Dealing In Slime & Rumor

By DUARDO PAZ-MARTINEZ
The Paz Files

HARLINGEN, Texas - He's been known to go off on a tangent when he gets a whiff of something gone awry, like the actions of a corrupt politician or criticism of his beloved Rio Grande Valley WhiteWings, but former newspaper editor and current blogger Jerry Deal also likes to stir the pot of bad menudo.

At present, he has let his Objective Journalism guard down and gone after Justice of The Peace Sallie Gonzalez in an indirect way, but gone after her just the same with what some would consider extreme vigor and a wholly underhanded manner. Deal has not played fair with Ms. Gonzalez.

It is not the first time Deal has wondered about her job performance or her ability to hold the job, but now he's piling on with stories (posts) in which he alludes to her, but doesn't name her. It has allowed a litany of anonymous Sallie Gonzalez wolves to attack her without mercy. We have noted Deal's approach to this particular woman before, primarily on the fairness front, writing in earlier stories about how Deal throws his ethics to the floor and simply goes after her on supposition and innuendo.

We do not endorse Ms. Gonzalez. We do not know her.

But it, too, is clear that Deal has burned her at the stake on flimsy hearsay he continues to post on his blog as credible information. Fairness would indicate that he visit with her, interview her on the issues he finds lacking and perhaps even review her caseload record to offer readers facts, not sloppy writing.

Ms. Gonzalez may indeed be the worst justice of the peace south of Kansas, but when Deal purports to be a reporter, he needs to follow the tried-and-true tenets of the profession. When we carped about the WhiteWings baseball team and its delinquent utility bill at the city-owned ballfield, Deal returned fire by asking us to "give it a rest." He never did bring pertinent info about that to Harlingen residents he insists he serves. When the team went off to the league championship in Canada towing nine players from the rival San Angelo Colts, Deal laughed it off as an "immigration" issue, one that kept a load of Hispanic players from making the trip.

That's baseball, entertainment.

His unrelenting salvos aimed at Sallie Gonzalez would be more meaningful if he included facts that would tell a reader why she is no longer fit for the job. To merely lob stink bombs at her feet and call it a citizen revolt is absurd and the game of an idle child.

Bring the goods. Hang her on wrongdoing. Note her faults. Ask that she step down or ask voters to reject her next bid to keep the office.

Only, for the sake of honesty, do it with facts. Be a real reporter.

And leave your prejudices at home. They have no place in journalism, as you know...

- 30 -

Rudolf Von Bulow Busted

By LaCandrelle Jefferson
The Paz Files

SOUTH PADRE ISLAND, Texas - A happy-go-lucky lover from way back, writer Rudolf Von Bulow offered no fight, no excuses, when the cops came for him. There he was in Room 737, out in the balcony of the island condominium, looking out into the blue waters of the Gulf of Mexico. He'd heard the knocking for a few seconds, but in his world, the world of the sophisticated world traveler, one does not answer door-banging just because it grows louder.

"Mr. Von Bulow?" the heavyset Mexican cop asked right-off.

Rudolf reportedly nodded and then asked, "What brings you boys up here on such a fine, fine morning?"

A woman had complained, he was told.

"Oh?" was Von Bulow's reply to that.

"She claims she was brought up here by you and that you wouldn't let her leave when she wanted to leave," the cop said in way too many words. Von Bulow was used to better speech. He reached for his ear and tugged at it, thinking, "What did this idiot just say?"

Seconds later, he asked, "And so?"

"We're gonna have to take you in, sir," the fat-faced cop went on. "For questioning, but we're gonna have to take you in right now. I need to tell you that you are not under arrest, but are being detained." The cop coughed nervously. Von Bulow, a tall man of harsh German ancestry smiled and said, "I'll get my coat and we'll be off."

He was at the police staion 10 minutes later, being told a 23-year-old woman by the name of Louise Herrera had filed a complaint, alleging Von Bulow had slipped her a drug or something and had his way with her. She said she remembered the room's light fading as he began to undress her on the bed. And then she said he dropped on her, forcing himself on her. The details were sketchy, as the woman said she could not remember much more.

"I am innocent of the charge," Von Bulow told a detective, according to the police report.

This happened last weekend. Saturday night, in fact. Von Bulow told detectives he met Ms. Herrera, a college student working part-time for the county, at an island bar and they seemed to hit it off quickly, the young woman being impressed by his Rolex watch and expensive Italian suit. Police quoted her saying, "I've never been with such an educated man. He is not like the Mexicans I date in Brownsville."

Von Bulow was charged with rape, but was released after he posted a $100,000 bond.

Asked about the evening's events, Von Bulow calmly recalled the encounter.

"I bought her several drinks and she loosened up nicely," he told this reporter. "I could tell she was a member of the proletariat, a woman not wise to the wiles of a travelled man. We danced a tune by Billy Ocean, I believe. Yeah, Caribbean Queen. She looked absolutely sensual in her tight blue jeans and halter top. Really, it was her drinking that did her in. They tell me she's 23 years old, so one would believe that a woman of that age knows what she's doing with a man, wouldn't you say?"

Louise Herrera declined to comment on the night in question, or on the charges filed against Von Bulow. "I'm scared," she said during a brief telephone conversation. "He is such a strong, strong man. And I'm just a lowly student studying cosmetology. I should've declined his advances, but I was on the island and the island makes women do things they wouldn't do in Brownsville."

Asked to characterize Von Bulow's lovemaking, she said, "I wish I could remember any of it, even the smallest of details..."

- 30 -

Hurry, Sundown...

"Well sure, O.K. they’re Outcast," said some of the younger gulls, "but hey, man, where did they learn to fly like that?..." - Jonathan Livingston Seagull

By DUARDO PAZ-MARTINEZ
The Paz Files

AUSTIN, Texas - For the first time in 50 years, the Rio Grande Valley has a high school football team being seen across the state as not merely the latest pretender, but as a serious contender for the Class 5A state championship.

It is a heady time in Harlingen, where the undefeated Cardinals are riding a 13-0 season that has them two victories from challenging for the elusive state title. The Valley kids take on a squad from San Antonio Madison High that has suffered four defeats this season, but is also riding the crest of a playoff winning streak. They meet Saturday in Kingsville, with the winner to take on, it appears, a tremendous team from Dallas Skyline High.

It's been more than a spell since the RGV saw a team fly the altitude these Crrdinals are currently flying. That 1961 team, from Donna, was led by a young man by the name of Luz Pedraza, who quarterbacked the Redskins in the team's victory over a tough club from Quanah in claiming the Valley's first - and only - state championship, 28-21.

