The Mexican Theatre Incident

My parents grew up in a small Mexican border town located near Rio Grande City, Texas. My maternal grandfather was very successful, and owned 'El Indio', a favorite watering hole of the town's more elder (male-only) residents. Back in 1979, atop the town's largest hotel, somebody had decided to build an open-air movie theatre. This hotel (it's still there - the theatre's gone) is located directly across the street from my grandfather's cantina.

This 'theatre' was pretty basic - some benches on a hotel roof with a screen in front of them, and a metal structure above them. This 'structure' was a roof and three walls. Where the forth wall would be was a span of some 8 to 10 yards, and a screen. This made the screen totally visible from the roof of 'El Indio.'

Though the screen was clearly visible, the audio generally was not as decipherable. This, however, didn't matter to me, my brother, or my cousins. (We have a lot of cousins - we're Mexican, after all) You see, the audio generally wasn't the focus of our attention on porno Wednesdays.

So on some hot summer night, many years ago, a group of pre-teenage boys (with nothing better to do), decided to climb onto the roof and enjoy what was then the greatest thrill in a sleepy Mexican border town. Soon our eyes would be satisfied with the sight of polyester suits, bell-bottom jeans, and naked women. Or so we thought.

That night's movie turned out to be something quite different. Instead of bouncing breasts and...well... breasts, tonight's feature was RIGO - a biography of Rigo Tovar (a Mexican Pop star who tragically went blind towards the end of his career- I don't remember the movie, but did a little research). What was even more upsetting was, 10 minutes into the movie, my realization that it WAS about Rigo, and not Ringo (Starr). Not even a cheesy Beatles biography.

I think that I've failed to mention that the roof of 'El Indio' is mostly tar and gravel - and rocks. Lots of rocks.

What proceeded next was a barrage of rocks that struck with loud, successive, reverberating bangs. I think my cousins would probably agree that I was the one throwing the most rocks. I was certainly the one having the most fun.

Worse than what must of been ear rattling for the theatre patrons were the rocks that didn't hit the structure, but entered the 8-10 yard span. I'm fairly certain that there were benches in that span - patrons not under the metal roof. This made us more than just mischievous, it made us criminals.

To our surprise, the theatre owner called the cops (Duh!), and a huge floodlight lit up the night brighter than the Fourth of July. It lit - panned across the roof (we all ducked behind a 2' wall on the edge of the roof) and turned off. Then back on again, then off again.

Before you could say, "Vamanos," one of my cousins, Raul, had decided that talk was cheap, and that feet were for running. Right behind ya, cuz. Off I go. Running scared from the law isn't easy, running with your pockets full of pre-selected rocks, is even harder.

I think that somehow, the realization that I was the most guilty, and most likely to be given up by my fellow cousins, made me run pretty darn fast. I almost caught Raul on the ladder halfway down, until he stopped, said, "A la Chin__da." (Spanish for Uh Oh), and directed my attention to the three or four cops entering the yard with flashlights drawn. (Oh man, Mom's gonna kill me).

So these cops round us up (including the two or three smarter cousins who decided to hide instead of run) and line us up on one of the family vehicles. Flashlights shoved in our faces, pockets full of rocks, the interrogation began.

"Who was throwing rocks?" they asked. Seven heads turn my way, and I am now the center of attention. (How does this always happen to me?)

"What's your name?"

"Adrian." I answered.

"Adrian of who?" (Spanish for asking your family name)

"Of my Dad."

Seven boys start to giggle, and the cops tell them all to shut up. (Ha! now they're the ones in trouble - right?)

At this point, my grandmother, my mother, and a couple of aunts are in the yard watching the spectacle. Luckily, my grandmother was very astute, and she pointed out to these Nazi jerks, that they had entered private property without a warrant. Never mind that they were in hot pursuit of suspected criminals, they didn't have permission.

So the Nazis leave - finally. And the chewing-out commences. I don't remember what was said, who said it, or even what the punishment was. (Seems like all my butt-chewings went pretty much the same.) But I do remember having to pause and let my eyes get adjusted to the night once again. That, and the rocks in my pockets that had started to dig into my legs. And wondering how everybody else had managed to ditch their ammo without me noticing.