Big Pun's Mural

A sad story, but one that would never have been told had Rios not been the 700-lb. Latino rapper known as Big Punisher?Big Pun to you. When word got out that the corpulent spitter was no more, the South Bronx mourned. Here was the first double-platinum Latino rapper, and now, at 28, he was with the angels.

Two days after Big Pun died, a memorial service took place on Rogers Pl. in the South Bronx. Artists painted a mural commemorating Big Pun's life and times on the side of an audio store. Mourners left flowers and bottles of Cognac, Amaretto and St. Ides malt liquor in front of the painting. Some lit candles; others kneeled and prayed for the spirit of the well-loved fat man. The Daily News quoted one of Big Pun's former neighbors, Maria Melendez: "He was a homeboy?and didn't want to leave the neighborhood. But his weight was the one thing I worried about."

As well she should have. Big Pun was once asked how he grew so fat. He claimed that he had been in good shape and was quite a ball player, but then took to eating until he couldn't tie his shoelaces. He was so heavy that fluid filled his lungs, eventually enlarging his heart until the day it all gave out.

I drove up recently to see if the mural painted in honor of this Bronx native was still in good condition. Things have a way of falling apart in the Bronx, so you never know. On a crisp fall night?the kind of night that makes you remember World Series games in which the Yankees had to wear navy-blue sweats under their pinstripes to stay warm?I pulled over to the curb in front of Big Pun's mural. The street was littered with empty liquor bottles, but the fresco was pristine?as clean as it was the day it was painted. If anything speaks to the veneration Big Pun received in the South Bronx, it's that, eight months later, there's not one bit of graffiti on his mural.

"And no one will ever touch it," 21-year-old Danny Gonsalez told me when I asked about the mural. "He was a well-loved man. And I think that some people in the neighborhood think that someone is always watching out for it. Big Pun was good people. He used to have free barbecues every summer, with all kinds of food. Invite the whole neighborhood. He was much respected in the South Bronx."

The mural is impressive. It dominates the whole sidewall of Pyramid Auto Sound. In bold black letters with a white border is written "BIG PUN." Above that is a Puerto Rican flag, and there's a bigger-than-life drawing of Rios wearing a porkpie hat and a black leather trench coat, his girth impressive as he stands next to a tombstone bearing the legend "Terror Squad"?the name of his crew. On the side, in yellow, is a testimonial: "Every few years someone comes along that changes the way you look at Hip-Hop?But this time he's not alone?Ladies and Gentleman I present to you the first Latino platinum soloist in the world! The legendary Big Pun and the immortal Terror Squad."

The South Bronx neighborhood didn't stop with a mural honoring Big Pun. Over 3000 Bronx residents have signed a petition to rename 163rd St. Big Pun Ave. And why not? Imagine being able to say, "I live on Big Pun Ave." The name change would be another proud sign that the Bronx is a stronghold of Latino culture. The streets surrounding the mural are named Simpson, Fox and Tiffany?and who were those people, but some long-gone folks who once lived large in New York?

I left the mural and drove up Intervale Ave., thinking about the deceased MC. A Bronx cop once told me that he pulled over Big Pun and his mentor, the appropriately named Latino rapper Fat Joe, and it took the two of them 10 minutes to get out of the car to produce their licenses. During the 1998 Puerto Rican Day parade, Big Pun and Fat Joe rode on a float together. One of the float's tires burst, and the two had to work the crowd on the sidewalk. A fight broke out, someone got hit with a baseball bat and a gold chain was snatched. Big Pun and Fat Joe were arrested. You just can't take the Bronx out of some people.

As I drove, my attention was diverted by my surroundings. What was once an urban jungle has transformed itself. Rows of immaculate prewar brick apartment houses line the street, with no graffiti on any walls. The streets are clean and well-lit; there's a gentrified feeling throughout the neighborhood. Latinos saved this 'hood but, of course, they don't get enough credit for it.

I made a left and a right and headed up to Westchester Ave. Since I was out to visit memorials to dead men, I stopped at Wheeler Ave., where Amadou Diallo was shot at 41 times. Diallo's former residence is now for sale. Maybe the owner's looking to duck some of the bad juju the shooting generated. All the flowers and vases were gone now, and all that was left were some scribblings on the window of the lobby door: "Pay You Back," "R.I.P. Diallo," "Who's next?" The sense was that the Bronx is moving on from the Diallo tragedy. But it's embraced Christopher Rios' tragedy, which means it's also embraced his success and his pride in his community, and that's a good sign.