I wasn’t invited to the wedding, but my friends from Jackie’s
Cold Day Inn were so I tagged along just for something to do. A Saturday
afternoon wedding wasn’t my idea of a good time but it beat sitting in my room
at the Lazy Bones Motel waiting for Jackie’s to re-open after the
wedding. I was done with sales calls until Monday.
Johnny Baker was marrying Judy Morgan. I didn’t know either of them, but I knew their families from my sales route. The wedding was at the Catholic church walking distance from my motel. Not much different from most churches in the area, it featured a white clapboard exterior, a tall steeple, and curiously, lightning rods atop the cross. I made a mental note to someday ask the priest why take the precaution of placing lighting rods in the house of God. It seemed like a preemptive measure just in case the congregation or maybe the priest himself wasn’t living up to his Maker’s expectations.
Johnny Baker was marrying Judy Morgan. I didn’t know either of them, but I knew their families from my sales route. The wedding was at the Catholic church walking distance from my motel. Not much different from most churches in the area, it featured a white clapboard exterior, a tall steeple, and curiously, lightning rods atop the cross. I made a mental note to someday ask the priest why take the precaution of placing lighting rods in the house of God. It seemed like a preemptive measure just in case the congregation or maybe the priest himself wasn’t living up to his Maker’s expectations.
 |
| The lightning rod salesman will arrive by and by |
Sheriff Tom and Doc Harris were sitting in the third row of
pews. I sat behind them in the fourth row. All told, there were about 50 people
in attendance. The priest was in the pulpit, lecturing the young couple about
the importance of marriage vows, fidelity, morality, children in the future,
and so on. They knelt a few feet away, listening hard, possibly thinking about
the life they were entering or hoping to hear about a loophole that would get
them out of this commitment before it was too late.
The bride wore a simple off-white dress. Long wedding gowns, expensive as hell, are out of fashion these days. Her dress was meant to be somewhere between a formal outfit and one she could wear to a party -- practical, modern. The groom wore an off the rack suit from Penney’s in Lubbock. It was likely that he wouldn’t wear it again except for an occasional funeral, if then. After the wedding his young wife would carefully store it in a plastic bag to keep years of dust from collecting on it and, if she thought of it, add some mothballs that would stink the suit up forever.
The priest droned on. I could see the groom was getting restless, kneeling as he was on the hardwood floor. I looked around and saw Jackie, Wendy, and Doris sitting across the aisle from me. Up front, one of the women was sniffling into her hankie. She was one of the mothers of the wedding couple. Her husband sat stiffly, his eyes focused on the priest. On my side, the other set of parents studied the statues of saints and other icons on either side of the altar, something they didn’t have in the First Baptist church down the street.
I thought the sermon was over when the priest stopped talking and looked towards the rear of the church. Everyone seemed to waken and turn around. Les, Jorge, and Milo came in as quietly as they could and quickly sat down in the rear pews. They must have seen the note at Jackie’s --- “At a wedding, St. Thomas, back at 5:30.”
At last the priest finished his sermon and married the two kids. “Do you take this man, do you take this woman, etc., etc.” and it was over. The most important part and really the only required part of the wedding was done; two questions, two affirmative answers. I got together with my friends on the church steps and we headed over to Jackie’s.
We took our seats at our usual table and I noticed the Sheriff and Les turning their wedding rings round and round on their fingers. Jorge had taken his off and was spinning it like a coin on the table. Doc Harris didn’t have a wedding ring. Wendy and Jackie were busy behind the bar pouring our drinks.
Presently, Wendy hip walked over with our drinks and clean ashtrays for Tom and Les. “Look at you men,” she said. “Having second thoughts are you now? It’s too late.” Tom gave her a sour look and put his hands on his lap. Jorge slipped his ring back on, picked up his drink and said, “A toast to the newlyweds whoever they are.” We saluted them silently with our drinks.
I saw Jackie coming to our table, a drink in her hand, so I scooted over to make room for her. She settled in and said, “That Baker boy looked pretty grown up, don’t you think? Joined the Army, saw the world, came back a grown man. Had my doubts about him for a long time, growing up he seemed like a lost ball in the tall grass. They way he looked today, he ain’t lost anymore, he’ll be fine.”
