Si, Se, Puede















Yesterday was the great walk out day for emmigrant mexicans in America. Lets call it what it was. While the groups maintain other agendas, such as human rights, or hispanic or latino rights; it really is about mexican emigrants. Its about a one way path from mexico to the united states for permanance. There wasnt chanting about sweat shop labor, or ship breakers in india. There wasnt anyone of Spanish descent. See the term Hispanic really means a person from the Iberian penninsula, a place in latin, known as Hispania. Latino is a generic term often afforded too, but it means a localized geography of latin american states. No one was from El Salvador that I met. No one was from Columbia. Everyone was from mexico. And when I say "i met", I mean yesterday there was a large demonstration from Illinois crossing the Mississippi River to Iowa, culminating in a rally of sorts. And I attended.

I wasnt sure what to expect. For my generation, there really only was Rodney King, as far as ethnic uprisings to watch. King had a different circumstance. People probably should be outraged with what happened to him. However, I remember being in 6th or 7th grade, and watching all the black kids get up and walk out. They were angry. Some started running around yelling "black power" but in reality it was nothing. Since then, I sat through who-knows-how-many hours of classroom work in sociology. Even one course just on Social Movements. So for me to see this type of situtation develop, was like taking Einstein and giving him a seat for atomic testing. It gives him the result of everything he sat and contemplated, but could never really see happen. So I wanted to see it happen. The entire issue has blown up to national focus. But all along, its keeping a strong locally rooted support from interested parties. So when they declared some sort of action, i wanted to watch. And i found myself sitting on the steps of the Rock Island County Court House, watching nearly 3,000 people line up to walk across the Centenial Bridge.

I thought about why it mattered. It didnt really matter to me. In what I do with my daily life, illegal immigrants dont really have much impact. And I dont necessarily buy into the arguments of "human rights" they had been talking about. For me, there was that academic connection; watching lightning strike. That. And there is a historical connection. My great-grand parents were illegal. Its very likely that they never registered and became documented. Victor and Felicetes Alvarado came here from some small town near north-central Mexico City, sometime from 1900 to 1919. The story goes that he came here looking for work, hitched his way up on the railroad, wound up in bumblefuck illinois and got work in a farmfield, and eventually a factory, then sent for his bride back from Mexico to meet him in Texas. Problem was, the wrong sister came to the Rio Grande, and floated across the river with him, and by the time he saw her it was too late; and he ended up marrying the wrong sister. But the first offical documentation we have found between them and any branch of government, is their listing on the US Census. They were marked as undocumented. My dad tells stories of visiting his grandparents; and his grandmother who would never answer the door. She would always run upstairs to the attic and look out a small window with a curtain. She was worried, even at that age, of the immigration officials. He also says that she would follow the railroad tracks to walk into town, never using the lit, public streets and sidewalks. She wanted to remain unseen, where the police or who-knows-whom, couldnt find her. Ive seen their house. Its unused, and abandoned now. But the window and its curtain are still their. And the railroad tracks, also gone mostly forsaken now, still run not far from the house. I could hardly visualize it. A dark haired, spanish speaking woman walking along the rails at night, taking the back way into a town as small and sleepy as Kewanee, IL, in the 1950's. A woman so entrenched in fear, she would always look first before opening the door to her own home. They never owned a phone. She never really learned english. But she was family to me, even though she died 15 years before I was born.

As I sat on the steps, I felt like I should be moved. That I should have been moved to wear a white t-shirt and walk with these people. Or, that I should be moved to protest against it. Again, there is a strong pull from myself that recongnizes the problems with offering amnesty or guest work permits. There was the part of me as a sociologist, that I should have been motivated to do more studying, talking to the crowd, more interviewing, more documenting. But I just wasnt moved very far from the steps. I sat watching everyone else act out. I knew my history. I knew how I came to be. But even so, I took pictures and sat and thought about it all.

so it rained today. about 3 inches worth. people knew it was going to rain. its been raining since friday. but. at 6pm, an hour before the store closes; half of rock island comes in trying to buy sump pumps. people were screaming, stomping around, bitching and moaning about water in the basement, water on the stairs, water in the drains, water on the brain.... sigh. just idiocy on a mass level. we sold 34 sump pumps in less than 2 hours. we sold 70 packages of drainage hose. and still, people are complaining. but really. its been raining since friday. it rained all day; is it really a rush now? when the water probably has been collecting all weekend? sigh.

todays winners also included... "Do you sell okra? No? Its not a food. Give me someone who knows a damn about plumbing then." Four of us had never heard of okra. other than as a food. we all refused to tell mister idiot, that its oakum. its jute cord soaked in oil. but we let him babble on about okra. thank god it wasnt oprah.

another tall young woman, with her very short boyfriend admitted to me that they needed a bigger shower because sometimes they use it together. i laughed, and made a flippant comment about how rushed it gets in the mornings sometimes. she corrected me that they have sex in it. appearantly; that was supposed to help find a shower for them. i dunno.

some idiot asked me if a specific plunger worked right. it was one with accordian pleats in it. i told him, "no... it works fine, but it tends to catch stuff in all those pleats in it" he looked at me. 'what kind of stuff?' i reminded him we were talking about whatever it was hes blocked his toilet up with. he didnt say anything. but his wife wrinkled up her nose. thankfully someone understood.

i had a customer demand to open a box because he wanted to see the color of the finish. so we did. then he said hed buy it, but only one that hadnt been opened. and he refused to take the one he just watched me open.

a woman called on the phone asking about drainage kits for cinder-block walls. i told her we sell them in a kit and by pieces. she asked how much per foot. i told her 48" pieces are 22 dollars. well, she asks how much the kit is. i tell her its 287 dollars, and does 30 linear feet. she gets mad. "what the hell does that mean?" i explain to her that if you put all the pieces in a line, it was go 30 feet. she didnt get it, and told me to stop talking down to her. then complained that i wouldnt tell her how much per foot the pieces cost. i told her each four foot section was 22 dollars. she still claimed i was using big words and was trying to cheat her.

the hot cashier came around trying to put away returns. i tried to make small talk with her. it turns out shes 18. sigh. she asked how old i was. i told her i was 25. "eww gross, and youre hitting on me!" sadly i wasnt. she did mention something to me later about how she didnt think i was that old. sigh. but she told me that one cashier working that day was 36. which surprised me, because i figured that person was younger than i was.

another wonderful time at menards.