On Writing and Storytelling: The Sixth Stop on the Gratitude Tour

The Sixth Stop on the Gratitude Tour: Juan Carlos Hernandez

Hey there, my cherished reader! Thanks for hopping aboard yet another leg of my Gratitude Tour. Today, the Gratitude Express is rumbling its way into the heart of New York City—the city that never sleeps and, incidentally, the home of our honoree, Juan Carlos Hernandez. He shares his Big Apple adventures with his wonderful wife, Adria, and their son, Anthony James (better known as A.J., who, I’m told, is destined to become one of the best lawyers in the Big Apple).

If yesterday’s stop in the land of Maggie Wunderlich stirred up a bit of nostalgia, buckle up—because Juan and I go way back. We’re talking early ’80s: perms, cassette tapes, and the sun-baked hallways of South Miami Senior High School. Juan and I first crossed paths in Drama I, which doubled as our homeroom. I can still smell the chalk dust and teenage angst.

As for how I ended up in Drama I? It wasn’t destiny or a burning desire for the stage. The Guidance Department worked its magic (read: mixed up my schedule), conveniently forgetting I’d already finished my social studies credits in summer school. So there I was, a senior in need of a class. Since I was already tied up with Newspaper Production and Editing—and didn’t have the heart to do the yearbook again—Drama I felt like the least risky bet among the Language Arts electives.

(Honestly, to this day, I have no idea what drew me to Drama I. Much like my long-suffering character Jim Garraty in Reunion: Coda, I have all the acting chops of a garden gnome. I can read lines passably well…but memorizing them? Let’s just say I’d be more convincing playing a tree—one with no lines.)

Juan, on the other hand, was bitten by the acting bug early—and in the best way. Even as a junior, he radiated warmth and humor that made every class brighter. He was a natural mimic, could land a punchline with surgical precision, and had a knack for making even our toughest teacher crack a smile. The stage called him, and Juan actually listened.

I wish I could pinpoint the exact moment we became best buds, but the early ’80s were a blur of pastel colors and synth‑pop. My memory’s sharp enough to write stories set in that era, but the finer details—like who first suggested catching a weekend movie—are a little fuzzy. What matters is this: Juan was, hands down, the best friend I made in Drama I. In fact, he’s the only one from that class I still keep in touch with, which, in friendship years, is like winning the lottery.

Back then—and for several years after graduation—Juan was a fixture in my life. Our posse (including his ever‑energetic cousins Frank and Tommy Calderon, and the artistic wizard Miguel De Paz) would cruise around in search of adventure, good laughs, and fast food. Picture us at McDonald’s, Neighbors, or my personal temple of hot dogs, Arbetter’s, on those endless, sticky South Florida summer nights. The air was thick, the jokes flew freely, and memories—some fuzzy, most hilarious—were made.

After high school, Juan left Florida for college and eventually put down roots in New York City. Though we haven’t been face‑to‑face since our last hangout at Miami International Mall back in early 1989, I’ve kept up with his journey—sometimes from afar but always with pride. It’s a thrill to spot him on Law & Order or in films like High Crimes and Steven Spielberg’s War of the Worlds. That’s my friend—the same Juan who once cracked up our Drama I class—now lighting up screens in the Big Apple.

Juan didn’t earn his spot on this Gratitude Tour simply for being a loyal reader—though he’s read and reviewed all three of my Jim Garraty stories. He’s here because he left his mark on Reunion: Coda. While Denise Longrie, my beta reader, nudged me toward a subplot I hadn’t planned on, Juan offered something different. I leaned on his actor‑filmmaker instincts to help ensure my characters felt genuine and my dialogue rang true, even within the “fictional artifice” of storytelling.

Aside from Denise, Juan was the only person who read Reunion: Coda before I hit “Publish” on Kindle Direct Publishing last April. He rarely said, “This sounds off, Alex. Marty wouldn’t say that, but she’d say…”—though, as my trusted gamma reader, he did from time to time. More often, he’d suggest subtle tweaks to the rhythm of dialogue rather than urge major plot or character changes. Those small adjustments made a big difference.

Juan even gave my parody song “Boy of Harvard” a boost—the one Jim hears in a dream during his commencement on a sweltering June afternoon in 1983. The song riffs on “Men of Harlech,” and while Juan liked my initial version, he polished a few lines to better fit the martial rhythm of the original Welsh tune.

Boy of Harvard, what’s your story?

Tell her now or you’ll be sorry.

A gorgeous lass stands before ye,

Hear ye not her call?

At your pause, she seems to wonder;

Rend your teenage fears asunder,

Let your heart’s a-deaf’ning thunder

Answer her love’s call.

Kisses need exchanging,

Passions loudly waking;

Till your young hearts beat as one,

The mourning soul is breaking;

Fears on every side assailing,

Onward march with heart unfailing,

Make her see your love prevailing,

Cobras never fall!

And, in true Hernandez fashion, Juan and his talented wife, Adria, didn’t stop at revising my song—they brought it to life. The two of them performed “Boy of Harvard” for a promotional video they created to champion Reunion: Coda. Their support means the world to me and adds yet another reason I count myself lucky to call Juan a lifelong friend.

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Conclusion

Friendships like mine with Juan don’t just endure—they evolve, deepen, and take on new meaning as the years roll by. What began in a misassigned high‑school class has become a decades-long thread woven through creativity, laughter, distance, and mutual respect. Juan has been a cheerleader, a collaborator, a sounding board, and a reminder that the people who knew us “back when” often see us with a clarity no one else can.

So here’s to Juan—actor, storyteller, family man, and one of the brightest lights from my South Miami days. The Gratitude Tour wouldn’t be complete without him, and neither, in many ways, would Reunion: Coda.