There Are No Friends In The World

Was my mother's philosophical saying or warning and she was adamant because she would open her eyeballs, keep them fixated on me and not wink.  And then she would repeat, "en este mundo no hay amigos".  I use to think she was crazy because she would continue with more warnings, "you can't trust what those friends will do because you don't know their motives"; "they'll use you and blame you for their deeds"; "they only want to use you and when they don't need you they'll forget you"; "or they'll use you for money and never pay you back"; even family proved that.  Then she would say, "they'll do things of police danger and make you take the fall because they'll forget about you once in jail" while emphasizing in closing, "there are no friends in this world".

To be honest I was confused because certain strangers had become our friends through being Godparents but they were an older couple who never had children and had been friends with her aunt and uncle.  But in reality Gus and Kika became grandparents and the limitation to other friendships stopped there.  My father did not really have friends he had more acquaintences but then my mother would say, "see your father, he doesn't bring just anybody over, and if they do come they wait outside, he doesn't trust people coming over". And I remembered my father was like that but he was friend with my godfather Gus and his brother in law Pocaluz.  And if he did, none of his work friends ever entered our house and I do remember an older man waiting for him across the street.  My father was just that protective of the household and mistrusting of the outside world.

I didn't know why because I was the opposite, gullible and trusting of the outside world and maybe I should have been. These were the 70's of the hillside strangler and boys being kidnapped and murdered along with the normal street risks of unexpected cholos and prowering Blacks but I had no fear of that unless they started following me.  I didn't really comprehend the world. I felt that the world was not as dangerous as it was portrayed and that other kids I knew from the neighborhood were brother like but my mother did not abide by those rules.  She didn't like Sammy because there was something not there or others because they lived too far or didn't know them.  But she liked my friend Scott who was Black but generally distrusted the other Mexican kids because tyhe would lead me down the wrong path. They were all potential criminals, just look at the family, even their look would reveal they were to not be trusted especially if they had any Sinaloa background. But I kept insisting it was not true but then I started seeing her points.  Sammy was a prick, even I didn't really like him, then he dropped out of school, was a wondering kid because his mother always worked, other Mexican kids she judged by appearance. If they had slick back hair, cholo shoes, and a white JC Penny t-shirt I was not to ever hang out with them.  Then I could see what she meant, because as I aged into teenageship, apart from Sammy, another guy across the street from Sammy, Enrique fit that cholo profile of attire, hair and attitude apart from the talk and an older brother that had that tshirt look but the jeans and converse tennis shoes confused me because he wasn't. He was like half cholo, half 501 Levi's and cholos wore Khaki pants not jeans.  But I didn't like him either because he would bully and I wasn't one who liked to fight. If there was ever a downfall that I had was that I actually showed fear because I hadn't been taught to fight by my father and fighting was not something I was good at naturally.  Even once I didn't stand up for my younger brother or myself against Sammy or Enrique only to have been defended by Sammy's step dad and then a scolding I got from my father for not defending my brother. I was scared and I felt fear so I did what I had always done in figthing, I always moved away and joined this Assembly of God church and hung out with my Black friend Scott Mosely who was not like those other morons.  Maybe my mom was right.  Cant really trust Mexicans.

Then we moved to Riverside in 1982 and 1983 and by then, I had become a stranger to Sammy and Enrique and we still lived in the neighborhood but one block up.  I trusted the new church group who were majorily white and my sole Black friend Scott.  Scott wasn't violent nor a jerk like the two other guys.  In honesty, my mother sent me away from other Mexicans because the cholo syndrome, the competitive syndrome and the chusma low class syndrome.  My mother didn't have this ethnic love most would think. I wasn't raised with the ideal of seeking solidarity with Mexicans because if there was one group that was not united were Mexicans so the rule was to generally stay away, we generally hated each other.  The few white and black friends had not been like the Enriques and Sammy's and to find diamonds like Nino Gus and Nina Kika was almost impossible.  And attending that White church was a better environment and I could see it, those other guys were beginning to experiment with cigarettes and then I just dropped out from hanging out with them. But they were also doing semi criminal elements that I would hear from others, later on I found out they were into heavier drugs so I did good plus why would I want to hang out with misfits.  But I had friends from elementary who I attended high school with and felt a connection to them and they did too especially my senior year at Hawthorne High School.

We hung out like our friendship mattered which originated from elementary schooling even if we lived 8 blocks apart, we were linked and we even traveled together to Coahuila as they introduced me to Mexico beyond Baja California.  Another equal friend from high school but one were we played football all three years, whom I sat next two in one or two classes for a year, helped him get hired at the local supermarket where I worked at and visited him on weekends on my way home from visiting my girlfriend.  The Sammy's and Enriques faded away while the Guillermos and Gilbert's came along and continued into my mid 20's.  My friendship with Scott diminished because we had to move from 99th street to 106th then he moved even further to Gardena and for his occasional visits we stopped visiting each other. That friendship ended but he would visit me until one day in 1989 he joined the military, was in the first Iraq and Panama Invasion and didn't see him again for 20 years until he looked me up on myspace.  So much was lost but with Guillermo and Gilbert we continued and though I'm partially responsible at times for moving away because I got a girlfriend I tried to always keep in touch, until one day they both just stopped talking to me.  By the late 1990's we had had only one conversation and we have not seen each other again. And here I thought because we were high school friends, I assumed we would always be tight but I kept hearing those words from my mother, "there are no friends in this world'.  And just like that they disappeared and even when there was a possibility of conversation through facebook there has not been any effort that even I gave up.  My mother stated, "its because they won the lottery" which they did and in her eyes didn't want any association. 

In adulthood, my friendships have been even less.  People have come and gone just like women have so the ideal of a friendship has been much like that high school sweetheart, a false illusion.  Fortunately, I have found four new friends of different ages and levels which I am grateful for but those guys from my adolescent years hurt me more because I thought our past history meant something. We knew each other from kids, from being teenagers, from classes, from football practice, from walking home, from checking out their sisters to aging as young men to end up as if we never even knew each other is quite puzzling and sad. 

I feel as if Im orphaned now removed from that era and it bothers me because the high school I attended was not a feeder school from my elementary to junior high years plus the move to Riverside.  I spent junior high, my 8th grade year in two schools where I didn't know anybody and only knew a few so high school was a foreign place in 9th grade and 10th grade.

Yet as I paralleled my mother's aging process, she's also gone through ups and downs of so called friends and has only revolved around two.  They too have come and gone and even cousins she hung out with  now won't talk to her and as she stated, "well if they don't want to visit, that means they don't want to be around or be around their lives".

I accept this is now my fate for my past in an odd way does not exist anymore, it died years back.  Without denying it, I see my mother's philosophy because she would say at times "from thousands 1 can be your friend" and fortunately, I have that.  Now female friends, lets just say I don't have any, maybe paying the  mortgage matters more.

Peace!

My Cultural Page

It has been a while since I have last written and it was probably due to a break that I needed and did not want to sound repetitive but maybe this needs to be talked about over and over again until there is recognition of differences.  I guess I do not like the fact that as a Mexican American I am automatically lumped with people born south of the border or that I should be guilt tripped into supporting immigration.  The question I ask is whose concerned with me because I have never felt more than three people have concerned with me beyond my mother, grandfather and a old family friend who passed away in 1987. My family friend Ken Hillman was himself even homeless living with his daughter Nancy as colon cancer took him away.

I am just adamant that that is not my issue because it priorities them, those born outside the US and us born inside the US just get ignored.  A Mexican American has no place and what makes it worse is that the few public journalists are adamant immigration supporters but I believe they do not think this out because there is this view that Mexico is the worse country out there and they will not have a future there.  If that was the case how do many deported who were US raised been able to adjust even when they are limited in their English and why does Mexico import so many Argentineans.  Can their skills truly be that beneficial?  If they were why would they be leaving their beloved Che country.  To continue to support immigration under some Quxiotic ideal is not to think scenarios out first from economic competition to the very definition of what is a Mexican American.  And yet its ignored that this newer generation of people even starting back from the 1986 immigration reform have benefitted much more than me or my mother. Call me a hater, yes I am, I believe I should be given an equal opportunity without the guilt trip view they place about "wo is me", I don't have a green card.  All I can tell you is that I don't view the statistics but the reality.  My uncle was one of those who moved from Baja California at age 40 and never really struggled for employment as a machinist and some time later he's retired and is a home owner while my mother has never owned a home and lives with a brother which she does not really like.

