Meet the Real Carpacho—And Hear His Stories

The stories spill forward as fast as Roberto “Carpacho” Marin can tell them. So fast and so furiously entertaining that you can forgive him for not starting with the obvious one—where did the name “Carpacho” come from?

“When I was in Medellin (Colombia), I was playing in a club illegally at 16. You have to be 18 to play in a nightclub,” he said. “They always put me in the back of the stage, because it was dark there and harder to see. Well, there was this bass player I admired and tried to imitate. One night we were drinking in a club afterward and the drummer of the band said ‘You don’t play like the guy (you’re talking about), but you are Carpacho.’ I hated that name and we started arguing. We actually got into a fight over that, but the more you argue, the more they want to call you that name.

“When I came to the U.S., I told everyone my name was Roberto. But there was this band coming from Colombia and they asked me to meet them at the airport. As soon as the band saw me, they yelled “Hey Carpacho!” I stuck with that name. … Even (my wife) Carol calls me ‘Carpacho.’ I’m stuck with that name and I’m glad.”

We’ll get back to Carol in a bit, since if you’ve seen La Havana Madrid, Sandra Delgado’s lively play with Latin music at the Mission San Juan Capistrano, you’ve met the talented Carol and her trombone already.

Marin has a story for that too. Of course he does. But first, you should meet “the real Carpacho,” as Delgado introduces him at the end of every La Havana Madrid performance.

The “real Carpacho” is a 74-year-old grandfather who took up the guitar at 12 and built his first upright bass out of old guitar parts, just the way Tristan Turner—who plays Marin in the sixth and final vignette of Delgado’s play—describes it.

He came to the United States from Medellin, Colombia in 1971 in pursuit of a music career. That, in turn, has given him a nice spread in Valparaiso, Indiana, where he and Carol now live when they’re not touring with the Carpacho and His Super Combo band, the group he created in 1986 that plays a fusion of salsa, merengue, cumbia, bolero and other Latin music. The band played the inaugurations of two Chicago mayors—Harold Washington and Richard Daley Jr.—along with such artists as Jose Feliciano, Eddy Santiago and El Gran Combo.

But knowing the “real Carpacho” means understanding that for every funny story performed by the talented Turner, the “real Carpacho” has 10 more. Every one of them another step on Marin’s pursuit of a musical career in this country.

“Find me again and I’ll tell you more stories,” he said with a chuckle.

Even putting aside the fact Marin taught her father the guitar, Delgado couldn’t write the Carpacho section of La Havana Madrid fast enough. This part about her “Uncle Carpacho”—as she and her brother call the man who has been a family friend in Medellin dating to before Delgado was born—wrote itself.

“Once you hear Carpacho’s story, you’ll see he’s such a character,” Delgado said. “I sat down and talked to him for hours. He has so many stories that I could write a whole other play about Carpacho. There’s so much there.”

Marin would be the first to agree, which—naturally—leads him into another story.

“She told me ‘I’m writing a play and writing about your life.’ I got really excited and said, ‘Am I going to be Carpacho playing myself?’ She said, ‘No. This is in the 1960s and you were very young. We need a young Carpacho,’” Marin said. “You’re going to be the bandleader. I want the La Havana Madrid band. There will be a young Carpacho and an older Carpacho. I said, ‘Man, c’mon.'

“… I went to the Steppenwolf (Theatre Company, where the show premiered). I was sitting there listening to guys read the scripts in front of me. When they did Henry and Maruja (based on Delgado’s parents), I almost cried. Now, they did Carpacho. I was going to get up and this guy came out and it was me. I was once interviewed on film and this guy used the film so he could copy me. Oh my God, that’s me. He copied me exactly the way I am, even using my accent. I talk a lot and use my hands a lot. I’m like a squirrel. This guy’s like me. Finally, Sandra said ‘I want you to meet the real Carpacho.’ She called me on stage and I was crying because I never thought my life was going to be in theatre.”

Five nights a week, Marin watches his life literally flash before his eyes on the Mission stage in all its dark comedic fashion. He’s literally in the band, the bass that is a metaphor for setting the rhythm of his life, his loyal companion through roach-infested apartments, chiseling club owners and various La Migra adventures.

“There’s so much there. …”

Indeed there is. Now, back to how he met Carol Macpherson. His band was starting a gig with a famous band from Colombia. The trombone player abruptly quit, thinking he wasn’t good enough to play with this band. Marin asked his trumpet player if he knew a trombone player.

“When she came into the nightclub and I saw her, I said ‘Oh my God. This lady is going to be mine someday. She’s so beautiful.’ Then, she came in, started playing and nailed the repertoire.”

Macpherson rejected Marin’s first proposal, saying she’d never get married. Three years later, she proposed to Marin in the parking lot of a Red Lobster and they’ve been together for 33 years.

And the stories lead one into another. Until Marin hits one final note.

“I’m not religious, but I ask God every day that when I die, let me die playing,” he said. “I want to die a musician.”