Post by cottonpicker on Aug 25, 2011 7:41:37 GMT -5
THIRTY MEXICANS AND A GRINGO
Larry D. Davis
During the early 1950’s we lived in Memphis, Texas where my Dad worked as the
Trucking Supervisor for the Paymaster Cottonoil Co. The population of our town was
about 2500 until cotton harvest season in late summer-early autumn when it swelled by a
few hundred Mexican cotton field laborers brought in by Paymaster from south of the
border. The Mexican laborers were housed in Paymaster barracks constructed of
corrugated metal and, the best I can remember, they were about 100 feet long by 30 feet
wide and divided into about 12 living units with communal toilet facilities located at the
end of the building. Each unit had a door and one window and no air conditioning except
that provided by Mother Nature and She was cheap!
Downtown on the north side of the Hall County Courthouse square was a “community
center” for the Mexicans. A sign above the door read, “El Centro de los Amigos”. Wow,
I committed that to memory since it was my very first lesson in Spanish!! Inside
The Center, laborers on their day off could have refreshments, socialize and, since many
of them were illiterate, could dictate letters for their relatives or friends in Mexico. There
were Mexican volunteers who helped them with letter writing and money matters. They
usually sent a portion of their earnings back home.
I was always a curious boy and their interesting language and music fascinated me.
Memphis had an ordinary movie theatre (which we called a “picture show” in those
days) on one side of the square, but occasionally as I walked past the “Mexican movie
theatre” on the opposite side of the square, the highly spirited Mariachi music drifting
out onto the sidewalk beckoned me and I longed to go inside to see and hear for myself.
One Saturday afternoon I worked up enough courage to walk up to the ticket box and
plunk down my 10 cents for admission. I then strolled inside just like I belonged. After
coming inside it was black as pitch in there but as my eyes slowly adjusted to the low
light level, I discovered there were only about 30 Mexicans in the theatre besides me, the
only white-face in the audience. Yep, just 30 Mexicans and a Gringo. I comfortably
seated myself on an aisle near the back of the small theatre just in case I had to leave
since I was feeling a little “vulnerable” for some unknown reason but I really don’t know
what I was expecting or fearing. The movie-- something about PanchoVilla -- was
definitely filled with plenty of action, mustachio-faced and sombrero-topped hombres
and the much hoped-for Mariachi music! It was exciting beyond belief and just what I
had expected! Even though I didn’t understand a single word of the dialog and there
were no subtitles, I enjoyed every action-packed moment right up to “el final”.
Upon leaving the theatre, I thought to myself, “that’s the best 10 cents I ever spent in
my life” and this eleven year old Gringo’s curiosity had been completely satisfied once
and for all!
©2009Larry D Davis
Larry D. Davis
During the early 1950’s we lived in Memphis, Texas where my Dad worked as the
Trucking Supervisor for the Paymaster Cottonoil Co. The population of our town was
about 2500 until cotton harvest season in late summer-early autumn when it swelled by a
few hundred Mexican cotton field laborers brought in by Paymaster from south of the
border. The Mexican laborers were housed in Paymaster barracks constructed of
corrugated metal and, the best I can remember, they were about 100 feet long by 30 feet
wide and divided into about 12 living units with communal toilet facilities located at the
end of the building. Each unit had a door and one window and no air conditioning except
that provided by Mother Nature and She was cheap!
Downtown on the north side of the Hall County Courthouse square was a “community
center” for the Mexicans. A sign above the door read, “El Centro de los Amigos”. Wow,
I committed that to memory since it was my very first lesson in Spanish!! Inside
The Center, laborers on their day off could have refreshments, socialize and, since many
of them were illiterate, could dictate letters for their relatives or friends in Mexico. There
were Mexican volunteers who helped them with letter writing and money matters. They
usually sent a portion of their earnings back home.
I was always a curious boy and their interesting language and music fascinated me.
Memphis had an ordinary movie theatre (which we called a “picture show” in those
days) on one side of the square, but occasionally as I walked past the “Mexican movie
theatre” on the opposite side of the square, the highly spirited Mariachi music drifting
out onto the sidewalk beckoned me and I longed to go inside to see and hear for myself.
One Saturday afternoon I worked up enough courage to walk up to the ticket box and
plunk down my 10 cents for admission. I then strolled inside just like I belonged. After
coming inside it was black as pitch in there but as my eyes slowly adjusted to the low
light level, I discovered there were only about 30 Mexicans in the theatre besides me, the
only white-face in the audience. Yep, just 30 Mexicans and a Gringo. I comfortably
seated myself on an aisle near the back of the small theatre just in case I had to leave
since I was feeling a little “vulnerable” for some unknown reason but I really don’t know
what I was expecting or fearing. The movie-- something about PanchoVilla -- was
definitely filled with plenty of action, mustachio-faced and sombrero-topped hombres
and the much hoped-for Mariachi music! It was exciting beyond belief and just what I
had expected! Even though I didn’t understand a single word of the dialog and there
were no subtitles, I enjoyed every action-packed moment right up to “el final”.
Upon leaving the theatre, I thought to myself, “that’s the best 10 cents I ever spent in
my life” and this eleven year old Gringo’s curiosity had been completely satisfied once
and for all!
©2009Larry D Davis