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Rich Boy – Part 4

My mom as I remember her when I was a boy.

I had found a small fortune on a bus that I was cleaning. However, spending it in secret was hard and I was feeling bad about not telling my mom. Despite my troubles, it was one of those bright sunny days in my beautiful Guatemala. My mom asked me to go with her to the public market to get things to make lunch and as we walked she was sharing ideas of what she would cook. She said that she wanted to make “pulique” ( a delicious kind of beef soup) but then realized she didn’t have enough money to buy the meat. I put my hand in my pocket and squeezed the money very hard. My eyes filled up with tears. I wanted to give her all the money but I was afraid she would want to know where the money had come from and I was going to have to tell her the whole story. It was then that I realized how ashamed I was of having used all that money the way I had. What if I dropped a five Quetazles bill next to her foot when she wasn’t looking? Yes, that would be an easy way to have her find the money. I tried it but she didn’t look down. Instead, she stepped on the bill and walked away. Quickly, I picked it up and when she wasn’t looking I put it in her “delantal” (apron) pocket. My mom had resigned herself to liver for lunch which was the cheapest thing if you wanted meat.

All kinds of street dogs hung around the meat counters in hope of getting the meat scraps the butcher would trim off. Big pieces of meat hung from hooks, and as you ordered he would cut your piece off and brag about how he never gave you any junk saying that he would throw that to the dogs. They would fight over it till one got away with the prize. As we walked to the meat counter, I pretended to distract myself with the fighting dogs. My mom got to the meat counter and counted her money once. Then she counted it again. Then once more. A confused but very very happy look came over her face. She then bought the better meat and headed home in deep thought. She told me over and over again about the bill she had found in her pocket. The “pulique” was delicious. My mom served it with a big smile on her face as she told the story of the mysterious money that had appeared in her pocket. She claimed a miracle! My brother Armando looked into my tear filled eyes and smiled. After lunch he told me he was proud of me. I didn’t answer him but just nodded.

My mom and I many years later on one of my visits back to Guatemala.

It was time for school and we all got two pennies. My mom was rich that day! It wasn’t long before I ran out of money. I placed coins where my younger siblings could find them so that in the end we all enjoyed my overwhelming fortune. I was relieved when the money was gone. It felt really good to have to ask my mom for a penny again. “Pulique” became my favorite dish from that day on. I think my mom was suspicious but never said a thing. Many years later when I would come home to Guatemala from the United States she would offer to make “pulique” for me.  I guess she knew it is my favorite dish.

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Rich Boy – Part 3

I had found a wallet with a week’s wages while sweeping the public transportation bus my father drove. I was rich! However, after treating lots of kids at school to snacks, buying many things for myself, and keeping the secret from my mom, I was beginning to feel trapped by my wealth. I still had Q18.00 quetzales and it seemed to me this money was multiplying! I decided to go around the neighborhood and when I found a group of kids playing, I would take coins from my pocket and leave them in places where they could easily find them. I would hide somewhere nearby to hear their happy voices as they would discover the money.  They would search the area to make sure they had not missed any money and then make a run for the store to buy candy, popsicles, or gum. I would then go find another group and do the same thing again. It was a good feeling!

My brother Armando.

One morning after doing my chores, I was on my way to give more money to the poor when I noticed my stash was smaller. I was very angry at first and very hurt that my brother would do such a thing. While I was asleep he had gotten the money out of my pocket! I was robbed! As I sat there thinking, I finally reasoned that it was probably better that way because somehow having all that money had become a burden. I talked to my brother Armando about the money I was missing. He denied to have taken it. I accepted his story but couldn’t help to notice the big wad of gum he was chewing and the nice new marbles he was showing off. Hmm…

By now candy, ice cream, and of all those junky snacks had lost their enchantment. I was down to eight Quetzales from the twenty three Quetzales I had found. Some nights, I would lay in my bed thinking about the money and where I was going to hide it next. My brother watched me like a hawk and tried to get me to tell him where I kept the money but I couldn’t trust him with that anymore.

Continued in Part 4…

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Rich Boy – Part 2

A public transportation bus similar to the one where I found the wallet.

