Olvera Street

Before the traffic and highways, before the movie studios and fancy shops and restaurants, before anything that would really identify the city as what it is today, Los Angeles was a small village known to its inhabitants as El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Angeles del Rio de Porciuncula (The Village of Our Lady, Queen of the Angels of the River Porciuncula). It was a tiny settlement of Spanish settlers founded in the area not far from where the 60, 5, 101, and 710 freeways converge. The area remained under Spanish rule until Mexico’s independence (not May 5th) and became part of these United States in 1848. Los Angeles was a sleepy little town with some farm land and cattle ranches, but was not a commercial center. The city lacks a natural port, mineral or fuel reserves, steady rain or irrigation, or anything that makes a major city like New York, San Francisco or Chicago. The city was mostly built on advertising hype and promises of sunshine- for a great look at how Los Angeles was “made” read Carey McWilliams’ Southern California: An Island on the Land. But before the great influx of so many diverse peoples and cultures, before the railroads and the cars brought people from all over, it was a small gathering of adobe buildings, a church, and a red brick plaza. Remnants of this land before America still exist in the heart Downtown Los Angeles at Olvera Street, the oldest street in the city.

As the city grew into the 20th century and the focus was on modernization and growth, Olvera Street, originally known as Wine Street (or Vine Street), fell into disrepair and became, at best, a dirt alley the hidden and neglected in the towering shadows of progress. During this time thousands of people were running towards the American Dream from all over the world and for most Mexicans the destination was Los Angeles.

There would be no Olvera Street today if not for the efforts of Christine Sterling, a wealthy socialite from San Francisco who was residing in the Chavez Ravine area. There were plans for the area to be razed when she took notice of the area in 1926. The place was dark and dirty and home to the element of society that seeks out dark and dirty places. But beneath the dank and din she noticed the Plaza Church that had been built in 1822. She also must have realized that the ancient adobe structure in the center was the home of Francisco Avila, a wealthy ranchero and one-time mayor of Los Angeles. His home was built in 1818 making that particular building the oldest residence within the city limits. Miss Sterling recognized what the street would have been in its heyday realized what a shame it would be to have the oldest and possibly most culturally significant part of the city torn down. Having the money and connections to get real results one can say that she single handedly saved Olvera Street from Los Angeles. She got word to Harry Chandler, who ran the LA Times, got up in front of the City Council, and even managed to get prison inmates to assist with the project. Sterling envisioned a thriving marketplace that would be a romantic cultural center for Mexican and Los Angeleno history. And she was right.

In the end the entire marketplace was rebuilt into a thriving Mexican American marketplace. She even lived in the Francisco Avila Adobe house up until her death in 1963. Today it is designated as a Historic Landmark. Some of my fondest childhood memories come from when my parents would take my brother and I along to a particular restaurant called La Luz del Dia where we would climb the staircase along side the kitchen where we would peer over the railing to watch the women clap balls of masa between their palms to make the delicious tortillas that accompany every dish. Olvera Street has some of the best taquitos, champurrado, tamales, menudo… you name it, you’ll find it- and it will be pretty tasty. There are shops of all kinds from candles and cheap toys to leather goods and candy stores. There are frequent tours, shows, lectures, and events being held all the time.

When I was in grade school I remember our class went on a field trip to Olvera Street by train. We took the train from the Fullerton Train Station to Union Station just across the street from Olvera. It was fun at the time but now that I’m older I realize that my school is much closer to Los Angeles than it is to Fullerton but I guess it was just part of the experience. A couple of other fantastic places to visit near the antique alley are Philippe’s, the home of the French Dip Sandwich (watch out for the hot mustard), the aforementioned Union Train Station, The Museum of Contemporary Art is nearby, as are numerous theaters and concert halls like the Disney Concert Hall. Amid all the hustle and bustle, the offices and cars and museums and everything else going on at such a fast pace all around Los Angeles, everyone should make at least one pilgrimage to see where it all started.

It Isn't Independence Day?

With Cinco de Mayo fast approaching I am reminded of the many times my grandparents would regale me with stories of how when the holiday would roll around, back in the old country, they would round up the kids, my parents and aunts and uncles and cousins, and head over to El Torito or Chevy’s or TGIFridays to drink margaritas and take shots of Cuervo Gold, or maybe head over to Chili’s to celebrate around an order of skillet queso. Yes, these are the time honored traditions used to celebrate Mexican independence day.

