Though Gary Camacho had been born and raised in San Antonio, Tx.,
after graduating from St. Mary’s University, he ended up in Portland,
Ore. for the last thirty years, working his way up overseeing operations
at Portland International Airport. Now this is the curious part, how had
he talked himself into accepting his dream job of being the main man,
the big kahuna, the chingon, and all of this at the McAllen-Miller
International Airport in Mc Allen, Tx.. Everybody advised him against
the move, but no, the baboso convinced himself that it would be
a good move for his family.

There was a lot of pressure on Gary after the disappointment his mom
and pop had endured after his brother Larry had announced (at a
family reunion) that he was a poet, and that he was going to teach
Creative Writing at the University of California at Salton Sea. Creative
writing? That’s not a profession some one said, and it was echoed by
everybody as they drank their beer and sucked down fajitas. So you
see, Gary had to make it big to keep the family honor intact instead of
torn apart like a hymen. Besides, moving to McAllen would put him
within driving distance of San Antonio and enable him to visit his
aging parents at least once a month.

The Success Of Gary Camacho

“Oh, it’s another fucking Mexican writing
about his or her experience of crossing the border,

or the river, or being smuggled across by a coyote!”
yells my friend Gary, third generation Mexican-American,

and he keeps heaping disdain
upon the new arrivals who have pushed

the wrong button, and triggered this holocaust.
“They break in line at the store, bang your car door,

they throw trash everywhere, look at McAllen,
what a pigsty…” I won’t quote him anymore,

I can see you’re getting angry,
having just arrived a mere ten years ago yourself.