These Cardinals can play defense, and they'll need it against the bigger and faster clubs still in the hunt. Six interceptions against pass-happy San Antonio Warren last Saturday in Corpus Christi - four for touchdowns. Not that the Cardinal offense is shabby, but any serious sportswriter or die-hard fan will tell you it is defense that wins the big games. Harlingen will be tested again this coming weekend, and an entire economically-depressed town awaits the result in the same manner that it forever awaits business investment. A state championship would end a bad year on a positive note. Too much craziness has fallen on Harlingen this year, including a few sad episodes in the city's politics.

Football brings a small town together like nothing else. It is doing it in Harlingen.

The kids are ready for the next challenge. Residents are planning trips only miles up Hiway 77 for the big game, and no recent dream in town compares to what the outcome of this game portends. It's a time for celebration, and, in Harlingen, that spirit of life is being accompanied by the brassy sounds of the Harlingen High band. Cardinal red is in, flashed off streamers in the school's hallways and worn with pride in town.

Just win it, boys. Play smart and play hard. Leave it all on the field. Make the RGV proud.

Some things only come around once in life...

- 30 -

Bonner Rips Critics...

"Hain't we just darned tired of the fools in our town? Hain't we got all these fools on our side?..." - Junior Bonner, 2011

By JUNIOR BONNER
The Paz Files

COMBES, Texas - Rat now, rat this moment, I'm just a-chillin'. Drinkin' this cold beer Cylantra brought me to the side of the doublewide we share, to a spot under a craggy, dying mesquite where I have a table where I have my laptop where I write muh stories. Been hearin' some serious crap about me, so I've been workin' out, as you can see in the photo of yours truly above. Never know when I'll have to throw the next uppercut.

Don't rightly know where ever'one got the idea they can just take shots at Ol' Junior. Must be some dog urine masqueradin' as beer out there, 'specially in that thar vulgarity known as Brownsville, land of brain-dead fishheads with nuthin' better to do than try to take a sack of beans to Junior's back. That's how they train wild mustangs, ya know. Hit'em with satchels of dirt or flower or beans. Takes the fight outta their muscles, yes siree.

Anyway, just want all to know that I've been a-lissening to all the bullshit comin' from the peanut gallery. I hear ya, Jim Barton, you cranky sodbuster. What, your Ol' Lady ain't givin' you any lately? That's why you're throwing chicken bones at me? Let me set you straight, you Goddamn Resaca Rat: Stay on it and see who'll be bellydancin' on your lard ass.

Don't mind a good laugh, but sumthin' tells me you ain't right.

No, sir. Man don't just get up one mornin' and decide to dump on a man he don't even know. No, that's gotta come from somewheres, like bad Marijuana from Southmost or fleamarket Viagra originally bound for Vietnam. That yore problem, Barton, you bottom-feedin' flounder?

Get offa me, son!

Yore makin' a fool of yo'self, thas what yore doin'. Don't you see it yoreself? Are you impaired? Must be. Why if anyone asked Ol Junior what I thought of youse, I'd say you look like some white-bread-fed no-account who just has no business talking 'bout rough & tough cowboy. You too nerdy lookin'. Dude, get ahold of your ass and keep it in stir. That cayuse yore ridin' musta inflicted some seroius hemorrhoids on yore arse. Ouch! Take a seat in the No. 9 Galvanized tub, son. I'll fill the damned thing with warm water and salts, so that, who knows, maybe those hemorrhoids'll move up to yore throat and give you more of a man's voice.

Bet you sound like some fat-fuck using way too much of his chest, talking like some punk-ass bureaucratic lifer workin' for some social service agency that ain't doin' shit. Gotta be. Why else would you want to throw yo'self into muh world? Clear case of penis-envy, iffa you ask me. Just another loser thinking of going Gay. Guy out to pump-up his going-nowhere life. Going Pendejo takes no talent, Jimbo. Think about it. Buck up and clear your colon and get back to writin' about those Nobodies in Browntown. You some sort of pale-faced Skin & Seven Holes?

Hey, hey. You, you. Get offa my cloud!...

- 30 -

In Big Apple, A Bummer...

By DUARDO PAZ-MARTINEZ
The Paz Files

AUSTIN, Texas - This story comes out of New York, but it could be any of a hundred other large U.S. cities. It seems, according to today's edition of The New York Times, that Mexicans are becoming more and more visible in the Big Apple, there alongside larger Hispanic communities from Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic. That is both good and not so good.

The newspaper's front page story tells the tale of failure by the Mexican newcomers to do what all Americans take for granted; that is, enroll and go to school. The Times story says most Mexicans do enroll, but they quickly drop out. Statistics listed by educators indicate as many as 41 percent of all Mexicans between the ages of 16 and 19 fail to graduate high school. Those that manage to find their way to the city's colleges chase the same trend.

In the age group of 19 to 23, only 6 percent are enrolled in college, adds the newspaper, citing census data.

It is, of course, nothing new. Dropping out of school is as much a part of the Mexican culture as is early pregnancy for its young females. I'm not telling you something altogether new.

So, why does the problem linger?

The Times notes that "many young illegal immigrants in New York City say there is no point in staying in school because their lack of legal status limits their access to college scholarships and employment opportunities. Some drop out under the erroneous belief that they are not eligible to attend college." In New York, undocumented immigrants who graduate from a high school or earn a G.E.D. are not only allowed to attend the state’s public university system, but are also eligible for in-state tuition, same as in Texas.

"They just give up," said Karina Sosa, 22, a Mexican-American undergraduate at Baruch College and an education activist told the newspaper.

Societal pressures hurt students of all ethnicities. Lack of tuition money in the home is often cited by Hispanic students, but there are ways to stick with it. Alienation plays a big part in a student's decision to leave school. Command of English, or a lack of it, also dooms young students, who give up when the subject matter becomes difficult to comprehend. It's historical. Texas educators have been fighting the dropout problems for decades. It's always Hispanic students at the top of the statistical data, always there above other ethnic groups.

Is there a solution?

The Chinese and the Italians and the Irish and most other waves of new immigrants to this country used to say they would catch up in ensuing generations. And they have.

The same can be said of Hispanics, but not a month passes when some major news publication does not print the latest story of under-achieving young Mexican students. The blame is placed on the same reasons (noted above), and the same professional educators are quoted as saying these students need tutors, encouragement and financial aid, blah, blah, blah.

One of these days, it'll be another, just-arrived ethnic group being highlighted for its failings.

For now, it is still Hispanics...

- 30 -

Bonner Buys New Wheels

By JUNIOR BONNER
The Paz Files

HOUSTON, Texas - All youse know about the vandalism on my beloved El Camino, so this'll come as no surprise. I flew up here on Monday and picked up this beauty you see in the photo above. That's me driving it off the lot, after paying good, hard cash earned while writing about losers and boozers in the Rio Grande Valley.

Lovely, ain't it?

