First of all the warning: According to my gastroenterologist I'm not supposed to have caffeine. Ever. Phooey on THAT! I drink decaf 6 mornings a week but on Sunday I drink Regular coffee and I drink the good stuff. Chock Full O' Nuts. And I drink a lot of it.
The buzz I get is quite a rush. I'm sure if the word ever got out that cocaine sales would plummet. Miss Pam says that it turns me in to a magpie. I was reminded of the term "blathering" used by Shouldazagged the other day. And when I'm blathering on a caffeine binge There ain't no stoppin' me.
Today is Sunday. I've been drinking coffee since about 0900. So every thing I post today is going to be "out there". I'm about to post up my adventures in Tijuana. When I posted up the thing about California I was reminded of the TJ exploits. But I have quite a buzz on right now and it will require some effort to stay within the guidelines here and to not get too carried away. Most of my stories that I post on here I wrote years ago but I've never written anything about Mexico. My memory for detail is not as it was back then but I'll try to not leave anything out or "misrepresent" the truth too badly. If I embellish a little it will not be a distortion of truth but merely a slight exaggeration to enhance the story.
You have been warned.
***************************************************
ONCE UPON A TIME IN MEXICO
I was in Southern California on two separate occasions for a total of almost 2 years. I had many excursions across the border during these periods. The time sequence of the adventures is a little bit foggy due to the years that have passed since then and the residual haze left as the tequila wore off. I think I'll just describe some of the adventures and not worry too much about which of them happened before which. I don't think it will make much difference because none of the visits were "continued" and all of them ended the moment I stepped foot back on American soil. And one of them was just in the nick of time, but I'll get to that a little later.
I'll talk first about some of the daytime visits. As I mentioned my half brother's wife and kids lived in San Diego while he was stationed aboard a ship there. He was out at see a lot of times and her dad came to live with them to help out with the kids etc. As in the other story the no real names will be used. My brother's name will be Bob, SIL will be Sue, her dad will be Al.
In 1964 and 65 Tijuana was a totally different place to be in the day time than it was at night. In the day time, especially on Saturday and Sunday there were a lot of servicemen walking the streets with their wives and kids. It was a lot more family oriented that the sleazy and dangerous place it was after dark.
At that time we had no extradition treaty with Mexico and if you were to get locked up down there well shame on you. And too bad for your family. It was always a good idea to keep your wits about you and stay alert any time you were there but in day time it wasn't nearly as risky as long as you weren't driving a car or riding a motorcycle. Taking a vehicle across the border is like playing Russian roulette with a semi automatic pistol.
Manys the time that Al and Sue and I would catch a cab to the border and walk across the bridge. Sue could get her hair done in one of those bee-hive doos for 75 cents. You could see a jai-lai game of a bull fight too. There was much to do and a lot of touristy things going on.
You could get married. Divorced. Have your picture taken being held up by banditos or riding in a carriage etc. Never had any real trouble but once we were walking along and the sidewalks were very crowded. Sue was carrying a purse with a shoulder strap and she had it over her left shoulder. Totally out of the blue and with no warning a boy of about 11 or 12 raced by her, hit the strap of her purse with a blade and tucked the purse under his arm and disappeared in the crowd 3 feet in front of us. It all happened in a second. They kid was gone and so was her purse. We didn't report it because you don't ever initiate contact with Policia for any reason short of murder. It can get turned around in a heartbeat and then you have had it.
I had never heard of Jai-Lai or Jai-a-lai. It is a game very similar to hand ball but you don't throw the ball or hit it you have a long scoop looking thing on your strong arm and you catch the small hard rubber ball in it and sling the ball to the back wall. It is very fast pace and aside for the score the players need to be very careful not to get hit with the ball It is moving a lot faster than it would be if thrown or hit. It has some serious STANK on it is what I'm sayin'. The times I saw players get hit you could tell they were in serious pain. they wore helmets with face shield but a hit to the body or extremities looked excruciating. Many time the player that got hit had to be helped off the court.
