Go West Young Man pt. 5

Many guys went through the program. They ranged in age from eighteen to seventy. Some of them had been sent to the program because they had just been released from prison. Some were in the program because otherwise, they were going to prison. Some of the guys were there because their families ran out of options. Either way, the men would pass through, some of them graduating from the program and some of them simply disappearing. The staff might have known what happened to them, but I didn't. They just disappeared.

One of the guys in the program was named René. René was a quiet guy. He was maybe five feet six or five feet seven, with a thin build. His body was covered in tattoos. It was the first time I had seen a teardrop tattooed on someone's face. To me, though, I just saw it as art, and I liked it. I did not understand the meaning behind it. He wore a thin black mustache. He was my first introduction to the Cholo culture. His mother would come when possible to visit with him. Of course, we kids were always running around, and for whatever reason, she had a soft spot for me. I remember the first year that we were there, she came the weekend closest to my birthday. My dad found me and had me visit the Center to see her. I ran in and there she was to give me a hug. Gloria was a short lady, with dark hair and even darker eyes. She had a smile that would simply put you at ease and a hug that you didn't want to let go of. 'I have something for you,' she said as she looked down at me. ' You do?' I asked with big eyes. She turned around and picked up a wrapped package that had been sitting on the table. 'This is for you,' she said as she handed it to me, 'Happy Birthday'. I quickly unwrapped the package, and inside was a brand new pair of pants. 'Wow!' I exclaimed. 'Thank you so much.' René, like the other guys, eventually got to the point where he was allowed to leave for weekend passes. One of the weekends, he went and never came back. You have to understand, this was his last chance at freedom. He had to finish the program or begin serving a fifty-plus-year sentence. The struggle was real, and it did not matter whether he had the support of a mother's love or not. While I did not really understand the whole thing, I witnessed it often. The next January, my mom told me that I had to go to the Center to get a phone call before going to school (we did not have a phone in our place, and this was long before cell phones). It was my birthday. 'Who could be calling me?' I wondered to myself. I ran up to the Center and went into the main office. The phone rang and I grabbed it. 'Hello?' I asked. 'Happy birthday, Nathanael,' said the voice on the end of the phone. 'Thank you,' I responded and then asked, 'Who is this?' Through a chuckle, the response came,' It's Gloria. I was not able to come out since René is not there anymore, but I wanted to wish you a happy birthday.'

On occasions, we would go to a place called Four Bees Cafe. It was this little mom 'n pop cafe located on Old Black Canyon Highway. The place was a dingy, colored yellow building. When you walked in, they said, 'Wherever seats were available.' So, one might often find oneself brushing elbows with strangers. The one seat that was always open was in the far left corner. This was because the seat was directly under the electric bug zapper, no joke. I don't know if they thought the extra 'flavor' would enhance the breakfast experience, or if the health inspections were a bit more lax at that time. What the place was famous for was ten-cent pancakes. These were no ordinary pancakes. These were pizza-sized pancakes that flowed over the edges of a plate. Honestly, one pancake could have fed a whole family probably, but it was all about the experience.

On occasion, an out-of-towner would come in and order pancakes. Of course, not knowing any better, they would at times order a stack. Oh, to see the expression on their faces as the food came out. A hush would fall on the room, the screech of chair legs as people turned, their eyes following the stack of pancakes to the even more bewildered and shocked customer. Inevitably, someone from a nearby table would ask the question, 'Not from around here, huh?' Everyone would break out laughing, not out of antagonizing but simply commiserating with the situation. Years later, I remember listening to Paul Harvey on the radio he mentioned a little hole- in- the- wall mom and pop cafe on Old Black Canyon Highway. Immediately, I knew the place he was talking about and those gigantic pancakes.