I keep saying this because I too have held the door closed to me while in higher education or employment as an instructor and they hire Mexico born who lack my academic output.  I do feel  cheated because I'm not viewed by merit and we are suppose to be a society of based on such effort but I'm not recognized.  It might seem an oxymoron to be want to be recognized by the very people and institutions that won't hire me but precisly because of that reason do I feel entitled to.  My 7 publications should mean something especially becaue I am a Mexican American writing about Mexican American issues.  I find it insulting that non Mexican Americans are hired based on some stereotyping that they look the same or have same names but the defining factor should be what defines an American which is the 14th Amendment.

And I know that this issue is quietly boiling because I have come across four Mexican American males that have views not too different from mind, the only difference was that I was willing to state my opinion much earlier because I was terminated and saw how CSULB hired immigrants with not relevant degress while ignoring my production and it pissed the hell out of me, still does.  In conversation with two who are adjunct instructors and one a chair, the commonality was they all stated that the differences between US born and Mexico born was reaching a boiling point and becoming an issue.  Another stated that somebody had to be responsible for those born in Mexico and that the excuse of "we didn't chose to come here" was a cop out.  The 14th Amendment does not accept such excuse as valid and why should we.  The last one stated that immigration was not something that defined Mexican Americans and was not something to be covered.  But he added something that I have also come to believe which is that these newer groups of people have not suffered the same way and are better off than those of us born here. He stated it is partly due to illicited money but that is clearly even more visible when seeing all these Mexican restaurants that sprung up like charter schools or churches.  Can one really make money from selling tamales or beans because if it was I'm sure we could have copied it.  I remember once a group of Chicano activists from the east side complaining why they could not find a place for their Mexican American University but paisas could selling food.  I found the arguement compelling because it proves I am not alone and not a bigot just questioning something we are expected to accept as gospel because some people say so.  And our ethnicity does matter because as he informed me, Mexican American graduate students are not attending Cal State LA's program and I bet alot of it has to do with the hiring of a Salvadorian, Guatemalan, Mexican national who were all attempting to change the departmental name to Latino Studies and were rebukked because they could not changed the name of the degree program which is Mexican American Studies.  Not applying to that program is an indication of such protest, along with other issues probabling related to feminism and other pc themes being force fed. That are not Mexican American issues people are interested in.

I did not feel lonely anymore in this debate but feel this should be addressed and it probably won't but political inaction keeps this issue relevant as Congress will not provide a solution and they should not because it effects Mexican Americans unfairly and does not hold Mexico accountable for their people.

Update

It has been a few months since I wrote, too much going on primarily trying to survive.

I did publish my book "If Jesus Could Not Save Himself, How Would He Save Me:  A California Mexican in an Anglo Midwestern Protestant Faith".  It is available through Amazon.com      I have had a few friends who read it and they gave me a B- which I think is about right.  It is short, not too profound or imaginitive but that's how I write my non-fiction stuff without using science, English folklore or Greek tragedy.  I hated that writing, still do because I can't understand British, it reminds me of Spanish from Mexico, they write and write and don't say much.  Another friend told me he didn't like it because it was about religion and that should be private, he said he liked my other works. I liked Ramiro's honesty.

The presidential election came and went and Mr. Obama won because Romney reminded us of the Reagan years especially for Mexican Americans.  Those were years were we went hungry, were block cheese that did not melt on the quesadillas was the extension of the neglected affirmative action we lived through.  I know there's been mention about the hispanic vote and immigration but Mexican Americans don't care about legalizing others when economically they are experiencing high unemployment.  Even legal immigrants have better employment rates than us but the fear of a mean CEO as the president scared us all.  Vulture businessmen who are viewed as some generator of employment is not logical and absurd, they are there to make a profit so if it can be done by laying off, or hiring the issue is their own profit regardless of the benefit to society.  We did not want to live through a worse recession.  Now socially Romney would have been better because Obama's embrace of gay issues (like those Whites need help), women's issues (though those rape comments were beyond stupidity, a violent crime is a violent crime), even the Dream Act and abortion are all secondary societal needs.  I am not a conservative but these issues are not even liberal especially when conservative White women can speul venom but people are afraid to tell the retard comments to shut the hell up.  Shut up for your ignorant and racist comments!  Now I have opposed legalization of foreigners not in the US legally but even I have a problem with legal residents because they progress more than me as a Mexican American.  Legal residents are a competitive threat because they are more competition in the educated and post education employment realm because in simple terms there are less opportunities.  I have a problem with a French (born) woman teaching full time in a community college or a Salvadorian born community college president.  So they are more academically prepared than a US born who actually has more MA degrees or from better institutions, I doubt that a UC degree is inferior to a Cal State. 

So all these people not American by birth are given access and they don't care about about my phlight, as I was once stupidly told by some one who was a mojado, undocumented until the age of 18, "that's the way it is" and had not qualms about saying it. Screw them, they can discriminate but I can't oppose them.  So I oppose any attempt to legalize and hopefully the Republicans can hold their ground there.  Otherwise, Ill find myself crawling to retirement pretty much were I began when I worked at a supermarket when I turned 18.  But the fear of Reaganomics returning scared me and not just me.  All this talk about the Hispanic vote is really much ado about nothing, in reality the Whites are divided, Blacks generally vote Democrat and so do Mexican Americans, they just came out in higher numbers for Obama from Colorado west because outside of that, they don't really matter.  The economy is still struggling just as my brother's Hostess truck driving job ended because the bakers went on strike and the CEO's got their great cut, various of them.  Mario stated, "this is an example of what Romney would've done en grand scale", so our life proceeds now without twinkies and ding dongs.  As I learned from my father in the 70's, no job is ever secure.

On another tragic note, my friend Delia's niece suffered a tragic loss as her son and husband were killed by a Haitian neighbor who broke in and shot them.  I bring it up because such tragedy occurred to somebody I know and because I lived on that street 99th Street in Inglewood between 1983-1985 where I have good memories of a neighborhood that was safe and tranquil except for that crazy Cuban lady who wanted slave labor which I was never good for.  I just stayed away from her.  This mother will forever be pained and her surviving children, may their souls rest in peace and life will be a struggle for those that survived, even anger for years but through years will learn to ease the pain. 

Such a tragedy unfortunately!

Latino Voices vs. Black Voices

Yours truly daily reads the Huffington Post, at least I glance at the titles of the front page, then dive into Latino Voices which I like the least and always visit Black Voices and enjoy that section the most. Partly, because when it comes to Black Voices it is presented from the perspective of an American.  And all the stories are about American experiences of Blacks because even though people might refer to Blacks as Blacks first it also means American.  White people especially ethnic Whites that have non English last names do not own American for the simple reason they are new comers whether Irish, Italian, Polish, Germans and even Scots or Welsh. Who told them they could take ownership and yet they do.  But Blacks have been in the eastern United States longer than any of those groups because they were in the Carribbean 100 years prior to any English settlement courtesy of the Spaniards and early Black settlers and slaves came and were brought in from the Caribe.

The Huffington Post acknowledges such history and they journalistically address Black issues accordingly.  I like the fact that all the stories are about Black Americans and not Black people from around the world because Blacks can be found in four continents but here lies the difference, not all Blacks are American. Therefore, informing America is done according to historical presence.

Jump over to Latino Voices and from a Mexican American perspective it is crap and ignorance.  First of all because Mexican Americans account for 25 million plus which means only the US born, afterall that is what a Mexican American is: born in the US and nowhere else.  However, the Huffinton Post does not acknowledge this third wheel of Americana based on sheer numbers.  Mexican Americans outnumber Puerto Ricans, Cubans, Central Americans and South Americans combined and undocumented and legal immigrants from Mexico.  But as I read the section and I've done so for some time, I get turned off at the fake amalgamation and lumping.  Recently, they have had articles on Antonio Villaraigoza and Julian Castro, mayors from Los Angeles and San Antonio who are chairing and giving a speech at the DNC convention. Other times, it is difficult to find articles on other Mexican American topics.

