L ATIMES.COM S FRIDAY, AUGUST 9, 2019A
EL PASO SHOOTING
nia, where a large El Pasoan
community has played an
outsized role in Mexican
American life for over a cen-
tury.
Naturalization records
on file at the Riverside Fed-
eral Records Center in Per-
ris show that nearly 60% of
Mexican immigrants who
settled in Los Angeles from
1900 to 1945 entered the U.S.
through the El Paso port of
entry.
In the early days, labor-
ers and families followed the
Southern Pacific Railroad
from the border crossing
with Ciudad Juarez all the
way to Union Station. With
the construction of Inter-
state 10 in the 1950s, hun-
dreds of thousands of Mexi-
can Angelenos have re-
turned to their home states
and back along that route
ever since.
The number of people in
Southern California with
roots in the border town is
unknown, but there are
enough former residents
that alumni from El Paso’s
Bowie High School — which
stands 100 yards from the
Rio Grande in a neighbor-
hood that was part of Mexico
as recently as 1964 — have
held reunions here for dec-
ades.El Paso-Los Angeles
Limousine Express, a char-
ter bus company started in
1966 that’s known to fans as
los limousines, runs three
daily overnight routes be-
tween the two cities.
“Anytime I tell people in
L.A. I’m from El Paso,” said
Gabriel Tenorio, a 46-year-
old guitar string maker from
Boyle Heights, “people’s re-
action is usually, ‘Oh, you
too? Oh, my God, what high
school?’ ”
Mario T. Garcia, a profes-
sor of Chicano studies at UC
Santa Barbara, has lived in
Southern California since
1969 and written multiple
books and essays about the
diaspora. He describes his
hometown as the “funnel of
where Mexican immigrants
started to come to L.A.”
Garcia says El Paso is
more than just a station on
the road to someplace bet-
ter. He compares the influ-
ence that transplants havehad in Southern California
Mexican American life to
how Midwesterners defined
the economic, political and
cultural mores of L.A
through the 20th century.
Angelenos of note with
roots in El Paso have in-
cluded journalists (former
Los Angeles Times col-
umnist Rubén Salazar and
the late Raul Ruiz), labor
leaders (Bert Corona), Hol-
lywood stars (Lupe On-
tiveros), and longtime poli-tico Richard Alatorre. Pio-
neering LGBTQ author
John Rechy was born in El
Paso and blossomed in L.A.;
so did UCLA School of Medi-
cine professor Cynthia
Telles, the daughter of a for-
mer El Paso mayor, who has
sat on the board of Kaiser
Permanente for over a dec-
ade.
The zoot-suit-sporting
pachucosof Chicano lore
originated in El Paso. Even
the distinctive accent andargot of East Los Angeles
has roots there, according to
ethnolinguists.
“Mexican Americans
[from El Paso] grew up with
a certain confidence of our
ethnic identity” stemming
from the city’s long history of
binational activism and
majority-minority demo-
graphics, Garcia said. That
translated into an “ethnic
pride and strong leadership”
that influenced the early
days of Latino politics in Los
Angeles, and which eventu-
ally transformed into to-
day’s political machine.
“Back in El Paso, all the
streets echo our names,”
Tenorio said. “You grow up
with a sense of awareness
that we own the Southwest a
bit, that we Mexicans are not
a stranger here. I didn’t real-
ize I was on the outside until
I was older in L.A.”
While the connections
between El Paso and Los An-
geles run deep, that hasn’t
always translated into a rosy
relationship.
“We’re a brain-drain city,”
Alvarez said of El Paso.
“Those back home always
ask, ‘¿Te fuiste a Austin?”
[You went off to Austin?], or
‘¿Te fuiste a L.A.?’ And they
don’t really like it.”
Texas State District
Judge Francisco X. Domin-
guez remembers how people
who moved out to Southern
California inevitably treated
those who remained in El
Paso as “country cousins”;
paseños, he said, regarded
those who left as “sort of
Mexican-lite. Our Spanish
was better, our familiarity
with traditions was better.”
