Chicano Ballads
October 24 & 25, 1983
by Emilio Garcia Riera
I have just participated in a recent conference--a "meeting" I should say--which took place in La Jolla, California. There we discussed the theme "Technology and Culture on the Mexican/U.S. Border;" I made a presentation on how Hollywood and Mexican cinema have viewed the border, from the perspective of their respective histories and arrived at the conclusion that only the very young Chicano Cinema seems to present an adequate vision of border problems.
But don't worry: at least for now, I won't subject you to the lists of forgotten films that I referred to in my presentation, lists which I've documented in this column in articles on Mexico as seen in foreign films. We will deal with those things some other time. For now, I think it would be more interesting to let you know of two Ballads I had a chance to see (oddly enough since ballads are more generally heard) under very different circumstances but which are interesting testimonials to the latest in Chicano Cinema. The first, "Ballad of an Unsung Hero" (1983), is a half-hour bilingual documentary which has already been televised in the United States and was produced and written by Paul Espinosa and Lorena Parlee and directed and edited by Isaac Artenstein. The second is the much talked about "Ballad of Gregorio Cortez" (1981) produced by Moctezuma Esparza and directed by Robert N. Young.
The "unsung hero" of the first film is today 88 years old and lives in San Ysidro, an American citizen. He is Pedro J. Gonzalez, from Chihuahua, whose ill fated life is marked by various destinies characteristic of Mexicans in the 20th century; that of the revolutionary, the immigrant, the "latin lover" singer and the victim of discrimination.
Accompanied by his wife Maria, Gonzalez himself appears in the film to tell of his experiences, which are "illustrated" using photographs and documentary footage. Through this we learn that, between 1910 and 1917, Gonzalez was a telegraph operator under Pancho Villa.
After having been saved from a firing squad in Santa Rosalia by some students (among them Maria herself), Gonzalez immigrated to California where he worked at the shipyards before becoming a professional singer and songwriter of great popularity in Los Angeles among the Spanish-speaking community of the 1920's thanks in large part to radio and records.
We hear old recordings and see photographs of the triumphant Gonzalez showing a funny moustache trimmed in the shape of two large "U's." It was an era in which the Hollywood "latin lover" was all the rage, helped by the success of Valentino, Novarro and others; at the same time new mediums by which music could be transmitted to the masses allowed enterprising people, like Gonzalez, to satisfy a collective nostalgia for Mexican ranchera music, a style perfected by Gonzalez. As a leading man Gonzalez seemed--in the photos--more of a caricature; the recordings of his voice do not suggest anything extraordinary. However, Maria, as she herself recounts, had to confront the threat of a legion of latin female admirers undeterred in their affection for her husband.
If this were all of his story, Gonzalez would remain simply another colorful character. However, difficult tests, which I will discuss tomorrow, awaited him.
Part II October 25, 1983
In 1934, the former telegraph operator under Villa and popular Chicano singer, Pedro J. Gonzalez was found guilty of rape by a Los Angeles jury made up entirely of "Anglos." The alleged victim was a young 19 year old with the curious surname of "Versus," who soon after confessed she had lied on the witness stand; the authorities had threatened to send her to reform school if she did not accuse Gonzalez of rape.
But her confession proved useless. A judge, also Anglo, naturally, still condemned Gonzalez because of legal technicalities, and he was sentenced to withstand, for six years, the worse tortures, oppressions and humiliations, then reserved for Mexicans. Gonzalez never gave up and never admitted guilt. Finally, thanks in good measure to the solidarity of his Chicano fans, he was released and deported to Mexico. Between 1941 and 1971 he lived in Tijuana, where he recreated his radio programs and maintained his popularity. For the past twelve years he has lived in the U.S., patriarch of numerous descendents--84 children, grandchildren, etc.
--with no signs of bitterness. He is a healthy, jovial and charming near-nonagenarian who favors changes to help Chicanos and who says he has met, despite everything, "many , noble Americans."
Many of us in La Jolla, who saw "Ballad of an Unsung Hero," the half-hour documentary which tells Gonzalez's story, agreed that 30 minutes was not enough time to do justice to a man like Gonzalez. Moreover, the film's director Isaac Artenstein , told us he could not lengthen it because of economic shortcomings, but that he has more than enough material to put together a feature-length film. This opens up the possibility, a point which I have previously raised, that Mexican cinema might collaborate by providing federal funding to make the full-length feature possible and thus give Gonzalez's story all the attention and diffusion it deserves. In any case, despite its limitations and modesty, "Ballad of an Unsung Hero" is a splendid testimonial , well deserving of recognition by Mexican television as well , but on that matter I can only be skeptical.