Osprey - 4-7-2009 at 12:34 PM
Del, the Tejano
June, many years back I decided to make a dry-camp on the beach just a long nine iron shot east of Rancho Antares. I pulled in just at dark and didn’t
see a soul. A good sign. My dog Storm was glad to be out of the vehicle and he marked our perimeter like I was gonna buy the place. I made us both
some dinner and was just settling in when I heard somebody playing the guitar. I walked up to the top of the foredune and saw his campfire just a
short distance up the beach.
Just a man, alone, cowboy hat, jeans, boots, guitar. Now I could hear the words – frontera, mostly English, a little Spanish. He heard Storm bark,
turned and motioned me off the dune. The man was about my size but he had a lot of years on me. A gringo traveling light in a jeep with Texas plates.
Said his name was Del, said he was born in Mexico but lived most of his life in Texas.
“Nice song. I don’t know that one. I came over the dune to get a better listen. I just pulled in and it’s been a long day of driving. I’ve got some
Gusano Rojo and a couple of limes. Might go good with the fire, wave sounds, your music.”
He smiled and nodded, Storm and I walked back to the truck for the bottle. We took a couple of hits and he began to sing another tune, Mi Ranchito,
one of my favorites. The guitar looked as old as the player.
We both took another drink. He said. “You know Rio Tenampa?
Shook my head no and cut another lime.
“For a time I lived in Veracruz, close to the town of Tenampa. The old man ran out of luck in Mexico when I was twelve – we lit out for Texas and
that’s where I learned most of the Frontera music. The new Tejano style is a little fast for my taste and I can’t get these old fingers around the
wires for the zippy tunes.”
As he started the song I got the feeling he wasn’t always just a beach wanderer – that he might have made his living singing and playing. He closed
his eyes often, swayed with the strumming and seemed to sometimes be drawn to the warmth of the fire. His voice was a little whiskey scratchy but he
finished every word; they were crisp when they had to be, low and slow where it counted.
Sat at a table and wrote a good song
‘Bout eyes as blue as the sea
Drank down a whiskey and let out a sigh
And thought of how things used to be
Children played on the floor near the bar
With toys made of wood and string
Lovers kissed and others laughed
As the band would strum and sing
Hablame rio de Tenampa
Cantame conciones de valor
En este rincon del cielo
Deje mi cariño y amor
Tenampa was a place we’d go
To escape the heat of the day
To tell all the stories of good times and bad
And hear the violins play
Hablame rio de Tenampa
Cantame conciones de valor
En este rincon del cielo
Deje mi cariño y amor
I remember a story of a lady on the hill
Gave roses to an Indian boy
He ran down to tell everyone he met
‘Bout his love and his hope and his joy
Rain now falls on the plaza in town
By the fountain where mariachis sing
I wondered how long these memories would last
And dreamed what tomorrow would bring.
The song must have had some special meaning for the man because as he lifted the little glass of mescal I thought I could see tears in his eyes. Might
have just been the firelight.
I asked “Is there a Rio Tenampa? Do you know the place?”
“I guess, I guess there was, way back when. A bar. It was a bar. There’s no river near the village of Tenampa. Now there’s bars and hotels all over
Mexico with that name.”
I vowed right there and then never to go lookin’ for the rivers or the bars. No Hotel California’s for me. But, as it turned out, that’s a vow I broke
many times. Place must be magic because every time I hear that song I cannot hide my tears.
motoged - 4-7-2009 at 12:45 PM
Nor can I....
Thanks for a tale from the heart.
DanO - 4-7-2009 at 02:45 PM
Inspirational, George, as always. Thank you.
LOSARIPES - 4-7-2009 at 04:41 PM
Wonderful... great to read
Skeet/Loreto - 4-7-2009 at 04:59 PM
Sure brings tears to an Old Cowboys Eyes.
God Bless that mans ability to understand the heart of Man.
Mexitron - 4-7-2009 at 05:33 PM
Nice one Osprey...heh, I understand that a little closer to the heart after roaming around in these Tejano haunts for almost three years now...wow,
has it been that long?
Ken Bondy - 4-7-2009 at 05:42 PM
Osprey you are an artist.
Iflyfish - 4-8-2009 at 11:10 AM
What pleasure and memories you bring to us! Gracias amigo!
Iflyfish
Sharksbaja - 4-8-2009 at 11:28 AM
That touches the musical strings of my soul, thanks
Pescador - 4-8-2009 at 02:03 PM
I have a song that I always play at campfires called the Cowboy's Lament which I learned at a campfire in the bottom of the Grand Canyon. I can
always manage to bring back a bit of the canyon mystique each and every time I play that song.
Cypress - 4-8-2009 at 02:11 PM
Pescador, "The Streets fo Loredo".
One of those Texas tunes.
Pescador - 4-8-2009 at 06:55 PM
Actually the Mexicans love the Calles de Loreto by Marty Robbins. They can make up verses by the hour for that song and when the cerveza flows some
of them get pretty interesting.
ELINVESTIG8R - 4-8-2009 at 07:09 PM
Osprey you are a very good writer.
Udo - 4-8-2009 at 07:34 PM
Muchas gracias otra ves, Jorge. Tu eres un artista con la palabra escrita.
Your story make me wish I was visiting the same singer. Brings back memories of a couple of my campouts in central arizona, near Wickenburg. Could
have been the same guy, but much younger.
Thank you again!