Jackie, who rumors had it, had been married three times and outlived all her husbands including the one she shot between the eyes, poked her chin at Doc Harris and said, “So, Doc, when are you going to make Doris an honest woman? Been livin’ in the same house goin’ on twenty years now.”
Doc gave Jackie a patient smile. “Jackie, just so you know, I did ask her 19 years ago. She said she’d think about it. So far’s I can tell she’s still thinking it over. Never said yes, never said no. I think she’s waiting for me to ask again.”
Doris was his nurse/receptionist. The local gossips and the church ladies disapproved of Doc and Doris’ living arrangement and pointedly referred to Doris as ‘Miss Duncan’ alluding obliquely to her life of sin. For his part, Doc explained that he and Doris were just fine as they were, maybe someday they’ll make if official...or not.
Les had married young, just 18. He and Peggy were married by a Justice of the Peace in New Mexico because she was underage in Texas at the time. And no, she wasn’t pregnant. She just wanted to get on with life with a husband and raise kids and pigs. She and Les had a bunch of kids and owned Les’s General Store a few doors down from Jackie’s place.
Jackie’d told me once that Sheriff Tom’s wedding wasn’t much of a mystery or even vaguely interesting. Twenty-one when he married his high school sweetheart, church wedding, groomsmen, bridesmaids, a ritual so conventional and ordinary, no one could even remember being there.
The bride wore a simple off-white dress. Long wedding gowns, expensive as hell, are out of fashion these days. Her dress was meant to be somewhere between a formal outfit and one she could wear to a party -- practical, modern. The groom wore an off the rack suit from Penney’s in Lubbock. It was likely that he wouldn’t wear it again except for an occasional funeral, if then. After the wedding his young wife would carefully store it in a plastic bag to keep years of dust from collecting on it and, if she thought of it, add some mothballs that would stink the suit up forever.
The priest droned on. I could see the groom was getting restless, kneeling as he was on the hardwood floor. I looked around and saw Jackie, Wendy, and Doris sitting across the aisle from me. Up front, one of the women was sniffling into her hankie. She was one of the mothers of the wedding couple. Her husband sat stiffly, his eyes focused on the priest. On my side, the other set of parents studied the statues of saints and other icons on either side of the altar, something they didn’t have in the First Baptist church down the street.
I thought the sermon was over when the priest stopped talking and looked towards the rear of the church. Everyone seemed to waken and turn around. Les, Jorge, and Milo came in as quietly as they could and quickly sat down in the rear pews. They must have seen the note at Jackie’s --- “At a wedding, St. Thomas, back at 5:30.”
At last the priest finished his sermon and married the two kids. “Do you take this man, do you take this woman, etc., etc.” and it was over. The most important part and really the only required part of the wedding was done; two questions, two affirmative answers. I got together with my friends on the church steps and we headed over to Jackie’s.
We took our seats at our usual table and I noticed the Sheriff and Les turning their wedding rings round and round on their fingers. Jorge had taken his off and was spinning it like a coin on the table. Doc Harris didn’t have a wedding ring. Wendy and Jackie were busy behind the bar pouring our drinks.
Presently, Wendy hip walked over with our drinks and clean ashtrays for Tom and Les. “Look at you men,” she said. “Having second thoughts are you now? It’s too late.” Tom gave her a sour look and put his hands on his lap. Jorge slipped his ring back on, picked up his drink and said, “A toast to the newlyweds whoever they are.” We saluted them silently with our drinks.
I saw Jackie coming to our table, a drink in her hand, so I scooted over to make room for her. She settled in and said, “That Baker boy looked pretty grown up, don’t you think? Joined the Army, saw the world, came back a grown man. Had my doubts about him for a long time, growing up he seemed like a lost ball in the tall grass. They way he looked today, he ain’t lost anymore, he’ll be fine.”
Jackie, who rumors had it, had been married three times and outlived all her husbands including the one she shot between the eyes, poked her chin at Doc Harris and said, “So, Doc, when are you going to make Doris an honest woman? Been livin’ in the same house goin’ on twenty years now.”
Doc gave Jackie a patient smile. “Jackie, just so you know, I did ask her 19 years ago. She said she’d think about it. So far’s I can tell she’s still thinking it over. Never said yes, never said no. I think she’s waiting for me to ask again.”
