Hold My Beer

It’s the summer of 1981. Two men, both in their early thirties, stand on the hot asphalt in the middle of the main street of Tecate, a small border town in Baja, California. They are excited and nervous.  And more than a little drunk. I know that for a fact, because I am one of them. The other is my friend and fellow Librarian at the Fresno County Free Library: Gerry Maginnity.  We’re here for the annual Pamplonada, the running of the bulls.

The economy of the town of Tecate depends primarily on the sale of a single product, Tecate beer. A decent, though not extraordinary brew. One that Gerry had grown fond of during his college years in Mexico at the University of Monterrey.

Tecate lacks the marketing budget of its competitors, Dos Equis, Modelo, and Bohemia, and the Tecate City Council is always on the lookout for new ideas. In 1979 they decide to replicate the famous Running of the Bulls in Pamplona with their own local Pamplonada.  In 1980 Gerry hears about it. One thing leads to another. And in August of 1981 we climb into his Datsun pickup for the six-hour drive from Fresno to Tecate. Along with 17-year-old Serafina “Sara” Semrau.

Wait! What? Who?

We work with Sara’s mother, Jeannine, who is a Force Of Nature. She thinks it would be good for Sara to visit Baja and learn more about her cultural heritage, so she asks us to take her along. We are nonplussed, but you don’t argue with Jeannine. You. Just. Don’t. So, it’s three for the road.

Gerry has added a camper shell to his truck, so Sara and I take turns riding in the back and conversing with the two in the cab through the sliding rear window. We arrive about midnight and sleep—quite uncomfortably—in the truck.

When morning comes, we make our way into town, buy breakfast and souvenir T-shirts, and find the street where the bulls will run. This is not difficult. Not finding it would be difficult. Sara, showing immensely good judgement for a 17-year-old, declines to join us in the street. She chooses to watch from outside the barriers.

The barriers?

Yes. Both sides of the street are lined with steel barriers. Their vertical posts are set in holes in the pavement, and their horizontal bars—suitable for leaning on or climbing on top of—are set at two, five, and seven feet high. Bull proof, but not human proof as we will soon find out.

The street is crowded. The phrase “thronged with people” could have been coined just for the occasion. Proving that there is a gender bias to intelligence, almost everyone in the street is male. Beer vendors are also plentiful, and Gerry and I do exactly what the Tecate City Council wants us to do. We buy some Tecate. And drink it. Then buy some more. Quite a bit more.

Time passes. We glance around. Above us is a balcony overlooking the street, and on it are several beautiful women. I catch their attention and shout “Come on down!”. They reply, “Why don’t you come up here?” This strikes me as an excellent idea, but Gerry is firm that we are here to run the bulls, so I stay.

Every so often there is a surge in the crowd, and we think “The bulls are coming!” But, no. Each time it is a false alarm.

We notice a group near us, all wearing identical T-shirts with a corporate logo and a bull’s head. Not the souvenir T-shirt image. We ask who they are and learn that they work at a small cross-border firm and that participating in the Pamplonada is now a tradition. Team building of a sort. Since they are obviously veterans of this event, we ask them—as another false surge passes through the crowd–“How will we know when the bulls are really coming?”

Their leader smiles slyly and says, “You’ll know!”

And he’s right. There are a few more false alarms and then…. Yes! There is an indefinable electric sense that a herd of huge, dangerous bulls is now bearing down on us!

Instantly, almost magically, the street clears as perhaps 90% of the people around us dive headlong through the openings in the steel barriers, ignoring the hard, hot asphalt and broken beer bottles they will land on.

Gerry and I remain, beers in hand, but decide that edging just a little closer to the fence might be a good idea.

It is.

An initial group of a dozen bulls thunders past. These are not the slow, chubby, Basset Hound sort of bulls you see in videos of the real Pamplona. Out of shape bulls that have people running with them and occasionally passing them.

No! These are lean, young Mexican bulls that cruise casually down the street at 20 miles per hour. Normal humans do not run “with” them. Usain Bolt—who was not yet born in 1981—could barely keep up.

No one is gored in the first rush, but several people have been sent sprawling. I’m glad we were smart enough to avoid being trampled, but I feel that I need to do “something” more than just stand by the barrier and watch them go by. So, as the next group approaches, I turn to Gerry and say, (You’ve been waiting for this.) “Hold my beer!” and dart out to briskly slap the flank of one of the passing bulls.

The bull ignores me. Which is A Good Thing.

I jump back to the fence, grab my beer from Gerry, and drain the bottle in one long, triumphant gulp. Having “counted coup”, I’m now content to let the third and final group run past unmolested. It’s not as though I want to do anything careless or stupid!

When it’s clear that all the bulls have passed, the magic evaporates, and everyone simply walks away, returning to their cars or their more intelligent companions.

We find Sara, who has learned the hard way that you don’t leave your wallet in your open purse next to you, as you watch your mother’s idiot friends play with livestock. But this is 1981, so she has lost $20, her driver’s license, and a photo of her boyfriend. Nothing that can’t be replaced.

Our adventure isn’t over yet. Returning to Gerry’s pickup, we head for Ensenada, hoping for a replay of some of the wonderfully bizarre adventures we’d experienced on our last visit to the famed Hussong’s Cantina. Thanks, in part, to Sara, we succeeded. But that’s another story.

Al Carlson spent 40 years as a Librarian and joined OLLI-USF after he retired in hopes of meeting interesting people and learning new things! Boy, did that ever work out well!

OLLI now allows him to co-edit OLLI Connects, moderate Zoom sessions, and take on other interesting projects from time to time.