MARFA — On January 29, Marfans of all stripes packed St. Mary’s Catholic Church to say goodbye to beloved friend and neighbor Gilbert Lujan Jr. Many tears were shed at the service, but a few smiles and laughs shone through in tribute to his irrepressible, larger-than-life spirit.
Lujan was born on April 23, 1948, in Marfa and attended St. Mary’s Catholic School. He passed away on January 23 at the age of 75, leaving behind three children, a brother and numerous grandchildren and great-grandchildren — all of whom felt his love and care until his final days.
Food was one of the many ways Lujan expressed his affection. There were few vegetables in the house: his snacks of choice included beef jerky, canned sardines and a stash of Vienna sausages he kept in a broken-down hot tub. He was forever chasing down the Schwan’s truck to keep his house stocked with treats.
He was locally famous for his skill on the grill and elevated backyard parties to an art form. One time he loaded a smoker — already fired up — on a tractor and drove across from his house in Sal Si Puedes to a family gathering.
Everyone knew that the full dining experience was had around the garage, where he and his friends would gather to throw back beers and work on cars. “Some of the best food that’s ever been had on this earth was right there,” his grandson Jason Luna said.
Whenever grandkids from out of town would visit, he would call and ask them to put in an order and their home-cooked favorites would be waiting by the time they arrived. He seemed to get a kick out of seeing how much they could eat: when he visited the big city, the first stop was a buffet or somewhere with a “if you can finish it, it’s free” challenge.
Lujan remained almost supernaturally strong and active until later in life. He loved wrestling — or “wrassling,” as he called it, with his grandkids and watching the pros on TV. (He would also often fall asleep on the floor watching these matches, which may have been the secret to his success.)
One day he challenged his son to a foot race, wearing his signature outfit of a white T-shirt, blue jeans and black boots. Everyone watching laughed, certain he wouldn’t be able to win — but in both running and wrassling he showed no mercy.
Lujan was a die-hard regular at the Marfa Golf Course and always kept a set of clubs and a collared shirt in the back of his truck in case he got the chance to play on the road. He coached his granddaughter, Alexis Gonzales, all the way to state competition. “That sport is all about perfection with practice,” she said.
Gonzales played pretty much every sport the Marfa High School Shorthorns play, and her grandpa was always there in the stands. While he was an endlessly supportive presence, he was also not shy about telling the ref what he thought about each call.
Whether he was on the sidelines, on the green or celebrating after the clock ran out, the message he imparted to his grandkids was the same. “He was one of the people who taught me to just be tough and keep going,” she said.
And he was always himself. “He was a man of many words,” she said. “He always spoke his mind no matter what.”
Wheeler and dealer
What did Lujan do for work? His family can’t provide a straight answer — much less a short one. If there was an opportunity to make money, he was there: long-haul trucking, working on cars, grading roads, mopping the floor at the Border Patrol station.
He worked out of his garage on and off throughout his life at Gilbert’s Body Shop, his self-titled enterprise. He took on all kinds of challenges but had a particular knack for painting vehicles, laying it down smoothly in custom colors.
By all accounts, he would do almost anything for a dollar. He kept a wad of cash in his pocket in case there was a chance to make a deal around town, and he was the first to cruise by a yard sale. As he entered the digital age, he loved buying his grandkids gifts on discount websites like Temu and Wish, surprising them with everything from laptops to massive bean bag chairs.
He took a special interest in flipping cars and heavy machinery, putting in a little work and turning a profit in the end. “This is my grandpa in a nutshell and the way he did business,” grandson Jason Luna said. “It was always on a whim and he came out smelling like a rose every time.”
There was only one job where Lujan didn’t last long. For a short stint, he worked at the funeral home, transporting bodies in a hearse. His family and friends initially questioned the gig, but Lujan insisted he was comfortable with the dead: their silence, their stiffness, how they’d twitch a little bit if they were fresh.
That was until one run to Alpine — when, as the legend goes — a body sat up in the backseat.
Allegedly, Lujan parked the hearse by the side of the road and walked all the way to Marfa. (This part of the story is disputed; Jason’s brother Justin Luna insists he would never have left a job unfinished.)
Despite his penchant for wheeling and dealing, he wasn’t interested in getting rich: he wanted to always be able to help, often offering large loans to loved ones in crisis that he never expected to be repaid.
In addition to his many hustles, Lujan worked hard for the community on a volunteer basis — most notably, at the Marfa Fire Department, where he served for over two decades and earned the title of assistant chief. “I truly will miss him around here,” said Fire Chief Gary Mitschke. “It’s going to take a little while to get past it.”
“Don’t worry,” was a phrase Lujan repeated often, whether on an emergency call or to a family member in need.
The long-haul mailman
In his later years, Lujan worked for the post office in Marfa and took on a crucially important task: delivering the mail to the tiny, remote village of Candelaria. The few dozen people on the route live in a world apart. Over an hour and a half from Presidio or Marfa, the town has no stores, no gas stations and no cell phone service.
Lujan made the trek on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays — 133 miles round trip down some of the loneliest roads in the Big Bend. If the arroyos were flooded, he’d try again the next day. He gave a lot of himself to the job, driving his own truck along the route. Part of the reason he kept so many cars in the driveway was to always have a backup of a backup of a backup so the mail could go out on time.
An unofficial part of his job was delivering food, clothing and toys to the community. People would give him money to go to the store, and Lujan would round down to make their dollars stretch.
Clara Muñiz, who got her mail from Lujan for around five years, echoed what everyone in Marfa seemed to think — that he was loved, and no one had anything bad to say about him. “He was very good to us over here,” she said. “He was a very friendly person, very respectful.”
Muñiz said that on his last visit to town he complained of flu-like aches and pains. He would never make it back to Candelaria — on his return trip two days later, the pressure in his chest intensified and he was rushed to the hospital in El Paso.
She eventually learned through her nephew that Lujan had passed away. As word spread throughout the county, many tough, hardworking people were devastated by the news.
Luna’s greatest gift to everyone he met was a sense of confidence and self-sufficiency. While he was always quick to write a check or pull out his tool set for people in need, he was best at empowering people to help themselves. “He never wanted to call anybody,” said grandson Steven Granado. “He always taught me how to do it myself.”
Family members found some comfort in the sheer number of people that Lujan had made an impression on. That’s partly because of how social he was — he could talk to anyone for hours about anything. He was always there to lend a hand, even to total strangers. “If you liked him, he liked you more,” his grandson Justin said. “Marfa lost a lot.”
Justin knows that a part of him will always feel a sense of deep loss. When he first heard the news, he felt overwhelmed and scared until he tapped into a memory of learning how to paint a car for the first time.
He’d beg his grandfather for a demonstration, but instead of showing him the full process, Lujan would offer step-by-step instructions, adding more complexity as his grandson seemed ready for the task. All of a sudden — after a thousand tiny steps — the car was complete.
“He’s been teaching me all along — he wouldn’t have left before I was ready,” Justin said. “He’d give you more than anything you could have ever asked for because not only would he do things for you, he’d show you how to do things for yourself.”