Boy, it don't no better'n that. Why, if I set my hat on my head just right, I can imagine Cylantra riding there alongside me as we cruise the traffic lights all the way to Brownsville for a round or two. She's a spitfire, that gal. I like to say she got her temper from some mountain rebel in her home country of El Salvador. You ever mess with Cylantra De La Torre and you'll know what chicken-scratching means. I tell you. She's got a jab any goddamned welterweight boxer would kill for, especially in the RGV, where Hispanics never did learn the art of boxing, but all are born experts at knifing and shooting. Well, plus bummin' for a free beer.

Getting a new car is always a hoot. Sorta like landing a new woman. The bloom wears on your face for days, at least until you run out of gas or until the woman puts out. Once a woman puts out, well, you know where I'm headed with that one, don't you, Chumps?

In any case, I'm writing this story on my laptop while we put away a Whataburger before heading back home to Combes. Cylantra can't drive (what is it about short people and not being able to drive!), so she'll likely just sit there and work the radio dial. Love to get her a-movin' in that backseat, if you get what I'm sayin'. It's huuuuuuuuuuge, dude!

This car and a set of wings would fly me 'round the world. Big engine, big as that of a farm tractor. Gas hog, man! I'll pro'bly get - what? - seven or eight miles to the gallon. But it's driving, not just getting into a brand new Camry and acting like that's doing something. I drive like I make love, shifting it like a Mofo. Cylantra says I make love like an unchained panther, that I seem to have that kind of strength.

Man, I don't know. I just go about it the way my old man taught me: You gotta floor the gas pedal and stay on her. You gotta stay alive and alert. You gotta go deep and you gotta leave'em smilin'. Do that and you'll have a better time at it.

See ya 'round town, lads...

- 30-

The Beating Of Women

"The distraction is gone, and she can file all the appeals she wishes, who cares, she will be a citizen, who no one cares about. Well, maybe someone at La Placita might have a different view. Daisy, I am good for $50.00 for the korrry moving away fund, or as the Beatles use to sing, far, far away. I agree too many carpetbaggers in our city..." - Harlingen resident Olivia Levier Richardson

By DUARDO PAZ-MARTINEZ
The Paz Files

HARLINGEN, Texas - In Brownsville, less than 25 miles downrange from here, they throw the Sex Card at female politicians. It's always So and So's had an affair, while married, with any number of local males, usually many. They throw the dirt, and they do with gusto. Ask City Commissioner Melissa Zamora.

Here, in the sloping back of the Rio Grande Valley, the game is a bit different, but it is just as low-down and vicious. Woman elected officials get roasted right and left, for things that their male counterparts generally get away with, adultery especially.

City Commissioner Kori Marra is being shown the door today following her conviction in district court Monday on a charge of violating state ethics rules regarding governmental action. That conviction came yesterday afternoon; the blows arrived minutes later. It is a barbaric way to live, but there it is, splashed in all its raw, ripped-skin gore for all to see and enjoy.

Commissioner Marra has herself to blame for some of it. She is a single woman and, from all accounts, she partied hard. A glass of booze in her hand became the quintessential Marra photograph (see photo atop this story). They forever made the local blogging circles, where residents and other commenters quickly let her have it. She was now a loser and, in a land of losers, well, who wants losing exposed so dramatically, so publicly. Now, they want her gone, not only from the City Commission, but out of town.

What is it about the Mexican bordertowns and women? The region needs them, but it also uses and abuses them. Brownsville City Commissioner Zamora's image has segued from a string of photographs depicting her with different men to what now appears to be a settled elected official finally interested in aiding her community. Zamora's ride, however, was one of those stagecoach rolls over the bumpiest of roads. Nicknames bloggers used to characterize her never were kind, most obscene and vulgar. Ms. Marra met a similar fate after reports circulated showing her to be an oaf of sorts while performing her duties, at times declaring she would arm herself while attending city commission meetings at City hall, at others cursing at her colleagues, sometimes ignoring payroll taxes at her real estate business and finally then falling victim to the ethics violation related to a zoning proposal that saw her fail to recuse herself on a matter too close to home.

What becomes of Commissioner Marra?

Some say she was never a Harlingenite, amateur historians noting that she only moved to town to accompany her then-husband, a U.S. Border Patrol agent. Little about her past ever surfaced, with many residents not able to even name her hometown or speak about her accomplishments in school. Those who loathed her said she was a carpetbagger. Marra was attractive and she rousted the votes in her district to win election. In the end, however, she offered little in the way of a governmental vision, never really posturing ideas for the city's progress. Critics still argue she enjoyed being a city commissioner more than she worked at being one, although she would never be alone in the Valley on that count.

Still, Harlingen is left with one more blackeye to soothe.

It remains as goofy a town as it was before Kori Marra arrived. Nothing has changed. High school kids keep drinking before and after football games, gunfire flashes across gang-infested neighborhoods, the unemployed find refuge in Mexican music at the downtown bars and those colleagues of Marra's at City Hall stay their low-flying course. Not one said one word about Kori Marra's fall. It was the Ol' look-the-other-way move for the mayor.

Life is funny here. They stare at the dead carcass of yet another drug-pusher sprawled on the street curbs, but they amble on. In a town where there is no up, looking down on your troubled neighbor is the community sport...

- 30 -

How To Pick Up Women

By JUNIOR BONNER
The Paz Files

McALLEN, Texas - I got there late. When I spotted her, she was with this other smarmy dude, a rough-looking, older man who looked sickly, although it could have been the night's hard booze. This party town at 2 Ayem is a sight for gerontology nurses, that army of aging hipsters parading younger chicks is as visible as are the bouncer's bulging muscles. Romance, Valley-Style. I'm learning the ropes, man. It's all I can say now.

She looked black from where I stood at the bar. Pretty black gal, legs like the lovely actress Juliet Prowse, healthy, energetic, like they could go all night. What she was doing in the City of Palms was the mystery for me.

Was she from Houston, or Dallas? I should've walked my ass over to her side and asked. Something, however, told me the frown-faced bozos at her side were there to keep cowboys like me off her. I swear she looked like those black women in Paris, all ready for a night of lights, an hour-long dance on the dusty, wooden floor, noisy, webby love in a darkened room.

Men go through this all the time is what I hear, even here in the Rio Grande Valley of Texas. Beauty pops in at the wrong time, like when you're at Taco Palenque on N. 10th Street here, or at The Vermillion bar in Brownsville. And, invariably, these pretty birds, are with the wrong man, forever, scruffy, leather-bound clowns whose bodies and faces belong elsewhere, like in Mexican drug trade movies or the pages of a Central America nature magazine.

How does a guy make his move in the Rio Grande Valley? It's not like it is elsewhere, is what the locals like to say. In Dallas, a wink is as good as a nod; in the Valley a wink at some woman can draw gunfire. In the Big Apple, where beauty is beauty, the hook-ups at midnight yield a better crop simply because the crop is all-good, as they say.

