Notice: Function _load_textdomain_just_in_time was called incorrectly. Translation loading for the twentyfifteen domain was triggered too early. This is usually an indicator for some code in the plugin or theme running too early. Translations should be loaded at the init action or later. Please see Debugging in WordPress for more information. (This message was added in version 6.7.0.) in /chroot/home/a6f7779a/9d7429a5d9.nxcli.io/html/wp-includes/functions.php on line 6170 {"id":186,"date":"2014-03-07T08:18:57","date_gmt":"2014-03-07T14:18:57","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/?p=186"},"modified":"2014-03-29T20:40:34","modified_gmt":"2014-03-30T01:40:34","slug":"dreams-chickens-witches-and-dogs","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/?p=186","title":{"rendered":"Dreams, Chickens, Witches and Dogs"},"content":{"rendered":"

Of Dashed Dreams, Chickens, Witches, and Dogs<\/b><\/p>\n

Working as a specialty auto painter my father had been churning out a pretty good wage.\u00a0 His area of expertise was detailed trim painting; that is, painting intricate designs on hoods, doors and trunk lids of freshly restored autos or new cars whose owners wanted to make them one of a kind.\u00a0 That type of work is now programmed on computers by graphic artists, and printed out as adhesive appliqu\u00e9s that are then applied directly to the automobile.\u00a0 During my father\u2019s era the design originated in the detail painter\u2019s imagination and was then applied freehand with fine-tipped artists\u2019 brushes using acrylic or lacquer paint.\u00a0 It was a very difficult process because there was absolutely no room for error and the paint was apt to dry quickly after being applied.\u00a0 It took not only a vivid imagination but also an extremely steady hand and intensely focused concentration to produce the flawless swirls and flourishes that made up the full detail pattern.\u00a0 As a fairly young man my father was considered an expert in that field, and those who commissioned his work were prone to overlook his preoccupation with liquor.\u00a0 Oddly enough, it seemed the more he drank the steadier his hand got, and that put him in great demand.<\/p>\n

I guess because he was an artist of sorts he mentally struggled with having to deal with authority in any form.\u00a0 He was not prone to take orders or accept advice from those who happened to sport titles such as \u201cforeman\u201d, \u201csupervisor\u201d, or \u201cmanager\u201d.\u00a0 He preferred, and most of the time insisted on setting his own work schedule, which often differed greatly from what had been set by his current boss.\u00a0 Disagreements between him and those unfortunate enough to have him work under their supervision were frequent and often violent, and he was asked to leave (or just walked off the job) many times early in his life.<\/p>\n

Even so, he was talented enough that auto paint shops kept hiring him and paying him top salary and my mother and I benefitted greatly from his labors. \u00a0During that period of time in some early pictures taken when I was five or six I am smiling broadly while dressed in a natty little beige seersucker suit with short pants, wearing silk socks and shiny brown oxford shoes. \u00a0Likewise, my mother was pictured wearing the latest dress styles of the 1940’s, and often sporting stylish hats and the latest open toed patent leather high heel shoes. \u00a0Life must\u2019ve been good.<\/p>\n

Eventually word must\u2019ve gotten around, and after having left yet another job because of some slight or perceived insult from management the job offers and opportunities began to dry up.\u00a0 After a few jobless weeks, and with very few options left, my father finally reached out to his older brother Frank in the early 1950’s, and asked for help. As luck would have it Younger Brothers Truck Lines had an opening\u2014but not for a painter. If he wanted a job, my uncle advised him, he would have to start as an apprentice under the supervision of the engine repair shop manager, a feisty, crude, and ill-mannered roughneck nicknamed Red, and learn to be a diesel engine mechanic.\u00a0 And, he would have to behave and take orders like everyone else.<\/p>\n

As he always seemed to do after each career disaster he landed on his feet with the Youngers. As he\u2019d done countless times before, he proved to be a quick study and in just a few weeks he was repairing diesel engines as if he had been doing it his whole life. My mother was thrilled because during this training phase my father had stopped drinking and was actually bringing home his weekly check on Fridays. Things were beginning to look good, and for the first time since I could remember we actually had food in the refrigerator and in the pantry.\u00a0 One Saturday morning I remember my mother taking me to Sears to buy me two pairs of shoes: one for school and the other for going out.\u00a0 The good times were back\u2026for a while.<\/p>\n