I had found a small fortune on the bus while sweeping for my father. Looking at the bills, I didn’t want to come out of the bathroom. Somehow the darkness of the outside outhouse felt safe. Still, I had to think quickly before somebody came looking for me. Robert Wagner was my favorite actor at the time. He played in a show called “It Takes a Thief” as a super clever and audacious thief. I was absolutely convinced I looked like him, especially when I wore a black turtleneck that belonged to my brother. I wanted a turtleneck of my own so that I could wear it all the time. Every day I combed my hair like him as well. What would he do in this situation? I put on my best Robert Wagner face and bravely came out of the bathroom walking past my brothers who were looking at me with suspicion(so I thought). I just returned their look with a cool scowl, went to my bed, and hid the wallet under my mattress. It was time for bed and my brothers again asked me why I was so quiet because usually we talked and talked in bed. I didn’t answer them and that night I didn’t get much sleep.

Twenty three Quetzales was a lot of money. My dad at the time earned twenty five Quetzales for a weeks work and managed to support a large family like ours on that amount. A kid could buy four pieces of candy for a penny. You could buy a good size popsicle, a cucumber, an orange or a mango with pepita, for a penny or two. For an eight year old, this was an enormous amount of money! I didn’t say anything to anybody, not even my mom.

It would be fun to be secretly rich. Extremely rich! I could buy anything my heart desired which for the most part had something to do with food and fun snacks.
However, being secretly rich can be kind of a lonely. I was used to doing everything with my brothers and it took a lot of thinking to figure out ways to buy things without them knowing I had money.

Oranges with pepita. Yum!

In those days we would get a penny when we went to school to buy a snack at recess, sometimes I would buy a piece of sweet bread that they sold in school, they were nice big delicious pieces. They were best with the powdered milk they used to mix and serve in school for free. Sometimes my mom didn’t have any money to give us. When I went to school with my new fortune, I decided to buy a snack for a kid who came from a very poor family and never had money for a snack during recess. I told him he could have anything he wanted so he got himself a big mango with pepita and a big radish with pepita too. I will never forget the grin on his face as he tore into that mango. The juice ran down his arm all the way to his elbow. He didn’t even noticed nor did he wash his hands when he was done eating it. He just wiped his hands on the side of his pants as he walked away declaring me his best friend.

I liked the feeling of being able to make somebody so happy and I could certainly identify with him. The best part was that buying something like that, didn’t affect my fortune! I actually went to school a few days in a row because when I was in school I could buy stuff without my brothers knowing about it. I would buy snacks for the kids that usually didn’t have money and before I knew it, I was surrounded by a lot of friends all of them claiming I was their best friend! I remember walking the hallways during recess surrounded by a bunch of renegades treating me like a king. It was all fun until the teacher got wind that Robin Hood was in town and was planning to have a talk with me about where the money came from. Most likely she was going to ask me to bring my mom in. As you can imagine it was not normal for a kid my age to be going around spending money. When a kid was found spending money it was assumed he was stealing, either from his parents or from somebody’s piggy bank. I left school and went back to hang out with the shoe shine boys at central park.

Time went by and I was getting tired of sneaking around so, of course, I consulted with my brother Armando and told him how I was feeling stressed out. I didn’t like keeping a secret from my mom. I had bought a bunch of things for myself and the kids at school and still had a lot of money. He just sat there quietly and made understanding noises as he listened to me. Then, very generously, he offered to help me spend the rest of the money and boy did he ever have the ideas on ways to spend the money!

Continued in Part 3…

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Rich Boy – Part 1

In loving memory of my mother.

It was one those intense days of my boyhood when I was in the third grade and went to school only once in a while. Mostly, just to see what was going on. In those days, I went and spent time with the shoe shine boys at the “parque central” (central park) because I wanted to stay away from my mean teacher and the bullies.

A bus similar to the one my father drove for EGA at the time of this story.

My father was a public bus driver. He drove a green bus that was number 47 for EGA (one of the many public transportation companies). Every morning he would get up very early and venture out into the dark. I remember watching him say goodbye to my mom after having a cup of coffee. I felt kind of bad for him because he had to get up so early. I was just up to go to the bathroom and then back to bed. I was grateful for a hard working father and glad that I was a kid and didn’t have to work like that…yet.

At night, when he returned from his shift, he would come home to count the money from the bus fares to make sure he was not short or over the required amount. If he had extra in his “fichero” (money tray) he would get to keep it. He called that his “moco.” Every night, when he got home, my brothers and I would rush to greet him and get in his bus to check under the seats for loose coins and goods that people would leave behind. We would lift the seat cushions and find everything from combs,to nail clippers, to guitar picks, to coins and of course trash.

