It's as Midwestern as 4H: Breaking Down Our Utterly Unapologetic Mexican Bailes
We Heard It Young Extras Vol 2
Yo! Welcome to the second entry in the We Heard It Young Extras column in Of Spanglish & Maximalism. In case you didn’t know, regarding the memoir, there was, of course, pages upon pages of cut content from it. Stories that were completely excised. Or whole paragraphs of contextualization that were condensed to a few words of description. For this column I thought it would be fun to go through and fill in the blanks, so to speak.
Today’s post was a particular brutal edit; a super thorough, almost anthropological look at the Mexican dances we attended while growing up in West Liberty. That is, if said anthropology book was then thrust into the hands of a snarky teenage Mexican kid. A Kid who didn’t want to be caught dead at his cousins upcoming quinceañera but also had fond memories of rough housing until 2 in the morning outside the brown box we called a community center. This section was cut, rightfully so, due to pacing. Which makes sense for the book but I still really enjoy the totality of this snapshot. (It feels significant that I’ve never read/seen/or heard about anything like these bailes in U.S. media.) Hope you dig it too!
A Baile is a multifaceted social gathering. It consists of multiple elements dependent on who you are and your relation to the other people there. At the top level, a baile is the place where our Mexican parents and grandparents went to dance. To unwind and let loose on the weekends. Usually a proper baile happened on Saturday, peak weekend time.
A baile could happen anywhere but for West Liberty it was contained in the West Liberty Community Center, by the turkey plant. The community center was a big box. It was tan brown and utilitarian on the outside. All smooth concrete and rafters on the inside. At the far end was a stage and bar area. A permanent numbered Bingo sign was the backdrop for the stage. Besides being used for our Mexican functions, the center was used for Bingo and 4H competitions during the summer fair.
I don’t remember how often we went to the community center but it felt like every week. A baile was usually the culmination of other social forces manifesting themselves, rather than happening for the sake of itself. They were for wedding receptions, graduation parties, anniversaries, or, sometimes, because a mid tier Mexican band was rolling through. But I remember the Quinceaneras the most. Because I had to be a part of them.
You see while our parents were dancing the night away (most nights went until midnight or later) the kids were there too. I have early memories of running among and through the crowds of adults. While the mass of elders pulsed to the music we counter rythmed, snaking in and out of the crowd. The kids would play games like tag. Or look after and play with their even younger siblings. Or go and get beers for our parents in between songs, when it was quiet enough for them to tell us what to get.
These functions were entire family affairs. From our oldest elders to our youngest babies. If a kid was too young to be on their own or cared for by their siblings then an adult would simply hold them while they danced. I remember babies bouncing in their mother's arms to the tune of the band. Having a fussy child wasn’t an excuse to leave. Our parents kept dancing until the exhausted kids fell asleep in their arms. By the end of the night passed out children were strewn about chairs with coats as blankets. There was always someone to watch over the fallen kids while someone else danced.
For us kids, there was a graduation track for the West Liberty bailes. If you were young you stayed inside, to be taken care of and watched over. To suffer all the smoke.
That was another thing. Smoking laws and bans were nonexistent in the mid 90’s. So picture each of these memories with a thick haze of smoke. From the men and women smoking cigarettes by the bar, from teenagers smoking while they danced in the crowd. The smoke stung your eyes and made it hard to breathe. That never deterred the adults dancing but I remember the relief when I stepped outside. Like the bowling alley by my house opening a door would let smoke out into the night like the place was on fire. When a kid got old enough, say around six or seven, (or younger if you had an older sibling that you could accompany) you could go into and out of the community center at will. And for us, besides going inside to get some pops while we fulfilled our parents beer orders, there was little reason to stay inside while our parents danced.
Okay there was one reason. La Vibora de la Mar. La Vibora was a dance/game that the adults played but kids could jump in on if they were feeling brave. The main gist of the dance is that everyone interlocks hands and forms a line. While the onlookers sang “La Vibora Vibora de la Mar de la Mar de la Mar” the line would serpentine through the dance floor.
As the song progressed so did the speed and intensity of the snake. It became a challenge to hold on while the line cracked corners through the crowd. I remember loving the game but being sent flying a few times. La Vibora is like a lot of Mexican traditions in that there is a sliding scale of intensity. At times, and especially to onlookers, it can get intense or mean spirited. It’s like the tradition of the mordida after blowing out your birthday candles. When everyone tells you to sneak a little bite of cake so they can push your face into it. Usually it's a slight push with a backup cake on hand. But there are videos of kids getting absolutely annihilated by their families during la mordida.
I’m sure childhood clips of us getting ragdolled in la vibora would be viral nowadays. Think of it. Get enough slightly tipsy athletic men ripping through La Vibora and you can see why my mom would sometimes chastise and warn me about joining the viper.
But after braving La Vibora the fun was to be had outside. Beside the community center there was a big open field. To some that might read beside the community center there was nothing. But to us it meant that there was an opportunity. To play games like hide and seek or tackle football. To idolize the older kids while they talked. To be left alone while the adults sequestered themselves in their social gathering. It was a big unsupervised recess in the nighttime. It was a kids dream. I’m sure some of my highest, most visceral moments of joy happened at this stage of my life. Playing and messing around until our parents stumbled out of the community in the early morning. They would yell out our names, which got repeated and sent through people like a signal. From other adults to other kids. Until it reached you. “Hey Chuy your mom is calling for you that they’re leaving!” And you’d say your goodbyes and meet your family at the car for the ride home. The thump and bustle of the night would fade as exhaustion kicked in and your droopy eyes finally closed before your dad pulled into driveway of your house on elm street and someone carried you to bed. The ringing in your ears would stay with you for the rest of your life. A keepsake, for better or worse, of these dances of your youth.
-C
My friend lived near there (right by the racetrack) in the late 90s/early aughts. Thank you for a glimpse into a part of town I knew must be there but never saw.