Nogales

Immediately after high school I took a job with a local house/home builder. I loved building houses and sometimes I have regrets for having stopped. The housing market was tied to interest rates and there were occasions that no houses were being built.

On those occasions, I found out I still liked to eat and pay my bills. I left the housing industry and started working in commercial construction. It seems odd now, but in commercial construction I found an abundance of work building and remodeling restaurants. Restaurant projects weren’t very plentiful locally, but if you were able and willing to travel you could always find work. I traveled, Boy, did I travel.

The story I’m about to tell I would ask that you remember the statute of. limimitations have long expired and I was very young.

Years ago I was asked to take a group of men to remodel six mom and pop pizza restaurants in Tuscon, Arizona. The restarants had been sold and in need of some cosmetic upgrades. We were to change table tops, paint walls change signage, etc. The project was to take no more than two weeks.

Two weeks was not enough time to complete the job. The crew and I were given a choice to continue working at increased pay scale or take the weekend off, coming back the next week. Most of us had never been to Tucson before so we chose to take the weekend off.

I should mention the project took place in February. That February (for the first time in years) it snowed, measurable snow. Site seeing in Tuscan was drastically alerted. Someone mentioned Nogales, Mexico was about an hour (+,-) south of Tucson. We decided to spend the day in Mexico. What could go wrong with that?

Please understand Nogales was not the Nogales of today. It was friendly and safe. It didn’t take long for the crew to find a bar/saloon with selling “cheap” tequilla. Americans were numerous, most of them were shopping at the open air market that sold native made jewelry, and trinkets, etc.

At some point, late afternoon/early evening I noticed most of the Americans were headed for the border crossing gate. The market wa closing. I started gathering up the crew to head back to Tucson.

I had the crew assembled when Greg (one of my men) said to me:

Greg: I need to get my wife some earrings

Me: The market is closed

Greg: It looks like one booth is till open

Standing in front of one booth were five (obviously Mexican) deep in conversation. Greg ran over to the group asking to buy earrings. One of the men spoke perfect English. He told Greg he would gladly sell Greg earrings

The man introduced himself (Paco)and was quite chatty. Turns out he was taking off a semester from UCLA and living in Nogales. He told us it was incredibly cheap living in Nogales and he could get anything (legal or not) he wanted. at some point during our talk Paco told us while attending school he worked as a guitar tech for Carlos Santana. (Who knows?). From under his coat Paco produced a bottle of high octane rum and started passing it around. I found myself drinking rum with Paco and his friends.

I started getting a little nervous and asked Greg to make his purchase so we could head for Tucson.

Me: Hurry up, we need to get out of here

Juan (one of my new rum buddies, broken english): What’s the hurry, we have another bottle?

Me: I don’t want to go to jail tonight.

Juan: Why would you go to jail?

Me: Everyone knows they put Americans in jail down here

Juan:: Not true

Me: What makes you think that

Juan: (opening his coat) Because I am the police

My crew and I are drinking rum with Paco and the police. We went to dinner that night with Paco and the police. They took us to a restaurant that I’m not sure was a restaurant. No signage, the front door was a sheet of plywood. I think the cook was somebodies mother.

During the dinner, Juan asked, “Are any of you packing (carrying a gun)?” Just as happy as he could be, Greg announced, “That would be me!” Greg ALWAYS had a gun in his pocket. To this day I’m am not sure what was the intent of the question.

When the dinner was over and the rum was gone, Paco escorted usto the border. Not the border gate, but a strategically cut hole in the fence. We crawled through the fence.

On the way back to Tuscon, Greg got a DUI. I’ve always wondered where he hid his gun.

This was commercial construction.

God Bless, Love ya,

Our crazy lives!

Monner