Mexico
...and on a lighter note, here is my essay for my weekly writer's group. The prompt was to write about a memorable holiday. 7/13/2021
Hussong’s Cantina 1970
I was working in a surfboard factory in Costa Mesa California, in May of 1970. My buddies were gearing up to head for Mexico for Cinco de Mayo. Having recently arrived from Florida I asked, “What the heck is Cinco de Mayo?” After acknowledging I had just fallen off the turnip truck, my friends enlightened me about the big fiesta. Despite having a beat up old car, a 1954 Chevrolet station wagon, painted to look like a woodie, maybe $25, and certainly no money to buy car insurance for Mexico, I put $10 worth of gas in the car and headed for the border.
Skip Tijuana, my friends said, go straight to Ensenada. So I did. Hussong’s Cantina was the place to be, I was told, so I headed there. This reminds me of a coworker, Tim Johnston, telling me about the Rendevous Ballroom, on Balboa Island, in Newport Beach, California in the 1960s. I said to Tim, “That sounds like it was the place to be!” As long as I live, I will never forget Tim’s reply, he said, “No, but we thought it was.”
For a quarter Hussong’s provided a shot of Tequila, a salt shaker and a small bowl of cut up limes. Needless to say, Hussong’s was quite popular with American tourists. It was basically a dive bar with no entertainment besides the boisterous crowd inside, mostly Americans. I noticed a young man sitting on the fireplace mantle, across the room from the bar. I walked over and joined him. Everyone was singing and dancing and drinking tequila. About that time a couple of Federales walked in, surveyed the room, and walked to the mantle. They unceremoniously grabbed my amigo off the mantle and dragged him outside. The Federales walked back in and began walking in my direction through the crowd. I don’t claim to be the sharpest tack in the box, but I jumped down and headed for the back door. As I walked around to the front of the cantina, I saw my compadre in the back seat of a police car. His friend was trying to tell him, “You don’t have to go to jail, just give the Federales $10.” The arrestee was so programmed (and drunk) that he couldn’t comprehend what he was being told. “No, he said, we have to go to jail and bond out.” I think his friend gave the cops $10 and they let their prisoner go. I got in my wagon and drove to nearby Rosarita Beach to sleep for the night.
Upon arising I met some nice Americanos camping next to me and we started drinking. I was mixing rum with Gatorade, which was supposed to get into your bloodstream 7 times quicker than water. I don’t know about that, but you would get a rush maybe 10 to 15 seconds after taking a drink, especially sitting on the beach in the sun.
While driving through Tijuana on the way home, I recalled a story my buddy named Earl had told me. He got stopped by the Federales once in Tijuana, who relieved him of all of his cash, about $25. Then they gave him back $5 and told him to go home. And no, I did not go to the donkey show.