OK, here’s the thing about that: May 5th is not Mexican Independence Day. Beyond that, I’ve already been over what a cheap and disgusting swill that is the product of Jose Cuervo. Those chain “neighborhood grills” and cantinas… their celebrations for “Drinko de Mayo” are somewhat less than authentic. And lastly, Cinco de Mayo is not really a widely celebrated holiday in Mexico and here’s why-

Imagine you are in Canada in the winter, say mid-January, and while strolling through the exciting and inviting streets of Toronto you notice lots of red white and blue adorning the windows and doors of many of the shops and restaurants with exciting fliers promoting festivities on January 26th with promises of Jack Daniels and apple pie and cheeseburgers, you’d probably want to know what it was all about so you ask one of the natives. Eh, he’d reply, what’s all this shite aboot, you say? Why it’s the 26th of January, of course! Isn’t that American Independence Day, eh? What a hoser- you don’t even know your own holidays! January 26th, for all of you non-history majors, is the end of the Battle of New Orleans which was the last major battle in the War of 1812. It’s significant because it was an American victory in a war where the British pretty much bitch slapped us, and also because the battle took place after the war was over (no email in those days). But despite the significance of that particular battle, not really significant in the long run to American history. There was no territory that was won or lost. There were no advantages or advancements made. It really has no real bearing on modern America whatsoever except that it ushered in an era of national pride for several years until the eruption of the civil war. Cinco de Mayo is sort of the same thing.

Mexico’s Independence Day is September 16th. It’s a national holiday and celebrated nationwide. Cinco de Mayo is celebrated somewhat in the state of Puebla because it commemorates the Battle of Puebla in 1862 where the Mexican Army, which was more like a militia made of farmers and laborers, held off the invading French Army. The Mexicans were greatly outnumbered by a better equipped opponent who had not been defeated in 50 years. Since then, no country in the Americas has been invaded by a country from another continent.

Despite the great victory on this day there are a few reasons why the holiday is virtually ignored south of the border. First, is defeating the French really that big of an accomplishment? Not so much. But beyond that, the Battle of Puebla merely delayed the inevitable. Soon after that battle the French sacked Mexico City. Within a year the French occupied Mexico and installed their own guy, Maximilian I, as Emperor of Mexico. And the reason the Mexicans were at war with the French in the first place is not exactly the most honorable reason to go to war: the Mexicans stopped paying money they owed to France. Mexico owed money to several countries and stopped paying all of them because there simply wasn’t any to pay. France originally attacked to force payment of the debt but decided to take over instead- think of the current state of the auto industry, banks, and health care system. So, no, it was not a battle with great and long lasting results for the Mexican people. Eventually France was pressured by the United States to get off our continent and by 1867 they made their way out. Maximilian was deposed and executed as well. Moral of the story: be careful when you borrow money; don’t be French.

So clearly there is plenty of reason as to why this is not a point of pride in Mexico outside of Puebla. But why the prevalent celebration in America? That answer isn’t so clear. Some say Americans have been commemorating the date since 1863, just one year after the battle, to acknowledge the Mexican resistance against France. Beyond that it seems to have become one of those days that, while seemingly arbitrary in America, is used as an excuse to celebrate one particular culture and a reason to drink very very much. Like St. Patrick’s Day, Chinese New Year, or Oktoberfest, on Cinco de Mayo everyone can be a little bit Mexican (except in Arizona where the new Juan Crow law states you had better have your papers on you if you intend to go around supposing to be Mexican).

EricV123 is not a big believer in partying on May 5th because it doesn’t really mean that much to me. Again, were any of you out celebrating on January 26th? But if you must exude your mexicanity I do have a couple of recommendations. If you are in Los Angeles head on over to Olvera Street, the oldest street in California, for some genuine Mexican-American culture and some of the best taquitos and handmade tortillas ever. In San Francisco go see what the Mission has to offer. If you are in Phoenix, stay inside lest you get rounded up and deported for not having your identification on you. Also, on the west side of LA, head on over to Pink Taco, a Mexican-American themed cantina at the Westfield Shopping center on the border of Century City and Beverly Hills. Tell Amy the bartender that EricV123 sent you. You’ll recognize her by her big… uh… eyes.

Just don't be these guys.