But that familial beef
never stopped what he de-
scribes as the “great foreign-
exchange program” of Ange-lenos and chuqueñossend-
ing their children to summer
in each other’s cities with
relatives to keep those ties
alive.
The roots remain strong
enough that when Elvia
Rubalcava recently needed
to find help to resettle her
ailing father in his native El
Paso, she first asked friends
in Los Angeles before family
in Texas.
“They immediately con-
nected me to lawyers, doc-
tors, whatever I needed,”
said the 42-year-old play-
wright.
Rubalcava’s family
moved to Santa Ana in 1975,
where the only other Mexi-
can family on their block was
also from El Paso. Though
she has lived her entire life
in Orange County, Rubal-
cava still proudly considers
Chuco her second home.
She has fond memories of
the shopping plaza where
the massacre happened; her
grandparents’ house stands
two miles away.
“I’ve been trying to keep it
together,” she said. “Coming
off the plane in the airport,
there’s signs everywhere
that say El Paso is the safest
city in the U.S.” She repeats
the phrase and stays quiet.
“There’s so many people
here in SoCal that have
great memories in El Paso,
and this massacre shows
that nowhere is safe.”
“It’s our Macondo,” Ten-
orio said, referring to the fic-
tional town where Gabriel
Garcia Márquez set many
of his stories — a mythical,
bucolic place of longing and
memories. “That’s were you
went to be enjoy a calm
life. And now, I can’t give
that to my sons and daugh-
ters.”Roots, and pain, run deep in Southland
[C huco,from A1]
‘It’s been a big, emotional ride for us. Out here, we’re
just devastated.’
—JACOBOALVAREZ,
El Paso transplant, 36, in Fountain ValleyAllen J. SchabenLos Angeles Timesran into the store, yelling,
“Active shooter!” He and
other Walmart employees
began directing people to
the back exits as the gun-
shots popped. “I told them
to head for the TVs along the
back wall,” Evans said.
There was blood.
Screaming. A lot of death.
He spent the rest of the day
at the store, which had be-
come a massive crime scene.
Evans would be the last
store employee to leave the
scene Saturday night after
being interviewed by investi-
gators.
The days after were a
blur, but he didn’t have the
luxury of shutting down.
Store employees had left
medications, work visas and
personal belongings in lock-
ers and couldn’t pick them
up until Walmart had set up
a site at a nearby hotel. Ev-
ans stood in the hotel lobby
Monday as they arrived,
hugged them and helped
them find counselors and re-
claim their items. He did it
again Tuesday. And then on
Wednesday. Sleep hadn’t
been easy.
But now the father of five
was standing on the field at
the first home game for the
El Paso Chihuahuas since
the shooting. Chihuahuas
players in black jerseys lined
up along the third-base line,
and the visiting Round Rock
Express — in gray uniforms
—stretched down the first-
base line.
The El Paso team, a
triple-A affiliate of the San
Diego Padres, was honoring
him for helping to save peo-
ple from the shooter. One of
the Chihuhuas’ team doc-
tors gave him a small bless-
ing. “I tried to get everybody
out,” Evans told the doctor.
The doctor gave him a hug.
“It felt so comforting,” Evans
said.
He choked up as the na-
tional anthem was played.
When they had 22 seconds of
silence in honor of the dead,
one second for each, it was
quiet except for an ambu-
lance siren wailing in the dis-
tance.
The names of each victim
scrolled over the big screen
over center field. In a mo-
ment that made him smile, a
rainbow appeared beyond
the stadium along the first-
base side.
Travis Radke, a left-han-
ded pitcher for the Chi-
huhuas, was emotional. He
grew up in Thousand Oaks
and used to go to the Border-
line Bar and Grill regularly,
and watched in horror last
year as he learned of the
mass shooting there that
claimed the lives of 12.
Standing in the bullpen,
he said that when the El
Paso shooting happened,
the team was on the road
and all he wanted to do was
to get back and help. Radke
said he hoped that the game
could give people a respite
from the grief and pain for at
least a couple of hours.