As I read the titles it is a section lumped together as a collage from Latin America and even Spain, yes Spain.  By incorporating stories about immigrants from Latin America and events from south of the border and then lumping with Mexican Americans besides ignorance, what they are saying is we don't have much going on and you're still an outsider which is why we call you Latinos versus a color designation which is how Mexican Americans have historically been discriminated.  The barrios, Mexican parts of town, East LA, Lennox, Pacoima, the Mission District in San Francisco (today Mex Am have been pushed out), Salinas, Calexico, Casa Blanca in Riverside and Coachella were all designated and racialized brown spaces.  It meant less than in terms of material goods, it meant overcrowdedness, inferior supermarkets, and the realization that we weren't American.  So brown has always been a racial demarcator of not being American even if we were born in the United States and our birth certificates stated we were Caucasain because my does.  As a Mexican American activist from San Fernando states, "we were a nation within a nation" but we were nonetheless American and more American than Bob Hope, Arnold Schwarzeneggar, Michael J. Fox and Elizabeth Taylor because we were US born and not England, Austria or Canada. We were American, so we couldn't be famous like them but that was why were were a nation within a nation because we were colorado red people and it was made known to us.

Yet, the Huffington Post does a disservice by lumping us with a story of undocumented people on a bus ride; a final speech by Mexico's outgoing president, a Cuban story, a story on possible driver's license to undocumented, endless stories of Salma Hayek--no, she's not Mexican American; another story of shooting in Mexico towards US diplomats(should be in front section), Brazil's gays (really) and the king of Spain slapping his drivers.  How is this even journalism? Where is the accuracy?  Just lump us with foreigners because we all come from the same place and ignore those of us who have US presence for three plus generations?

In the end, I envy the Blacks because nobody questions their Americanism but for us born in the US the assumption is instantly that we are not American.  So we are perpetually outside looking in and the attention goes to undocumented who have been placed on a sacred altar even though they created their own mess by overstaying their visit.  But I will keep informing myself with Black Voices because there I can find more relevant stories especially because I was raised in Inglewood, California which is known for their Black population but we were there too.  And when I tell that to Blacks, they node their head in approval because I was raised among them and that can't be erased.

The Curse of the Fathers

In the past year, thanks to facebook, I and some of my brothers have refound ourselves with the Camachos and other cousins, not Camachos but part of the same grandma Apache Clan.  We share the same grandmother but not the same grandfathers so we are not the same but the ones that are interested in some relationship I'm open as long as they haven't been to jail and have been part of the criminal element.  The kind that the FBI won't identify in background checks.

I reunited with my father's sister the Ramirez Machichi (if you ever doubt the Apache blood the name says its), the Guardados, at least one Steve who is the son of my father's half brother Jose whose now moved on to the afterlife.  And the other Camachos' from El Centro, their father Miguel was Julian Sr. youngest brother from same father mother.  However, I didn't know the two youngest daughters so its like I've never known them. 

At first I was hesitant because of the feo look bordering on criminal.  Even my father would tell his sister in the 70's that her kids we so ugly they itched and they would all laugh.  We just looked different and part of it is because the Ramirez Camacho's (Adela) cousins to the Camacho(Miguel) Ramirez.  In essence they are first cousins from both sides of their parents.  My tia Adela's former husband was brother to my tio Mike's wife Tonia.  So they have a deeper bond plus we've been separated for close to 28 years for all reasons--same reasons others are.

But as I'm getting older 43, I got the curiosity bug of my father and this is where the story begins sort of.

In 1969, before I was born an Apache woman who my grandmother went to for clarity saw my father in Imperial and told him "you won't see them grow up". This was before any of us were born and knew how many Camacho babies would come into being.  My father later told my mother, "vieja pendeja" and went on.

Then life began. My father started his family, his sister Adela hers, his brother Miguel and the older half brother Jose already had one son older than me plus older half sisters too.  Life proceeds and as nagging, other women, and tragedy take its hold within the next ten years, the father's disappeared.  Adela's husband found a girlfriend and started another family but his pain was forgetting his three sons.  Lorenzo my cousin said he didn't see his father from age 4 until age 15.  My tio Jose, who was a family man found himself in a bar fight and in self defense killed the attacker but was still sent to San Quentin for manslaughter.  Because he did not stop hitting the attacker with a brick the system punished him, in San Quentin he had to defend himself where he spent three years. By the time he came out by 1977, his wife had disappeared along with his two sons.  I did not have memory of my tio Jose until 1977 when we attended his wedding in Fresno and I always assumed he never had children.  It was not until the mid 80's when I heard he had had two sons but where never heard from.

By this time, in 1980, my father had died to a heart aneurysm and the local witch's prophesy had come true.  He would not see his sons grow up.  At the time of his death, his sons ranged from 10 years old to 14 months old.  In ten years, all three of these families did not have their fathers to many circumstances.  In addition, that older half sibling my father had, well the eldest Chepina (Josefina) was mentally handicap and would have these children. Hence to not lose them to the Mexican system DIF, my grandmother had adopted two Maria Herlinda and Edward, one was given up for adoption in Tecate, my tia Adela adopted Cynthia and in 1979, my grandmother adopted a set of twins Obed and Yesenia (Jehovah Witness fade).  Then by 1984, more children were adopted by my tio Miguel and his wife Tonya and two more were lost into the Baja California adoption system in the Imperial Valley. 

Technically, four families were fatherless but my tia Chepina's kids were really orphaned sort of but they at least ended up within the family.  Yet they still missed they parents so there is their pain.  But because my family frequented my tia Adela because she would leave my cousins with my mom while she partied we have memory of each other at least up until 1982.  In a strange way, I see my cousin Cynthia as a Camacho because she was raised with us.  My tia Adela sort lived near by in Gardena, Bell, Long Beach so we were near sort of.  My tio Mike lived in El Centro so we rarely saw each other.  That distance did make a difference because after 81 or 82 he had two female daughters who are the only female Camachos because I never had a Camacho sister from my father.  But I've only seen them twice in my whole life time so we would not recognize eachother in public.

From this complicated history is where the curse of the father or parents begins:  my dies, my tia Adela kids are divorced and disappears for 11 years, my tio Jose's prison stint lead to his ex wife forgetting him, keeping his kids away--she kidnapped them-- and remarried, my tia Chepina's mental condition forced the removal of her children (another story) and then later my tio Mike's wife died in the mid 1990's while the daughters were in their teens.

By 1995, four sets of my families were fatherless, parentless or motherless.  Add to this tragedy from my mother's side, her youngest brother was killed in a truck accident in Baja California in the Valle de la Trinidad and three more children were fatherless in 1979 and by 1988, my aunt's husband Jesus also died and my two cousins Sandra and Jesus Jr. were also fatherless.

We lived through these tragedies in the 70's, 80's up to the mid 1990's.  Even by 2010, my father's youngest brother Mike had succumbed to diabetes that I became an elder at age 39.  Not that I attended the funeral because I and my brothers were excommunicated that even invites to death is not handed out.  My tio Jose also died by 2005 in a car accident because some idiotic female driver crashed into his porch and pinning him.  Hence why we all began to look for eachother on facebook or at least the ones we grew up with: my cousin Lorenzo, Cynthia and then Steve (son of my tio Jose) friended me that we were all looking for something we never had, communication.  We could now do so free of the eternal conflicts between sister in laws or a manipulative grandmother.

And we did, with hesitation as only my brother Mario agreed to go along, in secrecy from our mother because she would not comprehend that even after 30 years my brother and I were looking for our father that could only be found in my tia Adela and the cousins.  Because no matter how crazy or problematic we have the same blood.  But the years had also taken its toll as we were all strangers, my tia Adela was also standoffish, maybe her dislike of my mother factored in.  My father's youngest half sister Angie greeted me by only shaking my hand which was the strangest reception but then again, she's not my father's full sister and there is a difference.  My tia Adela knew why Mario and I were there and she gave me a painting of my father as a two year old.  Something I never knew existed.