Doris was his nurse/receptionist. The local gossips and the church ladies disapproved of Doc and Doris’ living arrangement and pointedly referred to Doris as ‘Miss Duncan’ alluding obliquely to her life of sin. For his part, Doc explained that he and Doris were just fine as they were, maybe someday they’ll make if official...or not.
Les had married young, just 18. He and Peggy were married by a Justice of the Peace in New Mexico because she was underage in Texas at the time. And no, she wasn’t pregnant. She just wanted to get on with life with a husband and raise kids and pigs. She and Les had a bunch of kids and owned Les’s General Store a few doors down from Jackie’s place.
Jackie’d told me once that Sheriff Tom’s wedding wasn’t much of a mystery or even vaguely interesting. Twenty-one when he married his high school sweetheart, church wedding, groomsmen, bridesmaids, a ritual so conventional and ordinary, no one could even remember being there.
 |
| None of these folks were at Sheriff Tom's wedding |
Sheriff Tom lit another of his cigarillos, leaned back in
his chair and said, “Ya’ll remember Francisco Ramírez, the old bronc buster
from Las Cruces? He told me a story about his mother’s wedding in 1939, I think
he said. According to Francisco, the day his mom and pop got married they
didn’t even know they were gettin’ married. They never thought they might get
caught up in a riot or go to jail. Imagine that.
"Now, you hear somebody tell it like that, you don’t wanna sound too interested, know what I mean? So you say ‘so what’. And that’s what I said to Francisco, ‘So what?’
“You know how Francisco is. He’ll say something and leave it hangin’, kinda force you to ask him what else. I don’t remember why but that day I made up my mind not to ask him what else. He’s got a story, then, by god, tell it. I wasn’t gonna beg. So we’re sittin’ there under the mesquite trees next to his house in Las Cruces drinking beer, me talking about Panhandle stuff, Francisco's looking out towards the Rio Grande a hundred yards away. I tell him about the day I arrested Jorge Washington de la Cruz for tryin’ to scalp Harley Carson with his Buck knife. And Francisco laughs, says he wished he coulda been there, wants to know what happened. So I tell him about Jorge and Harley gettin’ crossways at Billy’s Last Stand one night.
“Tryin’ to sound like cranky ol’ Judge Thompson I said, ‘Mr. Horhay Washington day la Croooz, you are charged with assault with a deadly weapon. In my days as a judge and as a man crawling about this earth now near 80 years I never thought I would be charging a man with attempting to scalp his victim, but here we are. According to witnesses you were observed sittin’ on Mr. Harley Carson’s chest, holdin’ his hair in your left hand and a Buck knife with a 6” blade in your right hand. Only the arrival of Deputy Sheriff Dudley prevented you from takin’ Mr. Carson’s hair and scalp. How do you plead? Bear in mind, Mr. day la Croooz, there are other charges pending against you.’
“Long story short, the judge hears the testimony, dismisses the charges against Jorge then fines him and Harley $25 each for being dumbass enough to fight over which was a better truck, a Ford or a Chevy, seeing as in the judge's opinion the Dodge Ram is clearly the superior machine.
“Francisco laughs again then says, ‘You know, Tom, my mom and dad lived in El Paso in the 1930’s. Back in the day El Paso and Juárez had a reputation of being the Wild West. During Prohibition El Paso was dry but you could still buy booze if you could talk your way into the back rooms of pool parlors. Or you could cross over to Juarez and drink all you want. Money men from both countries set up big distilleries on the Mexican side and some say more than half the bars in Juárez were owned by Americans. Hell, the two biggest ones were O’Brien’s Bar and The Big Kids Palace, not hardly Mexican if you ask me.
“‘Even in 1939 it was like the Prohibition years never left. Alcohol was legal in the States but smugglers were bringing in Mexican liquors for less money and no Federal taxes. Shootouts between Border Patrol agents and smugglers were so common sometimes they didn’t even make the news unless somebody got killed. Man, 1939 was a hell of a time to get married.’
“He’d done it again, set the hook so I would ask what else about his mother’s wedding. I still didn’t take the bait.
