Just a Mexican

After a day of peddling farm equipment I stopped at Jackie’s Cold Day Inn, my favorite bar in the Texas panhandle. It isn’t the cleanest or the dirtiest place to relax after a long day in the Texas sun. The windows have been gathering dust and cigarette smoke undisturbed for 20 years. Some of the gum stuck under the tables is older than that. What makes Jackie’s good is the waitresses, bartenders, and the regulars. They only want to know what you choose to tell them.

Leave your horse outside and tip the waitress when you leave

When I walked in Sheriff Tom and Les were at their table by the front door going over the events of the day. Tom called out, motioned for me to sit down. Wendy hipwalked over with my Jack on the rocks and a clean ashtray.

“I was just telling Les that I arrested ole Jorge for trespassing and suspicion of cattle rustling.”

“Jorge? I can’t see him for rustling, Tom.”

“Jorge stealin’ anything is nuts but the D.A. is running for re-election again, pushing his law n’ order bullshit. I tell you, Judge Martin wasn’t happy about it but he had to hear the case. I wasn’t happy about the whole mess either but I had to take the complaint.

“If he was white nobody’d think twice about seeing him around town doin’ what anybody else would do. But no, they watch him like he’s up to something they won’t like. And Jorge being Jorge, won’t do anything to make anybody like or trust him. Just minds his business and expects the same from everybody else. Tell you what, if more folks did that this town would be a better place.

“So the judge starts off with Jorge, reads the charge and says how do you plead.

“Jorge says ‘bullshit’. Judge Martin gives him the eye so Jorge says not guilty.

“’I was fixing Newman's fence when he comes up, points his rifle at me and calls the Sheriff, says I’m trespassing, and taking the fence down so I can steal some of his steers.’

“The judge gives the D.A. and Newman a hard look that says everybody in the courtroom knows the charge is bogus. The D.A. starts to say something but the judge shuts him up, looks at Jorge.

“Mr. De La Cruz, how long have you lived in Carson County?”

“More than 20 years, Your Honor.”

“When did your family come this country?”

“1850 or 10,000 B.C., depends on who you ask. My grandmother says one; University of Texas says the other.”

“Have you ever been arrested?”

“Just once, a long time ago. Disorderly Conduct and Possession.”

“Ok. What were you doing on Newman’s property?”

“Your Honor, everybody in these parts knows I like to ride all over the hills. Everybody knows my horse and me from a mile off. Nobody minds if I cross their land, ‘cept Newman, today.”

“So what was different today?”

“I was riding along Newman’s fence line on my way to the artesian springs. I could tell the fence was new from the shiny barbed wire but it was falling over. Whoever put it up did a crappy job. I thought I’d do him a favor. So there I was setting the posts two feet down, the way they’re supposed to be when he pulls a gun on me.

If you build it right it'll last 50 years

“Judge Martin drops his chin, rests his forehead on his fingertips and says, ‘Sheriff what did you see?’

“I saw a fence falling down. What wasn’t down was gonna be down soon. It was a lousy job. In my opinion, Jorge was doing Newman a favor and doing a good job of it, Your Honor.

“The judge stands up, gathers his papers, points at Newman fines him $50 for wasting the court’s time. He’s about to leave the bench when he says, ‘And Newman, next time you want a job done right, hire a Mexican.’”

It was getting close to sunset and the evening crowd began drifting in, all regulars but Tom checked them out anyway, making mental notes. Jackie came by to take the empties. She stood by Tom, put her hand on his shoulder and said, “So what’s with Jorge? Is he ok?”

“Oh, he’s just a little pissed. I drove him home after the hearing. He’s fine”. Jackie patted him on the shoulder and went back to the bar.

“I’ve known Jorge a long time. He was born and raised in Southern California. He told me that the first time he came to Texas he fell in love with the open range and just wanted to see it all. At first he rode all around in his truck but eventually went off road on his horse. Been doing that as long as he’s lived here. Some folks think he’s crazy but I think lots more envy him.

