MEXICO CITY DISPATCHES

Che and I used to smoke dope together when he was living in exile in Mexico City. We would hang out at an Argentine restaurant near the Zócalo drinking wine and eating steaks. Fidel would occasionally join us. He loved to talk baseball while Che recounted the details regarding the chick with whom he had spent the previous night. They wanted me to go to Cuba with them to start the revolution, but I told them I wasn't interested. If I were to go to Cuba, I would tell them, it would be to interview Hemingway. I'd joke with them that being a revolutionary was the first step toward becoming a dictator. They'd laugh and say that I was full of "mierda" and not to forget to pay the bill. They were good guys who welcomed the company of a callow gringo who had a few bucks in his pocket. The last time I saw them they promised I would have a place to stay in Havana in the near future. "Don't get yourselves killed," I told them at our departure. We embraced and t...

When I arrived in Brownsville in 1975, I became very good friends with the owners and staff of Blackbeards, a popular South Padre Island beer and hamburger joint. I played on their basketball team and participated in many of their parties. I always had a place to sleep. Puros gringos living the good life. Whenever they came to Brownsville with the intentions of eating and drinking in Matamoros, I was their guide. Just like we tore it up on the Island, we tore it up on the other side of the river. We were in our mid-twenties. There were no obstacles when spontaneity ruled the moment. The Matamoros I knew was the same Matamoros that Brownsville residents, particularly men, knew. There was Portales to the south, Boystown to the east and turning right off Sixth with the large Coca-Cola sign on the left, there were spots on Diagonal. In general we confined our activities to  Obregón  that took us past Garcia's and onward to the plaza. There w...

After a few days in Cuernavaca, Adela and I have returned to Mexico City where I plan to reside indefinitely. Ignacio and I were unofficial compadres. I took his second son  Cuauhtémoc  into the bathroom and baptized him with water from the toilet. Upon our return to Colonia Jardin Balbuena I went for a shave. In the old days there wasn't a week that I didn't cross to Matamoros for a shave. As I sat back in the chair with a hot towel wrapped around my face, the memories from those bygone days came flowing back. With a straight razor sharpened on a leather strap, the barber would foam my face two or three times, sweep the blade across the whiskers like a conductor leading an orchestra with his baton and then bring his performance to an end with a flourish by splashing alcohol on my tender skin. For an encore I would stop in the plaza for a shoeshine. I know that a person can't escape his or her problems, but I had to escape Brownsville for a well-deserv...

I had a daughter named Daniella who was born two months premature 30 years ago. She weighed three pounds and my first wife Dolores and I had every reason to believe that she would survive, but the germ-filled hospital precipitated a series of infections that killed her three months later. Her existence wasn't pointless. She taught me that life had no meaning without death. And I embraced her two older brothers David and Daniel with a renewed affection. It was a rollercoaster ride for my spouse and me. There were times when we were filled with hope, but for every step forward, she would fall three steps back. During one of those optimistic moments I commented that my baby was having a good day. "Take advantage of the good days," counseled the nurse. It has been a good day in Mexico City. I wrote in the morning. At noon I enrolled in a gym and hit the weights. Next store is a beauty salon staffed by three young ladies. I paid six dollars for a manicure. "May I hav...

I am sitting in the kitchen of my Mexico City residence listening to classic violin. It is 9:30 in the evening. Adela is cooking spaghetti. The high for tomorrow is 75; the low is 56. Earlier in the day we went to the Museum of Modern Art and admired the works of Rivera, Orozco, Siqueiros, Kahlo, Tamayo and other lesser known but outstanding painters. The museum is located in Chapultepec Park. It is a green city although concrete reigns and traffic is heavy and dangerous. Pedestrians are without rights. In Colonia Jardin Balbuena, I have become a familiar figure at many restaurants since I generally eat out all three meals. I attend a four-story gym and I'm recognized as one of the regulars. I spend much of my free time in my bedroom, which has a large window that I can open to relish the breezes. I'm reading a collection of Herman Hesse short stories. He was my favorite author during my university days. He writes about despair, but he uses his depression to pen the most eloque...

If the sky is the limit for humanity in general, then diving into the black hole is the limit for a confessional writer. To be self-flagellating and masochistic, you must be brave and bold. Or maybe you are fooling yourself? You are on a kamikaze mission and you want to take down as many as possible before you self-destruct. As a journalist and an author, I am bound by court orders to refrain from discussing certain political and personal issues. I could be stripped of my pension, fined thousands and sent to prison. So much for free speech. So much for telling the real story. So much for writing my autobiography. For a writer of such little fame, my pen has been the sword that I have used on myself as I have dealt with the repercussions of my swash-buckling prose both at work and at home. As an unedited journalist and author, I can say that I have broken most of the rules. There are few sacred cows that I haven't milked. But it has cost me. It has cost me three ...

