Mr. Marteenez submitted an extensive resume' that has not been verified.
Ed's first effort, largely autobiographical, is published below.
BORN IN MCALLEN, BUT HEAD OVER HEELS IN LOVE WITH BROWNSVILLE
by Ed Paws-Marteenez
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| Eduardo "Chango" Paws-Marteenez |
The City of Palms, McAllen, is my hometown and the roots go deep. Air-conditioning made the city almost livable, while radio, namely KRIO, brought in rock n roll.
Growing up, two magnetic forces tugged at me. It was, as if, the orbits of two cities intersected, Monterrey and Brownsville, and I was caught in the middle, McAllen.(Remember that hit by Stealer's Wheel, Stuck in the Middle with You?)
Some days I envied the regios coming from Monterrey, 149 miles west of McAllen, driving Town Cars, Benzes and Caddies, going to the head of the line at the post office, parking in front of the H.E.B. entrance. But, they were snooty, ill-tempered and thought of themselves as Euros.
Suffice to say, women from Monterrey pumped money into our malls and their rich esposos deposited in our banks. Without the money from regiomontanos, McAllen would be Del Rio.
In contrast, people from Brownsville, 60 miles east of McAllen, looked poor, but happy. I watched some scruffy looking boys from Brownsville steal onions from a field. They were laughing, singing and biting into yellow 1015's as if they were huge red delicious apples. I longed to join them.
One weekend my sophomore year, I got a ride to Los Fresnos for the Elvis Festival at Little Graceland. I couldn't believe the guys singing and looking EXACTLY like The King!
One impersonator told me Elvis liked peanut butter/banana sandwiches.
"See, I told you!" one popular kid would say to another.
Whenever I go to Brownsville, I always eat at Cobblestones Bar and Grill. The owner, Joe McKinney is a close friend. I always ask the waiter to sit me near "the water."
Last time there, I dropped a Jackson on the table for a tip.
"Thank you, Senor!" said the waiter as he took the bill to the kitchen to show it off. It was no big thing. That's just the way I roll.
I'm sort of anxious for another major hurricane or tragedy, so I can write the Salvation Army a check for $500. I may just send the check anyway, specifying "for the next major hurricane to hit the continental United States." Like I said; that's how I roll.
I'm writing this from a high end coffee bistro owned by Magic Johnson. Magic and I got tight during the Showtime years when I was working for the LA Times or was it the Daily News? I wish I could have stayed till the finals, but I got a better offer.
To kill for. I remember reading his "gems" when he was working for the cosmopolitan Port Isabel Press until he got canned (as he usually was wherever he went) for not helping cart some of the press run from the San Benito News because he thought it was below hi station. Anyway, it was a charity hire on someone else's recommendation and he wasn't missed.
ReplyDeleteI commend you on giving the down-and-out a hand. Maybe he'll donate a few bucks to the Good Neighbor Settlement Home before he gets his free meal. Don't expect a tip.
I don't know who's worse. This dude who's obsessed with Brownsville and is doing his best to trash it (like we need McAllen's help) for who knows what reason, or you, Barton, for yanking his chain again and dragging this delinquent tax-sniffing gumshoe out of his miserable motel room. This, of course, means you can't bitch about him jumping on you and Nena, or maybe he's still fucking with you and that's why you dragged him out in the open for an anonymous spanking. Something wrong with that old dude. All the shit that comes out of him is anger and hate. Maybe you got it right Barton, little Eddie Martinez, the butcher's stepson, is just an awkward, lonely boy who longs to join but nobody wants to play with him, certainly not in McAllen, otherwise he'd be doing all his writing about what a great place McAllen is and what great many friends and family he's got there. Nobody wants or needs this bitter, solitary drifter who sooner or later will fuck over Capt. Bob (2nd time?) just like he's done with a long line of people he initially charms with his "I'm a published writer" bullshit... Go away, DPM or whatever rap name you hide behind, go somewhere where they want you. Get Capt. Bob to throw you another Lonely Hearts Club party for two. We certainly don't have room for another nagging psycho joining the "Brownsville is a shit town" cheering squad. We got more than enough homegrown cagapalos who do that already. SAD LONELY BOY!! PONTE ALALBA CAPT BOB, ESTE GUEY TA MAS CHISKEAO QUE TU!!!
ReplyDeleteit doesn't look like the guy has stayed in any assignment for very long. Has he worked anywhere in news in the last 20 years? Would the McAllen Monitor give him a try?
ReplyDeletefunny shit jb, you otta be in comedy. i especially like the "scruffy looking boys from brownsville" line. yeah, that's roit mite, we teddyboys laak to crap up on those cantree lads when they get near "the water"
ReplyDeleteWho is this guy Jim? Does he need some sort of intervention? Is he really homeless?
ReplyDelete