Beware The Red Grasshopper!

If you were born after 1985 and did not have an aunt or grandmother who watched Spanish language television, you probably have no idea who El Chapulin Colorado is. For a more contemporary example in the English speaking, American world he has been caricatured on The Simpson’s by the loveable Bumblebee Man. As for yours truly, I remember spending hours in front of the television, many of them over the years, literally rolling on the floor laughing (this was many years before “rofl” was used as an expression [or the existence of IM or text message for that matter]) at the heroic antics of El Chapulin.

So who is El Chapulin Colorado? His name translated means “The Red (colored) grasshopper”. An interesting side note is that the word for grasshopper in this case, chapulin, as actually exclusive to Mexican use. Its etymology comes from an Aztec or Nahuatl word according to the infallible resource, Wikipedia. The Spain-Spanish word for grasshopper is saltamontes. But El Chapulin is more than just his name- he’s a superhero. Sort of. He is recognized by his red and yellow costume (no cape), marvelous antennae, and his heroic chest adorned by a yellow heart bearing the letters “CH”, but believe you me, he is much better than sugar. He also wields a hammer, not unlike the Mighty Thor, called his chipote chillon (squeaky mallet). No matter where his adventures took him he was instantly recognized. Seriously. It could be the past or the present. It could be London or China. It could be the planet Venus. He could be fighting martians… They all know and respect El Chapulin. His powers seem to include, but are not limited to: flight, teleportation, and his vinyl antennae would blink whenever trouble was near- a grasshopper sense, if you will.

Despite all of his noble attributes, most of his success in battling evil doers came by chance, mistake, or simple coincidence. Think Real American Hero, but more brilliant. He even had his own introduction and set of catchphrases to assist in his heroic witty banter. He was introduced, Más ágil que una tortuga, más fuerte que un ratón, más noble que una lechuga, su escudo es un corazón... ¡Es el Chapulín Colorado!
(More agile than a turtle, stronger than a mouse, nobler than lettuce, his shield is a heart... It's the Red Grasshopper!)

Some of his choice lines include:
• "¡Síganme los buenos!" ("Good guys, follow my lead!") — as he would sometimes later on walk into a wall or fell from where he was standing. It would occasionally prompt the villains to say later on "¡Síganme los malos!" ("Bad guys, follow my lead!")
• "Lo sospeché desde un principio" ("I suspected it all along") — which he would say after someone pointed out something obvious that he had missed
• "Lo hice intencionalmente, para..." ("I did it intentionally, to...")- to justify a dumb action, for example: "I did it intentionally to calculate the resistance of the wall", after walking straight into it.
• "Todos mis movimientos están fríamente calculados" ("All my movements are coldly calculated") – his explanation for falling on his face, breaking something valuable, etc. May be spoken stand-alone, but always follows the previous quote.
• "Se aprovechan de mi nobleza" ("They take advantage of my nobility") — which he would usually say after an insult, like "We should've called Superman or Batman...", or when he is forced to do something against his will)
• "Yo opino..." ("In my opinion...") — a phrase always left unfinished because someone always interrupts him. Sometimes with "¡No opines, Chapulín!" ("Don't give your opinion, Grasshopper!"), but mostly with others insisting on their point, not letting him bring it up again.
• Also, in trying to provide advice, he would take two traditional two-part Spanish sayings and mix them up, always beginning with "Como dice el viejo y conocido refrán..." ("As the old and well-known saying goes..."). For example, "Cría cuervos y te sacarán los ojos" ("Raise crows and they'll pluck your eyes out"; i.e., what goes around comes around) and "Crea fama y échate a dormir" ("Make a name for yourself and then go to sleep"; i.e., once you have made a reputation for yourself, things will take care of themselves) become "Cría cuervos y echate a dormir... No, no, no... Crea buena fama y te sacaran los ojos... No... (in this part, he begins to mix both wrongly said quotes creating an elongated phrase confusing both himself and his listeners) "Bueno, la idea es esa." ("Raise ravens and then go to sleep... No, no, no... Make a good name for yourself and they'll peck out your eyes... No... (in this part, he begins to mix both wrongly said quotes creating an elongated phrase confusing both himself and his listeners) Well, that's the idea.")
• "Que no cunda el pánico" ("Nobody panic") would become "Que no panda el cúnico" ("Pabody nonic").