The bull fights were something else. They were still killing the bulls back then and although I'd never really thought much about it or had any particular affection for them seeing it happen made me sick.
I know that it is considered to be an honorable sport in Mexico but it is gross and disgusting and very unfair to the poor bulls. First of all the bulls are wearing a strap that causes extreme discomfort in an area that you don't want to be uncomfortable. I guess that is to make them mad. It seems to work well too.
Then after the bull is in the ring guys called picadors I think, come out on horse back and stick a bunch of short picks or spikes in the bull. Poor thing never has a chance. Then a little later some dapper little guy with a 25" waist and a narrow behind wearing skin tight knickers and a waist coat over a ruffled white shirt with a red tie and one of those silly little hats that look like Mickey Mouse ears come out with a red cape.
He proceed to swirl and twirl the cape with great flourish which highly aggravate the bull. But by now after having lost a lot of blood and suffered the pain caused by the strap he is in a very incapacitated state both physically and mentally. Totally confused and wanting to hurt somebody very badly and sooner rather than later.
The matador continues to twirl and flourish the cape and puts a couple of more swords in non lethal places and every time the crowd jumps to its feet and cheers.
I didn't. I found myself rooting for the bull before the matador even entered the ring.
Finally the matador administers with great drama and exaggerated movement the coup de gras. witnessing all this once was plenty for me. I never went to another bull fight. Eventually they outlawed killing the bull but I still had less than no interest in bull fighting or the cowards that did it.
One of the things we liked to do on our day trips was to stock up on booze. You were restricted on how much you could bring back across the border but it was a very generous limit. I think we were allowed 2 bottles per person and with 3 of us we could take enough home to a pretty nice party.
These trips to TJ is where I developed my taste for Tequila. WHOOOO-BOY did I ever develop a taste for it. I also tried to like Mescal but I just couldn't hang with that stuff. Mescal is the stuff with the worm in it and tastes like radiator fluid. I found out that the reason it has the worm in it is to kill the taste of the Mescal. I leave that for the big boys.
The time we were there and Sue got her purse ripped off we came back early. We had planned on doing some shopping and sight seeing and people watching but after that happened we were all pretty much ready to get our feet back on American soil. She had already gotten her hair done and we were just boppin' along the sidewalk when the kid got her purse. After that we just bought our allotment of booze and made our way back to the bridge.
We were back at the apartment by early afternoon and started in on the tequila. We all got knee walkin', snot slingin' drunk. I finally decide to head back to the barracks. This was before I moved off base. Al and Sue both begged me to stay the night and go back in the morning but I wouldn't listen. If not for that most benevolent angel that rode on my shoulder that night I would not be sitting here typing this.
When I got to the approach to the gate letting into Camp Pendleton something didn't seem quite right. I had to jump an esplanade to get into the lane to enter the gate.
But I was in no condition the try to figure it out and evidently the MPs on the gate didn't see me approach.
I drove to what I thought was my barracks but in my drunken stupor I got turned around and went into the building on the opposite side of the grinder from mine. I walked to what would have been my rack (top bunk in a long row of bunks and managed somehow to gut up and into it.
The next thing I know a fist the approximate size of my head is banging me in the face and chest. A voice that sounds like it is coming from a long way away is yelling and telling me to get out of his bunk. He turned out to be about as drunk as I was and a good size boy at that.
Luckily we got it straightened out before any permanent damage was done. He thought it was funny. He even took me outside and pointed out my building on the other side of the grinder (marching field).
But I have saved the best for the last. I can't really describe a lot of the night time adventures because of the rules and my own sense of modesty but this is the best one anyway.