“Francisco goes to the cooler, brings me another beer. He winks and says, ‘Tom, you don’t wanna know about my mom and pop? You know, I told my sons about it once and they didn’t believe me but my uncle Gustavo swears it’s true.’
“I gave in and said, ‘Ok, Francisco, tell me all about it.’
“Francisco said his father was a U.S. citizen. Mom wasn’t. Their common law marriage was sort of a family secret because common law marriages didn’t sit too well with her family. You weren’t really married unless it was in a church with a priest, holy water, candles, and all that extra stuff. So fifty years later in 1989 there wasn’t any 50th wedding anniversary party. After all, you can’t have a 53 year old son if you only been married 50 years. So nobody ever talked about their actual wedding. And nobody ever had a wedding where the bride and groom didn’t say anything at all.”
“Right off I figured this was gonna be another of Francisco’s shaggy dog stories. You can’t always tell with him. But this tale was shaping up to be a two six-pack job so I brought the beer cooler over, set it down between us and waited for his story.
“He says, ‘What my uncle told me, I don’t know how much is true because if you know my Uncle Gustavo, sometimes he makes things up. But when I ask my aunts and uncles they pretend not to know anything or just wave it off and walk away.
‘What happened was one Sunday afternoon my parents went to Juárez to celebrate my baptism. In those days, crossing the border from one side to the other wasn’t a big deal. Just say “American” and pay a 2 cent toll. El Paso and Juárez were like one big city. People crossed from one side to the other every day by the thousands. Mexicans came to buy from American shops while Americans crossed over for stuff they couldn’t find in American stores.
‘Everybody knew that hundreds of Mexican women were going to maids jobs in El Paso and the men were headed to the big farms in the upper and lower valleys. The Border Patrol knew that if they stopped this traffic there would be hell to pay from the American housewives and farmers who depended on the Mexicans to be at their jobs every day. The guards at the border crossing didn’t check who was who too closely. The Border Patrol took coffee breaks for a couple of hours after dawn.
‘But on that Sunday after my baptism party, the border agent who probly had some bad tacos for lunch demanded proof of my mother’s citizenship. She didn’t have a passport so the agent didn’t let her cross to El Paso. Oh, yeah, she was six months pregnant with my sister.
‘My father didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t leave her in Juárez and he couldn’t stay. My mother told him to find Mrs. Martínez. Maybe she would know what to do. So pop took my mother to stay with her cousin in Juárez then went to El Paso to find Mrs. Martínez.
‘Mrs. Martínez was the richest businesswoman in El Paso. My mother and my aunt were maids in her mansion on the hill overlooking downtown. Martínez money financed dozens of businesses and political campaigns in El Paso and Juárez. Anybody who was anybody owed her money or favors. Mrs. Martínez always got what she wanted.
‘My father found her mansion but was afraid to go up the steps and knock on the door. I mean, he was a nobody and she was the most important woman in the city. Would she call the police? He’d heard that she had a bodyguard. Would the bodyguard beat him up if he bothered La Señora? So he walked up and down the sidewalk in front of the house, back and forth, back and forth, starting up the steps, then down again, over and over until a maid looked out a window, saw him and told Mrs. Martínez.
"Now, you hear somebody tell it like that, you don’t wanna sound too interested, know what I mean? So you say ‘so what’. And that’s what I said to Francisco, ‘So what?’
“You know how Francisco is. He’ll say something and leave it hangin’, kinda force you to ask him what else. I don’t remember why but that day I made up my mind not to ask him what else. He’s got a story, then, by god, tell it. I wasn’t gonna beg. So we’re sittin’ there under the mesquite trees next to his house in Las Cruces drinking beer, me talking about Panhandle stuff, Francisco's looking out towards the Rio Grande a hundred yards away. I tell him about the day I arrested Jorge Washington de la Cruz for tryin’ to scalp Harley Carson with his Buck knife. And Francisco laughs, says he wished he coulda been there, wants to know what happened. So I tell him about Jorge and Harley gettin’ crossways at Billy’s Last Stand one night.