Although he worked for the Youngers for more than twenty years making a decent salary it seemed like we never really gained any ground financially. \u00a0At first the drinking put a steady drain on our finances, but even so we were still able to stay afloat probably because he was making really good money. \u00a0But a couple of unfortunate events suddenly came crashing down, and the DeLe\u00f3n family finance boat began to founder.<\/p>\n

First, my mother began to complain of a suspicious lump growing in her belly. \u00a0She told me, and everyone else that it was a cancerous tumor and she was terminally ill. \u00a0My father, justifiably alarmed, finally decided to take her to a doctor for a diagnosis. \u00a0It wasn’t cancer, nor was it a tumor; and on July 7th, 1950, my brother, Ricardo (Ricky) Marcos, was born. \u00a0For the rest of her days my mother swore to anyone who would listen that she’d had no idea she was pregnant. \u00a0This, from a woman who had already experienced a miscarriage shortly after getting married, given birth to a stillborn fetus a year later, and in 1939 had birthed a child weighing in at 13 pounds. \u00a0Doomed because of his size, and the fact that he’d been born at home with only a midwife in attendance and no medical followup, he died at three weeks of age. \u00a0Finally, in 1942 I was born\u2014apparently successfully.<\/p>\n

Inexplicably, the hospital and doctor bills for Ricky’s birth amounted to over $5,000, and not having the money to settle the bill outright my parents were saddled with having to pay it off in monthly installments. \u00a0As if her previous medical expenses weren’t enough, the following year my mother began complaining of severe backaches. \u00a0My father, already financially stretched to the maximum, \u00a0told her she was becoming a hypochondriac, and suggested she apply mustard compresses and take more aspirin. \u00a0After passing out from the intense pain one afternoon, she was transported to the hospital by ambulance and diagnosed with multiple kidney stones and diminished renal function. \u00a0 Three life saving operations later and a long recuperation with an attending nurse at home resulted in an additional $10,000 in medical expenses. \u00a0Having no health insurance to cover the added\u00a0medical expenses the bill was tacked on to the existing previous balance and their monthly payments tripled. \u00a0It was more than my father could stand and his descent into a liquor filled abyss began in earnest.<\/p>\n

A few years after my dad had started working at Younger Brothers, Red suffered a near fatal heart attack and decided that he\u2019d had enough.\u00a0 My father took over as Diesel Shop Foreman, and pretty soon was treating his workers the same way Red had.\u00a0 Although he\u2019d somewhat curtailed his contempt towards authority, it seemed that down deep inside his artistic drive had been choked off by his mundane mechanical duties and the deepening quagmire of medical debt, and his frustration with his current state of affairs began to increase.\u00a0 Slowly at first, then increasing in frequency, he began to turn Friday paydays into late night parties and soon the long weekend binges resumed.<\/p>\n

It was during this trying time that my mother, also extremely frustrated with her medical situation and having to tend to my baby brother, began searching for help from other than worldly sources. Since an earlier brief attempt at becoming a practicing Catholic, or even a Pentecostal, had proven fruitless, she decided that maybe she would try the occult. Asking discreetly around the neighborhood for some leads on anyone who might know of someone practicing some form of dark art, she was eventually referred to a neighbor a couple of blocks away.\u00a0 After a short visit, this neighbor suggested my mother contact a certain \u201clady\u201d and arrange a consultation.<\/p>\n

On a rainy Saturday afternoon my mother, carrying my brother in her arms, and I caught a city bus and traveled a short distance to an adjacent neighborhood.\u00a0 We got off the bus in an area that was still predominantly Hispanic, but the homes were a level up from the ones in our neighborhood.\u00a0 They had actual driveways and the lawns were populated with green St. Augustine grass.<\/p>\n

We walked a short distance, with my mother constantly referring to the slip of paper that bore an address, and soon she stopped and quietly told me we had arrived.\u00a0 Asking me to sit on the stairs and wait for her, she walked onto the porch and knocked on the door.\u00a0 The door opened, and unable to see who had opened it, I watched my mother and brother disappear into the house.<\/p>\n

Being an eight or nine year old child at that time I had no real concept of time passing. \u00a0But I do remember that after having occupied myself for a while by digging up roly-polys from the soaked soil in the small flower garden in front of the house, I suddenly heard my mother call.\u00a0 Looking up I saw her coming down the steps telling me to put the bugs down and to clean my hands. \u00a0Briskly, we began walking back down the block to the bus stop.<\/p>\n

