In late March 2026, Pops and I were enjoying a beautiful sunny day in the courtyard of Cottage Hospital, just being buddies. Chatting about life, death, and how the Lakers need to get it together — a pretty wide range of serious topics. It went without saying that this would be one of our last conversations.
I absolutely adored my father, not just because he was my best friend and hero, but because I realized I would never meet someone braver than he was. Pops loved life. All he wanted was to “just be with everybody.” He valiantly battled for six years to remain with his family and friends. In that moment, when I looked into his eyes, I hugged him and said, “I look up to you, Pops, and so does Santa Barbara.” This was a connection I never felt before in my heart — I held his hand, kissed him on the forehead, and told him, “I wish I could switch places with you, Pops.”
My father, David Ortiz, was a homegrown Mesa boy, born in 1954 to Mama and Poppie, my grandparents — Ophie and Jess Ortiz— in Santa Barbara. Raised with two sisters — Barbra Ortiz and Susan (Ortiz) Wickler — Pops began a life in a place he would call home for almost 72 years.
Many knew Pops for his contributions in the education community: at Los Robles High School at Los Prietos and as a teacher and principal of La Colina Junior High. Many saw him as Leslie’s husband, Santa Barbara High School sweetheart, and lifelong soulmate. His best friends knew Pops as the loyal, lighthearted jokester who greeted them with laughter by pointing at their waist and saying, “You missed a belt loop.” They also knew him as a friend who they could always count on. A friend who showed up to celebrate you during the good times and, more importantly, a friend who put his arm around you during the tough times. Pops showed us how to be a great friend through compassion, comedy, and being present.
To my brother, Michael, and me, we knew Pops as our role model, omnipresent father, dedicated husband, and family member. He was so proud of my brother. Michael is the accomplished son, a self-made Ortiz icon, married to our family treasure, Megan (Wilcox-Fogel) Ortiz, and father to Pops’s forever hearts: Sofia and Lola Ortiz (a k a Mijitas). It has been a blessing for our family and mostly for my dad to witness Michael raising the bar for how we view a true family man.
Pops loved his frequent visits with Michael’s family (a k a Ortiz East) in Washington, D.C., and he always looked forward to their trips to Santa Barbara and Ortiz West/East family vacations. Sofia and Lola meant everything to Pops. They called him “Poppie” — just like Michael and I called our Pops’s father, Jess Ortiz. Time stopped when he was around his Mijitas. He watched them with teary pride, hugged them with unconditional love, and cherished them deeply for their innocence, natural curiosity, and passion for togetherness. He often shared how proud he was to be a grandfather — witnessing two young Ortizes grow and mature into talented, loving, and caring little girls. Sofia and Lola loved performing for Poppie. They would sing, dance, and organize family games. Even at our last Christmas together, when getting around was difficult for him, Poppie was in the front row.
One of his final trips was to Palo Alto for Michael and Megan’s Stanford alumni reunion and a 49ers game — which turned out to be a core memory our family will never forget. It was made even more special when Pops and our family met Jerry Rice, who was dining in our hotel. After Pops complimented Jerry for his accolades on and off the field, Jerry came running out to take pictures and sign autographs with the entire family. Watching his family interact with the greatest football player/49er of all time, right before we headed to a game, embodied what Pops wanted for all of us: joy, fulfillment, and a new memory to share with family and friends.
Pops made certain to never push his own agenda onto his sons. That was easy for him as an educator at heart. He learned that all young people should be supported for who they are, and not who you or society want them to be. All he wanted for us was to be decent men — who worked to support their loved ones, live a grateful life, and who prioritized family and friends. He offered intentional guidance as most fathers should, letting us make our own path, and he followed in support. “Carve your own path, son; Mom and I will support you any way we can” was often a sentiment Pops shared with Michael and me, as we started new life experiences. He believed in us, we believed in him, and we will always love him for what he created with our mom.
David Ortiz wouldn’t be the man we remember today without my mom, Leslie Rian Ortiz. She is truly the backbone and heartbeat of the Ortiz family. As a little girl, she moved to Santa Barbara from Minnesota with her two sisters (Laura McCarroll and Lynne Noroian) and her mom, Jane Rian (a k a Nana). She never dreamed of the life she would create ahead of her. My mom is a genuinely kind mother, an engaged, forever dedicated wife, who matured without a father — he sadly passed before the Rian family moved to California.
Pops carried me for 38 years. He coddled me more as an adult man than he ever did raising me as a child. I don’t think he ever thought I was lost; I was just the “baby” — who still enjoyed weekly gifts and dinner together every Sunday with our dog Curtis, while watching the Lakers, Dodgers, or 49ers and barbecuing in chairs that read “Jess Ortiz.” Pops would tell me in those moments that jealousy and envy would never be part of our family — so I would have to put up with taking a backseat to his new daughter, Erika. Like Megan, my wife, Erika (Salcedo) Ortiz, was valued higher than his own son. Before a major intestinal surgery in November 2025, he only wanted to hold one hand, and that was Erika’s.
On one of our last days together, in the courtyard, he put his arm around me and said, “Teach people about me, son.” Pops had a feeling, as he always did, and was preparing himself for his new journey — setting up the Ortiz family’s new home on the beaches of his Santa Barbara heaven before the rest of us arrive. I told him I had his back and that our unbreakable bond would transcend this short life.
A piece of me left with my dad on the day he passed. Over the past few years, I became acquainted with the fact that this day would come, as it always does in our precious life. He often asked me if I was scared of death, and I told him, “No, because I’m at peace with life’s chapters,” but what I’ll tell you today, Pops, I’ll never be frightened to die for the rest of my days, because when it ends, I get to see you again.
I love you forever.
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