In the RGV, a good-looking woman is as rare as a good avocado at HEB. It's a crapshoot, yes sir. So I drank on into the noisy night. A band onstage wailed away at a Rod Stewart song I hadn't heard in years. Rod Stewart in the Valley? Okay, why not?

I expected George Strait even at the tortillerias. Him, or Selena. Can't dance to Selena just yet. We'll see next year about this time. I should be dancing like the frontman of Little Joe Y La Familia. Put me in jail, baby, ha ha ha ha.

Yeah, well, I'm headed to that same Entertainment District bar tonight, to see is she's there again. What are the chances? None, I tell myself. Just another Valley mirage, a beautiful moon-lit scene in a clear driveway puddle. She's back in Chicago, for sure.

Maybe it'll be another doll catching my eye. I roll with the night, like a good ranch hand...

- 30 -

Waiting On Harlingen...

By DUARDO PAZ-MARTINEZ
The Paz Files

HARLINGEN, Texas - Saturday's tussle in San Antonio between Harlingen and Del Rio did little to assuage Rio Grande Valley football fans and their long-held opinion that local ballclubs just can't compete with northern squads. Harlingen's football Cardinals eked out a win over the Rams 37-34, setting them up for next week's game against a much-tougher San Antonio Warren club.

But what if Harlingen wins that game?

It may wish to lose and come on home.

Standing in its way to the state championship would be a strong team from Dallas Skyline, an undefeated team with NFL-like speed and muscle. Skyline would be the team to be beat in Harlingen's bracket.

After whipping a ranked team from DeSoto, 41-31, Skyline looms as a true contender for the state 5A crown, there in league with No. 1 ranked Katy and rising Euless Trinity, victor this past Saturday over former No. 2 Allen.

What's in store for Harlingen: Runaway speed and lineman in the 300-lb. range.

Well, there's also QB Devante Kincade, a 6'2", 180 jackrabbit being looked at by most major colleges in the country. Kincade has running back speed, almost that of teammate RB David Greene, a 6'1", 210 bruiser.

When on defense, the Cardinals will face a Skyline offensive line that includes Kevin Coleman (6'2", 300 lbs.), Marlon Brown (6'2", 330 lbs.) and Domenic Woods (6'2", 300 lbs.) That why RB Greene averages more than 120 yards per game. When on offense, Harlingen will face speedy linebackers in the 220-lb. weight range. Skyline's defensive linemen includes Stephan Bailey (6'3", 320 lbs.) and Mychealon Thomas (6'2", 290 lbs.) Defensive backs? Lean and mean, all fast as fire and known to hit like an avalanche of boulders.

The Skyline player shown in the photo atop this story is linebacker Peter Jinkens. He is a backer in the mold of Steelers enforcer Troy Polamalu, standing 6'1" and weighing 205 lbs.

It could be a treat to go up against a true powerhouse, but the smaller Harlingen Cardinals likely would not enjoy the whipping.

That's Dallas Skyline, a Top 10 team.

There are those who say undefeated Skyline wouldn't beat No. 1 Katy or neighbor Euless Trinity, which also says something about Harlingen's chances of winning the state title...

- 30 -

Les Miserables...

"I will tell you this - one story kills me because it tells the truth about Tony Martinez - he is as bad and unethical as the rest of them..." - Blogger Bobby Wightman-Cervantes, speaking about the mayor.

By DUARDO PAZ-MARTINEZ
The Paz Files

BROWNSVILLE, Texas - I used to think this town, this town, was the one town in America run like some low-rent laundromat in the bad side of a Mexican town. That was a few years back. These days, my image of it has mellowed. There must be a good side to it, I tell myself whenever my mind sends me that way. No, there's been no great change here in the past 50 years, nothing anyone could look at and say, "Well, now..."

Brownsville remains a town unable to bridge into the 1980s. It is a stuck 33 rpm album playing the same two tunes it has always played: I, Me, Mine and Everybody's Somebody's Fool. That's it, and don't let that online buzz about a resurgence in downtown nightclubbing fool you. That is as much a mirage as is the idea that city government will do something for the oft-whipped citizenry. That hasn't happened in modern times. Nothing of note, anyway.

Politicians still gather and laugh among themselves at the way elections are run and won here. It is a smoke & mirrors undertaking fueled by dollars slipped into some old bag's purse as the days near the voting. How many of the city's better-known politicians know of that game? All of them. Not one is free of shame, free of the stench more often associated with teh Mexican towns across the Rio Grande.

You'll notice that Brownsville never takes its fights to the streets, never raises its voice to its elected officials, never does anything to turn the wagons around, to breathe new air. It is the petri dish for a kennel full of stomp-me humans. There is no move toward something better, not at City Hall and not in the schools. The bars are refuge for the has-beens and never-weres. One cold beer erases the pain, they shoot at each other while seated on broken-down bar stools, while making excuses, while noting their aches and pains, while telling tales of how they once had a plan, a plan no one endorsed.

That is Brownsville.

If seen as a waitress in a border bar, Brownsville would be the woman in the ragged nylon dress and strap-sandals, a pink blouse and too much makeup. Brownsville would smile the smile of a weary prostitute still believing she can ply her trade, even as her legs and arms and breasts betray her. Send in the shrimpers; they're only passing through. Love is relative, a litttle is better than nothing. It's one way to know you're alive.

Something happens when one thinks of the Mexican border. It all melts into one, both sides of the mess. The reason is obvious: It is one and the same. Those people are our people; our people are their people. Si, que tal? Como esta usted? We're okay over here. Still blowing it.

A few years ago, someone threw out the idea that Brownsville could've been so much more. It could have been a world-class seaport, a tourist destination for all world travelers, a French Quarter of the sort that New Orleans offers. Never happened. The town remains the best line in a sad ballad to failure. It is a song sung only on Sunday mornings, in local churches, where the congregation is told suffering is part of the journey to Heaven.

Suffer on Earth; find glory in the Kingdom of God.

They really fell for it in Brownsville...

- 30 -

[Editor's Note:...Blogger Wightman-Cervantes, editor of BrownsvilleVoice.blogspot.com for many years, has ended his crusade against local corruption and apathy. His blog went dark Friday night...]

Bonner's Dad Blasts Valley

By RON MEXICO
The Paz Files

HARLINGEN, Texas - He drove all the way from his home in the Colorado Rockies, just to scold the Hell out of his son, but Hank Bonner, father of writer Junior Bonner, also blames the local culture for his son's errant ways. "He never had a chance in the Valley," the elder Bonner said in an interview conducted by this reporter at a local taqueria.

"Everything I hear about Harlingen is bad," he said more than once. "If it's not the men foolin' around, it's the women. I'm just glad Junior's not into that Gay Thing I also hear is, more and more, part of the local lovin' ways."