The mysterious woman with whom my mother met with turned out to be a local “curandera”\u2014a female Mexican witch doctor.\u00a0 The neighbor who had recommended her told my mother, \u201cShe won\u2019t come cheap, but she\u2019ll get the job done\u2014and before you know it Bob will be off the bottle and he\u2019ll bring home every paycheck right on time.\u201d<\/p>\n

Going To The Dogs<\/b><\/p>\n

The promises made by the curandera must’ve sounded like sweet music to my mother’s ears. So, after our visit to her house she began to save money by the only means available to her: she cut into our already pitifully small food budget.\u00a0 She initiated several plans to accomplish her monetary goal.\u00a0 The first was to take the two bologna, or pressed ham sandwiches she usually packed for my lunch, and cut them down to one.\u00a0 The nickel she gave me every day to buy those little half pint glass bottles of milk with the cardboard stopper at school suddenly went missing on Tuesdays and Thursdays.\u00a0 \u201cDrink water,\u201d she said.\u00a0 \u201cIt\u2019ll clean out your insides.\u00a0 Besides, don\u2019t be putting on airs, you weren\u2019t born drinking milk.\u201d\u00a0 Well, actually, I think I was<\/span> born drinking milk,<\/i> I thought\u2014but I didn’t dare disagree.<\/p>\n

But probably the absolutely worst idea that she had ever came up with to shave our expenses (and this is the absolute truth) was when she suggested that maybe we should try to supplement our hamburger meat rations with some of that dog food that came in cans.<\/p>\n

\u201cI saw a can of it the last time I was at the store,\u201d she said breathlessly, \u201cand it was very sheep, only twenty cents.\u00a0 And it said it was almost one hundred por ciento meat,\u201d she said knowingly.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom, it\u2019s horse meat with beef and chicken guts, plus a lot of other junk!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo?\u00a0 When I was living in Mexico we ate horse meat and it didn\u2019t kill us.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not eating any horse meat, and I mean it, mom!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh you\u2026you\u2019re so spoiled! Ha! Mister Frankie doesn’t eat horses,\u201d she said in a sing-song manner.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, and you can\u2019t make me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBueno, vamos a ver.\u201d\u00a0 (We\u2019ll see).<\/p>\n

It was only a suggestion, she continued to assure me; and only if it tasted OK after she mixed it up in our sopa.<\/p>\n

So the next afternoon she sent me off to Henry\u2019s Store to buy, instead of a quarter pound of carne picada (hamburger), a can of dog food.\u00a0 With strict orders not to divulge what it was going to be used for she pushed me out of the door and told me to hurry.<\/p>\n

Well, that was quite the scene\u2014me, trying to explain to Henry that, yes, I really did<\/span> want to buy that can of dog food.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut, you don\u2019t have a dog, Frankie\u201d he insisted impatiently.<\/p>\n

\u201cUm, no.\u00a0 But we think we might get one soon, and my mom wants to make sure we have some food on hand for him in case we do\u2026ah..get\u2026you know,\u2026one.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWho\u2019s gonna give you a dog?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u00a0 But I think my mom knows somebody that has an extra one they don\u2019t need.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s ridiculous.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, really!\u00a0 My mom said he\u2019s a runty kind of dog, but he\u2019ll need to eat all the same, but not much, so that\u2019s why we only need one can right now.\u00a0 Anyway, I need to get home.\u00a0 Can I pay for this now?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOK, but I\u2019m going to talk to your mom when I see her\u2026and I better not hear that you lied to me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOK.\u00a0 Is it going to cost more than a quarter pound of carne picada?\u201d<\/p>\n

Lucky for me, after opening the can and daintily placing a smidgen on the end of her tongue, she smacked her lips, wrinkled her face, and announced that it was gritty and tasted like tin can.<\/p>\n

Furrowing her brow, and in her best Spanglish, she mused, \u201cWell, it might be OK if I mix it up con ajo and cebolla.\u00a0 Pero, I don\u2019t know if it\u2019ll stick together in the pan.\u00a0 What do you think, mijo?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCan I go outside?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, not now.\u00a0 You know, I don\u2019t think this idea is going to work out after all, so I\u2019ll have to put the top back on the can so you can return this to that tonto Henry.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not going back there!\u00a0 He already thinks I\u2019m crazy!\u00a0 And he\u2019s not going to take back a can that\u2019s already been opened!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBueno, then you\u2019ll have to eat your sopa with no meat, mister smarty pants.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t care.\u00a0 Can I go outside now?\u201d<\/p>\n