As I said above, TJ at night is a totally different world. As soon as you step off the bridge the street is lined on both sides with bars, houses of ill repute and strip joints. Or as I perceived it in my inexperienced youth, heaven on earth. All the more respectable business and sporting facilities were deeper into town. Also IIRC they were mixed up as far as quality goes. That is to say you could have a very nice club right between two **** holes that you wouldn't let a dog go into.
And bearing in mind that we had to watch our Ps and Qs we were careful to restrict our clubbing to the classier joints, if "classy" is an appropriate term for any of them. We decided on a large brightly lit establishment with a lot of music and laughter coming from inside and went in.
It was a huge open room with tables and chairs and a bar along one wall. The stage was an elaborate set up in the shape of a lage "T" with the base forming a runway that came out into the middle of the room.
On this particular night I was with the guy that turned out to be my best friend in life. We met in Dental school and had been stationed together ever since. He is not a big guy. About 5'9" and at the time about 160 to 165 lbs. But his speed and upper body strength were impressive especially his hands and arms. And he was a scrapper too. I had already seen him in action a couple of times and was impressed.
So we walk in and start looking around. We wanted to sit at the "runway" but it was crowded. As we walked up to it a group of 4 guys got up to leave. Timing is everything. We sat down and ordered a couple of beers.
A little later the "show" started. A surprisingly attractive young Mexican girl came out and began to do her thing. I had my little box camera with me. It was one of those with the little window in the back that shows what picture you are on. I was still focused on avoiding trouble so I decided to play it safe and ask permission to take pictures.
I called a bouncer over. He looked to be about 5'11" or 6' tall maybe 190 lbs or so and maybe early to mid 40s. He looked to be in pretty good shape. He leaned in close so he could hear me and I asked him of it would be alright to take a picture of the girl on stage. He started shaking his head and straightened up. He said that I had already taken some pictures and ordered me to give him my camera.
Uh-oh! Here we go.
I go to stand up and he puts his hand on my shoulder and pushes me back down on my stool, and, holding out his hand he
repeats his demand for my camera. I show him the little window that proves I haven't taken any pictures yet and the my strip of flashbulbs is still brand new and not of them have been use. But he remains unimpressed.
Now I don't want to wind up in a Mexican Jail but something in me just doesn't want to let this crook have my camera. Really it's not about the camera at all. I just can't let this guy take me this easily. We were only on our 2nd beers and still stone cold sober so my poor judgement was without excuse.
I was totally not even thinking about my friend who was sitting next to me on the other side of the bouncer. He was just sitting there hunched over his beer not showing any signs of paying any attention at all to the scene that was unfolding. The bouncer was not paying any attention to anyone but me.
I had just about made the decision to stand my ground and take the consequences when the bouncer's right hand disappeared behind his back. In the next second I heard the metallic "snick" for a spring loaded blade coming out of it's handle. At the same time my friend, I'll call him Tom, Came up about half way off his stool. When he did the bouncer turned to see what he was doing and Tom slapped hit very hard with the palm of an open hand against the bouncers nose. The nose exploded and blood and snot went every where. Tom then began to squeeze the bouncers face as hard as he could.
The bouncer must have been in considerable pain because both hands were free and he still had the open switchblade in his right had and yet he just stood there waiting to see if the top of his head was going to pop off from the pressure of Tom's grip. Tom began to lower the bouncer to his knees and when he got him there he released his grip, took a took a half step back and kicked him in the throat. Hard.
As he was doing this he yelled "GO!" We went.
We ran across the room and in all the hustle and bustle no one seemed to notice what had happened. It all went down pretty quickly and quietly. Me made it to the door and hooked it for the bridge, probably about 75 to 100 yards but seemed like miles. When I first looked back three guys were chasing us. The bouncer, at no surprise to me,was not one of them. Every time I turned to look the crown chasing us was larger. But the time we hit the bridge it was a good sized mob. We made it across the border with only a few moments and a few yards to spare.
