1980 - My Mom: The Mexican Hooker

1980 - My Mom: The Mexican Hooker

My mom was born in Zion, Illinois. Her path to Mexican-Hooker is a tale of deceit, ill-gotten money and Midwestern innocence.

In 1967 our family moved to Iowa City, Iowa and in 1970 my mom divorced my dad. One thing had led to another and that chapter will remain unwritten, but the change resulted in two happy re-unions: dad and his new bride, Donna, in staying in Iowa City and mom and her new husband, Gene, eventually moving to Tucson, Arizona. There were, of course, some hard feelings but, overall, they both moved on to happy, satisfying lives. Eventually dad moved to Florida where he still lives while mom lived in Tucson until her eventual death. While they both have had many happy experiences there comes times in everyone’s life where they have to deal with those things with which they are unfamiliar. In 1980 friends from Iowa came to visit mom and Gene in Tucson.

It had been an enjoyable week with the agenda full of the Southwestern Desert Museum, the giant telescopes on Kitt Peak, country dancing and plenty and plenty of Mexican food and drinks. Friends had been there for almost a week when they arose to a clear, warm Saturday morning with nothing in particular planned for the day. As they sat breakfast, Gene mentioned the friends, Meg and Howard, had noted earlier in the week that none of them had been out of the United States before. He suggested Nogales, Mexico would make an interesting day-trip. There was agreement all around and plans were made for after breakfast.

After church they packed themselves into the car and headed for Mexico. Nogales was a typical border town with great opportunities for bargains. Unfortunately there are also opportunities for trouble for which neither couple was they prepared although they were sure they were. Gene and Howard each put a $20 in each pocket and $20 in their shoe. In this way they were confident if they got rolled, or robbed, it wouldn’t necessarily leave them broke and without resources. Later in the day this would prove to be a wise move.

Upon arrival at the border they parked their car in a lot on the US side and walked across the casually accessed border. On the other side of the border they hired a taxi to transport them to the Nogales business center, aka: tourist area. A short walk reveled prices that they all found amazing but the guys insisted on stopping to quench their thirst while the ladies were completely wrapped up in the shops and vendors lining the street. The foursome stopped outside a bar for a short conversation. They soon agreed to meet at this same bar in an hour-and-a-half. The guys entered the establishment to find a cool drink while the ladies continued a door down and entered the store. The afternoon continued without incident with the two group’s paths only crossing once until, in no time at all, the hour-and-a-half was used up and it was time to meet the husbands in the aforementioned bar.

The ladies entered the cool, darkened room barely able to see after the change from the afternoon light. An old man sat the bar nursing a beer and a couple sat in a far corner at one of the spare wooden tables. Mom stepped to the bar and ordered 2 beers, “no, make that 2 Margaritas”, she said deciding mid-order to have a sweeter and more celebratory beverage. “Si, Senora, I weel bring them right over.” He turned toward the bottles lining the back of the bar. “Have you seen two men looking for two women recently, Senior?” She tried the unfamiliar term that she had been hearing all afternoon.

“No, Senora.” He replied, over his shoulder. She had only used one Spanish word but was pleased at her effort to use a native word and walked back to the table confident in her familiarity with her surroundings. The bartender disappeared into the back room.

Bringing the drinks to the table a few minutes later interrupted the animated conversation as they exclaimed over the prices they’d seen and the deals they’d made while knowing full well they probably paid far more than they could have if they had bargained better. Still, they were outstanding deals when they compared prices for similar items in American shops. Mom handed the bartender the $5 for the drinks remarking to Meg how even the drinks were reasonable here. As they reached for their drinks and the much anticipated coolness of the sweet combination of salt, lime and Tequila the bartender moved aside to be replaced by a tall uniformed policeman packing a pistol, a badge and a sour look.

“Pardon me, ladies.” He paused. He towered over the women as he used the American term with an accent that was noticeable but easy to understand. He obviously was well versed in English. “I am afraid you both weel need to come weeth me.”

Meg looked up in shock, mouth hanging open, “Uhhh.” Both ladies were frozen with a glass halfway to their lips.

Mom took charge. “What‘s the problem officer?” She inquired.

“You cannot practice prostitution thees way een our town.”

She put her drink down, as did her friend, “But officer, we’re not prostitutes.”

I’m sorry ladies but you are single women, you are een a bar, you are drinking, you are looking for men,” he paused, and took a breath, “…you are prostitutes.”

“No, officer,” Mom continued, “The bartender misunderstood. We aren’t looking for just any men; we’re waiting for our husbands.”

“I’m sorry, ladies. Eet is you that do not understand.” He held up his fingers as he patiently ticked off the items. “You are single women, you are een a bar, you are drinking, you are looking for men, and therefore, ladies…you are prostitutes. You must come weeth me.”

“But what will our husbands do when they arrive and we’re not here? How will they know where to find us?” Mom asked, just a bit of desperation in her voice.

Meg was petrified. Thoughts of Mexican prisons, girls in cages, lesbians on the rampage ran wildly through her mind. “BUT WE’RE NOT PROSTITUTES!!” She exclaimed, fright plainly showing on her face, panic beginning to creep into her voice.

The policeman ignored Meg replying to mom’s inquiry, “No problemo. Seemply write a note to your husband and give eet to the bartender. He will see your husbands’ geet thees message.”