The Great Chicken Caper<\/b><\/p>\n

A few days later, after returning home from school, I walked into the kitchen and noticed that my mom was in a really good mood.\u00a0 She was whirling about the kitchen cooking away like crazy and singing some spicy little norte\u00f1o ditty.\u00a0 It was absolutely nuts.\u00a0 Cutting to the chase, I asked her if she had found money that my dad may have lost.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d she said, \u201cmuch better.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat could be better than found money?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMira, what do you smell?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know, but it smells good, whatever you\u2019re cooking in that pot.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou bet, flaco (skinny)!\u00a0 And it\u2019s gonna taste so good too!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGo look in the tub,\u201d she said in a suddenly mysterious and sultry voice.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe tub?\u00a0 You mean the bath tub?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cS\u00ed, silly.\u00a0 The tub!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMOM!\u00a0 Why do I have to go look in the tub?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, if you don\u2019t go see you\u2019ll never know, now will you?\u201d\u00a0 My mom was philosophical like that.<\/p>\n

I crept up to the bathroom door, wondering what I’d find, opened it and carefully looked inside.<\/p>\n

As my eyes slowly adjusting to the semi-darkness of our bathroom, (there was no light receptacle so if we went at night we had to light a candle, but that\u2019s another story), I began to see that the tub was smeared with what appeared to be blood\u2014a lot of blood!\u00a0 Edging closer, I saw (feathers?) and some stuff that looked a lot like the remains of that cat we\u2019d dissected in biology class.\u00a0 Yes, and there was a small beaked head with an eye staring directly at me!<\/p>\n

\u201cMam\u00e1! There\u2019s blood, guts, and a head in here!\u201d\u00a0 I screamed, retreating back into the kitchen.<\/p>\n

\u201cChure!\u00a0 It\u2019s a shikin.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow did a chicken get in our tub?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell,\u201d she said beginning to absolutely beam with pride.\u00a0 \u201cRemember the dog food?\u00a0 Well, that estupido Henry wouldn\u2019t take it back, so I began to think how I could still use it.\u00a0 Then it came to me!\u00a0 I spooned some out, mixed it with a little arroz (rice), and put bits of it in a line out in the back yard.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat!?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd then, just like magic the shikin just followed the dog food and arroz and, \u2018POW\u2019,\u201d she yelled, smacking her fist into her open hand, \u201cshe just walked right into our house\u2026eating.\u00a0 It went right into the bathroom and I cut the head off!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMOM!\u00a0 You what?\u00a0 Where did the chicken come from?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, you know\u2026Se\u00f1ora Guti\u00e9rrez behind us has all those stupid shikins she keeps for the eggs she sells?\u00a0 Well, one of them flew over the fence to eat my dog food and I caught it, and that\u2019s what we\u2019re having for dinner.\u00a0 Is your mommy esmart or que?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMOM!\u00a0 You can\u2019t just steal her chickens!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOye, (listen) you silly!\u00a0 I didn\u2019t esteel her shikin.\u00a0 She must not be feeding them enough so it just flew into our house greedy for the arroz I put out.\u00a0 It was hungry!\u00a0 I can\u2019t help that!\u00a0 Besides, she charges too much for those lluevos anyway, so it serves her right.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMOM!!\u00a0 It didn\u2019t just fly in here.\u00a0 You baited it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know what that means you smarty mouth.\u00a0 But if you want to eat you have to clean out the tub.\u00a0 And, make sure you bury the head, feathers, and all the guts under the house so no one sees.\u00a0 Now hurry, the shikin is almost done.\u201d<\/p>\n

And so, ended our experimentation with dog food.\u00a0 I dread to think what might’ve happened if she\u2019d actually liked the taste.\u00a0 To this day, I can\u2019t open a can of dog food without having that scene come rushing back into my mind.<\/p>\n

Oh, and the shikin was very good indeed.<\/p>\n

The Witch Doctor Pays Us A Visit<\/b><\/p>\n

I would assume several months went by before she was finally able to save enough money to pay the commission for the witch doctor to cast a spell on my dad.\u00a0 When that day finally came my mother swore me to secrecy and promised an eternity in Hell if I so much as breathed a word to anyone.\u00a0 The woman would be coming on Saturday afternoon, since my dad would be out on a bender anyway, and I was ordered to stay out of sight and out of the way.<\/p>\n