We ate and then went to a park with my cousins Lorenzo, Cynthia, Morgan and Dennis and hung out at a park because that was the most convenient.  As we saw each other as adults, we just marveled at the years that had gone by and were happy to see each other.

As I drove back, I could not help and wonder the tragedy we have all lived as if there was some curse because it might be nature but the fact remains that father's don't exist in my family.  And it was not just our generation.  My father was not raised by his father due to my grandmother, yet both of my grandmother's had also not had their fathers.  My maternal grandmother's Alberta was abandoned by her father in the 1920's and lived another life in California and my paternal grandmother's father died in 1936 in Yuma on one of the reservations so she was also fatherless.  And my children's maternal grandfather  died two years before their births that the curse has carried over to them through no fault of them. They will never know a grandfather.

I just drove home with a tear in my eye.  The Apache foreteller was telling the future truth we just didnt know it.

My Only Obituary (Hopefully Last)

Gustavo Magaña Pardo


16 de junio, 1922-29 de diciembre, 2005

By

Julian Segura Camacho

El 29 de diciembre, del 2005 a las 10:30pm en el hospital de Centinela en Inglewood dejo de existir el padrino de todos, Nino para mi, Gus para otros, Don Gustavo para muchos mas, compadre y tio aun para algunos de uds.

Gustavo Magaña Pardo nacio el 16 de junio, 1922, fecha en el cual uno no estaba exacto porque mi Nino nunca decia exactamente su fecha de nacimiento. Yo recordaba tres fechas hasta que porfin supe la verdad con su hermano mayor Aurelio. Mi nino nacio en Tlazezalca, Michoacan, hijo de Herlino Magaña y Josefina Pardo. Despues fue criado en Zamora donde empezo la aventura de su vida, que aveces parecia que fuera una pelicula del cine Mexicano que una vida vivido.

De sus años como muchacho joven quien trabajaba con su padre aprendio el amor del campo, de los caballos, de los gallos y gallinas, los perros y el ganado. De esta vida fue donde aprendio de la jugada: como apostar a todo riesgo; apostaba en la corridas de caballos, en los palenques y alli fue donde aprendio a jugar la baraja.

De esta cultura que el adoraba con pasion tambien aprendio a tomar como el decia, “puro vino” y comer lo que hasta al final a el le encanto: sangre, tripas, carne de res, carnitas, birria, caldos de res y su café negro. El anhelaba su sangre con gusto, vivia de sus recuerdos.

Y de aqui fue donde mi Nino empezo a usar sus famosos sombreros que el uso hasta el final de su vida. Mi Nino y sus sombreros y luego despues con sus cachuchas fueron sinonimo con quien fuera Gus. Cada cachucha expresaba su intento.

De Zamora tambien surgen cuentos de sus famosas aventuras en las cantinas donde tenia su club de fans y donde contrataba su banda para que le tocaran por la calle. Quien se iba imaginar que esta persona era Gus?

Por el destino y razones inexplicable, tal vez una aventura y por nuestra suerte y fortuna, Gus se vino de Bracero al norte, a California en 1943. El decia, “viaje una pinche semana en el tren del D.F. para caer en Oceanside a 45 minutos de Tijuana”.

Alli en los campos de “los traques” empezo la segunda vida de Gus. El decia que los Mexicanos por necesidad se robaban la ropa de los negros para enseñarnos lo duro que fue la vida, no solamente para el, pero para su generacion. De aqui salieron sus aventuras de ida y vuelta al D.F. de como se trajo a su primo Javier y como empezo su vida en California.

A el no le gusto el field, ni trabajar en las minas, le gusto encuarnidar clavos metales del tren. El se sabia el ferrocarril como si el hubiera inventado el tren. “Los Nuevo Mexicanos me enseñaron a trabajar” y como un sueño relataba su pasado que muchos vivimos con el. En una de esas pasadas por Los Angeles conocio a Frances Guerrero, Kika como muchos la conociamos. Como aguanto a mi Nino no lo se? Tal vez con su sonrisa y sentido de humor.

Gus fue un encanto. Un solitario encanto que nos atrapo y mi Nina Kika nunca lo solto aunque le hice sudar y mucho. Alli con mi Nina Kika conocio a los demas Guerrerros en Inglewood, cuando Inglewood toda via era un rancho.

Mi Nino decia que el alcanzo a conocer hasta los padres de Kika, sus futuros familiares que estuvieron juntos hasta que la naturaleza se los llevo: Nieves, Josie, Emilia, Sarge, Paulino, y otros que yo no conoci.

Mi nino decia que esos años eran duros, habian restaurantes donde no les daban servicio: “No Mexicans, No Blacks and No Dogs” served y con su calma el decia evitavamos esos lugares y sin rencor.

Gus trabajo por años despues en el Smooth Holdman pero para jugar caballos. Santa Anita y Hollywood Park fue su segunda casa y iglesia a la vez. Alli comadriaba y sudaba con su pasion y como fiel seguidor seguia la corrida de caballos hasta Del Mar y Tijuana. De alli sale su leyenda: Mi pobre Nina aun sudaba cuando nos contaba que mi nino habia vendido su carro para seguir apostando y luego comprarlo de nuevo para regresarse a Inglewood. Quien no se va asustar!

Mi nino fue ser humano con sus adiciones, pero a la vez su vida tambien fue un riesgo, una apuesta aver si le sale bien a uno. La vida era un juego de barajas y alli en los caballos el seguia haciendo la persona quien siempre fue. Por lo menos podia escojer su caballo!

Despues de los 1970’s mi nino supo hacerse amigo de gente recien conocida donde el mismo compartia lo que era ser Mexicano en Los Angeles: todos nuevos pero aun parientes.

Los caballos fue el lugar de su compadrazgo con muchos que nunca conocismos pero que aun existe esta coneccion, por eso estamos unidos hoy dia para despedirnos de el. El nino de todos.

Esas aventuras donde el le decia a mi tio Jesus, “Poca luz” triaes la pelicula alrrevez y Jesus le decia para que mi bautizaba si ya estaba viejito listo para murierse y con carcajadas se murian de gusto que hasta el final mi nino contaba esa historia para nosotros. Cuando contaba esa historia yo sabia que su final se acercaba y como me gustaria oirlo contar sus historias. Mi tio Pocaluz le contaba, “Viejito le voy a brindar este alto pero cuando el policia le dio el ticket a Pocaluz, mi Nino le daba carria. Despues, Pocaluz se vengo cuando le rezo a la virgencita que le bajara ese caballo que habia ganado la carrera”. Mi Nino solamente decia que le descalificaron su caballo y de eso vivio cuando Pocaluz y mi papa Julian se anticiparon y lo dejaron.

Lo increible de Gus fue que despidio casi a todos: Mi nina, Josie, Emilia, mi papa, mi tio Pocaluz, su hermano Aurelio, Antonio, Herlinda, una hermana que nunca conocio, sus animales que tuvo atravez de los años por la ballona en Inglewood.

Y por suerte, nosotros pudimos disfrutarlo en estos ultimos años. Muchos de uds. fueron su familia tambien, Doña Luisa y su esposo, Belen, El Doctor, Evelyn y Russell quien vio por su salud y sus famosos roommates: Ruben, Larry, Bimbo, Judith y Gabriel.

Todos estamos aqui a brindarle unos caballos y unas hamburguesas con papas porque lo quisimos por lo sincero y vacilon que fue en su sala o en la lavanderia de Lennox.

Su humor fue unico y muy muy simpatico y asi es como lo debemos recordar: como el hombre que nos iso reir y sentir bien. Con el dos horas de puro vacilon eran como 10 minutos. Nos deja con risa para una eternidad.

Aun enfermo supo disfrutar el momento: antes de que entrara al hospital, la enfermera le pregunto que si podia puupu y con una sonrisa grande conteste, “Jes, y very well, very well” con su sonrisa de sol.