We laughed about it later but we are both aware to this day how badly it could have gone if we had got caught. One of the better scenarios we could think of was going to jail. It was not uncommon for a young Marine or Sailor to go over there and not make it back to US soil and never be heard from again.
The buzz I get is quite a rush. I'm sure if the word ever got out that cocaine sales would plummet. Miss Pam says that it turns me in to a magpie. I was reminded of the term "blathering" used by Shouldazagged the other day. And when I'm blathering on a caffeine binge There ain't no stoppin' me.
Today is Sunday. I've been drinking coffee since about 0900. So every thing I post today is going to be "out there". I'm about to post up my adventures in Tijuana. When I posted up the thing about California I was reminded of the TJ exploits. But I have quite a buzz on right now and it will require some effort to stay within the guidelines here and to not get too carried away. Most of my stories that I post on here I wrote years ago but I've never written anything about Mexico. My memory for detail is not as it was back then but I'll try to not leave anything out or "misrepresent" the truth too badly. If I embellish a little it will not be a distortion of truth but merely a slight exaggeration to enhance the story.
You have been warned.
***************************************************
ONCE UPON A TIME IN MEXICO
I was in Southern California on two separate occasions for a total of almost 2 years. I had many excursions across the border during these periods. The time sequence of the adventures is a little bit foggy due to the years that have passed since then and the residual haze left as the tequila wore off. I think I'll just describe some of the adventures and not worry too much about which of them happened before which. I don't think it will make much difference because none of the visits were "continued" and all of them ended the moment I stepped foot back on American soil. And one of them was just in the nick of time, but I'll get to that a little later.
I'll talk first about some of the daytime visits. As I mentioned my half brother's wife and kids lived in San Diego while he was stationed aboard a ship there. He was out at see a lot of times and her dad came to live with them to help out with the kids etc. As in the other story the no real names will be used. My brother's name will be Bob, SIL will be Sue, her dad will be Al.
In 1964 and 65 Tijuana was a totally different place to be in the day time than it was at night. In the day time, especially on Saturday and Sunday there were a lot of servicemen walking the streets with their wives and kids. It was a lot more family oriented that the sleazy and dangerous place it was after dark.
At that time we had no extradition treaty with Mexico and if you were to get locked up down there well shame on you. And too bad for your family. It was always a good idea to keep your wits about you and stay alert any time you were there but in day time it wasn't nearly as risky as long as you weren't driving a car or riding a motorcycle. Taking a vehicle across the border is like playing Russian roulette with a semi automatic pistol.
Manys the time that Al and Sue and I would catch a cab to the border and walk across the bridge. Sue could get her hair done in one of those bee-hive doos for 75 cents. You could see a jai-lai game of a bull fight too. There was much to do and a lot of touristy things going on.
You could get married. Divorced. Have your picture taken being held up by banditos or riding in a carriage etc. Never had any real trouble but once we were walking along and the sidewalks were very crowded. Sue was carrying a purse with a shoulder strap and she had it over her left shoulder. Totally out of the blue and with no warning a boy of about 11 or 12 raced by her, hit the strap of her purse with a blade and tucked the purse under his arm and disappeared in the crowd 3 feet in front of us. It all happened in a second. They kid was gone and so was her purse. We didn't report it because you don't ever initiate contact with Policia for any reason short of murder. It can get turned around in a heartbeat and then you have had it.
I had never heard of Jai-Lai or Jai-a-lai. It is a game very similar to hand ball but you don't throw the ball or hit it you have a long scoop looking thing on your strong arm and you catch the small hard rubber ball in it and sling the ball to the back wall. It is very fast pace and aside for the score the players need to be very careful not to get hit with the ball It is moving a lot faster than it would be if thrown or hit. It has some serious STANK on it is what I'm sayin'. The times I saw players get hit you could tell they were in serious pain. they wore helmets with face shield but a hit to the body or extremities looked excruciating. Many time the player that got hit had to be helped off the court.