“Tryin’ to sound like cranky ol’ Judge Thompson I said, ‘Mr. Horhay Washington day la Croooz, you are charged with assault with a deadly weapon. In my days as a judge and as a man crawling about this earth now near 80 years I never thought I would be charging a man with attempting to scalp his victim, but here we are. According to witnesses you were observed sittin’ on Mr. Harley Carson’s chest, holdin’ his hair in your left hand and a Buck knife with a 6” blade in your right hand. Only the arrival of Deputy Sheriff Dudley prevented you from takin’ Mr. Carson’s hair and scalp. How do you plead? Bear in mind, Mr. day la Croooz, there are other charges pending against you.’
“Long story short, the judge hears the testimony, dismisses the charges against Jorge then fines him and Harley $25 each for being dumbass enough to fight over which was a better truck, a Ford or a Chevy, seeing as in the judge's opinion the Dodge Ram is clearly the superior machine.
“Francisco laughs again then says, ‘You know, Tom, my mom and dad lived in El Paso in the 1930’s. Back in the day El Paso and Juárez had a reputation of being the Wild West. During Prohibition El Paso was dry but you could still buy booze if you could talk your way into the back rooms of pool parlors. Or you could cross over to Juarez and drink all you want. Money men from both countries set up big distilleries on the Mexican side and some say more than half the bars in Juárez were owned by Americans. Hell, the two biggest ones were O’Brien’s Bar and The Big Kids Palace, not hardly Mexican if you ask me.
“‘Even in 1939 it was like the Prohibition years never left. Alcohol was legal in the States but smugglers were bringing in Mexican liquors for less money and no Federal taxes. Shootouts between Border Patrol agents and smugglers were so common sometimes they didn’t even make the news unless somebody got killed. Man, 1939 was a hell of a time to get married.’
“He’d done it again, set the hook so I would ask what else about his mother’s wedding. I still didn’t take the bait.
“Francisco goes to the cooler, brings me another beer. He winks and says, ‘Tom, you don’t wanna know about my mom and pop? You know, I told my sons about it once and they didn’t believe me but my uncle Gustavo swears it’s true.’
“I gave in and said, ‘Ok, Francisco, tell me all about it.’
“Francisco said his father was a U.S. citizen. Mom wasn’t. Their common law marriage was sort of a family secret because common law marriages didn’t sit too well with her family. You weren’t really married unless it was in a church with a priest, holy water, candles, and all that extra stuff. So fifty years later in 1989 there wasn’t any 50th wedding anniversary party. After all, you can’t have a 53 year old son if you only been married 50 years. So nobody ever talked about their actual wedding. And nobody ever had a wedding where the bride and groom didn’t say anything at all.”
“Right off I figured this was gonna be another of Francisco’s shaggy dog stories. You can’t always tell with him. But this tale was shaping up to be a two six-pack job so I brought the beer cooler over, set it down between us and waited for his story.
“He says, ‘What my uncle told me, I don’t know how much is true because if you know my Uncle Gustavo, sometimes he makes things up. But when I ask my aunts and uncles they pretend not to know anything or just wave it off and walk away.
‘What happened was one Sunday afternoon my parents went to Juárez to celebrate my baptism. In those days, crossing the border from one side to the other wasn’t a big deal. Just say “American” and pay a 2 cent toll. El Paso and Juárez were like one big city. People crossed from one side to the other every day by the thousands. Mexicans came to buy from American shops while Americans crossed over for stuff they couldn’t find in American stores.
‘Everybody knew that hundreds of Mexican women were going to maids jobs in El Paso and the men were headed to the big farms in the upper and lower valleys. The Border Patrol knew that if they stopped this traffic there would be hell to pay from the American housewives and farmers who depended on the Mexicans to be at their jobs every day. The guards at the border crossing didn’t check who was who too closely. The Border Patrol took coffee breaks for a couple of hours after dawn.
‘But on that Sunday after my baptism party, the border agent who probly had some bad tacos for lunch demanded proof of my mother’s citizenship. She didn’t have a passport so the agent didn’t let her cross to El Paso. Oh, yeah, she was six months pregnant with my sister.
‘My father didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t leave her in Juárez and he couldn’t stay. My mother told him to find Mrs. Martínez. Maybe she would know what to do. So pop took my mother to stay with her cousin in Juárez then went to El Paso to find Mrs. Martínez.