His show originally started running in 1970 in Mexico. It was aired for many years to follow in countries all over the world. It was actually a pioneer in using Chroma-Key (blue screen) visual effects that might look cheesy now but at the time were about as cutting edge as it got. After the initial run of half-hour shows, El Chapulin eventually found his way into doing miniature adventures and skits on the show, El Chavo del Ocho, which is a whole other animal.
I encourage you to learn more about Mexico’s greatest superhero at http://www.chespirito.org/.

Here's a classic clip concerning the mystery of the missing eggs. Trust me... this was groundbreaking stuff.

Snack Time

I’ve never eaten a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

There. I said it.

Every time I tell someone that little tidbit about myself it is met with stares of disbelief: widening eyes, mouth slightly agape, if they are holding a mug sometimes it will fall from their loosened grip and crash to the floor, coffee with the pungent scent of bourbon splashing about (my friends are drinkers)… People look at me as though I were raised on another planet. “How can you have never eaten a PB&J?” they ask. “You’re lying, you liar! Why would you lie like that?”

But it’s true. I’ve never had that staple of American snacks. I don’t think I had a grilled cheese sandwich until I was in my early teens, either. I’m not one for apple pie or bagels and other people find that distressing as well. For that matter, I’ve never watched an entire episode of the Brady Bunch either. This fact is often met with accusations of being a communist sympathizer.

So the question is, what did I eat?

My folks will be the first to tell you that I was an extremely finicky eater. Everything had to be as plain and boring as a meal at Applebee’s. Hamburgers, just the meat and the bun. Pizza, everything peeled off they slice from the cheese and toppings to the sauce- it may as well have been a tortilla with a hint of tomato. No seafood. I hated trying new things. Luckily much has changed in that respect since my childhood and I am a big fan of food. If it walks on God’s green earth, I’ll probably eat it someday.

The snacks I ate as a child were, despite my Orange County upbringing, rooted in my ancestry. With mom and dad at work all day, my brother and I would spend our days away from school with our grandmother. Our snacks were flour tortillas with butter, bean burritos, or maybe a quesadilla from time to time. Nothing takes me back like a flour tortilla heated over the range until it gets a slightly crispy and flakey texture, then smothered with butter and rolled tightly with a napkin at the bottom to keep the butter from dripping out. Sopa de fideo was another one. It’s just a simple noodle soup but the preparation is distinctly Mexican. You take some vermicelli noodles and brown them up in a sauce pan, from there you add some water and tomato sauce or paste or puree or however you want to make it. It can have onions, ground beef, chili, garlic… it can be made any number of ways but I just remember the way my grandma makes it.

My grandmother on my father’s side, whom I see less frequently, is one of the most amazing cooks who has ever existed. Her tortillas are the stuff dreams and clogged arteries are made of. When you throw them on the skillet, usually a blackened cast-iron pan that has a permanent home over one of the burners on any Mexican family stove, you can actually hear the tortilla sizzle from the amount of shortening she uses. Her tamales, gorditas (smaller, fat tortillas that are either topped or filled with meat, cheese, beans, or whatever you like), her refried beans, they’re to die for. And these were just the simple snacks she made. When it came time for the big events, holidays and birthdays, she really went all out.

Of course there are also the little store bought snacks, some of which I really enjoyed, others I did not. While the ice-cream man did drive through the neighborhood we just as often sought the paleta cart at the park after a soccer game or on a sunny afternoon at Leg Lake park. A cool and refreshing Orange Bang (or Lemon Olé or Piña) was the drink of choice at the Green Burrito before it was purchased by Carl’s Jr. At Super A Foods, particularly the one in Pico Rivera, across from Smith Park, one could get some pan dulce, some saladitas, maybe some Nila wafers or choco-milk to accompany your Pan Bimbo… My mom says she used to like the pickled pig’s feet as a child but I just think that is pretty wretched.

So I may not know PB&J and I may have been a late comer to grilled cheese sandwiches, but I knew all about tortillas with butter, bean burritos and the Chapulin Colorado.

Loteria!