A soft knock on the wooden screen door interrupted the game I was playing with Jerry, and he curtly informed me that he would not be available until after the devil lady had left.<\/p>\n

My mother came rushing out of the bedroom dressed to the nines, wearing makeup and sporting her only decent going out dress.\u00a0 She shushed me away and pointed me back to the kitchen issuing me stern instructions to stay right there.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd be quiet, mijo, I want this spell to work.\u00a0 Now go!\u201d<\/p>\n

Lying on the cool linoleum floor in our tiny kitchen with my head peeking out toward the front door, I saw the witch doctor enter our house.\u00a0 A strangely dressed dark skinned woman, she wasn’t old\u2026just hard to place in years. She wore her hair, well, she really didn’t wear it any way. It just hung in tangled strands, black with silver streaks here and there and long jingling earrings hanging from her ear lobes. She smelled funny too, like old dust-covered up with cheap perfume. Putting down a large bulging cloth sack she had slung over her shoulder she took a seat in the center of our front room and listened intently while my mother informed her of my father’s many sins.<\/p>\n

\u201cI have\u201d, the dark woman said, \u201cjust what you need. But\u2026\u201d turning slowly to pin me with her gaze, \u201c\u2026it will cost you ten dollars.\u201d<\/p>\n

Getting up from her chair my mother rushed into the kitchen where I was hiding.\u00a0 Pulling me up by my shirt she thickly whispered,\u00a0\u201cHijo, I don\u2019t have enough money! \u00a0You have to go to your tia Janie and ask to borrow two dollars.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t wanna go and ask for money,\u201d I whined.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou go, and you go NOW!\u201d\u00a0 She spit out through clenched teeth. \u201cDon\u2019t you want your father to stop drinking?\u00a0 Because if you don\u2019t go then he won\u2019t stop and it will be all your fault!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMom!!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGO!\u201d<\/p>\n

So, regretfully, off I went.<\/p>\n

Carefully avoiding the real reason we needed two dollars I finally convinced my aunt that not only was the money for a good cause, my mother would return it by tomorrow.\u00a0 Rolling her eyes she reached into her apron and fished out some change.\u00a0 Counting out two dollars in quarters, dimes and nickels, she instructed me to have my mother call her later.\u00a0 I promised to deliver the money and the message.<\/p>\n

After pocketing the loot, the witch doctor began her ceremony. She dug into the sack took out some candles and arranged them in a semi-circle on the floor.\u00a0 After she lit them, a lot of arm waving and hoarse chanting ensued.\u00a0 She then asked to be shown where my father slept.<\/p>\n

Since there was only one bed, (I slept on the floor then), she followed my mother to the corner of the room all the while mixing water and a green liquid from a small unmarked bottle into a small pot she had also retrieved from the sack. She asked for a mop, and once she got it she sloshed the liquid under the bed\u2014careful to use the mop to spread it around evenly. The smell of menthol\/mint was overwhelming and my eyes watered. To my mom it must’ve been the sweetest aroma she\u2019d ever smelled; all the while thinking that her life was finally going to make a big turnaround. The curandera finally ended the ceremony by reciting some type of mumbo-jumbo in a language that sounded like Cajun and pig Latin. In a grand swoosh of skirts she headed for the door, leaving the empty pot by the bed.\u00a0 My mom was absolutely beaming, looking up to heaven and holding both hands to her breast.\u00a0 She should\u2019ve known better.<\/p>\n

Well, OK; so it didn’t work. After coming home on Sunday and sleeping off his hangover he asked my mom why the house smelled funny.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t smell anything,\u201d she said defensively. \u00a0“Maybe it was one of your whores that left her stink on you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cVieja loca.\u201d<\/p>\n

As if on cue my father went on a huge bender that next weekend and didn’t come home until Tuesday morning. After making several calls to my mother inquiring about my father\u2019s whereabouts on Monday, one of the Younger brothers\u2019 sons went to my uncle Frank and told him they planned to fire my dad on Tuesday morning.\u00a0 Walking the long walk from his paint shop to the main office that afternoon, Frank interceded with the elder Youngers and saved my father’s job.<\/p>\n

Later that week Frank walked into the mechanic\u2019s shop and pulled my father aside.\u00a0 With his mouth almost in his ear he whispered in a low growling voice that this would be the very last time that he would ever intervene to save his little brother’s hide.<\/p>\n

Time to shape up.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"