His son, perhaps the best blogger in the region, stands accused of adultery by his girlfriend of two years, Cylantra De La Torre. It was Cylantra, a native of El Salvador, who alerted Hank Bonner to his son's shenanigans. "Yeah, she called me and said she was about ready to blow his brains out," Hank Bonner said as he chewed on a fajita taco. "He deserves it, of course, but I'm down here to see if I can resolve this mess."

Junior Bonner, meanwhile, has been fingered by a third woman who says he promised to be faithful during what she alleges was a 5-year sexual affair. The woman, from Los Fresnos, does not want to be identified yet. In a telephone interview with this reporter, she said: "I loved that man, cause he was kind and he always smelled like cookies."

The two apparently met a convenience store on the road to Port Isabel, a business that employed her at the time. She now works as a hairstylist in Brownsville, where she also resides, mainly because her mother is being cared for in a local nursing home. "I may give you my name at some point," she went on. "I'm not happy that other women are coming forward, and that chick in the bikini looks like a real dog. What was Junior thinking? That effin face? She looks like she's been chasing parked cars!"

At The Paz Files, senior editors were meeting this morning to discuss Bonner's continued employment with the news website. "He could be toast by noon," said Sports Editor Willie Boy Hernandez. Political reporter George Will Garza said this, "I can overlook his penchant for booze, cause we reporters all drink like fish. But taking advantage of women is not something to be proud of, not these days. Too many Valley women fall victim to playboy wannabes, and I'm not saying that Junior is a wannabe, cause he can back up his rap, but we should not be endorsing adultery."

When told about that, Junior Bonner said, "All I can know is my own time..."

- 30 -

An American Tune...

"Anybody who thinks that it doesn't matter who's President has never been drafted and sent off to fight and die in a vicious, stupid war on the other side of the world - or been beaten and gassed by Police for trespassing on public property - or been hounded by the IRS for purely political reasons - or locked up in the Cook County Jail with a broken nose and no phone access and twelve perverts wanting to stomp your ass in the shower. That is when it matters who is President or Governor or Police Chief. That is when you will wish you had voted..." - Hunter S. Thompson

By DUARDO PAZ-MARTINEZ
The Paz Files

Austin, Texas - The picture above this story of the Pilgrims landing at Plymouth Rock on the coast of Massachusetts is one of those peculiarly American icons whose image was always larger than reality. The "rock" is no bigger than a small suitcase, still at about the spot where it was back then, still guarded by a see-through fence with a sign telling visitors not to step on it.

Perhaps that is not your quintessential image of America. To you, it could be The Alamo, or Pearl Harbor or the Sooner Land Grab, or the Empire State Building, or Disneyworld. There are enough of them after our more than 225 years of existence. But, what is today's America? I recall my girls, then very young, merely smiling at Plymouth Rock when we took them back when I wrote for The Boston Globe. They got a bigger kick out of Plymouth Village, the re-enactment of that first settlement, where actors played the parts of the newcomers and did it well.

That's not today's America, however.

No, not even close. Too much noise, perhaps a sign of our progress and our evolution from Young Nation to Aging Wonder. The USA is troubled, in civic rags, everyone grabbing for the rope up to the sinking ship. What's with this country anyway?

Daily, we are bombarded with news of this or that calamity, whether it be a police raid on that Occupy Wall Street camp, or demoralizing drops of the stock market, or strange news from Europe about its role in the falling global economy, or about or sad-sack politicians, especially the lot now posturing itself as Republican pretenders to the White House prize.

It is one bad frame after another, images of unrest and distrust and, yes, public disgust. Who to blame? Is it as simple as to say it is the rich, as do the Occupiers? Can you side by the poor on everything? Do you bank on politics to save the day? Are you one of those dreamers still believing the government will come to your rescue?

There is another national election a year from this month. The choice will be between current President Barack Obama, a Democrat, and a Republican that will come from the seven aspirants now pushing for the GOP nomination. At first glance, it would seem to be a no-brainer: the man in the White House is an educated, no-nonsense pragmatist who gets it. His opposition seems bent on turning the clock back to another time in America, a time when only some in the room got free pass to the water cooler, when only some were served by the badge.

But, it's true: we live in a strange time.

How else could we endure seeing some of these Republican idiots, like adulterer Newt Gingrich believing he could ever be president. Not even if he closes his $1 million revolving account with high-dollar jeweler Tiffany & Co.! Black businessman Herman Cain? He's never set foot in Plymouth Village, nor does he likely want to. But allegations of fondling women not his wife will not deter him from insisting his presidential timber. Not even close, Herman. Here, let me show you Libya on the map.

The others are in the same bloat, with the exception of former Masachusetts Gov. Mitt Romney, who, if looked-at closely, is a middle-of-the-road Republican and not the wild-eyed Right Winger the party seems to want at present. Romney wouldn't be bad, although he still has the Mormon thing to overcome, as does the only other sane GOP candidate, Jon Huntsman, ex-governor of Utah. No, neither will get a fair shake on that count. Not when the Republican Party desperately wants a zealot like Rick Perry, the Texas governor who can't remember much of anything. Perry's bid for the presidency is odd. He called for secession of Texas from the union last year and he promisies to abolish a slew of federal agencies if elected. What America is he after?

We are a nation of Big Thinkers. We want the best of everything, from bottled water to vehicles. We are the USA. We may be down to China in world currency, but it's still early in the game. We may have as many poor citizens as Mexico, but we allow them into our air-conditioned malls. We may have less jobs than India, but we offer our citizens a cornucopia of state and federal aid. We may import our oil and tennis shoes, but we drive hard and jog daily.

What America do you see?...

- 30 -

Bonner Admits To Adultery

"What men call gallantry, and gods adultery,
is much more common where the climate's
sultry.." - Byron, Don Juan

By AMARANTE CORDOVA
Special to The Paz Files

HARLINGEN, Texas - Saying he does not want to be lumped-in with the thousands of unimaginative, cheap-ass adulterers that populate the border region, writer Junior Bonner today acknowledged he has been having a sexual affair with a local married woman. "I am that man someone saw in the cafe this morning, yes sir, I am," Bonner said via telephone from his doublewide mobile home in Combes north of here.

Bonner, a regular contributor to The Paz Files, went on to say he is still "sorta loyal" to his longtime squeeze, Cylantra De La Torre, but noted that his affair is one he has never brought home to Combes. "I took my todger to Harlingen," he said of his sex organ. "And Cylantra will never see that other woman in our town. Ain't gonna happen, son, no."

When asked if the Harlingen woman was the first - or only - woman he'd had an affair with, Bonner said, "Boy, I'm 67 years old. What the Hell kinda question is that to ask of a roustabout like me. Course I've had many weemin! Ah ain't Gay, ya know. I work it when I'm able."

He declined to say much about the Harlingen woman, other than that she was "a firecracker in the sack," which he said is something rare in the Rio Grande Valley.

