DAVE'S ENDORSEMENT

"Delta" Dave Handelman sat in his shaded backyard. He heard a knock at the front door. He lifted his tired body from his chair, carefully placed his guitar against an outside wall and moved slowly to the front door. He had taken a three-mile run along Hudson Trail with his trusty poodle Pancho at his side yesterday morning before the sun would beat Brownsville into submission and he was presently paying the price for thinking he still had game.

He wondered who had the temerity to visit when he had promulgated to his musical and artistic friends that he wasn't receiving any visitors. Nearing 70 and sporting a pair of lungs that had succumb to excess on a thousand occasions, he looked at every human being as a possible source of COVID-19. He wanted to live. There was still music to be played. There were still the simple joys of life to be relished. He opened the door and it was Maclovio O'Malley, la Voz de los Vatos. His ol' compadre held up a bottle of Glenlivet.

"You son of a bitch!" exhaled Dave. "Come on in, you goddamn cabrón. I guess I'll be able to count on my best buddies wanting to sleep with my wife after you infect me with Coronavirus."

"I've been laying low, vato," answered the affable small-time wheeler-and-dealer. "But I needed to talk to you. While death is having a field day, life still goes on. Through wars, pandemics and depressions, politics never dies, We need your help to save your alma mater, the BISD."

They had settled on the patio. Dave poured them two glasses and they savored the first sip. Maclovio eyed Dave's guitar, but he knew from past experiences that nobody touched his old lady. This was one bitch he would never share with anyone.

"Qué onda, you scalawag?"

"Doc's son is running for the BISD board."

"Which one?"

"Carlos."

"How old is he now?"

"He'll be 33 in November."

"I thought he was going to dedicate his life to poetry and painting. I remember when I had him in my history class at Hanna. I would be lecturing and he would never stop taking notes. Or so I thought. I assumed he would be copying my words of wisdom, but one day I passed his desk and he was scribbling down poetry. Since he knew that his Dad and I were the heart and soul of the Doc Scully Blues Band, he expected that I would give him a 90 for simply occupying a seat. When he told me he intended to be the next T.S. Eliot and that his goal was to write a poem that would make everyone think that J. Alfred Prufrock had been composed by an amateur, I surrendered to his ambitions which were much greater than mine own since I would never have the talents that he inherited from his father. Politics is such a waste of energy when you could be practicing your licks or taking a long, leisurely walk. What does Doc think about Carlos' intentions?

"He thinks it's funnier than shit," laughed Maclovio.

"He would since he's never given a shit about anything. I wouldn't have any doubts that he's prostituting Carlos so he can write his bullshit."

"I'm not sure about the motivations other than youthful change is often a better alternative to old fuddy-duddies set in their ways. You saw Sheriff Omar Lucio get his ass kicked by Eric Garza and Eddie Lucio Jr. barely escaped with his reputation against Sara Stapleton-Barrera. The BISD board is such a mess that the pendejo Carlos Elizondo believes he can win. The time is perfect for Carlos."

"Who is going to be his campaign manager?"

"Who do you think, vato? Doc! He's going to have a field day concocting something about nothing. But we don't only need your endorsement, we need you playing in the background at Ben Neece's Spanish Moon when Carlos makes his virtual announcement. Can we count on you?"

"You know I have no alternative when Doc summons. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't have been a sports scribe, a teacher and a musician although he reminds me that he had nothing to do with my decision to marry. Why not? Who is he running against?"

"Minerva Peña!"

"That air head! Somebody needs to stick a dick in her mouth, so she can stop ejaculating her crap. Isn't she the Christian nut who would sleep with Trump if he looked twice at her and insists that the pandemic is a hoax?"

"Esa es la puta."

"Can Carlos beat her?"

"Oye, vato! Are you forgetting what Doc always says? 'Winning and losing are for little minds.'"

The two finished the bottle. Dave played and Maclovio sang. The latter drove home drunker than shit, but it was still light outside and he steered carefully. With endorsements from Hall of Fame Coach Rene Medrano, City Commissioner Ben Neece, STIJA President Anthony Starr and now "Delta" Dave, the momentum was building. Tomorrow he would call Erasmo Castro and schedule a slot on Brownsville Talk. With more than 90 days until the election, Maclovio liked Carlos' chances.