One day Louis’ older brother
drops by the Indian Grill,
and we take a break from bussing dishes.
Carlos wears a wavy D.A.,
greets us with a scarred hand.
Louis tells me his brother
wanted to marry, needed a job.
No one would hire him
because of the tattoo
between his left thumb and forefinger.
So Carlos drove north of town,
up into Austin Bluffs, used his pistol
to shoot the cross and rising sun
clean off.
His hand healed OK. He got
a decent job, but his blonde
wife’s father still
hates him.
Colorado Springs, 1957
Wikipedia will tell you that the Pachuco “youth movement” grew out of Mexico in the 1930s and 40s. Think zoot suits and a whole life style. Along the Mexican border, young Hispanics (as Pachucos) defended themselves from some of the white servicemen stationed in that area. By the mid-fifties the movement had spread all through the Hispanic southwestern U.S. It evaporated by the early 70s.
In Colorado Springs, us white kids were afraid of Pachucos, or “Chukes” (”They carry knives,” we told each other). I suspect the local Hispanic kids–who hung together, looked different, and were not all angels–were more “wannabes.” The homemade, commonly seen “cross and rising sun” hand tattoo was probably more of a cultural referent. However, among whites, including the local small business community, it was the sure mark of a “trouble maker punk,” or worse.
It was only when I entered the “world of work” at 14 that the vastness, diversity, and often unfairness, of this beautiful, fucked up world began to touch me.
By the way, a “D.A.” was a “duck’s ass”, or “duck tail”, haircut. Long on the sides, coming together in a sort of V part in the back. Hispanics’ wavy dark hair looked just fine in a D.A. Some of the rest of us had less luck with this mid-50s style.