‘Mrs. Martínez was the richest businesswoman in El Paso. My mother and my aunt were maids in her mansion on the hill overlooking downtown. Martínez money financed dozens of businesses and political campaigns in El Paso and Juárez. Anybody who was anybody owed her money or favors. Mrs. Martínez always got what she wanted.
‘My father found her mansion but was afraid to go up the steps and knock on the door. I mean, he was a nobody and she was the most important woman in the city. Would she call the police? He’d heard that she had a bodyguard. Would the bodyguard beat him up if he bothered La Señora? So he walked up and down the sidewalk in front of the house, back and forth, back and forth, starting up the steps, then down again, over and over until a maid looked out a window, saw him and told Mrs. Martínez.
 |
| Mrs. Martínez must be in there somewhere |
‘The maid opened the door and ordered my father to come in.
Wipe your shoes, she said. Take off your hat and, ¡Ay, Dios mío!, stand still!
‘When my father told Mrs. Martínez what happened she called the immigration office, a judge in Mexico and another one in El Paso and commanded them be at the border bridge in 30 minutes. My father was still standing there shaking so she yelled at him to go back and keep mom away from the immigration office, don’t let anybody talk to her, and if anybody has a problem with that, tell them Mrs. Martínez is coming.
‘My father stole a bicycle and raced back to Juárez, got my mom to the border crossing just in time. Traffic's stopped in both directions, car horns honking, angry pedestrians shouting. There’s American and Mexican cops rushing up from both sides. A shootout with smugglers along the river bank three days before had them on edge. They drew their guns. There could be trouble again any minute.
‘Mrs. Martínez, the two judges, two immigration officers, and mom and pop stood in the middle of the road surrounded by pedestrians and cars. She was barking orders like a drill sergeant, moving the judges and immigration guys around the border stripe. Every time they tried to say something she shut them up with a hard look. At the same time the crowd's getting bigger, the line of cars longer and the cops are getting closer.
‘Mrs. Martínez tells the judges and the agents to move aside. She whips off her hat and stands in the middle of the road with her hands on her hips like she’s daring anybody to make trouble. She stands there, the Grand Mamacita of all mamacitas, looking 10 feet tall, making the kids settle down -- NOW, or else.
‘The Grand Mamacita was hardly ever seen in public, so only a few people in the crowd knew what she looked like, but as word spread about who she was people started shushing the others around them until the crowd went still; everyone wondering why she was on the bridge, what was she doing, who were those people with her; the judges? Immigration officers? Smugglers? The cops stopped, confused about what was Mrs. Martínez was doing there.
‘My mom and pop are desperate, looking here, looking there, all around. There’s American police coming from one side; Mexican cops from the other side to arrest them? Can they escape? If they run, which way to go? Do they go together or opposite ways? And what about their son and the baby on the way? They’re confused along with everybody else except for Mrs. Martinez. She gives my mother a sharp look and tells her to stand on the Mexican side of the border stripe, my dad on the American side. She snaps her fingers to get their attention then orders the judges sign a piece of paper and tells the immigration agents to sign it, too. She wrote her name at the bottom, handed the marriage certificate to my father and said go home. The judges, the immigration guys, and Mrs. Martínez hustled away.'"
And with that, Sheriff Tom held his hands palms up as though saying, “That’s all, folks. End of story.”
Wendy, who’d been standing behind Doc Harris with a tray of drinks, said, “What about the ‘I do’s and ‘kiss the bride?’” Tom shook his head, nope.
And Jackie asked if the Grand Mamacita or the judges said anything to the couple. “Come on, Tom. There were two judges there. Somebody musta said something.”
Tom said, “I wondered the same thing so I asked Francisco. He said, ‘Nobody but the Grand Mamacita said anything at all -- ‘Stand there! Sign this!’ The border crossing was closed to traffic and everything had to happen fast so there wouldn't be a riot reported in the papers.’