Miles and miles of Texas

“In 1988 Jorge married Jenny, one of the Jensen girls he met in Crosbyton. They bought a few acres in hill country just south of Shamrock. They raised kids, chickens, ran a few head for meat, and had a fair size vegetable garden. The place wasn’t big enough to make a living but Jorge never lacked for money. When he was home Jorge spent a lot of his time just riding the range. When the kids were older, he and Jenny rode together.

I remember goin' out to his place right after he got married. Some ranchers were calling the department about a horseman riding on their land, a stranger. His wife said he was out hunting but she could bring him back. She went indoors, came out with a .22 rifle, fired three shots in the air, 10 seconds apart. By and by, Jorge rode in, said he’d been tracking white-tail just west of the caprock ridge, come along if you want. I told him not today but maybe on my day off. Next thing I know, we’re hunting together once a month or more. He’s one hell of a tracker, better’n me and I’m pretty good.

“Some people thought he was a drug dealer. It didn’t help that he was a Mexican with a big mustache. You know how it is; a juicy story’s easier to believe than simple truth. Jorge would suddenly disappear for a month or a couple of weeks at a time. He come home flush with cash, go into town, pay off whatever he owed Les, Doc or anybody and put the rest in the bank.

Blade, bucket, or scoop, Jorge can run it

“The fact is he’s a heavy equipment operator first class. If it’s got treads and a blade, a bucket or a scoop, he can run it better than most. He belongs to the McCoy Disaster Recovery crew. You probably never heard of it. McCoy’s and other outfits like it are called in whenever there’s a natural disaster anywhere in the country. If there’s floods, tornados, hurricanes, fires, first thing they need is a crew of experienced cleanup guys working fast. McCoy’s got ‘em. The call goes out, the crew members drop what they’re doing and fly or drive to wherever they’re needed. They get paid top dollar. Four months work they make enough to get them through a whole year or more.

Take a number

“I met him the first time back in 1970 or 71. I was a rookie Deputy Sheriff in Riverside, California. Lots of immigrants there. The head nurse in the ER at County called in a gunshot wound so I had to check it out. The victim was brought in by his friend who told me they were sitting outside a convenience store when somebody drove up and took four or five shots at them. No witnesses, no motive anybody knew. One bullet grazed his friend’s head; the doctors were sewing up the damage.

“He wanted to smoke so we went to the parking lot and lit up by my patrol car. His ID said his name was Jorge Washington De La Cruz, age 22. I’ve seen lots of phony ID’s but this one looked legit. I looked him in the eye. He just shrugged and said, “I was born right after my parents became citizens. They named me after George Washington. Very patriotic.”

“Musta been tough growing up with a name like that.”

“Yeah, I guess it made me tough, too. My friends call me Washington D.C. for short.”

“When I gave him back his ID he asked, ‘How long were you in ‘Nam? You got the look, you know.’

“He had me there so I told him I mustered out year ago but I didn’t want to go back to Texas right then, had to get my head on straight first.’”

“Man, I know what you mean. For me it was like the whole time I was over there didn’t happen, but I knew it did. I’d stare at my girl and I couldn’t decide if I was dreaming or if she was real. She broke up with me, said I made her nervous.”

“He reached for another cigarette and a joint fell out of his pocket. His face froze like he wanted to stop time and rewind it 10 seconds. I picked up the joint and put it in his shirt pocket. He said thanks and relaxed.

“We talked some more. When he finished his second cigarette and we went inside to see about his friend. The ER doc gave me what I needed for my report and I said goodbye to Jorge. A few months later, I got homesick finally, and came back to Panhandle.

I didn’t see Jorge again until maybe 1985, no wife yet. Deputy Dudley arrested him and Carson brothers for disturbing the peace, disorderly conduct, and possession of marijuana at Billy’s Last Stand.”

Wendy came over with fresh drinks. I told her to put it on my tab. Tom saluted me with his drink and continued.

“You know me how I hate puzzles but I love mysteries. I talked to everybody who’d been there, put the pieces together and framed out the story. Dudley’s arrest report named several witnesses and it looked like Judy Butler was in the middle of it. Billy’s is Judy’s second home. That woman loves to dance and it don’t matter who asks, she’s game. Anyhow, Jorge sees her and asks her to dance. And they’re dancing up a storm, two steppin’ with the best of ‘em.