Y asi como un sueño bonito y con risas para una eternidad se fue el hombre quien para mi fue mi padre, abuelo y padrino en uno, mi mejor maestro de la vida quien me aconsejo y ayudo en momentos oscuros y demostro cariño y compasion en momentos de errores. Soy egoista, no lo niego porque siempre quisiera tener Gustavo a mi lado igual que uds. pero el ya estaba listo de irse y ver se de nuevo con mi Nina, su mama Josefina que el nunca conocio, sus hermanos, Josie y Emily y finalmente sus hijos adoptivos; Julian, Pocaluz y Florentino. El esta con ellos y ojala este jugando caballos y gallos con Poker como a el le gustaba vivir con su sombrero y sonrisa.

Lo quisimos mucho Mi Gustavo Magaña Pardo, descanse en paz mi Nino!

Title 9 Not Good

The White House on Facebook sent out celebratory notifications this week in celebration of Title IX Gender equality that mandated equal funding in college sports but it also included admissions to programs in law and medicine.  Forty years later the end result are more White  women  not only in college sports including Blacks and the occasional Mexican American female and others known as Latinas.  But there are overall more females in college than males today amongst Whites, something that has caught the attention of many but to no avail. Moreover there are more White females in law schools--look at the over representation of female judges or attorneys, doctors via medical school and the fact that more women are now earning doctoral degrees than males. I am not sure this is something to celebrate because it means somebody has had the doors closed.

If we break it down racially, Mexican Americans continue to account state wide in California at 15-18% for B.A.'s and drops down to less than 2% in doctoral programs hence what has happened that one could really be happy about. If one accounts by lumping other Latinos and undocumented students from Mexico and raised in the US, the number of Mexican Americans drop much more drastically. Yours truly was rejected for 6-7 doctoral programs for all the reasons of having a penis, brown skin, not  annointed by a college professor who valued my interest, no sobbing story of having been in the US without papers, etc.... or yeah and I am not gay so that does not help me.  People can say I am a cry baby and sure I can accept their criticism yet it does not take away the fact that numbers speak for themselves.  Since Title IX was signed Richard Nixon the end result is that Whiteness has still prevailed under the veil of inclusion and affirmative action in a skirt.

But why did this happen if one takes into account that White women were not historically discriminated, I don't recall a bus that stated, "White Women in the back", or "White women are not served", plus they had female colleges that the likes of Hilary Clinton attended to. So how were they discriminated?  They couldn't vote argument until 1919 is then brought up but that was solved in 1919 and yet in the height of legal segregation they were still immune from colored places.  Plus,  White women were given the right to vote but Native Americans were non citizens in 1919 even if they had been born in this territory. In Arizona where my Apache grandmother Luz was born, she wasn't even given a birth certificate.  She was assigned a number in 1926 only.  Yes I have a reason to vent, where White women segregated like my grandmother?

Then after segregation was outlawed in 1954, White women as part of being from a White family were able to participate in the suburban funding of America and as a former older White female student once told the class, (her mother was a CIA operative for a Vice President in a US Airline), "the Black neighborhoods behind the our White houses in Florida were poorer and in horrible conditions". I thanked her for her honesty, she was great.  She was an RN and would say many of the White male doctors were simultaneously idiots.   Therefore, how were White women thrown into the Civil Rights equation plus they could marry up something Mexican American males cannot do today so lets put this in perspective.

The damage occurs when Lyndon Baines Johnson forced the South to sign on to the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and they did so by adding legislation that included gender as a way to stifle the racial equalization the law was intended to solve. The focus was on Blacks and even though Mexican Americans were a national minority they were not included because they were not defined as a national minority until 1971 even though authors like Carey McWilliams mentioned that in California, Blacks were progressing in admissions to UCLA while Mexican Americans were numerically more and poorer.  Stephen Pitti makes the same point in The Devil in the Silicon Valley, White administrators at San Jose State would advocate Blacks civil rights issues though they were only 2% of the population and Mexican Americans were 20%.  And it did not help that on paper even until today, the Census classifies Mexican Americans as White, Hispanic Whites.

Thus White women inclusion was the devil in the language and when Title 9 is added in 1972, it was easy to make this legislation because they were included back in 1964 and the damage is visible today. White women have more access to college than Mexican American males and we are the minority so go figure. Yet who advocates for this position.  Its worse, The White House celebrates it while Mexican American males, US born have the lowest college attendance rates and worse by generation, the longer in the US the worse the educational results are. Even in the political world, the results are seen because they do not vote but I don't believe voting does anything especially when I have to get in line behind, White women, gays, unions, undocumented students, corporation and so forth.

Hence I pose the question, what is there to celebrate if I am a Mexican American male. I've been let go of all the part time college positions I had because of budget cuts while women of all colors and White males along with the  chosen brown people are given participation for something that I have paid into as a tax payer along with my parents, grandparents and even great grandparents.  Honestly, I could care less about White women's issue while I have to beg for my existence but what do I expect, its not as if they care about my condition and obviously not even the White House.

Title IX was  bad legislation and to promote it as good is both historically erroneous and contemporarily   damaging as White women progress. And though I was rejected for doctoral programs, I have published 7 books hence their negative judgement of me was incorrect but what do I expect from a system that has their minds made up.  Next time I'll check female on my applications.

The Diasphoral Model Does Not Apply

I recently came across a news letter titled the California Mexico Project pushed by Chicano Studies professor Armando. He was advocating for a show of support for the 32 million Mexicans in the diasphoral and that they should be included in the upcoming election, presidential in Mexico.

The part that bothered me was this diasphoric claim which means they have left the homeland bus a Mexican American of Apache heritage this statement counters my belief that for us US Mexican Americans, the diaphoral model does not apply because I'm living in the same homelands of my Apache ancestors, so I find it troubling that this view exist in the field of Chicano Studies which is the study of Mexican Americans not Mexican from southern Mexico Studies which I believe harms the education of those people like myself who have a northern heritage from the US side.

Why is this separation from the homeland viewed even permitted in Mexican American Studies if the claim of the basis of Chicano Studies was from Aztlan which refers to the US desert or Northern Mexico.  But I understand why it happened and its simple, all these Mexico born, most from the south arrive and push their agenda, personal, cultural and political and push those like me to the aside because they feel they are owed something. Yet how can a foreign born be given preference over a US citizen of birth, protected by the 14th amendment but because universities take the view, they are all the same, there is no respect for US born.  What is worse is the ignorance that is taught by pushing
these deposed view from the homeland when that is not the case, these people left voluntarily for their own self interest.  For those of us born here, there is no diaphoral model for explaining our history, but one of belonging in continuity, plus unlike those born in Mexico I'm not interested in Mexican politics or matters down there because I have no connection to anybody down there.

And because they weren't born here they push their form of culture and history at the expense of those that are from here, plus they live in two places at the same time whereas we don't. And if do, our relatives are from small towns within the US not from a 1000 miles away. The diasphoral model is based on the Jewish model of being displaced from Jerusalem but that was based on a forced exodus, for the Mexico City people, there is no forced displacement because they voluntarily moved for a job and a pension which I find problematic because that supercedes cultural survivor because the south of Mexico was not conquered whereas the north was.  And it was those people that suffered.

I came across a quote from Geronimo who tells a Mexican officer, "You are from the south, I am from the north, you go south, I go north, I nor my people want nothing to do with you".  Especially when they are intercepting our narrative and imposing they own views over us. Erasing our existence in the process.

No Maternal Home

Six months ago, my mother had to move in with my youngest brother because my other brother moved on and had a beautiful little girl named Cheyanne. 

However the tragic part of this story was that in essence something much more profound was lost lost for the rest of us five other siblings, which was a maternal home to return to.  As a child, especially after my father died, with the uncertainty of Reagan's inflation, income limitations placed on earnings from Social Security and low wage employment, housing was always a perilious experience.  So we end up in Lennox in the worst neighborhood according to my liking and we felt trapped there for 15 years.  Even after college it seemed we could never get of of there.