“I was doubtful and I must’ve shown it somehow because then he said,
‘Look at it this way, Tom. Mom was a housemaid. Dad was a laborer at the copper refinery. Not exactly high society people. Their plan for the day was to have my little baptism party and go home. They had no idea they were going to be married or be in the middle of a riot. They were surrounded by hundreds of angry people and the most powerful political people on both sides of the border -- the Grand Mamacita, two important judges, and two Immigration Officers who could arrest them or worse. It wasn’t their place to ask any questions (as sad as that sounds). All they could do was what the Grand Mamacita ordered which was to go home. I’m not sure the marriage was legal but that afternoon it was. The Grand Mamacita said so. My mother learned enough English to pass her citizenship test and become a U.S. citizen a few years later. Mom and pop raised four kids who are good neighbors everywhere they go. Even me.’”
‘When my father told Mrs. Martínez what happened she called the immigration office, a judge in Mexico and another one in El Paso and commanded them be at the border bridge in 30 minutes. My father was still standing there shaking so she yelled at him to go back and keep mom away from the immigration office, don’t let anybody talk to her, and if anybody has a problem with that, tell them Mrs. Martínez is coming.
‘My father stole a bicycle and raced back to Juárez, got my mom to the border crossing just in time. Traffic's stopped in both directions, car horns honking, angry pedestrians shouting. There’s American and Mexican cops rushing up from both sides. A shootout with smugglers along the river bank three days before had them on edge. They drew their guns. There could be trouble again any minute.
‘Mrs. Martínez, the two judges, two immigration officers, and mom and pop stood in the middle of the road surrounded by pedestrians and cars. She was barking orders like a drill sergeant, moving the judges and immigration guys around the border stripe. Every time they tried to say something she shut them up with a hard look. At the same time the crowd's getting bigger, the line of cars longer and the cops are getting closer.
‘Mrs. Martínez tells the judges and the agents to move aside. She whips off her hat and stands in the middle of the road with her hands on her hips like she’s daring anybody to make trouble. She stands there, the Grand Mamacita of all mamacitas, looking 10 feet tall, making the kids settle down -- NOW, or else.
‘The Grand Mamacita was hardly ever seen in public, so only a few people in the crowd knew what she looked like, but as word spread about who she was people started shushing the others around them until the crowd went still; everyone wondering why she was on the bridge, what was she doing, who were those people with her; the judges? Immigration officers? Smugglers? The cops stopped, confused about what was Mrs. Martínez was doing there.
‘My mom and pop are desperate, looking here, looking there, all around. There’s American police coming from one side; Mexican cops from the other side to arrest them? Can they escape? If they run, which way to go? Do they go together or opposite ways? And what about their son and the baby on the way? They’re confused along with everybody else except for Mrs. Martinez. She gives my mother a sharp look and tells her to stand on the Mexican side of the border stripe, my dad on the American side. She snaps her fingers to get their attention then orders the judges sign a piece of paper and tells the immigration agents to sign it, too. She wrote her name at the bottom, handed the marriage certificate to my father and said go home. The judges, the immigration guys, and Mrs. Martínez hustled away.'"
And with that, Sheriff Tom held his hands palms up as though saying, “That’s all, folks. End of story.”
Wendy, who’d been standing behind Doc Harris with a tray of drinks, said, “What about the ‘I do’s and ‘kiss the bride?’” Tom shook his head, nope.
And Jackie asked if the Grand Mamacita or the judges said anything to the couple. “Come on, Tom. There were two judges there. Somebody musta said something.”
Tom said, “I wondered the same thing so I asked Francisco. He said, ‘Nobody but the Grand Mamacita said anything at all -- ‘Stand there! Sign this!’ The border crossing was closed to traffic and everything had to happen fast so there wouldn't be a riot reported in the papers.’
“I was doubtful and I must’ve shown it somehow because then he said,
‘Look at it this way, Tom. Mom was a housemaid. Dad was a laborer at the copper refinery. Not exactly high society people. Their plan for the day was to have my little baptism party and go home. They had no idea they were going to be married or be in the middle of a riot. They were surrounded by hundreds of angry people and the most powerful political people on both sides of the border -- the Grand Mamacita, two important judges, and two Immigration Officers who could arrest them or worse. It wasn’t their place to ask any questions (as sad as that sounds). All they could do was what the Grand Mamacita ordered which was to go home. I’m not sure the marriage was legal but that afternoon it was. The Grand Mamacita said so. My mother learned enough English to pass her citizenship test and become a U.S. citizen a few years later. Mom and pop raised four kids who are good neighbors everywhere they go. Even me.’”