"Most of he time, local women just flop on the bed and let you go to town, if you get muh drift," he explained in between coughings. "I like them to move with me, to ride me like a wild cayuse, to throw themsleves whole-hog into the act, to bite me and to allow for all that a man can come up with in the way of pleasuring. Plus, I like to fall off the bed during sex. Just a little something I happen to enjoy."

Bonner added he has cut off the affair, but may still chat with the woman online, his daily flirtation ever since Cylantra gave him a home computer with online access last Christmas.

"Ah go with the day's flow," he threw out near the end of the telephone interview. "And, well, some days the flow just carries me along. Can't say that I fight it. Not in my nature to say no to a woman. Never has been and never will be. You know what it feels like to take a woman, son? Well, if you don't, then this damned interview is pretty much useless. Gotta run. You spell my name right, awright? And don't choke the chile, fer chrissakes!!!"

And then, with an explosion of laughter, he was gone...

- 30 -

[EDITOR'S NOTE:...We are aware of several comments calling for Junior Bonner's immediate dismissal from our writing staff because of his insatiable sex drive. Frankly, we believe Bonner to be one of the most creative writers ever to reside in the Rio Grande Valley. But, aside from that, we do not wish to fire anyone ahead of the Holiday Season. We trust you will not be offended by our decision...]

Third And Long...

"But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly, for you tread on my dreams..."
- W.B. Yeats, The Cloths of Heaven

By JUNIOR BONNER
The Paz Files

HARLINGEN, Texas - The pulse of any city, its heart and its soul, always comes from the young. Look into their faces and see the life of a community. Look into the eyes of the elders and see a past moving down the drain. There, pilgrims, that's my stab at poetry for the year. I come here to talk football, high school football, and the dream that plays out in a field 100 yards long by 50 yards wide, ground where battle takes place, not for the salvation or ruin of a planet, but for a simple, little town with little else to cheer for, a town like this one.

The Harlingen High football Cardinals carry the community pail of magic. They are an undefeated, once-tried squad that has largely slaughtered its oposition all year long, enough of them to claim a gaudy 11-0 record as they head to Del Rio next weekend in their bid for the state playoffs.

It is a dream, yes. But this one portends a better ending, not one of great hopes dimmed in the late evening of another San Antonio night. These Cardinals, lads all of them, have carried this struggling town on their shoulders for an entire season. Their charge is simple: take to the grid iron and keep winning. Gone for the moment will be that cruel shade of reality, the one that has spelled economic woe for one and all in this town of some 70,000 fun-starved souls.

An election looms. Business has been absent. Jobs are as rare as lasting marriages. Politicians face jail time. A ground-level cloud of darkness fills the streets and alleys like an old Army blanket in the dead of a Korean winter.

Football will save the day.

Without question, football will propel this community through the Holiday Season, perhaps bringing a prize so rare around these parts that grown men will cry and abandon hatred and bigotry, if only for a day or two. That is the great promise of this particular high school season, a season of grand dreams.

Can the high-flying Cardinals deliver? That's yet to be decided. History's record for teams from the Rio Grande Valley shows a steep hill, one that still carries the half-buried, beaten carcasses of numerous other teams, of other regional dreams.

This one will continue to unfold in the Cardinals's next game against Del Rio, a one-game playoff that has the winner moving on and the loser packing it in, kissing hopes goodbye. It could all end, of course. That's why they play the games.

But Harlingen is due a victory, in anything. That, we also know...

- 30 -

Gathering Of Swine...

By DUARDO PAZ-MARTINEZ
The Paz Files

AUSTIN, Texas - What to do about our governor? He's out in the country like some lost missile, humiliating the state at every stop. Is everybody in Texas as dumb as this guy? You'd not be able to convince those living elsewhere that we're not, especially since Rick Perry's been governor for - what? -a dozen years.

Pitiful.

Perry arrived at the latest Republican Party 2012 nomination debate in Rochester, Michigan looking to re-frame his ragged campaign. He failed, miserably. The son of Paint Creek, Texas somewhere north of Abilene was asked to offer-up his grand plan to solve the nation's budget crisis and Perry boldly charged out by saying he would eliminate three cabinet departments. He named two, and then he went into his usual Brain-freeze moment, looking completely stupid in saying he couldn't remember the third. Couldn't remember the third department he'd axe in his plan! Wild, dumbass stuff.

Students of national politics could not recall another such moment. Perry's stumble now ranks as the strangest meltdown in debate history. Poor guy. Already, some are saying that his wife Anita is ready to acknowledge that her man is Gay. In Austin, even the newspaper that has sorta backed his bid couldn't escape having to write about his monumental gaffe. So long, cowboy. Step in it? You barfed it, dude!

"It was a political death knell," said Sara Taylor Fagen, a Republican strategist who advised George W. Bush. "There’s just no recovering from a moment like that when you’ve had such a bad record of debates."

Perry's demise has come steadily. Where once, he was welcomed as the shining star in the GOP's camp, he is now an afterthought, right there with Michele Bachman and Rick Santorum - all losers, all said to be packing for that last flight home.

As for the debate, well, let's just say these things would be more meaningful if they were held before people of all political parties, not just Republicans. These guys want to be president of everybody, don't they? Let's hear the country cheer and boo.

The soft gloves used on serial fondler Herman Cain were not helpful. He has four women saying he sexually harassed them. All we got last night was one question aimed his way about that, and, worse yet, it was the question that drew the loudest boos from what had to be a gang of Republicans not exactly sympathetic to attacks on women. Cain is a player. His voice says it, as does his posture. Hopefully, the woman who accused him of fondling her "genitals" will produce that hotel receipt, the one that had Cain upgrading her room to a "palatial suite." If it has Cain's name or credit card number on it, that should do it. Sexual assault charges ought to follow. Herman is ignoring all questions about these allegations, and that is not part of the deal. Yes, facts are a defense, but he has yet to offer them.

So, nothing was gained by the insipid Republicans last night. Candidate Mitt Romney is being given the win this morning. Perry is being written off. Adulterer Newt Gingrich is only there to bad-mouth the press. Ron Paul is a lost soul. Santorum keeps reminding everybody he was a U.S. Senator and Bachman is beginning to look like the used chick coming out of the motel room at dawn.

Democrat Barack Obama is looking even better these days...

- 30 -

Being Junior Bonner...

By JUNIOR BONNER
The Paz Files

HARLINGEN, Texas - I had been assigned coverage of the electrifying Kori Marra mess over at the courthouse in Brownsville, but things came up. I'm sure you folks know about those annoyances. Well, someone vandalized my 1967 El Camino and there I went, over to the body shop, where they told me someone likely took a sledgehammer to my beautiful, crappy vehicle.

It happens.

Some days you get up and it ain't what it was yesterday. Know what I'm sayin' to ya? I wonder about that sometime, what with the low-level of edgikation around here. You tell a joke at the bar and no one laughs. I love those people, they only laugh when you're springin' for a round. Happens daily at the Palm Lounge in Brownsville, which is sorta in the neighborhood of the courthouse.