Apart from some crazy neighbors at first and a few slap sessions, things calmed and we became friends with some of the neighbors but much more my brothers because they were younger and attended the same elementary and then junior high schools.  When we moved there I was 15 versus 9, 8, or 6 hence as had become my experience after elementary school, my mom uprooted us from the Inglewood area I grew up in 95th and Arbor Vitae, across the street from the 405 freeway. Living a life as gypsy had become a way of life and my friendships were lost in that part of Inglewood.  Lennox was just too far to walk to though my friend Scott would visit when he could.  Even though he moved to to Gardena not long after I had moved. 

In the subsequent years, the house in Lennox was home but never felt like home because the neighborhood was dirty, crowded, ugly, rat infested and just plain hideous.  Even the devil would not create hell in this manner.  But we stayed because that was all we could afford and felt like the song Hotel California, "you may check out but you may never leave".  I checked out from Lennox but I never really left and so did my mother and nobody could really help.  We were on our own.

When we left, it was as an individual for me but I felt I abandoned my siblings, then my brother left to live with his girlfriend, the other two to play college football and finally we moved my mother to Hawthorne which was suppose to be better but the apartment was a fraud; the second bedroom was a converted something, prostitutes roamed El Segundo Blvd. and it just did not feel like home even though my aunt lived in the floor below.  Even though I have never admitted it, there was a lose with the neighbors from Lennox, somewhat still continues.

But by now the reality had kicked in that my mother would now live with us because she had never never been able to purchase a home because because, she was not permitted to.  And it would make a difference which is why we moved around alot prior to remaining in Lennox for 10 years. When we moved to Whittier, it was to create that home base and independence but it never quite worked out for all kinds of reasons from financial to uncooperation from each sibling head and in the end, when my brother had the baby and moved back to the homeland of Inglewood and the increased mortgage and non refinancing of the house what was once dreamed of ended.  Eventually she moved in with my younger brother where she lives comfortably but ultimately it's his house not hers, hence it's not a neutral home were we can all go peacefully. 

When its moms home even though she might be messy and lacked better hygiene kitchen habits. it was still that home you felt you grew up in.  Instead of complaining about the dishes or the grease on the wall, I would clean my part up.  In her home, she had pictures of us as kids, high school graduates, now the grand kids and trinjunklets collected throughout the years even if dusty or not sliding to the side.  The hanging towels of my mothers scent aromatizing the house and the television that is permanently fixed on the Spanish channels for the novelas that always have the great looking chiks.  That is now gone because my mother was never allowed to build a nest and neither were we because we haven't really been successful apart for survival purposes.  I know what its like to return to that nest, I spent time with my paternal grandmother in El Centro, California were no one sibling controlled the others.  Pulling up to that driveway felt like home.  My maternal grandmother also had a neutral home in Mexicali, Baja California and only when everybody was there did I feel crowded but not at home.  One could sit under the mesquite tree and even sleep if it felt too crowded or just sit and enjoy the stars and the occasional ghost visiting us, we have quite a few.  I know whats that like but I don't have it anymore and neither do my children.  Not that my brother is not welcoming, he is but it's his home and his soon to be wife.  We can't be too comfortable.  At my moms house, I wouldn't ask to use the restroom, would sleep on the couch and roamed as if I was a home because I was.  This I have no more

And even my other brother Alberto mentioned the same thing, though the only solution would be a home 100 miles away and that's not an option.  But as he stated, "We need a home base, sometimes we need a break from everything" or just the feeling of returning to a place we called home.  If we get separated there is a place to go to, fired from work (which happens quite frequently) or just want pure love without the nagging and responsibilty of adulthood.  Its not there anymore!

Memories Not To Be Mentioned

Life is at a crossroads for the simple reason that I am getting older and yes older. I still have my black hair, still have my teeth, a few extra pounds and my memory. I have posted on facebook commentaries dating back to the years of high school about rejections whether it never being asked out for the Sadie Hawkins Dance by the women as they are suppose to or complaining about being rejected for the year book staff. My journalism fromt he beginning were tainted and have never gone anywhere.  Hell I even vented at the arrogance of the honor students who thought they were too good because they were the selected smartest students according to the curriculum but come on, high school teachers are not necessarily the most appropriate at judging what is quality. They are high school teachers not members of the Noble Prize Award committee.  Teachers who got their credentials from National University.

The commentaries even from friends have been fascinating to say the least with comments about let it go, its been 20 years, you can't live in the past, something is wrong, what does this say about you and move on. But I don't see it this way, maybe because these were rejections of the innocence when one is not defensible and you take them at face value and move on. But those rejections linger in ones life at least for me because I have a memory that is like a megabyte, I just don't forget and closure is something I want in the form of revenge. I am vengeful and have always been because I was never the one who wanted to harm somebody, so why would someone want to harm me in return.  When someone has done me harm, its the Apache, I contemplate patiently and I do respond like a wrestler should with a reversal or a counter in boxing and its not with malice as those rejections were. I counter simply by bringing up something that would be memoried away and it seems to resonate because some took it personal even though nobody was mentioned. As a matter of fact I have forgotten many individuals and faces as 25 years of post graduation takes its toll and eternity fades away.

What struck me the most was the mere mentioned conjured up personal reactions when the questions posed were generalizations of the nobody, just circumstances of ponderings. In youth, I just swallowed the rejections in adulthood I question and challenge because arbitraryness is the rule of the law and if the popularizaiton of continuous 25 years later we are still the same and that is one place I don't want to be in because I'm getting old and I don't have to swallow rejections. At least now I can say, I hated those rejections or those people with their click mentalities and vice versa, I don't forget those that were the kindest when I was the most vulnerable like Louie Marin who gave me rides after wrestling practice and I didn't have to walk home, or my mother who would pick me up from football practice, fed me in the car and made sure I made it to work. And even the young woman who introduced me to life without me knowing what to do. I have never forgotten her and never will even when I did fail her because of my immaturity.  Who knows I might be a grandfather right now or I would have caused her pain too as I seem to do frequently.  I just don't like others determining my fate and that's my pedo.

On another note, I wrote an article for an online journal titled "A Voice For Men" under "Demonizing Machismo" under newer rejections for my thinking. But now I'm an adult and I don't hold back so I critiqued how places such as CSUN or Tia Chucha's bookstore along with feminist faculty and girlie men not only rejected my published book known as Huevos because it counters Chicana Feminism and advocates for Mexican American machismo. How threatening and logical is that, a bookstore who cries all the time about not selling enough books and they are not the only ones, refuses to sell my book because of its content.  But  if it was Gabriel Garcia Marquez book, "Memorias de mi Putas Triste" they would have no problem promoting it.

My reaffirmation was when I wrote the article the feedback on the site had 25 plus comments applauding what I wrote and cheering me which both reaffirmed what I said and have encouraged me to continue writing my convictions because I can't be afraid of the world.  And what others think, I'm not in it for a popularity contest but to express what I feel which is ultimately what I do when I write or publish my books. By the way, I have two books that will be published within the summer on my grandmother's Apache Spirituality and my time at a Protestant Anglo church as a teenager. Will be you informed.......................................!

El Bobo Castillo & the Screwball

I want to write about something that's been bugging me for the longest time which is the lack of recognition for a Mexican American baseball player named Bobby "Bobo" Castillo who taught Fernando Valenzuela how to throw the screwball.

I remember el Bobo Castillo because as a kid I use to know the name of every baseball player on the Dodgers and because they won and I saw the World Series in 1981, and 1987 and remember the pain of losing in 77 and 78 to the Yankees, that damn Reggie Jackson interferred with the ball thrown to first base. Yet what really bothers me and it sort of did also back in the day was why all the attention by the Mexico born fan base was given to Fernando Valenzuela though Castillo had been there for a few years and taught Fernando the famous screwball. I'm not arguing different types of players, some would say Fernando was a better overall player, the Cy Young and Rookie of the Year Award proved it but it was the skill of a Mexican American, born in Los Angeles who taught the southern Sonoran player how to throw that famous screwball.  El Bobo never seemed to get attention except for Vin Scully saying LA's own but that was the extent of the recognition which should have been much more because he was one of our own and in those days baseball use to mean something to me. Granted I was never good, would hit the ball at Centinela Park(underhand pitch) and watched the ball go up in the air. My grandmother Kika would yell "run, mijo, run" and I would watch the ball go up in the air and then decide to run. My father Julian and grandpa Gus would just throw their arms into frustration. Later when I played at Sentinel Field in Inglewood, on Inglewood Avenue with the vaunted 3-4 story high fence I would never hit the ball, dropped flyballs that my friends on the opposing teams wished I would hit the ball to get over the embarassment of being the worse player. Baseball was not for me and I knew it, but I was a Dodger fan.