They call me the Father of Brownsville soccer. It's a compliment I don't deserve, but I accept the accolade. When I was young, I rolled with the seasons: football in the fall, basketball in the winter and baseball throughout the spring and summer. Soccer didn't exist for me. But as I sit in a bar near La Alameda watching the derby between Cruz Azul and  A mérica  in el Estadio Azteca, I realize that I have come full circle. When I began traveling in Mexico, I often found myself sitting in a bar, staring at the television and asking myself, "What kind of game is this? There is no scoring and the games end in ties." Thus my introduction to soccer. In my twenties I traveled regularly throughout Mexico and Central America. I attended games in Mexico City, Guadalajara, Guatemala City, Tegucigalpa, San Salvador and San José , Costa Rica. In an under-21 World Cup game between Mexico and Scotland at Estadio Azteca in which the latter prevailed, 1-0, the fans expressed the...

A woman told me that she looks at a person's eyes and feet before she reaches a determination about that individual. I have the blue eyes, but my toe nails are a disaster. I suffer from onychomycosis, also called tinea unguium. In layman's term I am afflicted by a fungal infection that causes my toenails to grow in a grotesque fashion that evoke the gnarled branches of a mesquite tree. Everything is cheap in Mexico City, medicine at the top of the list. There is a pharmacy around the corner from my residence in Colonia Jardin Balbuena. I have had this condition for years and I have never done anything about it because I'm not that vain. I remember my father had horrible looking toenails, so I have blown it off as a physical inheritance. Out of curiosity, I asked a pharmacist if he had any medicine for my nails. He explained that there were different types of onychomycosis and I needed to consult with a doctor so he or she could prescribe the correct medicat...

When I was younger, I lived like writers Henry Miller and Charles Bukowski. There was no dearth of alcohol, drugs and women. Odd-ball characters fascinated me. In my novels, short stories and poems I have written at length about the excesses. I have never been good at resisting temptations. Will the alcohol, drugs and sex come back to haunt me at the end of my life? At my age something has to be waiting around the next corner. I may meet my end because I ate too well. In the days when the Palm Lounge was Brownsville's favorite watering hole, I would be sitting at the bar when an old codger would take a seat next to me and relate his life story. I would listen fascinated. I wanted to learn and the best teachers in those days in my estimation were graduates from the school of hard knocks. Since it was also the most popular hangout for sporting events, I would join others in the cool cantina in contrast to the heat outside to watch the big games and the great fight...

There are three things I hope to accomplish before I return to the border in August: I want to flatten my stomach, improve my Spanish and watch my new toe nails grow. I won't have to hide my feet in shame anymore although I do have to hide the rest of my life in shame. I have been reflecting on my 75 years on earth. There have been successes and there have been failures. As a result of a huge failure I am hunkered down in Mexico City waiting for the next earthquake or thug to open fire in a shootout with another gang. It's not that bad, but with the advancing years the wariness no longer remains on the periphery but begins to stalk your every move. I have so many political enemies in Brownsville from my writings that two nights ago I couldn't sleep because I imagined one of these politicos hiring an assassin to kill me. With Trump in power and Putin his hero, journalists shot dead on the streets may become a common sight. It isn't uncommon in Mexico. I have disa...

Am I nothing more than an ignorant beast? Am I a person who knows nothing? Am I an empty vessel controlled by my lusts? Do any of us know anything? Are we all slaves to our sexual desires? I am reading a book in Spanish whose title translated is 5000 Years of History. How many empires have come and gone of which we have no apprehension, but who have set the table for us? In the same vein of rummaging through the past, people have often asked, "Have you read the Bible?" I went to parochial school from first through eighth grade. We were introduced to the stories of the Old and New Testaments.  Every Sunday at mass the priest would recite excerpts from the epistles and gospels and interpret their moral teachings for the benefit of his congregation, but as I learned later, Catholicism wasn't Biblically oriented. While independent thinkers insisted that reading the Bible and absorbing its message was the pathway to salvation with no need for outside interv...

A Facebook friend sent me a message that a BISD icon had passed away. Ambrosio Robles, Cortina High School's first principal, died earlier this week. Nobody had a more substantial impact on my career as an educator than Mr. Robles. I had taught at Jim Bowie High School from 1975 to 1977, but I resigned in frustration because the students didn't want to learn and I had nothing to teach them. For the next three years I traveled eking out a wayfarer's existence in a variety of locales as a journalist. Circumstances found me back in Brownsville working at The Brownsville Times when I showed up at the office one insufferable August day and a note stuck in the typewriter read, "Your services are no longer needed. The bottom line wasn't there." Jobless, I interviewed at Cortina with Mr. Robles. He sat back with his hands folded over his ample stomach, asked me a few questions and in less than five minutes into our Q&A hired me as an ESL teacher. He assigned me to...

