by Anonymous I still have your letter. You always looked damn good in that sharp Blue suit of yours, and you knew it too. Portland is beautiful, but we also get ahead of our own feet sometimes, you knew that and did a wonderful job helping us where you could. You sheltered us. You fed us. You clothed us. You stood tall and steadfast for our safety and civil rights. You elevated our arts. You celebrated our stories. You helped us build little pockets of paradise to share with our neighbors. We didn't always see eye to eye, but you always looked at us in ours. You were stolen from us, but the memories you gifted from us can’t be stolen. You were no mere man but too much to believe. I tried my best to list out all the miracles you performed, all the people you helped, all the Portland stories you pushed forward. The scap of paper where I wrote what I could remember on pales the recognition of your larger reality, yet this list still seems to magical to be the story of one man. It reads like some old tall tale of mastery and morality we share with the children to shape how they view the world and how they can help themselves to who they can be. Sometimes I feel like no one will ever believe us and how we caught you here for a short spell. You were never the hero we deserved, but you were the one we desperately needed. You were the greatest of this city’s great champions. You were our watchful protector. You are our Father X-mas. You are our Big Fish. We got you.