“SO YOU DO BELIEVE WE HAVE HUSBANDS!!” Meg protested.

He ignored her and continued, “That way when theese imaginary husbands show up they weell know where to go. The bartender knows the address and directions.” He stepped aside and held this hand out to indicate his chivalry by allowing them to go first. After leaving a short note with the bartender they turned to go. They stopped at the door hesitant to emerge into the now oppressively hot afternoon sun. “Please follow me. I have a car right outside.” They left the bar, drinks untouched. The bartender cleared the table.

A few minutes later the gentlemen entered the bar stopping inside the door to get their bearings and search the room for their wives. They had packages of their own, having fallen prey to the low prices just as their wives had. They were intent upon retrieving the $20 shoe money after spending the last of their cash on a cool drink. “Let’s have a seat over there.” Gene said. “I’ll get us some drinks.” They headed for a freshly wiped table Gene raising his voice slightly, “Can we get 2 beers over here?” He pulled out his last $10 bill and laid it on the table.

“Si, Senor.”

The gentlemen sat. Each removed their shoe and put the warm $20 bills in their pockets. Almost immediately the bartender appeared with two cool mugs of beer. The glass was cool in their hands and the foamy richness was calling their names. Drops of condensation ran down the outside of the glass and made a ring on the table as the bartender set them in front of his customers. Gene paid for the drinks with the $10 absently mindedly receiving his change. They each took a long pull on their beer to relieve the heat of the day. Gene stretched his long legs. The bartender hovered. “Pardon me, Senors, but are you looking for two women?”

“Oh, no, nonono.” Gene replied, “We’re just here waiting for our wives.”

“There were two women here Senor, but policia just took them away. They left thees note.” He dropped the note in front of Gene. Gene picked the note up reading.

“Good Lord!” Gene exclaimed, “Our wives have been arrested!”

“What? Why?” Howard asked.

“Doesn’t say.” He turned toward the bartender. “Do you know how to get to the police station?”

“Si, senor. Go straight down this street for two blocks. Eet ees clearly marked weeth ‘Policia’ on a sign outside.”

The men took off. The thought of cool beers long gone. The bartender cleared the table.

They quickly traversed the two blocks finding the Policia sign with no problem. They entered through the front door and strode up to the sad-looking police officer at the first desk. There was no receptionist and the designated waiting area was a line of chairs against the wall. Three disreputable young men sat there handcuffed to the chairs which were, likewise, securely fastened to the floor. The surly looks on their faces immediately told the two friends they did not want to spend any time in this section. “I understand you have our wives here.” Gene said.

“Thees could be, Senor. We have many women here. I weel get the sergeant and he weel know what to do.” The officer rose to his feet in a labored effort, his overly generous stomach brushing some of the paperwork upon which he was working onto the floor. The officer glanced at the fallen papers and walked on. He returned a few minutes later with a tall, strapping young officer who stood straight in his sharply creased but well worn uniform, His chin was cleanly shaven, unlike his companion, and he was sporting a pencil-thin moustache. “Can I help you, Senors?”

“I understand you may have our wives here.”

“I am not sure about that, Senor. We have some women here but they are all prostitutes caught practicing their profession illegally.”

“Well,” said Gene’s friend indignantly, “our wives are certainly not prostitutes! Where are they? The note said they were just arrested just a few minutes ago for some unknown reason.”

“Is that them, Senor?” Asked the officer, pointing to a glass window. The window could be seen through a doorway halfway along the right wall. From what the men could see there were 4 women inside including the two American women. They sat huddled together in a corner watching their husbands in the other room. They had spotted them as soon as they had entered. They mouthed words that could not be heard from where they stood.

“Well there they are right now.” Said Gene.

“Oh no, Senor. Thees could not be your wives. Thees are prostitutes we just peeked up in a bar down the street.”

“But they’re not hookers!” Exclaimed Howard. “Those are our wives. They were waiting for us having a quiet drink when they were arrested on these trumped up charges!”

“No, Senor. You do not understand. Their behavior was the behavior of prostitutes so they were arrested for the obvious. You see they were two single women, they were in a bar, they were drinking, they were looking for men…they…are prostitutes”

“But how do we get our wives out of jail?” Asked Gene, frustration plainly showing in his voice.

“Oh, you misunderstand, Senor. Prostitution ees not illegal here but prostitutes must be licensed.”

As if a light bulb had appeared over their heads the two American gentlemen glanced at each other, both coming to the same conclusion simultaneously. “How much does a license cost?” They asked in unison.

“Depends, Senor…how much do you got?”

They glanced at each other as each drew their last $20 bill from their pocket still damp from it’s time in their shoe. “How’s this?” Gene asked.

“Fine, Senor. Let me get the paperwork.” With that he reached into an abused file cabinet. “Here we go.” He filled out the documents signing with a flourish. As he handed them the papers he made the money disappear. “You may wait outside. They weel be right out.”

They exited the door to wait on the generous but plain cement porch that looked out over the street. The wives soon showed up at the front door. After hugs all around they hired a taxicab and hightailed it for the border.

Soon thereafter mom got her new license framed and had it prominently displayed over her desk in their home office.

You know my mom…the proud Mexican Hooker.