There is a reason Bingo is typically played by senior citizens in the rec-room of a church on Saturday afternoons. It’s boring. You sit around with your marker or checks and your squares of cardboard with numbers scattered randomly over it. Someone up at the front of the room tumbles a container of numbered ping pong balls and drones out a new number every few moments. You sit and wait. You sit and stare, listening for the chance to mark a number on your square, passing the time, letting it float away while you engage in an activity just captivating enough to keep you from falling asleep… Someone gets five numbers in a row or column or angle and then you start it all over again as you wait out the last remaining moments of your life that comes in between your nightly, blissful release of sleep. Bingo is depressing.

But it doesn’t have to be! Imagine if instead of calling a number like B-12, the person drawing recited a poem. Your card, rather than a grid of numbers resembling an Excel spreadsheet, is full of colorful drawings so familiar that they have become iconic representations that you now find on t-shirts and posters. Imagine if Bingo were fun! This is the game of Loteria.

The basic premise of the game is exactly like Bingo. You get a card with a 4x4 grid of colorful drawings of items, people and animals. Rather than pulling ping-pong balls out of a bucket there is a deck of cards that corresponds to the pictures on your board. And just like its boring, American counterpart, the goal is to get a row or a column or an angle across the board. Oh yeah, and rather than using a marker or a check, my family always uses pinto beans to mark our progress but you can also use bottle caps or little rocks or anything you like.

Loteria is Spanish for lottery and the first games of this type came over from Spain in the 1700s. At first they were hobbies of the wealthy but eventually they found their way in local fairs and parties. Different companies and artists have over time put their own spin on the characters and the cards, just as has been done with playing cards for poker or variations on the Monopoly board game. However, the most popular and enduring set, the Loteria game that EVERYONE has and plays and is familiar with is made by Pasatiempos Gallo, SA de CV (known as Don Clemente Inc in America). They have been producing the game since 1887.

When playing, rather than just naming the item or character on the card that has been drawn, it is not uncommon for the speaker to use a riddle or poem to describe it. For instance, the poem associate with El Borracho, The Drunk goes:

¡Ah, qué borracho tan necio, ya no lo puedo aguantar!
Oh, what a foolish drunk, I can no longer stand him!
For El Violoncello:

Creciendo se fue hasta el cielo, y como no fue violín, tuvo que ser violoncello.
He rose up to the heavens, and since there was no violin, he had to play the cello

These are not the most profound little sayings, but they’re fun and can be improvised in any way.

Loteria is a fun and simple game where all of my cousins can play together on Christmas or Thanksgiving. This is not so with the Wii where we can only play four at a time at best. No, no, we need something that can get around ten people of all ages, all at once. You can also mix it up by betting on which card will be drawn, playing several boards at once, and of course, making it into a drinking game. Mexicans typically don’t need a game to drink but I guess for those of you who aren’t Mexican (and just supposed to be) you can add this to your themed party along with a piñata and a sombreros next to the margarita machine. Though if you really want to make your party authentic, kill a pig in the morning and make some delicious carnitas in the evening… I dare you. Oh yeah, and save the blood for cooking.

Zoot Suit Riot

The Zoot Suit should probably fall under the category of “I was supposed to be Mexican” rather than “I am supposed to be Mexican” but it carries a certain relevance because it is a huge part of Mexican-American history that I have alluded to in other posts. Zoot suits are basically just like any other suit, characterized by a jacket, trousers, sometimes a vest, and often worn with a nice woven shirt and topped off with a hat, often a felt hat or a fedora, and finished off with a gold chain and pointy leather shoes. There is the play, Zoot Suit, which was turned into a film starring Edward James Olmos (see: American Me; see: Stand and Deliver) about the Zoot Suit Riots that took place in Los Angeles during World War II.

The zoot suit, or traje pachuco, was co-opted by Mexican youths from the black community. Black celebrities like Cab Calloway and various jazz musicians during the Harlem Renaissance wore the suits, which they called “drapes,” were aptly characterized by a young Malcom X: “a killer-diller coat with a drape shape, reet pleats, and and shoulders padded like a lunatic’s cell.” A variation of the suit was also worn in 1930s England by teenagers who called themselves “Teddy boys”. Their zoot suits were often brightly colored and had velvet lapels to which all I can say is… well, just leave it to the British to do something like that.