Mind your feet

The Lonesome Foursome take a break, Jorge goes outside to cool off and have a smoke. Judy sits down with her girlfriends and the two Carson boys who’d been watching Judy and Jorge come up to her asking questions like it’s somehow their business.

“So who’s the lover boy, Judy?”

“Name’s Jorge Washington De La Cruz. What’s it to you? He’s nice and he doesn’t stomp on my feet. And he’s polite with his hands, not like you, Harley.”

“Jorge Washington De La Cruz? So he’s Spanish?”

“Oh, hell, Harley. He ain't rich. He’s just a Mexican. Now go away, bother somebody else.”

Lonesome Foursome

“The band started up again. This time they did a long line dancing set. Jorge was pretty good on his feet and you could tell Judy was having a great time kicking up her heels, showing off. The Carson boys watched them close, guzzling beer like they was going to prison next day.

“The Lonesome Foursome upped the tempo and the dancers got sloppy, bumpin’ into each other, laughin’, just havin’ a good time. The music stopped suddenly. Hec, the bandleader, said it was time to slow things down. He cued the band to play a slow song, and fellas, mind your manners.

“Well, Judy put her arms around Jorge’s neck and hung on him like wallpaper. Jorge put his hands on her waist to help her hang on.

“When they danced close to the bar, Harley stepped up, tapped Jorge on the shoulder.”

“Hey, PAYdro, I wanna cut in.”

“Sorry, hoss, I’d rather dance with Judy. Ask your buddy there; maybe he’ll dance with you. And my name isn’t PAYdro. It’s Jorge.”

“OKAY, HORHAY or whatever. Billy’s ain't a beaner bar. Beaners hang out at Chato’s on 14^th.”

“Been to Chato’s but I like it better here. The ladies smell real nice even if the cowboys don’t.”

Sheriff Tom paused, wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. He rested his arms on the table holding his drink with both hands.

“Jim and Angel. Jim and Angel. You know if there’s a fight or a hint of one, Jim and Angel gotta be nearby. It’s like they can sense it just before it happens, kinda like sharks smelling blood from miles away.

“Harley and Jorge square off. The other Carson boy, Colt, moves closer to Jorge to make it two-on-one but Jim comes up behind him, puts one hand on his neck, gives it a squeeze, punches him on the shoulder real soft with his other fist. Angel takes Judy’s arm and leads her away.

“Ever hear the word lummox? I’m pretty sure it was invented for Harley Carson. He’s dumb and clumsy. Get a few beers in ‘im and it takes every bit of his brainpower to walk and say his name. He rears back to throw a punch upside Jorge’s head but it takes so long coming Jorge could have gone to bar got another beer and come back in time to duck under it. I said Jorge could dance. He let Harley punch air over and over and never even lost his hat. By now, the crowd’s into it, laughing at Harley, cheering Jorge. Colt can’t take it anymore, he charges in, rabbit punches Jorge.

“Jorge goes down on his knees. Colt’s about to smash a stool on his back when Jim kicks Colt’s feet out. The belly flop knocks him out. Harley still wanted to fight but Jim got between him and Jorge.

“You know, I kinda wish Deputy Dudley hadn’t arrived just then. I got the feeling that Jim woulda taken his time punishing Harley. I seen it before. Jim’s got a mean streak that’s long on justice an’ short on mercy. Maybe some other time.

"Long story short, the judge fined Jorge $25 for possession of one joint. It could have been worse but the joint got lost somewhere between evidence locker and the courthouse. The Carson boys paid $100 each for disturbing the peace and three days in lockup just because."

Tom pushed his chair out and stood to leave.
“Hey, I gotta run, turn in early. Me and Jorge are huntin' tomorrow.”

“Wait a minute, Sheriff”, I said. “How did the joint get lost? And why didn’t the judge make an issue of it?”

“Well, it was so long ago I don’t rightly remember. It was late and the judge probably just wanted to wrap things up and go home to his new wife. Maybe whoever was carrying the joint to the courthouse smoked it on the way over.

“What’re you two looking at? It coulda happened.”

“Sheriff, was it you?”

“Like I said, I don’t remember.”