“Baseball has always
been with us,” he said. “Dur-
ing World War I, World War
II, 9/11 — it’s always beenthere. I hope people find
some comfort in that.”
Evans did.
He took his seat behind
home plate, along with wife
Norma, his dad, John Evans,
and other family members.
The familiarity was in-
stant. The first baseman
rolled warm-up grounders
to second, shortstop and
third.
The players whipped
throws back to him, the ball
snapping into the leather —
just as they always havesince the days of Babe Ruth.
The stands were about
half full and already some
were wearing “El Paso
Strong” T-shirts. Those
words were stenciled behind
the mound as well and
flashed on the scoreboard
throughout the game.
Emmanuel Ramirez
hurled the first pitch, and it
was fouled off into the seats.
The Chihuahua mascot — a
large dog — walked along the
concourse and posed for pic-
tures with kids. Lines forstreet tacos, hot dogs and
beer had already begun to
form. Ramirez gave up a
two-run homer to put the
Chihuahuas down 2-0, but in
the bottom of the first, El
Paso took the lead on back-
to-back home runs.
Norma Evans rubbed her
husband’s back. He ate pop-
corn and had a beer. The
game seesawed back and
forth. The Express had
scored in every inning
through five, and El Paso
had scored in all but the sec-
ond inning.
When in the fifth inning
free T-shirts were thrown
into the stands, Evans stood
up and tried to nab one that
sailed a few rows past him.
There were the mid-inning
promotions, including a race
between a child and the mas-
cot. A man had mixed re-
sults on a trivia contest
shown on the scoreboard.
During the game, Evans was
engaged, coaching from his
seat.
“Come on!” he yelled at a
player who missed a cutoff
throw.
He used to manage a
youth T-ball team — and
said he loves the teamwork
baseball requires, which he
says is applicable to so many
parts of life. He likes teach-
ing that lesson early to the
younger kids.
But then sometimes dur-
ing the game his mind wan-
dered back to the shooting.
Afew employees from Wal-
mart had also come to the
game, and he would look at
their faces and he’d be think-
ing about Saturday morning
all over again.
One was in the money
center and had helped take
wounded out of the building.
Another was in the cleaning
supplies department, help-
ing customers escape amidthe gunfire. Evans remem-
bered hugging one later. She
told him he “looked like an
angel running through the
store,” he said.
It was his Walmart. He
started there 21 years ago
working in the dairy depart-
ment, moving up to market
grocery manager and ulti-
mately becoming the store
manager seven years ago.
The attack felt personal and
the wound felt deep. He
refers to his store associates
as a family, and El Paso
has been his home for 42
years.
During the seventh-in-
ning stretch, the crowd
stood and sang. El Paso
trailed 16-11. Some fans called
it a night, leaving early. Ev-
ans and his family stayed.
He’s an optimist.
“They’re still within strik-
ing distance,” John Evans
said to his son.
Both booed the umpire
for close pitches not called
strikes for the Chihuahuas.
They both shared analysis.
“He was late on that,” Evans
said to his dad after a player
struck out swinging.
Radke came in for the top
of the ninth inning, giving up
four runs, and El Paso had a
nine-run deficit to over-
come. The first batter hom-
ered and Evans cheered. But
the team lost, 20-12.
Evans and his family
stood up and stretched as
the remaining fans headed
to the exits and out into the
city. He hugged his wife, and
his dad patted him on the
shoulder. He looked tired
as they headed to the exits
and the dark night — and
lightning flashing in the dis-
tance.
“I love baseball,” he said
quietly.
And on this night, it loved
him back.Baseball provides solace in El Paso
[B aseball, from A1]
WALMARTmanager Robert Evans acknowledges the crowd before the game,
which he watched from the stands with his wife, father and other relatives.Photographs by Rudy GutierrezFor The TimesARAINBOW appeared by the ballpark during
Wednesday’s game, bringing a smile to Evans’ face.CHIHUAHUASpitcher Travis Radke grew up in Thousand Oaks, scene of a mass
shooting last year. He was emotional before the game discussing El Paso’s tragedy.