I didn't know about the fight between Art Hafey and Famoso Gomez until I saw one of the fight posters nailed to a telephone pole in Tijuana .. it was early in the day and the fight was that night. The fight was going to take place in the old bullring. I knew the box office would be closed at that time of day,but I wanted to buy a ticket beforehand because I didn't want to get caught up that night standing in line at the ticket window.The Hotel Nelson was across the street from where I saw the fight poster. I thought I might duck inside there and see if the bartender,Flaco,might give me an idea about getting a ticket prior to when the box office opened.
The Hotel Nelson is on the corner of 1st and Revolution Streets.The first drink I ever had in a bar was at the Hotel Nelson when I was 14 years old. The drinking age in Tijuana is 18,but I looked old for my age. The San Diego cops used to have a sub station at the border as you crossed into Mexico. They were checking for kids under the age of 18.There was a time when the U.S. cops didn't allow kids under the age of 18 crossing into Mexico without an adult. I don't know if that was against any constitution,but if they nabbed you and you were underage,the police would send a letter home to your parents. Today,no such thing goes on as having a San Diego police station at the border checking ID's.Going into Mexico is no problem. The Mexicans don't care. They want the gringos spending their money.Coming back there might be a problem,especially if you're Mexican. Better have your papers in order.
So I'm sitting at the bar inside the Hotel Nelson. The Nelson family owned the hotel.The old man at that time was beginning to turn things over to his sons.I'm talking around 1974 I guess the father's father had married some sort of Scandanavian gal with the last name of Nelson. I think his name was something common,a typical Mexican name like Gonzalez.But it was higher status to name the place after the grandmother's name,Nelson. The Anglo connotation gave the place more class,at least that's how the family figured it I asked Flaco if he knew a way to get a ticket for the fight without me having to wait in line.
"You can go to Huizar's place on the boulevard.He's promoting the card.He's got one of those tacito joints,"said Flaco.
Flaco got his name because he was skinny,I'd say more slim more than skinny. He spoke real good English,was charming as hell especially with the American broads that came in.He was tall with light brown hair, hazel eyes that took in everything,a personable smile,and kept the conversation on a amiable plane.He could dissolve any anxieties because he never thought anything was that serious That was why,I think ,he had so many women,the gringa types,dangling on the string. He was married to a real nice Mexican gal and had a couple of kids,but that never curtailed his advances on the side.
"So that sounds like a good idea,"I said. "Where is his taco place?"
""It's a block before you get to the bullring if you head out from here it's on the right side.A blue building.A gas station is right next door."
If you ask a Mexican for an address,forget it. Every place has an address,but there are very few street signs that have the address on them. Most houses and bulidings don't have numbers on them so Mexicans give directions using landmarks Addresses with numbers are for the post office,. I thanked Flaco and headed for the door.
"Before you leave,"he caught me."I think I'll get that municipal police job. I came up with enough money so I could have the patrol on the road to Playas. I can make a lot of money with the mordida working out by the beach,"he let me know.
"Well congratulations,"I said."If i'm driving out that way I hope you won't shake me down,"
"You know I would never bother you Pico."(For some reason all the bartenders called me "Pico".They never told me why)
I found Igancio Huizar's tacito joint easy enough. it was in an area in the heart of the district where it was row upon row of taco stands open all night long.The rows of stands were always crowded with hungry people wanting to eat tacos in the taco capitol of the world,Tijuana. Big white light bulbs shining on the smoke from the broiling meat crackling and popping on the brazeros,the smoke slowly wafting through the air in circling waves The aroma was rich and piqued the tongue for wanting a taco,carne asada,rolled in hot corn tortillas with everything:cilantro,radishes,carrots in vinagre,long green onions,salsa red or green muy picante.The hot manteca would soak through the layers of the tortillas and the wax paper that the taco man would hand to you fist over fist. The game was you walked up to the stand. You had to make sure there were a lot of people standing in front eating tacos. You never said how many you wanted. The guy just keeps handing you the tacos(be sure to tell him how you want them).Then when you had your fill,you say that you want to pay. The guy then asks how many you had,let's say you ate 6 tacos.You say you ate 4. Well,maybe the guy is counting or not,but you pay for eating 4 and he doesn't mind because he still maked a profit.
Anyway, Huizar's place wasn't like the above description of the row upon row stands. For one thing you had to walk inside. When I did, I saw the place was empty. A few stools at the counter, a couple of booths. No one.The place was still and a little oppressing,not well lit .It was clean,but I didn't smell any aromas of tacos cooking. I don't even think the stove was turned on. An unshaven frail old man wearing a threadbare sport coat spotted with grease came out from the back.
"Can I help you?"he asked with squinty eyes.
"Someone said I could buy a ticket for tonight's fight here. This is Huizar's place isn't it?"
"It is,"he said."But Huizar doesn't come in until later."
"Can't you sell me a ticket?"I asked with a frustrated tone in my voice.
"Well,I'll have to find them first,"said the old man."You sure you can't come by later when Huizar is here?"
"I won't have time."
"I'll go to the office. How many did you want?"
"Just one."
The old man went to the back and after about five minutes came out again with a handful of tickets.
"You just want one?"he asked with a forlorn face.
"Just one."
"You want ringside?"
"How much?"
"20 dollars."
"Give me one ringside,"I said.
I paid the old man the 20 dollars and he handed me the ticket.
"Are you going to the fight?"I asked the old man.
The old man changed expression quickly. He was now standing erectly with an ear to ear grin,like the cat that swallowed the canary.
"Why should I go?I already know who's going to win."
He told me this with the twenty in his hand.
"Well.don't tell me. I like surprises."
"I don't," smiled the old man."I like to know what I'm getting into."
The Hotel Nelson
FWI:See that picture of The Hotel Neloson. Well,where the traffic is out in front is Revolution Street. Very touristy.Down the street around the corner is where the Coahuila starts. So if you sit outside at a table on the corner you have a view of the gift shops and trendy restaurants on the Revolution Street side,but if you turn your head to 1st Street you see the girls standing outside in front of the tinsel neon lit cantinas offering their services. Quite a contrast.