The bull fights were something else. They were still killing the bulls back then and although I'd never really thought much about it or had any particular affection for them seeing it happen made me sick.
I know that it is considered to be an honorable sport in Mexico but it is gross and disgusting and very unfair to the poor bulls. First of all the bulls are wearing a strap that causes extreme discomfort in an area that you don't want to be uncomfortable. I guess that is to make them mad. It seems to work well too.
Then after the bull is in the ring guys called picadors I think, come out on horse back and stick a bunch of short picks or spikes in the bull. Poor thing never has a chance. Then a little later some dapper little guy with a 25" waist and a narrow behind wearing skin tight knickers and a waist coat over a ruffled white shirt with a red tie and one of those silly little hats that look like Mickey Mouse ears come out with a red cape.
He proceed to swirl and twirl the cape with great flourish which highly aggravate the bull. But by now after having lost a lot of blood and suffered the pain caused by the strap he is in a very incapacitated state both physically and mentally. Totally confused and wanting to hurt somebody very badly and sooner rather than later.
The matador continues to twirl and flourish the cape and puts a couple of more swords in non lethal places and every time the crowd jumps to its feet and cheers.
I didn't. I found myself rooting for the bull before the matador even entered the ring.
Finally the matador administers with great drama and exaggerated movement the coup de gras. witnessing all this once was plenty for me. I never went to another bull fight. Eventually they outlawed killing the bull but I still had less than no interest in bull fighting or the cowards that did it.
One of the things we liked to do on our day trips was to stock up on booze. You were restricted on how much you could bring back across the border but it was a very generous limit. I think we were allowed 2 bottles per person and with 3 of us we could take enough home to a pretty nice party.
These trips to TJ is where I developed my taste for Tequila. WHOOOO-BOY did I ever develop a taste for it. I also tried to like Mescal but I just couldn't hang with that stuff. Mescal is the stuff with the worm in it and tastes like radiator fluid. I found out that the reason it has the worm in it is to kill the taste of the Mescal. I leave that for the big boys.
The time we were there and Sue got her purse ripped off we came back early. We had planned on doing some shopping and sight seeing and people watching but after that happened we were all pretty much ready to get our feet back on American soil. She had already gotten her hair done and we were just boppin' along the sidewalk when the kid got her purse. After that we just bought our allotment of booze and made our way back to the bridge.
We were back at the apartment by early afternoon and started in on the tequila. We all got knee walkin', snot slingin' drunk. I finally decide to head back to the barracks. This was before I moved off base. Al and Sue both begged me to stay the night and go back in the morning but I wouldn't listen. If not for that most benevolent angel that rode on my shoulder that night I would not be sitting here typing this.
When I got to the approach to the gate letting into Camp Pendleton something didn't seem quite right. I had to jump an esplanade to get into the lane to enter the gate.
But I was in no condition the try to figure it out and evidently the MPs on the gate didn't see me approach. I drove to what I thought was my barracks but in my drunken stupor I got turned around and went into the building on the opposite side of the grinder from mine. I walked to what would have been my rack (top bunk in a long row of bunks and managed somehow to gut up and into it.
The next thing I know a fist the approximate size of my head is banging me in the face and chest. A voice that sounds like it is coming from a long way away is yelling and telling me to get out of his bunk. He turned out to be about as drunk as I was and a good size boy at that.
Luckily we got it straightened out before any permanent damage was done. He thought it was funny. He even took me outside and pointed out my building on the other side of the grinder (marching field).
But I have saved the best for the last. I can't really describe a lot of the night time adventures because of the rules and my own sense of modesty but this is the best one anyway.
As I said above, TJ at night is a totally different world. As soon as you step off the bridge the street is lined on both sides with bars, houses of ill repute and strip joints. Or as I perceived it in my inexperienced youth, heaven on earth. All the more respectable business and sporting facilities were deeper into town. Also IIRC they were mixed up as far as quality goes. That is to say you could have a very nice club right between two **** holes that you wouldn't let a dog go into.
