’s time for you two to be together, alone, and take the time for yourselves again. Thank you for everything you gave us throughout the years. We love you, and will miss you. 

Salud Jorge. 

Jorge is survived by his sisters, Lizana and Leonor, his step-kids Jennifer and Christopher, his step-grand-kiddos Ashlynn, Anissya, and Eli. 

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Gavin (Ashlynn’s Husband): 

I obviously didn’t know Jorge as long as the rest of the family, but my favorite memories of him are sitting and talking, he always had great stories about his life. He loved that I worked in restaurants and would always talk to me about it.

Everytime we stayed at the house on a weekend he would always mess with me to wake me up by tickling my ears or messing with my hair, and say “Come on man it’s already X in the morning/afternoon”. 

Jorge’s spirit was always kind and generous, and he was willing to talk to anyone about anything. I'll miss him dearly, but am glad he and Joba are together again. 

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Maron (Christopher’s Partner)

I didn’t get to know Jorge for very long, but I truly appreciated how he welcomed me into the family by sharing various memories from the past or giving me a taste of something delicious he had prepared. He played an important and special role in the family and I know that he will be deeply missed, but certainly never forgotten.