Pachuco’s adopted the style and to this day maintains an influence in Mexican culture in America, particularly in Southern California. Those who “lean like a cholo” do so because the original pachucos leaned back to maintain those pleats in their slacks. The late 90s saw a brief mainstream revival of the style and attitude, again centered in Los Angeles, during what has been called the swing revival/cocktail movement when big bands and swing music were again en vogue; Swingers is a great example of the era. The origin of the name “Zoot Suit” is probably from the hard “s” sound that native Spanish speakers might use when pronouncing the word “suit” in English and thus is simply the same word repeated twice, once with a heavy Spanish accent and once without.

Dodger Stadium sits on Chavez Ravine where many Mexican immigrants used to reside. During the Great Depression there was already a great deal of racial tension as many Americans felt that these immigrants were taking jobs away from them. I’m glad to see that we’ve come so far since then. Outside of Mexico, Los Angeles had the highest concentration of Mexicans, and most of them were relegated to the poorest areas and because of discrimination and propaganda were seen as invading outsiders and were forced to work for very low wages. Just like every oppressed culture before and since, these Mexicans created and preserved their own culture- style, dance, language, and dress, which for the youths was all about the zoot suit. Beyond that there were a couple of events that brought Los Angeles to the boiling point.

In 1942 nine men were accused of murdering Jose Diaz at Sleepy Lagoon. This is the story that is the focus of the play, Zoot Suit. During the trial, in order to prevent the defendants from “misleading the witnesses,” none of them were permitted to wash or cut their hair or change their clothes. The nine were convicted and sentenced to long prison sentences though eventually each conviction was overturned. Of course this is the very short version of the case and I highly recommend everyone to take a deeper look into this very interesting case.

The second incident occurred on May 30, 1943. Many military personnel were stationed in Southern California, most of them on their way to the war in the Pacific. No one knows who threw the first punch but there was an altercation between some sailors and some pachucos that led to the start of the riots four days later. June 3, 1943 a group of sailors again got into a fracas with a group of pachucos, this time the sailors claimed they had been jumped, and with this last straw the LAPD jumped into the fray. Hundreds of servicemen and both on and off-duty police officers jumped into pick-ups and taxi cabs and went around beating up and arresting anyone and everyone who looked Mexican or was wearing a zoot suit. Zoot suits were torn off of whoever was wearing them and burned in the street. At this, the Zoot Suits decided to fight back and for the next several days were the Zoot Suit Riots.

More than 150 people were injured and 500 “latinos” were arrested, charged with everything from vagrancy to rioting. The local press extolled the attacks by the servicemen for the cleansing effect of their attacks. Zoot suits were banned by a city ordinance. The press called it a suppression of criminal acts by the Mexican community. When First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt called them what they were, race-riots resulting from long term discrimination against Mexican-Americans, the Los Angeles Times wrote a scathing editorial, accusing Mrs. Roosevelt of having communist ties and stirring up race discord.

Eventually, like powdered wigs and cravats, zoot suits simply fell out of fashion. They are still worn from time to time by pachucos and vatos who want to dress up. And shops like El Pachuco in Fullerton provide a wide array of colors and accessories. But clearly the zoot suit was more than just a mode of fashion, at least for a time. Zoot suits were a marker of rebellion to some, and an indicator of identity to others. Whether it was worn to provoke or inspire is regardless of the fact that they are some sharp looking suits.

If a bunch of guys from the city want to be hoodlums or thugs, join a gang or cause trouble, or just be part of a scene, there really isn’t much I can do affect that. But I’ve got to tell you, I would much rather see a bunch of guys hanging around in suits, even if they are ill-fitting suits, than pants that could house several animals, and prints in which a clown would feel silly. At least you can respect someone who takes pride in how they dress.

El Cholo

If you’ve lived in, visited, or even just driven through East LA, you’ve probably seen a cholo. Cholo culture has many aspects and variations on the style. Sometimes a cholo will have a shaved head. Or he might have a long black mane pulled back in a tight ponytail. A mustache is not uncommon. Various tattoos may adorn the cholo’s body, usually in tribute to Nuestra Senora, the Raiders, his own last name, or a picture of his heina. Baggy clothes are also the norm but the style of loose fitting clothing is quite different from the urban hip-hop scene. When a vato wants to look good, he doesn’t look for baggier clothing and shiny, plastic bling. No, the vato is more likely to use some extra Tres Flores in his hair, make sure his mustache is trimmed, and while the clothes may still be oversized, he’ll want to look sharp which means pressed trousers, clean shoes, a starched shirt with suspenders, and a small gold chain that is visible when the vato leans back and looks out at the world before him. Casual wear consists of khaki chinos or very long shorts, Dickies that reach to or below the mid-calf, a white t-shirt or tank top, and on top of that maybe a long sleeve shirt that is only buttoned at the top. You can find him in a low-rider Chevy or Cadillac, on a low-rider bicycle, or kicking rocks. A bandana over the forehead, low to the eyes is typical as well, as is a hairnet, but of course not both at the same time. Plaid flannel jackets come out when the weather gets cold. Oh yeah, and knee-high white tube socks. Can’t forget the socks.

