reposted from Baja Report blog 12/18/2012
It was August 1968. I was 19 years old. The world was crazy. Just like today. My buddy Dave, long time partner in all sorts of crimes and Brother with no blood relation, and I were working during the summer break. He was working in retail. I was a laborer in construction. The summer was coming to a close and we would be heading back to College. We were going to College because of the Draft. The Beta for the Draft was launched by the Romans. The Draftees were the men that survived being leveraged (conquered) by the Romans. At first they used the Draftees to pad the Roman Army. Then they made a serious mistake and reassigned the Draftees as servants to fire their hot tubs at TOGA PARTIES and ended up having to offshore their army. This is always a mistake and you know the outcome on that one. Fall of the empire, fiddling while Rome burns etc. While the Romans were having Toga Parties their Beta Draft was perfected by the Visigoths, the Astrogoths, the Polygoths, and the Barbariangoths at the beginning of the Dark Ages. They would come to a village on their way to sack Rome (sacking Rome was the Core Competency of the various Goths) and sack the village for practice. They called it Sacking as they would put everything in a sack and carry it off. They would sack the food, the goats, the liquor, cats and dogs, clean sheets. They would conscript all the men to help in the next sacking of Rome. It was the Sack & Draft. But the various Goths did not have the word Draft. The Romans didn’t have that word either. They called it Juvenus Collectus, translated loosely as Get Guys. The Goths called it Gotupbrinkenfoler, Goth for Draft. Anyway they would make the conscriptees wear combat boots and squat in the mud while Weapons of Individual Destruction whizzed over their heads. They would often get trench foot.
The Draft in the U S was a little different from the Goths concept. It was like the Goths sacking the village but instead of carrying off every male they would let all the rich white guys stay in the village and go to college for 4 years. Then they would be Gotupbrinkenfolered and go in the Goth army as officers. It was called a Deferment in the U S. But all the poor white boys and people of color that couldn’t afford college got to be Gotupbrinkenfolered right away. It was a crappy system, unfair, but it saved a lot of rich white butts for 4 years. Most importantly my butt. Except a year later Dave got a high number in the Gotupbrinkenfoler Lottery. He quit college. He would have had to quit anyway as his mother was resisting writing ALL his term papers. With a high number he did not have to go unless the war lasted 20 years more. Then he would be too old anyway. WinWin. The Lottery was a strange addition to the original Gothic Gotupbrinkenfoler concept. Gambling. National Russian Roulette. I always wondered why they didn’t make it really interesting and install slot machines at the Draft Board offices. Get your draft card, come into the draft office, pull the handle. OOPS, not enough cherries. Off you go to get trench foot. Talk about the Twilight Zone.
So we were heading back to college to avoid the Gotupbrinkenfoler. We were also still in deep recovery from THE SUMMER OF LOVE. A little twitchy. We needed a break. We decided to use our customary stress reducer that would serve us for years to come:
SURF TRIP
We loaded up the old Porche that my rich white daddy had bought for me with money he had inherited from my mom’s rich white daddy. We loaded 2-1st generation O’neil short boards, 2 sleeping bags, surf trunks, and 20 cans of Dinty Moore Beef Stew. It did not need to be cooked so it was perfect for our SURF TRIP and was an excellent addition to our other staple, animal crackers. Then, at 3 in the afternoon, WE HEADED FOR BAJA.
I took a few No Doz so that I could drive fast with great concentration. We listened to WOLFMAN JACK on the radio. We loved the WOLFMAN. Here is a link so you can listen to the WOLFMAN while you read. Get into the spirit. http://www.xerbradio.com/
Ahooooo! Here you are BAAABY comin out to you from XERB 50000 WAATS OF LOVE THE INCREDIBLES just for you BAAABY IF YOURE NEXT TO YOUR FAVORITE PERSON GIVE HER A BIG KISS YOW BAAAAABY
The WOLFMAN accompanied us every time we went to Baja. When we hit King City he was on the air YOOOOOOOOOO MY MY MY MY MY MUSTANG SALLY UNH! when I took a coupla more NO DOZ. He was there when we went through LA. He was there AHOOOOOOOO OH WELL OH WELL OH BAAAAAABY OH WELL! when we hit the border. DO YOU LOVE ME playin full blast. Right on through no problem, movin right along to CRY ME A RIVER.
Then I remembered my dad’s voice. DON’T BE A DUMB SHIT WHEN YOU GO TO MEXICO BUY MEXICAN INSURANCE AS YOU KNOW YOU ARE A SMART (ASS) COLLEGE STUDENT AMERICAN INSURANCE IS NO GOOD IN MEXICO.
