Edcouch 1978

Both of my parents worked a lot, so growing up, I spent a lot of time with my retired grandparents in Edcouch, a small town in the Rio Grande Valley of Texas.  Edcouch, at the time, had a population of around 2,500 people, about 99% Mexican-American.  That’s not based on any polling data, but that's how I remember it.  My grandparents lived in El Rincon Del Diablo (the Devil's Corner).  Sounds scary, but it wasn’t that bad.  They had worked in the fields most of their lives, picking any and all vegetables from Michigan to Texas, and now they lived off a dependable Social Security check.  Often, I would travel into town with my grandfather.

We would first go to the Post Office.  He would always check his mail at the Post Office.  As people walked by, they would see him as an easy target for a conversation.  In Edcouch, people speak passionately about football and local politics, and my grandfather, interested or not, would stand there and listen.  He would abandon his mail, and except for a few glances down at me, he maintained eye contact.  He never had much to contribute, but to show empathy, my grandfather would sometimes shake his head in apparent disbelief and say the only English curse word I ever heard my grandfather say, “Sheet.”  A small crowd would gather and take part in the discussion.

I wasn’t one of those kids that would be running around the Post Office getting in everyone’s way.  I wasn’t the type of kid that would pull on my grandfather’s sleeve, and say over and over again, “I wanna go. Grandpa, I wanna go.  Let’s go.”  No, I just stood there, and watched him and how patient he was.  At some point, the mob would part ways, and my grandfather would get back to his mail.

After that, we were off to the local panaderia (the bakery).  As always, my grandfather would walk in and start a conversation with the Panadero before any business was discussed.  He would look through the sheets of pan dulce and would call out his order.  Unlike other customers, my grandfather didn’t reach in and pull out what he needed.  The Panadero would take my grandfather’s order and start working on a fresh batch of each item.   

Then, we would visit his sister at Nuevo Mundo, my great aunt’s grocery store.  Behind the cash register, there was a door which led to a small room with couches.  They would sit there and talk, while I was allowed to pick anything from the store.  Neither one of them talked much, but neither one of them was bothered by the silence.  Her son-in-law was a butcher.  My uncle would take us into a refrigerated room with beef hanging from hooks.  By this time, I had seen Rocky, so they didn’t scare me at all.  My grandfather would walk through the room, and was allowed to choose which cut he could take home.  My uncle would have the beef taken down, cut, and wrapped while we waited.

On the way home, we would stop by the bakery and pick up our order.  If it wasn’t ready, we would buy a soda and wait on the bench right outside of the store.  A rare car would drive by, and we would peek into the driver’s seat to see if it was anyone we knew.  Some cars would stop in the middle road, in downtown Edcouch, roll down the window, and ask how we were doing.  Finally, we would take our pan dulce and head home.  When we got home, we would sit out on the front porch and eat pan dulce, while my grandmother would gossip with the neighbor over the fence.

As a sales person, I can now say that I learned a lot of valuable lessons following my grandfather around.  I learned that a lot can be said without saying a word, and I learned that a strong personal relationship can result in you getting the freshest pan dulce and best cuts of meat in the store.  That Post Office is now an abandoned building, and a new one was built down the street.  Nuevo Mundo has been torn down, and I’m not sure what happened to the bakery.  Both of my grandparents passed away a long time ago.  But, I will never forget those moments I spent in Edcouch, TX around 1978.