Cholo style is heavily associated with gang culture and this association is not unfounded. I’ve got a few primos who got into their fair share of trouble coming up in East LA. Luckily my parents had the drive and ability to see to it that their progeny did not grow up calling one another “ese”. Despite the bad seeds who might ruin a party, these are the guys with tear-drop tattoos and a big black 13 on their chest, there is some overlap with legitimate styles and cultures like the low-rider scene, various styles of art including graffiti art like Chaka and the tattoo art of the Mister Cartoon. A great example of how these characteristics merge with various aspects of black culture and Caucasian “style” would be to take a look at the Long Beach Dub scene that was enormously popular in the west coast during the late 1990s. But for a good, hard look at how the Mexican street gang culture has pervaded a segment of society, watch the 1993 film Blood In, Blood Out (Bound By Honor) or American Me from 1992.

The etymology of the term “cholo” is somewhat ambiguous and the way I am defining it is exclusive to the southwest, Southern California in particular. Anywhere else the term is used it is generally meant to refer to indigenous peoples, those of mixed race, and in its first written usage going back to the early 1600s was synonymous with “mulatto”. During the ethnic power movements of the 1960s the term was used as a point of pride but in general the title has negative connotations. Prior to that, the cholo scene seems to have evolved out of the pachuco fashion from the 1940s. I’ll spend some time on the Zoot Suit in the future, but this appears to be the starting point for what would become cholos. This is why the fancier cholos will wear the creased pants and may go for the fedora over the bandana from time to time.

Cholos like to drink and smoke (it’s not all Cheech and Chong but that is the ideal). If they are in a gang or rely on the streets to survive then it isn’t likely that they have finished high school- these are of course generalizations and not hard and fast rules. As such they will have their own localized method of speech, a spanglish all its own. This isn’t the typical spanglish where one might say carro instead of coche, or always answer with “que” when “mande usted” would be more appropriate. No, this is more like saying “watcha,” or “trucha”. They’ve also got a penchant for mariachi music though everyone has always got their own taste, from hip-hop to reggae and rock. And of course, there are the women, the cholas.

Oh, the cholas. A cholo likes a girl whose hair looks wet but when you touch it, it’s crunchy. Dark lipstick, eyebrows that were drawn in with pencil (or a Sharpie marker), and clothing not terribly dissimilar to their male counterparts; these styles have actually found their way into the mainstream as they have at times been picked up by pop stars like Gwen Stefani, Fergie, and Kat Von D. Typically the cholas are girlfriends or sisters of cholos but they have been known to be some pretty rough and tumble chicas in their own right.

So what do you do if you run on to a cholo or group of cholos? For the most part, just like anyone else you pass by on the street if you ignore them they will ignore you. But if by chance they want to engage in scintillating conversation they are likely to ask you where you are from. They are not planning a trip soon, nor are they eager to exchange pleasantries about the subtle differences from one sociological sample to the next. If a cholo asks you where you’re from your reply should always be “Nowhere. I’m from nowhere”. Just wanted to give you a heads up on that one. In the event you believe you will be deep in cholo territory for any extended period of time you may want to have some Raiders gear on or near you at all times so that a) they may take you for one of them, or b) you can give it as a peace offering or use it to distract them while you pull the knife out of your leg.

Also, don’t let their love of all things Raiders fool you into thinking you can have a chat with them about the NFL. You must never talk to them about football in any greater depth than by simply saying you love the Raiders. This is for two reasons: the Raiders suck and haven’t had a winning season in nearly a decade, and despite their professed adoration for them, cholos don’t know shit about the Raiders other than the colors and the logos.

Also, do not confuse the cholos I've described here with the Los Angeles and La Habra restuarant, El Cholo, which serves a delightful deep fried ice-cream.