And bearing in mind that we had to watch our Ps and Qs we were careful to restrict our clubbing to the classier joints, if "classy" is an appropriate term for any of them. We decided on a large brightly lit establishment with a lot of music and laughter coming from inside and went in.
It was a huge open room with tables and chairs and a bar along one wall. The stage was an elaborate set up in the shape of a lage "T" with the base forming a runway that came out into the middle of the room.
On this particular night I was with the guy that turned out to be my best friend in life. We met in Dental school and had been stationed together ever since. He is not a big guy. About 5'9" and at the time about 160 to 165 lbs. But his speed and upper body strength were impressive especially his hands and arms. And he was a scrapper too. I had already seen him in action a couple of times and was impressed.
So we walk in and start looking around. We wanted to sit at the "runway" but it was crowded. As we walked up to it a group of 4 guys got up to leave. Timing is everything. We sat down and ordered a couple of beers.
A little later the "show" started. A surprisingly attractive young Mexican girl came out and began to do her thing. I had my little box camera with me. It was one of those with the little window in the back that shows what picture you are on. I was still focused on avoiding trouble so I decided to play it safe and ask permission to take pictures.
I called a bouncer over. He looked to be about 5'11" or 6' tall maybe 190 lbs or so and maybe early to mid 40s. He looked to be in pretty good shape. He leaned in close so he could hear me and I asked him of it would be alright to take a picture of the girl on stage. He started shaking his head and straightened up. He said that I had already taken some pictures and ordered me to give him my camera.
Uh-oh! Here we go.
I go to stand up and he puts his hand on my shoulder and pushes me back down on my stool, and, holding out his hand he
repeats his demand for my camera. I show him the little window that proves I haven't taken any pictures yet and the my strip of flashbulbs is still brand new and not of them have been use. But he remains unimpressed.
Now I don't want to wind up in a Mexican Jail but something in me just doesn't want to let this crook have my camera. Really it's not about the camera at all. I just can't let this guy take me this easily. We were only on our 2nd beers and still stone cold sober so my poor judgement was without excuse.
I was totally not even thinking about my friend who was sitting next to me on the other side of the bouncer. He was just sitting there hunched over his beer not showing any signs of paying any attention at all to the scene that was unfolding. The bouncer was not paying any attention to anyone but me.
I had just about made the decision to stand my ground and take the consequences when the bouncer's right hand disappeared behind his back. In the next second I heard the metallic "snick" for a spring loaded blade coming out of it's handle. At the same time my friend, I'll call him Tom, Came up about half way off his stool. When he did the bouncer turned to see what he was doing and Tom slapped hit very hard with the palm of an open hand against the bouncers nose. The nose exploded and blood and snot went every where. Tom then began to squeeze the bouncers face as hard as he could.
The bouncer must have been in considerable pain because both hands were free and he still had the open switchblade in his right had and yet he just stood there waiting to see if the top of his head was going to pop off from the pressure of Tom's grip. Tom began to lower the bouncer to his knees and when he got him there he released his grip, took a took a half step back and kicked him in the throat. Hard.
As he was doing this he yelled "GO!" We went.
We ran across the room and in all the hustle and bustle no one seemed to notice what had happened. It all went down pretty quickly and quietly. Me made it to the door and hooked it for the bridge, probably about 75 to 100 yards but seemed like miles. When I first looked back three guys were chasing us. The bouncer, at no surprise to me,was not one of them. Every time I turned to look the crown chasing us was larger. But the time we hit the bridge it was a good sized mob. We made it across the border with only a few moments and a few yards to spare.
We laughed about it later but we are both aware to this day how badly it could have gone if we had got caught. One of the better scenarios we could think of was going to jail. It was not uncommon for a young Marine or Sailor to go over there and not make it back to US soil and never be heard from again.
