𝗙𝗔𝗨𝗦𝗧𝗢 𝗬𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗥𝗜𝗔 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗠𝗔𝗬𝗢𝗥 𝗢𝗙 𝗕𝗥𝗢𝗪𝗡𝗦𝗩𝗜𝗟𝗟𝗘 𝟭𝟵𝟯𝟱

Photo submitted by Rene Torres

From the editor:  Rene Torres didn't tell me what year it was that Fausto Yturria, one of the principal owners of the King Ranch, ran for mayor. (I'll publish that when he does.)

Anyway, I had a brief interaction with Mr. Yturria myself in 1967, when I was 19 and had been in Brownsville about a year.

Pulling away from the curb on Palm Boulevard in my '59 VW without looking, after visiting my friend Tom Robinson, my bumper punctured the tire of a Mustang passing by, owned by the manager of the Gulf Station at the corner of Boca Chica and Palm Blvds.  

Since the accident was my fault, I agreed to make restitution for the tire, paying for it in three payments from my small salary.

The service station owner shook my hand, telling me that many would not have been trustworthy enough to live up to the agreement as I had done. 

My passenger during the accident was an elderly man who thought I should consult a lawyer and so took me to meet Fausto Yturria in his upstairs office downtown.

The two elderly men swapped stories for a few minutes, but Mr. Yturria had no interest in taking my "case," not even a fender bender, simply a punctured tire and no injuries.

Mr. Yturria was funny as Hell, shaking his head when I told him the accident was my fault.

"No, no no!" he started.  

"The driver of that Mustang was distracted by a teenage girl in a miniskirt and ran into your car.  He caused the accident," the old land baron said.

Then, before we left his downtown office, Yturria got serious.

"Son, I'm gonna give you some advice.  Buy land!" he admonished.

Although Mr. Yturria declined my case, he had another option in mind, mentioning that his grandson had just finished law school and could use the "experience," so I went to see the much younger Yturria.

The new lawyer, the grandson, perhaps two years older than me was not appreciative of his grandfather sending him new business and when I mentioned who had sent me, replied: "That son of a bitch!"

"That's your grandfather!" was all I could muster in reply.

"I know, but he's a son of a bitch!" the younger Yturria responded, then asked me how much it would be worth to "get out of this ticket?"

The younger Yturria then described a scenario that would cost me "$800.00."  He would get the judge drunk at a party, take pictures and shame him into rescinding the ticket.

To that plan, I simply said "no thanks!" and that I would pay the ticket.

"Good decision!" replied Fausto Yturria's grandson.