It is a typical beautiful day in Mexico City. I am finishing my morning writing. I'm trying to inspire myself to go to the gym around the corner and hit the weights. My Facebook is down. I received a notice that I needed to go through a process that would assure me greater security. Facebook advised me I had to complete the procedure by a certain date. The date had already passed. Is this Facebook's new method for closing down a site? I will summon my computer gurus when I return to Brownsville. I can trust them to have a solution. I wasn't interested in greater security. In Russian when Putin and his government want greater security his police or military eliminate you. I'm a fan of Facebook. It allows me to disseminate more of my writings as well as give me access to photographs. I am a digital Peeping Tom. Computers are fickle. One day the internet is haywire and the next day everything is normal. Perhaps the anonymous censors at Facebook will realize that I don'...

If you are looking for change, start with the weather: The highs and lows for Brownsville are 92 and 77. The highs and lows for Mexico City are 72 and 55.  For the first time in months I slept the entire night undisturbed by nightmares. I didn't drink yesterday, I had a light workout and I took two milligrams of Xanax. I wanted to go down for the count. I succeeded. I awoke at seven. When you are suffering from mental illness, you don't want to rise. In Brownsville I've been succumbing to new lows with the added burden that I have increased my drinking dramatically. It's not because I'm not occupied. It's because my mental state has deteriorated. Due to late nights stumbling back to my cell, I have a hard time climbing out of bed in the morning. I have suffered from anxiety all my life. I frequently slept-walk although I have no idea if that is symptomatic of anything. I would still battle the nightmares even after I had fled the darkness of sleep...

I will be leaving the cool climes of Mexico City for the tropical heat of Brownsville. I am looking forward to making love to Carolina and Karla in the comfort of my air-conditioned apartment. I will return to a different solitude. I have been living in a self-imposed exile in Mexico City, but I have been residing with Adela who has routinely smoothed the edges. I have to come to terms with my mother informing me that I am no longer wanted in California. I received a letter from her before I left that I wasn't welcomed back home because one of my sisters had accused me of raping her. Almost sixty years ago, I was more or less ten and she was more or less eight, we started touching each other. As we grew older, I would finger her while I masturbated.  We averaged these encounters on a weekly basis for several years. As we matured into teenagers, we seldom had these moments. There was an exception etched in my mind. It was late afternoon and we were at home a...

"How do you feel about going back to the border?" asked Adela after I had confirmed my bus ticket to Matamoros. "I have to go back," I answered. "I have to collect money from the politicians who are buying ads for my blog and Facebook." "But do you feel uneasy about going back?" "I have no other choice. I don't think about anything else besides my immediate responsibilities." I've been Mexico City for four weeks. I have one more week until my return. Adela knows that life in Brownsville for me is a challenge, but she would collapse in horror if she knew all the details. Olivia appeared in a dream when I was napping. For a change, she wasn't accompanied by another man. I cannot eliminate her from my system. It has been close to a decade when she kicked me out of the house for kicking her dog after it tried to bite me. I should have kicked her, instead, she had left so many psychological marks on me, but she would have called ...

At our last stop the driver told me were only a few hours from the border. Matamoros is in the state of Tamaulipas where the violence is so rampant and widespread that the state department has issued a warning for Americans to avoid this region if possible because it is as dangerous as Syria. It a battered and bloodied terrain. Heads roll around plazas, bodies hang from bridges and politicians are gunned down in their homes. This bloodshed takes place throughout the country, but there are particular states, Tamaulipas being one of the foremost where the carnage resembles a war zone. But the Mexican officials say that the highways are safe and if you're not involved in politics or drugs, your odds are good. Besides being a teacher most my life, I have been a reporter for more than 50 years. I'm supposed to reconnoiter areas where the faint of heart dare not venture. Should bad luck befall me, I ask but one favor of the mafiosos: Please don't tortur...

Just when you think the water is safe, there's another shark attack.  When  I vacation in Mexico City, I cross the bridge, flag a taxi and commence the long drive to the bus depot or even the longer drive to the airport. Most cabbies--as is their ilk--know everything. I question them as if I were grilling one of our local politicians although the questions are of a different nature: How's the violence? Does the Gulf Cartel continue to reign? Where are the best-looking prostitutes working? Has the Louisiana Bar remained open? Are there any new restaurants worth the effort? Are people on the streets at night? Until a few days ago, there seemed to be a general calm in Matamoros although there are kidnappings and murders that the Matamoros press doesn't cover. Journalists have bull's eyes on their backs. I've listened to countless personal testimonies about family members falling victims to these vicious and merciless murderers. When Brownsville advertises itself as ...