Now TABACO ROAD WITH THE SAX so cool is playing and we pull up under the sign MEXICAN AUTO INSURANCE. It has a bright neon sign blinking that may have read I am not sure- all those NO DOZ- DON’T BE A DUMB ASS BUY MEXICAN INSURANCE. For 10 bucks we get insurance. WOLFMAN lets out a HOWL just for us AHOOOOOOO and WHEN A MAN LOVES A WOMEN plays softly as we headed on down into TIJUANA. The WOLFMAN YELLS OUT SUCKIN UP SOME LOVE, BAAAABY…COME ON BAAAABY PLAYIN SHOP AROUND BAAAABY AHOOOOOOO! Then down low as only he could do listen now to bobby purify i’m your puppet
PULL MY STRING I’LL DO ANY THING I’M YOUR PUPPET AHOOOOOOOOOOO
We are driving into Tijuana and Dave looks over at me and says ALTO. What the fu you mean ALTO? He says again ALTO. THEN ALTO ALTO ALTO and his right foot is slammin into the floorboard like he is trying to put on the brake but there is no break there never is on the PASSENGER side of a car even a old PORCHE with its fancy German Engineering.. I suddenly realize what he means I SHOULD STOP AT THE SIGN THAT SAYS ALTO as I run right through the SIGN THAT SAYS ALTO just in time to look to my left as a blue FORD sedan is braking hard or accelerating I cant really tell and it hits us with just a little MEXICAN LOVE TAP at the fender over the left front tire. We just had a wreck in MEXICO. It is 3 am. There are people everywhere. Shouldna taken that last NO DOZ in LA. Oh Nooooooo.
GARY US BONDS BAAAABY SINGIN AAAAAHHYAAAH I DANCED TO A QUARTER TA THREE AHOOOOOOOOOOO!
I look out the window. The taxi backs up. I get out of the car and walk over to the drivers side window of the blue FORD taxi and look in. My Catholic upbringing is worried that someone is hurt though it was as very slow speed bump nothing serious. I look closer. There seems to be about 14 people in the Ford taxi. Mom, dad, kids, grandma, uncle. Some nod their heads, some shake their heads. YES NO I DON’T KNOW. I hear chickens. I am pretty sure I do not hear a pig in the trunk. The scene is right out of a Rick Griffin Surfer Magazine cartoon of a Mexican car crash involving dumb white surfers and a FORD taxi on a Tijuana main street in the middle of the night. Is this really a taxi cab? Everyone is smiling up at me as I am smiling down at them. I begin to question reality.
The Porche is shut off. The WOLFMAN has gone. We are abandoned.
Then suddenly everything is Mondo Cane. (look it up) LOCALS are walking up to the scene. It is a crowd. DON”T THESE PEOPLE EVER SLEEP. A LOCAL pushes a portable taco stand on a bicycle into the crowd. I expect to see barbequed snake head but it is just carne asada. I wonder if those are centipedes and not peppers he is frying in that hot pan with the tortillas. Or is that my brain? I walk back to the Porsche. Dave is in the driver’s seat trying to get the car out of the intersection. But the fender is up against the tire. I lean down and try to pull the fender away from the tire. I signal to Dave to hold on. He believes this is a signal to pull forward and slice the palm of my hand against the fender as the car rolls forward. Dave stops when I scream ALTO! He had not taken any NO DOZ so he understands what I am saying. The Locals look on. Curious the behavior of these Gringos kids. I bleed. Not too bad though. A few drops of North American blood intermingled with the dust on a street of Tijuana. I tie up my hand with a t shirt. A LOCAL walks up with a tire iron he is wearing dark glasses and pries the fender from the tire. We are mobile. But can we get out of here surrounded by all these MEXICANS eating tacos and watching us? I consider PANIC as a viable alternative.
Another LOCAL approaches with the air of ONE WHO KNOWS. He says he is a pharmacist. His pharmacy is always open at 3 am. In fact it is a 24 hour pharmacy. He is a trend setter. He has blondish brown hair that is slicked back like blondish brown Vampire hair. Like if Buddy Holly was a Vampire. He has freckles. He is dressed in nice slacks and a button down shirt. He has on tan gogo boots. I always notice the shoes luckily the NO DOZ had warn off when the crash happened all of a sudden scared straight so I have at least basic senses. He opens his mouth and a glint of gold can be seen in the flash of headlights and streetlights. He speaks perfect English. Do you have any money? I say yes a little. He says YOU WILL BE FINE. My 1st lesson regarding Mexican Culture.
That is when the cop walks up his cruiser parked behind the Taxi. He takes me by the arm escorts me to the cruiser puts me in the back seat. I go quietly. I am SURFER ZOMBIE. We drive off. Dave is left there the chill of what had just happened pushing into his bones in the Mexican night.
The cop is really husky, big, strong, armed. He also has on dark glasses. There is another person in the back seat. A skinny guy who does not talk to me. I have my MEXICAN INSURANCE POLICY in my pocket and get it out and wave it for the cop to see in his rear view mirror I HAVE MEXICAN INSURANCE. He understands looks at me in the rear view mirror and says NO GUD MEHICO.