Marra is in hot water, but why do I throw images on my head about hot water in a jacuzzi and not on legal terms? Must be the late-in-the-year sun and humidity we can't seem to lose. Jeeeezzus, when will the weather turn? Global warming is real! Those Republicans don't get it cause all of them bastards stay in their air-conditioned holes all day long.

Hey, is the Kori Marra legal entanglement hotter news than the Herman Cain disaster?

I know, I know. I shouldn't ask. Cain's stupidities aren't playing in the Rio Grande Valley as they're playing elsewhere in the country. Happens with all big news around here. You drive a pair of 100 miles north and that stuff is all over the papers. Front page!

Here, it's the lousy weather. Even the Chrstmas trees already in the store lots smell like mobile home mold.

Me? I'm wearing my t-shirts until it gets cold.

Dang it. Somebody get me some ice for my brews. Packing'em in my styrofoam thingee and throwing it in the back of my rental, and Audi convertible, for that drive to the courthouse. Think I'll ask Kori Marra out if she beats this rap.

Yes, sir, take her over to the Three Little Pigs Lounge in Port Isabel. I love fairy tale endings...

- 30-

Coming Home...

By DUARDO PAZ-MARTINEZ
The Paz Files

EDINBURG, Texas - The more I think about it, the better I like the idea: What if all these little towns in the Rio Grande Valley incorporated so that the RGV would become one single city? It would save taxpayers a huge sum of governmental money, but, yeah, tax its services. It would rid the area of all those tiny, largely-insignificant fiefdoms in favor of one central government. It would likely unite the region as nothing has united it before.

And, it would make it one of the Top 5 cities in Texas.

It could happen, but it probably has no chance.

Too many political cliques led by clowns named Mando and Sylvia live from Starr County to the west to South Padre Island over to the east for that to gain ground. We know mayors and law enforcement kingdoms would fight any loss of power. One mayor for the entire area and five commissioners? Where would all those other under-achievers go? What would the mayors of Mercedes and Donna and Los Fresnos say? Cede badge power to one large army-like police force? Talk about firepower.

But it won't happen.

Way too many office-holders would be kicked out of office. What would they do? Give up that City of San Benito vehicle? Fohgeddabboutit! Close down a few dozen city halls? No one able to tell his "Batos" he is the mayor of La Feria? A few dozen less constables? One central government complex, perhaps in better-suited McAllen? How about that? Intriguing, I know.

It would birth a new real political powerbase, a region that would have to be reckoned with by the players in Austin and Dallas and Houston. One mayor, one sheriff, one voice. Could be interesting.

The RGV would be wise to explore such a possibility. We live in strange and wicked times where thinking outside-the-box is in vogue. It would be a cost-saver, for sure. It would re-energize a population long-used to be being ignored by state legislators. It would fire-up area business competition interested in busting through the glass ceiling of that so-called Border Mentality, on the part of northerners who think nothing ever comes to good in this part of the state.

I'd push for it. I'd make it a project for all forward-thinking Valleyites.

And, you know, there would be many who would strike for such change, for change that would pretty much turn things over, like farmland being tilled for a new crop...

- 30 -

The Undefeated...

By DUARDO PAZ-MARTINEZ
The Paz Files

McALLEN, Texas - We arrived here late last night being tailed by a neat northern wind. It wasn't cold, but it wasn't 110-degrees in the shade, as is the case most of the year in the tropical Rio Grande Valley. Moving down from the Austin area isn't much of a road trip. The road is too busy with trucks and highway construction looms just ahead of every roadside taqueria from Three Rivers to Edinburg.

It also is a fun drive, if only because we make it once a year. A few things have been on our minds lately.

One is this lingering stage play now raging across the land, this Occupy Wall Street movement that has to be doing something right if ditzy, annoying former Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin is against it. Surely, that is one barometer to measure what's right with America and what's wrong.

Much, of course, is right. I am the first to say this is still the greatest country in the world. But we have our rough edges, our zealots and our true freedom fighters. Ever heard of Jesse Ventura, the pro wrestler who grew up to be governor of Minnesota, Land of 10,000 lakes?

Well, Jesse is onto something.

Yesterday, he got his hair up a bit when a court dismissed his lawsuit against all that security crap you run into at American airports. Ventura has a titanium hip implant and he says they put him through screening hell every time he flies commercially. He wants a revolution.

How badly? "I will never stand for a national anthem again," he said when learning of his lawsuit's dismiaal. "I will turn my back and I will raise a fist."

Ventura is a former U.S. Navy SEAL.

Never stand for the national anthem? I hear it happens all the time locally, although perhaps for good reason. Turn his back and raise his fist? We've seen that before, at the crazy 1968 Olympics in Mexico City, when two Black American sprinters did what Ventura is suggesting to protest the shabby treatment of their brothers back home. Raised fists in black gloves - a dramatic show of anger and protest.

So, who knows what will become of Ventura's one-man revolution? He's not exactly a role model, or someone the entire country could fall behind. But the red, white & blue is clearly troubled.

Ventura may just be sparking something...

- 30 -

Look Homeward, Angel...

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are gray
You'll never know dear, how much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away..."
- You Are My Sunshine

By DUARDO PAZ-MARTINEZ
The Paz Files

AUSTIN, Texas - This is the weekend I go beat myself up. This is the weekend I head back home again, back to the Rio Grande Valley and the cradle of my existence - McAllen. It's late in the long year and I'm up for rewinding memories of my youth in the lovely City of Palms. Bring on the best.

It's a little different now that my dear mother is gone, but visiting with her at the cemetery on Taylor Road will be uplifting. I'll take fresh flowers and sit there alongside her gravestone and talk with her a bit. Tell her about what's happened with me lately. Tell her about my two girls and their doings. Tell her about my life in the Austin area with Margaret. Tell her about how much I miss her. Tell her it's straight-out agony to leave McAllen after my visits. Tell her I'm doing fine even as the world gasps for air. She'd not recognize the planet anymore. We've lost so much so fast lately.

My mother is the only person who's ever made me cry. I cried through most of the eulogy I gave at her funeral mass that Mid-April day now going on four years ago. That was breathing the hollowest, emptiest of air. I didn't sleep a wink that night, and the same happens when the anniversary of her death rolls around. I suppose it's that way for all sons grieving all moms. There is something clearly special in a mother, and it goes beyond hugs and kisses and remembrances and just being around them. I'm older now, but there was a time I couldn't think of my mother dying. She was a healthy, loving woman who did so much for our family, clothing and feeding us even when the money was low, pushing us to do our schoolwork, frowning, yet amiling when I told her I'd be joining the military. That face, a mother's face, defines life. You see all that can possibly be good in a mother's face, all that speaks of joy and family.

