Juan Carlos Gonzalez would have said it himself.
“I’m the black sheep of the family,” he would laugh. “Everytime I go visit my Mom I almost get in a fight with my brother Javier.”
When he was at the bar, he could be boisterous to the point of almost being obnoxious. But not quite. There was a hint of a good upbringing in his talk, and in his quieter moments he would recall life at the family rancho near Valle Hermoso where his dad and brothers grew sorghum.
After his dad died, the usual backstabbing that happens in ranch families with siblings fighting over the land started. Disgusted, the family went north and purchased a home in Brownsville. The boys worked as migrants in the Midwest.
Mario went on to become a successful teacher, Javier was the Momma’s boy at the house. And Carlos took off on a wild ride that lasted a lifetime. Along the way he did some time in Michigan, became a truck driver, had a bad accident, and ended up on disability that left his legs bent and scarred.
The bar crowd called him "El Chueco."
He rented a small room behind a local bar and basically adopted the entire bar family. His life became one of daily beer binges and smoking as he waited for the monthly disability stipend. You know, el chueco.
He spoke of past loves, and even hinted at having a child some time back. But that would pass quickly and he would move on to another subject. He would affect a growly, raspy voice of a Midwest biker when he was trying to impress. His trademark slogan "Lo Que Traigo Arriba Traigo Abajo," would echo through the bar.
"Cara de pija," one of the Central American girls would answer, and he would laugh.
His health deteriorated over time and someone said he was spitting blood at night. Then one morning they pounded on his door to help with the cleanup and he wouldn't answer. The door was pried open and he was laying in his small cot, apparently asleep.
Juan Carlos Gonzalez had died in his sleep, apparently as a result of a burst blood vessel.
Regardless of his past, or the animosity with his siblings, we know his death will rekindle memories of when times were good, and the family was together. To us, he will always be remembered as a friend, for good or ill.
Rest in Peace, Carlos.
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