TERRAS

My life began in Brownsville at the Milner Hotel on the corner of 12th and Levee in the spring of 1975. Caddy corner, beaten but still standing, the El Jardin was on its last legs. The establishment's Silver Dollar Club was my first hot spot. You moved in a dark, cloud of smoke and the individuals with whom you shared drinks were part shade, part ghost. I don't think sunlight ever did any of them favors.

I have an endless romance with downtown, similar to the infatuation I had with Matamoros until the mafiosos took control of the city. During my long writing career, I have probably penned a hundred articles about our living museum. There have been chapters on the Palm Lounge, the Resaca Club at the Fort Brown, the cantinas and the Cameron Hotel, which has been my home on several occasions.

My latest chapter has documented the downtown renaissance and the new businesses that have made taking the freeway and exiting on 6th street or 12th street relevant. Restaurants, bars and clubs have come and gone, most notably the demise of the Half Moon with the death of the visionary George Ramirez.

But in the survival of the fittest, there is the Palm Lounge rebounding stronger than ever, El Hueso de Fraile where artists page homage to the bohemian spirit, Las Ramblas that attracts a classier clientele, the Library, which is my favorite watering hole, Dodici Pizza and Wine, its interior patio evoking the French Quarter, the Whiskey Bar 1929 defying the odds with its recent grand opening in a building which has been a cemetery for several previous ventures across the street from Market Square, the beer joints including The Kraken and Double Trouble, the cantinas best typified by The Sportsman--arguably the most authentic cantina in the Valley--and any number of greasy spoons as well as several decent restaurants.

I could go on and on, but I am a modest person and I don't want to embarrass myself by exhibiting my vast knowledge of the cracks and crannies of an area in which I have occupied at least ten residences, one time a vacant office in the multi-storied Samano Building where I had no shower or toilet. I would shit and piss out one of the many buildings overlooking the alley. Bombs away, bums!

Last night Claudia and I, tired of the northside joints as we have wined and dined at Toscafino, Mi Pueblito, La Pampa, Gazpacho's as well as at the sushi, Italian, taco, wings, pizza, seafood and miscellaneous joints too many times to count, opted for downtown and chose Terras on Washington near 12th. The place was buzzing.

People in Brownsville generally abide by the mask rule, but you can't eat and drink through clothe. We ordered a tuna ceviche for starters and Claudia feasted on a salmon and I on a chipotle Alfredo. Terras has garnered a reputation for excellent food and they eclipsed the bar this evening. We emptied two bottles of their cheapest wine. I have discovered that there is a significant difference on my tab when I'm paying for two $25 dollar bottle of wine rather than a pair that cost $50 to $75. Sometimes quantity triumphs over quality. Would you rather fuck one thousand-dollar prostitute or 10 hundred-dollar prostitutes? There isn't much difference, so I'll pass on the $200 bottle for ten $20 bottles.

When Terras was located on Elizabeth across the street from the now abandoned HEB, I used to play music at that venue. I would open and Ben Neece would close. We didn't charge any money. It was our artistic commitment to downtown and we desired nothing more than contributing to the ambience. We paid for our own drinks. We are unassuming artists who seek neither fortune or fame, but we genuinely believe that we are entertaining. Unfortunately, management didn't share my vision and I received this Facebook message:

"Good afternoon, Dr. McHale-Scully. We wanted to let you know that today we will have another artist. Your style is unique and confrontational which is good to have, but the clientele that we have slowly forming may not be as appreciative as we are. As business owners we have to cater to the public with the type of music we play as we do with food and drinks."

Apparently, the Chinga Tu Madre Blues offended a few individuals. They didn't applaud several of my other compositions which included references to God being a puto, you ain't got class until you take it up the ass, when he isn't raping, Trump is grabbing pussies and on and on. It's an iconoclastic genre that inspires me, but some religious right pervert suddenly became a music critic after ordering a basket of fries who found my compositions disgusting and I was summarily fired. Ben was a victim of collateral damage.

The other day I ran into an old acquaintance whom I hadn't seen in several years. We used to run in the same crowed that patronized Matamoros in the late seventies and early eighties three and four times a week. We were hardly saints as the hedonistic lifestyle of eating, drinking and whoring was more to our liking. It gives you a different perspective on life. My lyrics capturing this devil-may-care attitude, however, didn't find a sympathetic crowd and the Tierras owners pulled the plug.

But why should I be surprised! The BISD twice went to TEA in Austin to strip me of my teaching certificate for articles in El Rocinante, the publication that shook the world. Former Superintendent Dr. Esperanza Zendejas threatened to fire me if I didn't stop writing. I have gone to court to defend myself against multiple suits because in the opinion of my accusers I had abused my First Amendment Rights. So why should I react negatively when management decides that they will never make ends meet if they allow this raving anarchist to take the stage. As liberal as George Ramirez was, he told me categorically that I would never perform at the Half Moon until Pat Ahumada won a third term as mayor.

I recognize that I exceed limits on occasions. It's part of my shtick. I can't resist voicing my opinion in my own unique style. It's instinctual. In the immortal words of Steppenwolf, "I was born to be wild." But I have a thick skin from my many years in the ring trading shots and insults, so I have a strong chin. Once the final bell rings, I'm not one to hold grudges. Even though the Terras management may not share my aesthetic sympathies, they serve excellent food, inexpensive wines and an enticing atmosphere that attracts a diverse crowd from all ages. Claudia and I finished two bottles of wine and we're hoping that we consumed enough alcohol to ward off any COVID germs.