My father about the time of this story.

On this particular night, I found something extraordinary! Something that would change my life. I found a wallet!! When I saw it, I felt a serious adrenaline rush like never before. I grabbed it and quickly put it in my pocket without telling my brothers about it. My heart was pounding as I looked at my brothers arguing over a little toy they had found. They both claimed to have seen it first. I felt as if I had found a dead man and was trying to cover it up! After searching the bus for treasures, the routine was to sweep the floor of the bus so that it would be clean for the next day.

As we swept the floor, I couldn’t stop thinking about the wallet in my pocket. It was burning my leg! “Why are you so quiet?” my brothers asked. Usually I would sing to the top of my voice during sweeping time to enjoy the reverberations around the bus. I didn’t say anything because I was afraid my voice would give me away. When we went inside, my father was done with his accounting and left to return the bus to the parking lot. I went into the bathroom which was outdoors and across the yard. Usually, I didn’t venture there alone because I was dreadfully afraid of the dark. I had to light a match to see by the dark. What was inside the wallet? My heart was pounding so hard in my chest I actually felt dizzy. I opened the fold and almost passed out. A bunch of money!! Twenty three Quetzales! Back then this was equivalent to twenty three dollars. Ahhhhh!

To be continued…

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El Colocho (Curly hair)

When I was 4 years old, we lived at a place called El Palomar, which translated meant “The Pigeon House”. The pigeon house was a place where poor people or young couples lived. Many were just starting out and could only afford to rent a single room. It was a great big house with many separate rooms that shared a common yard, and a set of two outhouses that sat in the middle of the yard. There was also a set of pilas which were sinks made of concrete. There was a water reservoir in the middle that served as a water supply to all the sinks which had no faucets. Water had to be drawn out of a deep well which was very dangerous for kids.

People would take turns washing their dishes and clothes. Of course there were always those people who would take too long or those who would create conflict. This often resulted in the ladies arguing and sometimes when the husbands got involved, there would be fist fights. Other men would intervene and sometimes it got bad enough that the police would come and take a few men to jail. I remember my dad closing the door and ignoring the trouble. He said it was not smart to get in the middle of that because you could get hurt, end up in jail, or make enemies. He kept a piece of car belt (a long very hard strip of rubber with steel threads) about foot and a half long behind the door to use as a weapon if he ever had to protect himself out there.

I was just a little guy at the time. Only Chino and Rafa were living with my mother and father. Mama Tula rented another room and lived with Oscar, Marina and Percy. My mom would go out to work, and Mama Tula would take care of all of us. At that time, my father was a taxi driver and would play in a marimba band. My mom was not very fond of the marimba jobs because although my dad made a little money, it also involved drinking and staying out really late.

My Father (far right) playing Marimba c. 1963

Colocho was my cousin from my father’s side of the family and was a couple of years older than I was. His mother was my father’s sister. We called him Colocho because of his curly bushy hair. Sometimes we would play together, but he would pick on me and my mom would call me back into our room. Colocho would just stare at my mom as he walked away.

As a rule, I usually stayed really close to my mom. Sometimes, I would sit on the doorstep and watch the kids playing in the yard. The threshold of our door was made of concrete and had a few cracks. I would sit there and clean the dirt out of the cracks with a little stick. I could not understand how it always got dirty again. Colocho came around one day and sat next to me. He had a hand full of dirt and started filling the cracks up again! That really bothered me, and when I told him not to do that, he stood up, pulled my hair, knocked me down to the ground, and then ran away to his room. My mom came out and comforted me, she went and talked to my aunt about it and she assured my mom that it would not happen again. I was scared and hurt.

A few days later, he came by again with another handful of dirt.  This time, as he walked by, he threw it in my face then he ran away. With dirt in my eyes, I sat there crying. My mom came out and took me inside to wash me up. I could see that my mom was really upset and heard her say under her breath, “What that kid needs is a good whacking!” Of course she meant a spanking. At that age, I guess we are very resilient to situations, so not long after, I went back to playing with Colocho. It still bothered me that he always wanted everything to go his way, and I often retreated into my room with my mom.