I never dreamed of making it but it meant something to see a brown Castillo versus a Black Castillo from the Caribe or Venezuela.  Castillo had been on the Dodgers but as soon as Fernando arrived, he was overly promoted and the dog pack from Mexico responded in kind along with the Dodger machine. But those same Mexican nationals did not support a Bobo Castillo even though it was known that he taught Fernando Valenzuela how to pitch the screwball. I remember in 1982 visiting Mexicali where they are big Aguila followers and even attended a game at the Nido Stadium but when Fernando was going to pitch, even the mudo of the neighborhood Cuautemoc where my father's friend lived uttered words to see "lllll tolo llll tolo" el toro was going to pitch as my Ernesto el Cochis, my father's adopted brother translated. Every little television was on and El Bobo was a forgotten player nobody mentioned much less in Mexicali.

I see this phenomenon, as indicative of a trend where Mexican nationals come to the US, sometimes sponsored, or on their own but the people who help them along is some solitaire Mexican American who sees a kin or because he's the one that translates for the Whites just like Fernando, he did not know how to speak English.  Mike Brito was the translator, Vin Scully tried his sombrero comment, Tommy Lasorda was carrying sentences and even Stu Nahan travelled to the Mayo rancho where Fernando was from and spoke in his Canadian Version of Spanish with Fernando's parents.  Fernando did not have to speak English and made much more money while el Bobo got lost in the mania.

I always wondered how El Bobo must have felt, because he never got his recognition or fan support simply because the Mexican nationals did not see him as one of them.  Even though his knowledge is what made Fernando Fernandomania but as I once saw an interview on the farmworkers, Gilberto Rodriguez stated that he and other Mexican Americans taught the newly arrived braceros how to work in the fields because it is a learned skill and the Mexicans were getting paid more. It obviously bothered him because he would not have mentioned this in the Cesar Chavez documentary.  My Nino Gus would say that it was the Mexican Americans who taught Mexican nationals how to work in the railroad tracks in the mid 1940's otherwise the jobs would have taken longer to learn.  And 50 years later, he still remembered that skill before his passing.

I guess I see that the Mexican nationals want to see themselves and only believe that those in Mexico are like them and do not consider those of us north of the border as them hence the Bobo Castillo phenomenon of not being known anymore or celebrated back then when pitching schools should have been established with the screwball being the signature pitch.

And that still happens today, where the Mexicans with skills, capital--Chivas USA, or preferred labor even without residency arrive and are given access while the average Mexican American fights for is existence and is lumped in with the rest of Mexican nationals as if he was one of them even though he was born in the US. In the Mexican national eyes, a Mexican American is an American and now a Gringo.  Hell the Mexican nationals are allowed to even move in academia Chicano Studies which was based on the Mexican American narrative of US birth and have been pushed aside for the undocumented plight, dream act and fight for amnesty when none of those issues have anything to do with a Mexican American.  Mexican Americans don't face deportation hearings so that is not our narrative. We can vote assuming there is no criminal record but that also applies to Whites, Blacks and women.

Fernando was a phenomenon which I believe was first inspired by ABBA that then carried into the baseball mound but those of us with baseball memory know that before Fernando ever crossed the border, El Bobo Castillo was already pitching with the Dodgers practicing the screwball pitch that Fernando was able to use for his own development. I wonder if he was like Adele's ex boyfriend wanting part of the royalty for inspiring "Rolling in the Deep".

Fernando I hope once acknowledged him for that lesson.

I Am Not Mesoamerican

I recently purchased the book 1491 by Charles C. Mann on recommendation of a new friend and fellow Hawthorne High alum and Lennoxer/Inglewooder named Derek Barraza. I do not meet many fellow Mexican Americans from this area and most non South Bay Mexican Americans do not really believe we exist because we are a small community which we weren't but the perceptions are that only Whites or Blacks lived in that area. Derek and I prove that we did live there and Derek even more because he's 7 years older so he has the memory of the 1960's which I don't though my grandparents where in Inglewood too. It was refreshing to also meet a fellow Northerner from California like him because I do feel as a minority with so many foreign born and southern Mexico born. Derek's parents where from El Paso and his father was a World War II veteran. It was refreshing to meet him because I felt he understood points I say.

I followed his advice even on where to buy the book, Costco which I did and found. As I read the preface, I came across the following sentence: "I may not have even been familiar with the term "Mesoamerica, which encompasses the area from Central Mexico to Panama".

I was taken aback by this statement because as I shared this common history with Derek of Apache background we connected and I had a flashback to my childhood when most of the people I knew where of northern desert heritage the east coast Anglos call the Southwest. This is not the southwest, it is the desert northwest where ancient indigenous Mexican cultures have existed before southern Mexicans arrived and any other foreigner from Europe, Asia and Africa.  Even the Mexico born people I knew were northern Mexico born, Baja California, Sonora and remnants of Chihuahua with the occasional Sinaloa people who were tamed in those days.  Hell, even my uncle Amado's father from Baja California was born in Miami, Arizona and his mother in Santa Rosalia, Baja. My tio Amado was born south of the border because his father avoided the draft from World War II and said later. His brother was drafted and served and when he would brag about being in the US Army, Victor Moreno jokingly would say, "Shut up, callate cabron, you were a dishwasher only and you're proud of that".  One of my favorites lines I have ever heard.

Thus, I really had no knowledge of centro Mexicans my grandmother called el sur, los del sur; from the south. And when I would travel to the Imperial Valley I had grandmother's on both sides so the Mexicans in Mexicali and El Centro had a shared culture. I remember being surprised by the lowrider culture in the colonia in Mexicali on the dusty road. The dickies khaki and JCPenny attire with the gold necklace and it was not a corner gang well sort of, it was more fashion. I learned the term Chicali for Mexicali down there and my Baja California ama Alberta, the Cucapah, that's where the rancho was at spoke half Mexican Spanish, half English but couldn't understand English if it was spoken to here.  I learned the words pichel-pitcher, raite-ride, carro-car, picup, tenis for shoes, pants for sweats, chaqueta-jacket, soccer, trayler-trailer truck, tractor, baisbol, una libra for a pound (though Mexico uses metric system), milla for mile (though kilometers is standard use), and  khaki for cholo pants though it is a color. I didn't know I was supposedly incorrect until newer Mexicans from the south would tell me I was wrong and were going to knock the "Indian" out of me or South Americans who felt I was illiterate.  In essence the border culture of the  region was linked to the Mexican American culture because remnants of them being one country still existed in the oral memory of many older adults I grew up hearing them talk. Every other Mexican word on the US side proved my point.

But in essence, the world that Derek and I has died since our youth because the memory of the adults have have faded into disperse memory banks like solitaire lobos such as us who nobody wants to talk to because they sense danger. Another component has been the arrival of the southern Mexican from the center of Mexico such as Nayarit, Jalisco, Michoacan, Zacatecas (too many of them), San Luis Potosi though in smaller numbers, Mexico City, Puebla and now Oaxaca. Their mere appearance with no historical connection not even to the border Mexican states has resulted in them pushing their version of southern Mexican culture which is distinct to the California born Mexican American culture which is rooted in their homelands being places such as El Centro, El Paso, Inglewood, Watts, or East Los Angeles.  When someone is from these places within the United States, there is a distinct cultural and ethnic difference with somebody from southern Mexico and for those of us who are really Apaches, Comanchero, Mescalero, are non related to somebody whose family come from Zacatecas even if born in California. What extensive history does the Zacatecano or Jalisco origen people have in California? Those Mexicans are a different version of Mexican Americans I would call Southern Mexican Americans because they don't have that geographical connection to California or New Mexico. We should not be forgotten just because southern Mexicans arrived, we were here first.