I yell again I HAVE MEXICAN INSURANCE. He drives to a knife fight.
We get to the knife fight and I think What the FU? We are picking up a really fat LOCAL now who has a slight belly wound but not too bad as he is like a Whale and only cut a little in the Blubber section. But he squeezes in next to me and bleeds. For some reason he is SMILING. Is this smiling some kind of MAGIC. I squeek MOMMY?
I wave my policy again at the night and whisper ihavemexicaninsurance.
We drive all over Tijuana. It seems like hours. Lots of back streets with taco stands and hot dog stands and crowds of people standing around and little fires here and there burning something I don’t know what. The skinny guy continues to not say anything the FAT GUY OF THE MEXICAN KNIFE FIGHT smiles and bleeds. We turn a corner and WHAT THE FU there is Dave sitting in the Porches steering as it is being pulled down the street BACKWARDS going in the opposite direction by a TIAJUANA TOW TRUCK. It happens in a flash like a dream. DID I JUST SEE DAVE STEERING THE PORCHE AS IT IS BEING PULLED BACKWARDS BY A TIAJUANA TOW TRUCK? Then I have a spasm of clarity. Of course. Someone has to steer.
Then the cop stops in front of what looks like the POLICIA. It has part of a sign painted on the front of the building that says POLI A. They forgot the C and the I. Or something. Out of the corner of my eye I see Dave and the tow truck go by in a flash. DAVE is steering like mad to keep the Porche off of the sidewalk. The POLI A is in a state of ill repair. Or decrepitude. I do not know. There are blocks and broken concrete everywhere. Maybe they just had an Earthquake. I would know that wouldn’t I living in California? The cop frog walks me through the door of the POLI A. He pushes me up to a counter. He leaves. Nobody says nothing. He does not bring the other PRISONERS. (Iwonderifthefatguyoftheknifefightisgoingtogetpropermedicalattention) The JEFE is sitting at a desk. He is wearing a white Wallace Berry undershirt, cop pants and boots, a really big GUN and he is screaming at a guy. A guy with a mop is screaming at the JEFE. The guy with the mop is not wearing a real uniform but he also has a GUN so I assume he is a JANITOR/COP. I am puzzled. I whisper ihavemexicaninsurance and wave my policy. The guy with the mop drops the mop and walks over to me, takes the policy, and pushes me toward a door. He opens the door and shoves me in closes the door. I am in a closet with no lights. I hear more screaming. WHAT THE FU?
In a little while there is quiet outside my little cell (mop closet?) I say 10 Hail Marys and 10 Our Fathers and promise to avoid OCCASIONS OF SIN. TIME PASSES. Then the door opens. Before me stands a dapper middle aged MEXICAN GENTLEMAN. He introduces himself. He is Senor Lopez. He is wearing aftershave at 5 am. His clothes are perfectly pressed. He is calm as an executioner. He is the INSURANCE AGENT. I am glad to meet him. My dad will be glad I met him.
Mr. Lopez takes me into another actually lighted room. He asks me how much money I have. I tell him $65. I have a little more than that but hold out. He says good as that is the exact amount of money the JEFE needed to let me out of the TIJUANA JAIL including the $20 dollars for the TAXI CAB family to buy a new used scratched dinged and dented bumper just like the one that was barely hanging onto the FORD TAXI when it gave me the MEXICAN LOVE TAP. And a small gratuity for his humble service. ALL MY MONEY? I ask? He says WELL YES $65 would be fine. I am a little agog being a DUMB ASS white boy. He is an INSURANCE AGENT. My dad is an INSURANCE AGENT. But my dad does not negotiate bribes. At least I don’t think so. I will have to remember to ask.
Mr. Lopez says THANK YOU when I give him the money. He disappears. The guy with the mop though he doesn’t have a mop any more but is still wearing a gun leads me to a door in the back of the POLI A opens the door and pushes me into an ALLEY. A dark 5 am ALLEY in a backstreet in Tijuana where a dumb ass white boy is standing and he is me.
I look AROUND and there is DAVE. He is fine. DAVE is usually fine. The guy who drove the TIJUANA TOW TRUCK AND PULLED THE PORCHE BACKWARDS WHILE DAVE STEERED used to live in REDWOOD CITY and they had a long talk cause the guy spoke some good English from having lived in REDWOOD CITY and wanted to recognize that DAVE and him were like BROTHERS as DAVE had told him that we lived near SAN FRANCISO and the guy thought cool we are BROTHERS and gave DAVE the PORCHE back for $1.
The next day we got some KICK ASS waves at K55 after our DARK NIGHT OF THE TIJUANA JAIL. A BAPTISM OF WAVES AND WATER HEALING YET AGAIN AS IT WOULD FOR THE REST OF OUR LIVES THE BIG AND LITTLE PAINS OF LIFE AS IT IS LIVED.
