ADIOS TO EL SIETE MARES, A 14TH STREET INSTITUTION

By Juan Montoya
At one time, a friend was telling me that his dad would take him (as did dads of other kids) to the strip of blue-collar bars on the stretch roughly between the intersection of Southmost Road and 14th Street, La Catorce.
There, while his dad socialized with his friends, he would either sit outside in the truck or sit in a nearby table while his father spent time drinking beer with his compadres.
"That was more than 40 years ago," he said. "Other guys would also take their kids and we would wait for them playing or drinking cokes. There were bars lined up all the way to La Resaca Bar on the (US 77) frontage road."
It's a lot different now. There are maybe 10 bars left on that strip, and the number is dwindling. Known as a favorite spot for local cops to rack up Public Intoxication and Driving While Intoxicated (DWI) violations, many patrons now go elsewhere or simply stay at home.
But in its heyday, some people remember as many as 20 or 30 bars competing for the poor man's dollar. Some of the bars that were legend are but dim memories now; El Domino, El Tenampa, Mi Tejana Bar.., the list just goes on and on.
Add to that disappearing collection El Siete Mares Bar, a classic working man's joint that appealed to customers not so much for its name, but for the fact that it had a regular set of patrons who had known each other for years and often helped each other through rough spots.
Someone reminded me that in the heyday of the shrimping industry and the seafood processors, the place was thriving, especially when the shrimpers came in for the season. Then followed the pre-cartel days when jewel-bedecked narcos in ostrich-skin boots and hot pickups would order the place shut down (Mamy's) and wouldn't allow anyone to leave until they decided they could. The place was a veritable barometer for the local economy with the peso devaluation, the Border Patrol crackdown, the national recession, all stamping their mark on the customer flow.
The El Siete Mares bar owner was the late Meme Flores, who was a Coors Beer distributor. He, in turn, had his longtime assistant and trusted friend Maria Gonzalez operate it until he died. Years later, she also succumbed to cancer. For years, a lighted votive candle flickered before his photo. In the last few months, there was also a photo of Maria with her own candle.
Later, when her daughter took over and she sublet the place to friends, the writing was on the wall. Customers died, new ones came by, but something was missing. It just wasn't the same as when Meme and Maria greeted everyone by their first name.
In the case of this particular cantina, the license had been issued under the grandfather clause that allowed a bar just a block away from an elementary (Victoria) school. That will be the end of a bar on that corner of Taft and 14th. The new owner, we understand, wants to put a drive-through instead.
But within these four walls – and over the years – Maria's customers gave her enough to keep the place going, to buy a home that she left to her children upon her death, and to leave a small, but thriving business for them when she passed away. Also within these walls birthday fiestas were held, jealousies over women (and men) fueled fights, births were celebrated, and the passing away of friends resulted in de facto wakes to be observed. Customers asked about others' kids, the health of the mate, and romances blossomed and some marriages ended. People became comadres and compadres over a cold beer.
This last Wednesday, a goodbye bash for El Siete Mares was held and included  a karaoke DJ. Of course, someone sang Me Dicen El Siete Mares.
When a customer met another somewhere else and asked whether he had been at El Siete Mares, the standard reply was:
"It's now called El Seis Mares now because I think we dank one (nos tomamos uno) sea last night."