SOME OF THE GANG

Our neighborhood accomplices were few. Aaron who was a heavy set baseball jock like Eddie lived around the corner in an old well used house that had peeling paint and an endlessly patched worn out tar paper roof. Like many houses in the area at the time people liked to park on the lawn even when there was endless street parking. So after a while there is no lawn just hard packed dirt. His ancient fat grandma lived in the living room in a bed next to his, I never saw her leave. Those old houses all had dugout dirt basements. He gathered a ton of old carpet and carpeted it, put an old bed and a TV down there and it became a real get away. 

Rickey lived across the street from Aaron. He reminded you of a monkey. He had protruding ears, long gangly arms and pronounced lips and wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. but he was a good and honest and simple(and I mean that in the best possible sense) guy. He was a jock and a wrestler for San Jose High School for 4 years and went to various camps over the summer and must have known a hundred moves but just never blossomed as a wrestler. 

Danny on the other end of 13th st. had more of a Cholo leaning. He had older brothers that were a bit on the gang member side and he had a bit more gritty edge to him. He always had ironed over-sized white tee-shirts and wore a wife beater underneath. Kakis or black Ben Davis pants pleated tight gang style and combed back black hair. Also his speech was more classically like an Esse. His vibe had a definite under current of Old School wrong doing. 

Frankie lived on 14th St. but on the other side of Washington St. His nickname was Orehas because he had big ears. he was a good big kid and very soft spoken. He never got mad. He came out when we had football games in the street or some times when we would hop the fence at San Jose High's pool in the summer, but we really didn't see him all that much.

Eddie also had an older brother who made it a point to always be chingadera. He had whole aristocratic Mexican thing going on. My Dad called him the prince. 

America doesn't seem to get many of those. We get all the farmers and uneducated worker types. Aristocratic Mexicans are by far some of the worst classest arrogant fuckers I've met. They are right up there with the Persians as self important elitists. Dave was like that. He didn't have the type of style I liked but he liked to look good and was a gentleman with the ladies.

Accross the street were 2 older teenagers Mike and Mark Orozco. they had a younger sister Alicia but we didn't see her much. Mike and Mark were playboys and were way into chicks and nightlife and were cutting edge fashion at the time. They were breaking the mold before MTV went on the air. That is where I first heard the B-52s who now are pop icons, back in 1979 were an edgy and a bizarrely humorous off shoot of punk. Even punk is cliché, and it is nothing out of the ordinary to see a blue mohawked kid walking down the street; one doesn't give it another glance. Back in 78-79 it was fully out of the box style wise.  These guys had Rock-a-billy type puffy hair that ascended high of their heads, they blew dry their hair and used curling irons and hair spray. They were heavily into DJ's and dance clubs. Markie was in a dance club called: "United New Wave" They also were pioneers of Popping when it first surfaced way before break dancing when it was more of an obscure ghetto art. They were wicked good and by the time Michael Jackson moonwalked for the first time that move was pathetically old and not very good at that. These guys were around be we never knew what they did. They were always on their way somewhere.

There were a few others here and there but mostly that was our few blocks.

BARRIO NORTE 14 ST.

I became a Mexican at 13 when I went to live with my Dad. The year was 1979. My Dad had just bought and was still renovating a house just down from the corner of 14th St. and Washington near downtown San Jose. I was a bit of a pot-head and a budding troublemaker and too much for my Mom to handle with a 40 hour a week job. My timely expulsion from my racially un-diverse junior high in Los Gatos was what every one needed. I wasn't a bad kid I had just been untended a bit too long. Fell in with some bad kids. My Dad's backhand took care of that.

My Dad was a career cop who had a bit of a legend thing going on. All the cops I had ever met knew him and had a devoted type reverential awe towards him. Which was great for me in the coming years as it got me out of a lot of trouble in the coming years. Not serious trouble just stupid barrio kids stuff. My Dad and Mom divorced early and my dad had to moonlight a security job at the emergency room at the hospital down the block. He would work nights a lot but would always make sure we were fed and would usually swing by in his petrol car to check on us. 

Of Irish/German stock and on the shorter side I stood out in my new neighborhood, not to mention my ACDC tee, feathered long red hair and bell bottoms. I was a Stoner and a rocker from the other side of the valley.

I met the kid next door Eddie (Eduardo) and we hit it off immediately. He was of a lean wirey,  body type and had wavy combed back black hair. He was kind of a baseball jock which was the only alternative to the cholo look at the time. His parents were from Mexico and were doing well. His Dad was a garbage man in Palo Alto, a wealthy suburb of San Jose, and made great money. His parents would talk to Eddie in Spanish an He would respond in English. His Mom always had a bowl of home made refried beans and home made tortillas on the stove. The refried beans were not fatty at all and I have not found their equal yet.