  Not long after, sitting on the doorstep, I saw Colocho pick up a hand full of dirt again and start to walk toward me. I pretended not to see him and as he threw the dirt on my face, I turned my face the other way. Suddenly, to his surprise, I grabbed him by the hair and whacked him on the face with my father’s piece of car belt! I was so mad I felt as if I was in a dark tunnel and I could only see him! I hit him again and saw his face bleeding… My mom came running when she heard the screaming!

Colocho was bleeding and had to get some stitches on his eyebrow. I was so scared, I thought I was going to have to go to jail like the people who got in fights in the yard. I remembered having dreams about it, over and over again. It was hard for me to get over it.  My mom told me later that she worried about me because I would not eat, just wanted to be next to her, slept a lot during the day, and cried often. She would have Rafa and Chino take me with them to the fields and fly kites or play soccer so my mind would be on something else. I remember Rafa making a big parachute with the cloth from a large umbrella. He also made a little wooden war tank, with a piece of wood and a pipe. He would load it with two firecrackers. The first firecracker would explode and propelled the second one which in turn would explode in the air! I always thought Rafa was a genius and was proud of him.

Soon after that we moved away from El Palomar. My father got a different job and we rented a house. Mama Tula and the rest of the kids moved in with us. I didn’t see Colocho as much after that but he never bothered me again. Decades have passed. I still see him now and then when I go home to Guatemala. He may still have a slight scar.

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Day Old Bread

My older brother Armando was a real character and was always coming up with ways to get something to eat. When I was seven years old and he was eleven, he came up with the idea of going around the city and asking the owners of restaurants for day old bread. It worked and we usually got some for a snack and some to take home.

Other times, we would get turned down and Armando would make up some type of story to make the restaurant owner feel sorry for us. Often, he would use me as a prop. He would have me lay down on a doorstep and pretend I was asleep. Then without me knowing it, he would tell them I was sick. Bingo! We would get some bread.

However, one day he asked the wrong guy. We went to a restaurant and Armando played his trick. The owner came out to see me and asked me if I was sick. When I said no, he chased us away. What we didn’t know was that he knew us and my father. That was the end of that awesome trick! When we got home we both got spanked and sent to bed.

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My Family (Part 2) – Lots and lots of kids!

Both of my parents had been previously married when they met, so when I was born they already had three kids to care for. Not too long after, three of my cousins came to live with us. Oscar, Marina and Percy were very young when my aunt Maria passed away. They were left in the care of their grandmother from their father’s side of the family. Their father at the time, a struggling young man, could not cope with the children and left them with his mom and was absent for a long time.

Several members of my family around 1979. Back row (left to right) is Sheny, my nephew Hector, Hugo, Mama Tula, my mother, and my father. Front row (left to right) is Jorge and Juan Fernando.

Times got hard and not having enough money to keep the kids fed, as well as feeling her strength leave because of her age, the precious old lady had no choice but to part ways with the kids. Mama Tula, my grandmother, was the first one to find out that the kids were being offered to different neighbors and to anybody who wanted to care for them. When my father and mother heard about the situation they adopted them without hesitation.

Oscar, Percy and Marina came to live with us, and in time, so did sweet Mama Tula. She was a very interesting grandma. She always had a story to tell us, and almost always the stories had something to do with the Bible. Often it would be about something tragic that happened to someone for not listening to God or their parents. The story about the lady that turned into a pillar of salt (Lot’s wife) always scared me to death! Still, I always requested it. Reading the same story today, I can’t help but to think of her wrinkled little face looking into space as if she could see something we could not. With a very natural air, she would tell the story, always adding her own little spice to it. Anything to get us to behave!

As long as I can remember, Mama Tula was already old, and she was so sweet. She took care of us when my mom went out to work, and my brothers and I became very attached to her, enjoying her kindness and care. She lived with us always till the day she went to heaven. Living in the united States, twenty nine years later, I heard the news of her passing in Guatemala from my mom. It was a sad day. I will treasure my sweet memories of her forever.

My and my younger siblings as adults around 2008. Left to right – Me (Otto), Juan Fernando, Jorge, Sheny, and Hugo.

Our family continued to grow. I was followed by Jorge, Hugo, Sheny, and Juan Fernando. My older brothers were Rafael, Edgar and Armando, together with my cousins Oscar, Marina, and Percy we grew up loving each other and making the best of our lives together.