My days in the U.S. Navy were good days. I was spared combat in Vietnam, assigned to Hawaii for who knows what reason. But I'd come home on leave and there was my mother at the McAllen airport, there with my older sister, Carmen, and a few others, there looking for me in the crowd, waiting to give the warmest of hugs. I'd stay a few days and then, as the time grew short, I'd make sure I spent as much of my time with her as I could. She made morning coffee for us, laid out my beloved pan dulce, or rustle-up some huevo-con-chorizo tacos. You could almost hear music when my mother bopped-around her kitchen getting meals ready. She would ask, do you want this, do you want some more of that? And, always, she would walk the plates to the kitchen table, sit down and offer a brief prayer. Sometimes, I said the prayer, but hers always seemed the best. That's mothers for you, still the voices of God. Leaving her always proved the hardest thing to do. She would come outside and stand by the frontyard fence and watch me get into the car, wave easily and keep waving until I was too far to see her. That, to me, was the height of sadness. I couldn't shake it for miles and miles.

I miss my mother very much. My life for the most part was defined by the black & white, truth or lies chased by my career in journalism. That steeled me against many of my feelings. I get annoyed easily by politicians and cannot stand to see abuse, especially of children. Poverty in America baffles the Hell out of me, as does this growing income disparity that goes against the idea that, in the U.S., anyone can become a millionaire. I know that's just money, and who needs more than they can use? But that, too, is life. That's the time we live in.

So, when I cruise into the RGV at about noon tomorrow, I'll smile at seeing the palm trees lining the highway into Edinburg, then at the old courthouse, then at Texas Highway 107 that'll take me past UT-Pan American and then onto what is N. 10th Street in McAllen. There'll be a lump in my throat by then, knowing that there was a time when my mother moved along the same city streets I pass as I make way south past Trenton and Nolana, big H.E.B on the left, where she used to shop, where she would go to buy stuff for me ahead of my visits.

I enjoy going back to McAllen 'cause it is a big part of my past.

But it won't be the same, yet I know that my mother will be watching my every move. That is why I'll smile at the tops of the palm trees, at the ever-present clouds, at the beautiful South Texas sky, at the many friendly faces.

There is something in that Jewish proverb that says God could not be everywhere, and therefore he made mothers...

- 30 -

The Losers' Club...

"United we flounder, divided we flounder..." - Milagro Beanfield War

By DUARDO PAZ-MARTINEZ
The Paz Files

HARLINGEN, Texas - If a bordertown ever had a right to say it wanted better candidates for its city government, it is this one. Struggling to survive in a down economy, little Harlingen can only sit and watch as three of its less-than-stellar citizens posture themselves for the important District 1 seat, and, perhaps worse than that, many in town seem to have settled on voting for one of the trio.

They are not visionaries, they are largely novices and they are simply not good enough.

Not one, not relative newcomer Gail Moore, not former city police chief Danny Castillo, not ex-City Commissioner J.J. Gonzalez deserves the position. Harlingen, home to some 70,000 proud residents, is in dire straits. It needs to pump-up its sagging economy, it needs to generate jobs and it needs a transfusion of new political blood - the younger, the better.

The election rolls around in a few weeks.

Residents should be asking themselves if this is the best they can do. Can they afford another commissioner arriving without the promise of even hope? Can they afford another Kori Marra (That's her in greenish dress in photo atop this story), a commissioner who came here from somewhere in West Texas and delivered a string of Wild West-like episodes of nothing more than self-immolations and hardly an accomplishment benefiting her constituency. Is that what Kentucky transplant Gail Moore portends for District 1? Outsiders rarely succeed in the Rio Grande Valley, their service generally marked by positioning that eventually alienates. Moore is a rookie in every sense of the word. Harlingen needs pros, not yet another commissioner who will learn on-the-job.

Opponent Danny Castillo is no pro, either.

He is an administrator with skills better suited for a jail or detention center where his constituency would seek no aid or bitch about his indifference. Gonzalez is being raked over the coals because of his reluctance to pay child support to the mother of his children. Neither man seems to have a creative bone in his body able to identify the town's problems, much less solve them. From what we've heard and know about the two, Castillo would seem to be better suited for a position as manager of a finance company and Gonzalez for chief of concessions at the local ballfield. Neither has the brains to serve his neighbors. Buying a suit and then putting it on is no skill. Railing against a certain religion (Castillo's crusade against the Catholic Church) merely labels you a fool. Daring to seek office after failing at serving (Gonzalez) is the height of absurdity, rivaling a taqueria's desire to stay open for business after serving spoiled food.

No, none of these three should gain the people's vote.

Not one is ready or qualified.

We repeat: Harlingen needs do'ers and shakers. Its had its fill of clowns and characters...

- 30 -

Last Call For Alcohol...

By DUARDO PAZ-MARTINEZ
The Paz Files

AUSTIN, Texas - The road is long, most insiders will tell you when you ask about that often arduous quest for the White House. On occasion, that same exacting road defines the candidate. Rick Perry gave a speech in Manchester, New Hampshire last Friday that has this city talking and re-defining him at a real bad time.

Or asking, really: Was Perry drunk?

The slumping Republican Texas governor delivered a speech that can only be described as being rambling and incoherent. As one GOP member present put it, "He was wasted. I’ve never seen anything like it." (You can see a portion of the 30 minute speech in the YouTube clipping posted on the sidebar to the right of this story)

Pundits who spent the weekend analyzing it spared no words in categorizing it as a strange and bizarre display of either someone high on drugs or dad-gummed drunk. Others labeled it one sure, quick way to lose a political contest. Perry, who is seeking the Republican Party's 2012 presidential nomination, appeared giddy, as if being tickled, and completely loose to the point of looking like he'd had a bottle of Johnny Walker before the speech.

He yaps about gold as the preferred currency, hoots and hollers like he's at some West Texas barn-raising and then, after his speech when he is given a jar of maple syrup representing the Live Free or Die State, he laughs stupidly while taking it and then raises it to his chest to hug it like some Gay man deciding to come out of the closet.

It was a pathetic display of the so-called presidential timber Americans expect in their national candidates. But this is Rick Perry, a college graduate who completed his studies with the bare minimum of grades, who declared he would lead a secession of Texas from the union, who shot at a coyote while jogging, who has played the part of the class dolt in debates held ahead of the nominating convention.

Perry spares no weird move in the speech, lowering himself at the podium to pull out his "easy" tax card while explaining his goofy tax reform plan, then guffawing like a stoned ranch hand and throwing his outstretched arms out like some penitent cowboy at an outdoor prayerfest. The video is wild and looks more like a Saturday Night Live! skit than what most expect from a serious candidate.

That's the real Perry, however - a politician completely out of his element, and one probably wondering what the Hell got him to enter this race in the first place.

He is over his head. And now he's drinking...

- 30 -