Yet we make these distinctions amongst ourselves, as a woman named Betty from Montebello once asked me, what part of Mexico are you guys from and I told her both sides of California. Really, your people even in Baja California were from there?  Yes, my maternal grandparents came from a rancho and she could not believe it. Yes, El Rancho del Schenk at the base of the Cerro Prieto is where my mother was born.  My grandfather had a US border pass where he could come and go with no trouble and never wanted to live on the US side even though he milked cows for a living and never owned any land.  I am like him now. To further prove my point, I remember being at my uncles funeral in Mexicali who lived in Lennox and his friends went. They were from Zacatecas and as I conversed with one, I could tell he was uncomfortable being in Mexicali. It was too different for him and all he kept referring was his tierra in Zacatecas. It didn't matter that he was in Mexico, what was important to him was that it was not his place even if he was in Mexico, Baja California was a different planet.  Whereas for me, I was in a very familiar place with the same name as the land across the border.  I was in my Californias and I learned to live both.

Thus as I read Mesoamerica starts in Centro Mexico I could not help but think that my heritage is not part of Mesoamerica because I have no heritage down there and have found myself always in relative conflict with many of those southern Mexicans born in California because those people are trying to impose their brand of Mesoamerican culture on those of us born here and of indigenous heritage like and Derek.This is one reason I cannot subscribe to the Lalo Alcaraz's or Gustavo Arrellano branches of whatever they are because they are trying to defind that we are all their branch of Mexican American when we are not. I didn't even grow up being told I was a pocho because my parents didn't think that way because we were all born in the same geo zone and no my father nor mother did not sneak into the US in the trunk of a car. I'm not of Zacatecas heritage and I am proud of it nor where my parents and my grandparents were not braceros either.  None of my grandparents migrated anywhere. What do they know about somebody like me or Derek?  So these southerners are trying to tell us northerners what we are. Speak for your own and don't include me because I am not a Mesoamerican from centro Mexico and am proud of having Yuma-El Centro-Mexicali-Inglewood heritage because it is my history.

And as I spent many years in the profession of Chicano Studies, even they recognize the differences.  At CSULA, the Chicano Studies Department created a minor called Mesoamerican Studies by a Professor Roberto Cantu. Why did he do that? because he's not Mexican American from the north nor even US born hence because he wants to not be left out and impose his cultural perspective and because he fits the model Mexican immigrant, academia allowed him to go through and hired him even though he's not a Chicano which is a US born Mexican American, he can legitimize his own cultural realm in a field has does not belong to. By creating the minor in Mesoamerican Studies he's saying I'm not from the north but from the south. If that's the case, the universities should create the Southern Mexican Studies because at least that would be accurate and leave the true Mexican Americans, the Northerners alone.

I am not a Mesoamerican.

From Lennox to Huntington Beach

During the Christmas Holiday my friend Marcos from Oakland visited me and as we looked for the famous pancake place on Main Street he asked me, "how did you go from Lennox to Huntington Beach". This place that had the skin head reputation, the Republican hotbed and other notorioties and just not a welcoming place for Mexican Americans so I thought. I just told him "I don't know", but living near the beach for me is not new. Lennox, 90601 if I can remember was really unincorporated South Inglewood, with the worst racial poverty reputations that could be seen with the same main avenue Haarlem name except we were a combination of Mexican Americans, Mexican nationals, some Central Americans, some Blacks, some Samoans, some Cubans both Black and White and some Whites--a Stajoviak.

In Lennox, I had the same ocean breeze as El Segundo or Manhattan Beach without the funny smell from the hyperion plant and it was just as crowded as Manhattan except for the graffitti on 106th and Hawthorne Blvd. Beach culture is not new to me unlike most Mexican Americans that generally live east of east before the 105 freeway connection directly to the 710 freeway and north to the greater east sides of which there are many. From my Lennox perspective, everything was east.

Ironically, Marcos grew up just east about 5 miles on 98th Street in Los Angeles, South Los Angeles and in a time before our move to Lennox in 1985, I too lived on 99th street in Inglewood right near the 405 freeway. One reason I have always liked this guy, is that we share geographical history because we grew up in the South Bay, around Blacks, him more than me and in circumstances quite challenging. Both our neighborhoods were places that depressed you as you drove through them, now imagine having lived there. He grew up not just in a Black neighborhood but a violent impoverished neighborhood where he saw Freeway Ricky Ross doing business and being picked on because he looked White. He wasn't just a Black hair Mexican American but a fair skin kid with yellowish blonde hair, hence his nom de guerre Yellow Boy, but his father has Black hair. I think he had it rough because those communities were aggressive and I did not live in that kind of neighborhood. West Inglewood tended to be safer and those Blacks would be afraid of a South LA Black.  There were class and violent differences in these neighborhoods.

I got a taste of South LA Blacks when I attended Crozier Junior High in downtown Inglewood in 1982 and met Blacks from Crenshaw Blvd. east. It was rough, I got into fights, got suspended twice, learned to defend myself because the Black teachers didn't defend me and the lone Mexican American English teacher I had would quitely say Mexicanisms at the rude Black students.  I knew not all Blacks were this way because my best neigborhood friend was a Black kid named Scott, we are still in touch- but I knew those from Crenshaw east were a different kind, much more aggressive, Rolling 60's Crips as I heard along with Florencia. Sometimes I heard Florencia existed as protection from harassing Blacks, it's just the way it was. The best advice I got from a cholo or cholo look a like, Enrique at Crozier was in Spanish, "defiendete y nos les ensenhenes miedo", that was the inspiration and best lesson I learned in 7th grade.  And it worked, a few fists, a pushed table and those Blacks feared me and befriended me.  At least there was progress.

Marcos and I have that bond because we didn't grow up in traditional Mexican American communities though in my case, because my family had rancho roots on a street called Ballona, El barrio as it was called on a 1 acre lot. A rancho carry over from the turn of the century that ended when eminent domained, my grandmother Kika would cry how the city took their land even if they did pay, the spatial memory has been lost and I'm the youngest at 42 to have that memory of time long past. The watermelon fields are not even a memory anymore. And even I didn't cherish the place because by age 8 they were pushed out hence my grandmother Kika crying to me as I stopped to visit her on the way home from Oak Street Elementary on Kenwood. Even my mom has memory of pre 1965 days before the Watts riot when there were few Blacks in Inglewood.

Marcos was part of the Mexican American movement into South Los Angeles in the early 1980's after Blacks had moved in in the 60's but they weren't the first there, my mother's cousins from her father's side the Seguras were born in Watts on 106th Street in the mid 1930's and part of that family remained on 106th Street even until today. My mother's aunt Ventura would talk about how money dried up in the depression who then moved to the Imperial Valley to take up ranching near the Cerro Prieto where my great grandfather had paid for that land. Marcos family had moved from the MacArthur Park area now most associate to Centro Americans but he is evidence that Mexican Americans existed there prior to the arrival of newcomers who don't really have a historical place other than to look for inexpensive housing.

Marcos and I share this experience of having lived near Blacks, near the beach and not near Mexican American neighborhoods where they are 95% of the population. And that sometimes is something people don't understand about me, including Blacks themselves who have moved in from the South looking for a job and don't think I know anything about Blacks. I think I have more Black than Barack Obama who was born in Hawaii, coming from Inglewood and so does Marcos in our own Mexican American way. We know the head bop greeting chin up, the jive and the confidence of where we came from and most important a common history other Mexican Americans don't have.

Our experience cannot be generalize and if it wasn't for our discussions our history would be relegated to oblivion because it's not valued in the world of academia.  And as we walked back to the car, all I cared about was that my buddy travelled 400 miles to visit me because both of us came from places unknown and faces generalized into endless names of people never to be recognized.

It was a good evening.