It was hard for my father to provide for a family that was so big. We saw some hard times, and consequently, we older kids found ways to help out at a very early age doing any type of job we could find. Rafael worked as a helper at a body shop, Oscar worked as a helper at the Italian bakery with Don Juan, and Edgar (who we called “Chino”) would occasionally sell “verengena” (egg plant) in the marketplace. He would shout his sales pitch at the top of his voice. He later joked at how embarrassing it was.

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The Cowboys

The bread smelled good. I loved walking by the bakery and dreaming of a piece of sweet bread melting in my mouth. It was rainy, we were cold and wet. The cows walked with a lazy rhythm as my brother Armando and I led them back home. Don Julio, as always, was at the door waiting for us and would give us our pay for grazing and caring for his cows who he called “La Muca” and “La Chiva.”

We would spend the afternoons looking for empty lots in our neighborhood Monte Verde in Guatemala City. The year was 1969. I was 11 years old and Armando was 13. Empty lots had nice long grass and would give the cows a good place to graze. While they were eating, we would challenge other kids to a game of marbles, a game of tip-top, or join in a game of street soccer. Sometimes we would get so caught up in the games that we would not notice the cows wandering away as they ate and we had to go find them in the tall brush. It was scary because they could fall into the ravine and die. This had already happened to other cows in the neighborhood. Don Julio knew we were dependable…most of the time.

One time when a cow fell into the ravine, there was a great commotion because as soon as it happened people rushed down, knives in hand and helped themselves to the meat. By the time the owner was notified, there was nothing left but guts, blood, and pieces of the rhine. This treatment was normal and was also applied to a car that had been stolen and then abandoned in the neighborhood. The kids started playing in it and then it was pushed into the ravine where it was dismantled by the local mechanics who were glad to get parts. Later, we played in it and pretended to be in a movie.

Taking care of the cows was kind of boring. Sometimes we would just fall asleep in the bushes and hope the cows would stay nearby. Usually they did, because they knew we had corn in our pockets and would feed it to them as a treat. They would lay down next to us and chew their cud. People would call my brother Jim West, a clever cowboy TV figure at the time. The reason they called him that was because he was a really good fighter and because he took care of cows. They called him a cowboy and me Gordon, his sidekick.

Still a bit of a cowboy.

The udders on the cows got so big sometimes that they seemed very uncomfortable. I would go home, get a pitcher, and milk the cows. My mom was glad for the free milk. I learned in school about Romulus and Remus, the twin boys, that according to the legend had been found in the woods by a mother wolf who nursed them and as they grew they founded Rome and became the first kings. I always wondered about that. When I told my brother that story, he sat there listening with a blank stare. I guess the story really impacted him. Then after a couple of minutes, his face broke into a big grin as if a great revelation had him him. That was it! It had to be it! We were meant to be kings! So, without much thought, we crawled under one of the cows and began to suck on the tits like Romulus and Remus did. The idea was that after we did that we would just live our lives and let destiny take its course and we would become kings… somehow.

After a few seconds we darted from under the cow gagging and in the end we both threw up! The milk tasted terrible, the tits were bitter, and smelled gross! Never again! Forget it! I hadn’t been convinced of the idea anyway! The cows just looked at us and went back to grazing. We sat there for a while looking at each other in silence then broke into laughter and promised not to tell anyone. I haven’t… at least until now.

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My Family (Part 1) – It’s A Boy!

My first professional portrait for my high school ID at age 12 circa 1970.

I was born in Guatemala City in September of 1958. My parents, Tonita and Fernando were not rich or super poor. My father, a husky man who was brought up as a farmer in his native town San Miguel Petapa, worked as a traveling salesman through all of Guatemala and central America (Guatemala, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, and Panama). In his spare time, he played for “Chapinlandia” a professional marimba band. He was very strong and handsome. Looking at him always made me feel safe. He was very Affectionate and quick to kiss and play with his kids. He also had a good sense of humor. I thought nothing could hurt me as long as he was around. His boss was Don Daniel, a gentleman that originally came from Spain and had a clothing business. He was also married to my rich aunt Marta.

My mom was the best mom in the world. A young pretty lady with a gorgeous head of raven black hair that hung behind her in a thick ponytail or braid that danced with every step she took. She worked part-time doing house keeping chores for a variety of people, among them a Cuban lady whom I never met. All I remember about her is that she always sent something home for us kids to eat!