When I first came to Mexicali, I went on the invitation of my next-door neighbor to a dark, seedy downtown bar.    When I say “seedy”, I mean it was small, not-so-clean, and a little bit unfriendly.   There was just like four  people in there.  Actually, there was just the three.  The moment my neighbor and I  sat down for a beer,  he was already telling me,   Ahorita vuelvo.  He was going to be right back, he said, as he walked out the front door.  This left me there  with  a young guy in a v-neck t-shirt who was cleaning glasses behind the bar and  a guy wearing a baseball cap and over-sized glasses sat in a wheelchair underneath a big Caguamas sign.  Nobody was talking to me.  Nobody was looking at me.  Jesus Christ, it was like  I was invisible.

Because I had no idea if or when my neighbor was coming back and there was no one to talk to.  I didn’t know what to do with myself, so I  started looking at the hundreds of pictures on display.  It was dark in there, man.  But in the harsh gray  light of an overhead bulb, it looked like every inch of counter, wall, and door space was covered with black and white photos.  I say black and white, but many of them were yellowed with age.  Some curling up.  Lots of them hanging crooked.   A few of them signed.  Pictures of boxers, singers and politicians.  I got off my barstool and circled the pool table and walked down a hallway.  Mexicali’s own Lupita Jones – Miss Universe 1991 – showed up three or four times in different sizes and different poses.  

Here is why remember this bar and why I’m writing this today:   It  was this one  guy and his girlfriend in the photo in a hallway that  led to the bathrooms.  They weren’t Mexicans.  Far from it.   The man and woman in this  yellowed, dog-eared 8 X10 photo look like something straight out of The Great Gatsby.    The woman – a total “flapper”  -   she’s wearing a knit dress with a white checked pattern against a dark blue or black background.  She’s beautiful.  She’s staring confidently at the camera  like she knows it.  Her left arm is hooked in the arm of a man who looks equally as impressive.  He’s dressed in an open-collared shirt and sporty trousers.  He’s got a big smile on his face.   Together they look like something out of a movie.   

I had asked the other two guys in the bar if they could tell me who this guy was in the picture,  but they just kind of stared at me like I was from another planet.   Okay, I said to myself.  Some of these Mexicans are not used  hearing a Gringo speak Spanish, and that’s kind of weird in itself  considering how close we were to the border. We were in a barrio called Pueblo Nuevo.  The “fence” is two blocks away.   When my neighbor finally came back, I asked him who this guy was in the picture.  “That’s Rodolfo Valentino,” he said.   That’s when the guy behind the bar spoke up.  “No lo conoce? (You don’t know him?)  Everyone knows that.  “He’s famous,”  said the guy in the wheelchair.  “He’s the Latin Lover. “

Now everyone is looking at me.  Like they just couldn’t believe this  pinche gringo.  “I thought everyone knew that,” one of them said.

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All right, that’s why I’m putting this down on paper.  Since that afternoon I became curious of why such a big star like Rudolf Valentino – someone who had the money and the opportunity  to go anywhere he wanted – why  would he choose Mexicali to get married? He came to Mexicali from Palm Springs because he and his woman were so much in love they couldn’t wait.  There is a story behind a story there.  In my readings, I learned about a California law that made couples wait five days to wed after submitting an application for a marriage license.  This was otherwise known as “the gin law.”  The idea was to allow participants the time to sober up before they exchanged vows.  But in places like Mexicali and Yuma, you could get married five minutes after you crossed the border.   Jean Harlow – The Blonde Bombshell – did it.  So did Tom Mix, Hollywood’s first cowboy superstar.

I don’t know how this anecdote is going to come out, but one day I’m going back to this bar and tell these Mexicans about the real reason Rodolfo came to Mexicali.   No lo sabian?   I’m going to tell them. Come on!