For four decades there wasn’t too much you couldn’t find in Lupe and Lancho’s little store. If you couldn’t find it, you probably didn’t need it. But a part of the community changed because Lupe and Lancho don’t work here anymore.

“LUPE AND LORENZO DON’T WORK HERE ANYMORE”

Originally Published the Week of Sept. 28, 2012 in Western Outdoor News

The old ceiling fan slowly whirred awkwardly off-kilter and barely moved any of the humid air that had rusted the  dusty mechanism and the tips of the blades once painted white.   Wohp…wohp…wohp…wohp…

You could keep time by the pulse of the rhythmic blades…Like a beating heart.  Slowing down with time.

The cracked-tile floor had seen decades of footsteps.  Bare brown cement peeked out where tiles long ago crumbled and cracked.

For 42-years-Lorenzo carried boxes of onions and stocked limes. He arranged the stacks of  fresh tortillas wrapped in wax paper for display in the little glass case.  He made sure the one-lone stand-up cooler had a stock of cold Pacificos, Coke and Fanta Orange soda. Some cheese. Some cold cuts and a few bottles of cold water next to the margarine.

He dusted the bottled salsas and re-arranged the dish soap and assorted sugar cookies and toilet paper.  Two jars of mayonnaise.  Four cans of beans.  Six of corn.  Some cooking oil.  Salt.  Bread.  Assorted soups. Toothpaste and bleach.  A little of everything, but  not much of any one thing.

Inventory was not difficult.

The shelves were  of  whitewashed wood.  Dry and blistering through several old layers of paint from the Baja aridness.   Several were noticeably leaning.  But who noticed?

He built them himself from wood that is hard to come by in a land that has few trees.  So boards, screws and nails often did not match.  If it worked and did what it was supposed to it was fine.  He could smile.

Construction-wise…The worn wooden table along the wall was not much better.  It  held small boxes or bags of beans, rice, onions and dried chilis and assorted fruit.  Nothing shiny and waxed.  No “mood” lights to make the produce look better.  Just a simple light bulb fixture globe on one wall.  The dust and dead bugs of ages silhouetted in it.

Lorenzo tidied up the stacks of brooms and smiled at his Guadalupe…Lupita (Little Lupe) … as she quietly re-stocked some cigarettes, batteries and candy bars behind the counter.  No cash register.  Just a rusty scratched lock box in a drawer.

Married for 40 of the 42 years he had worked at the store.  Her parents had owned it back in the day.  He worked for them in the store doing whatever needed to be done as well as at their home which was attached to the back of the little store.

As he tells it, he was just a kid and having an afternoon job wasn’t as important as being close to the little girl with the big dark eyes; long dark hair and disarmingly shy smile. His Lupita.

He still sighs when he looks at her.

He once told me, “After so many years with her, I always have the final word in our home.   It’s always, ‘Si, mi amor!’ (‘Yes, my sweetheart!’”)   He laughs heartily every time he tells that story.  And he hikes up his pants and continues sweeping and shaking his head with a smile beneath his bushy grey mustache.  He has amused himself again.

Lupita hears the story and shakes her own head with a smile and rolls her eyes.  She’s heard it a million times and it still makes her heart skip a bit.  It’s been a good life.

They were never blessed with kids, but she thinks of all the school kids that have passed through. She watched them grow up. They were like their own.  They called him “Don Lancho” and she was affectionately called, “Senora Lupita.”  

Generation after generation.  After-school ice cream bars and sodas.  Pencils and salty snacks. Teasing and flirting.  Little feet always underfoot with laughter.  Lancho and Lupita watched the “ninos” grow up to have kids of their own who then had their own kids all stop in after-school to spend a few pesos and laugh.

Blessed with laughter.  Nothing better.

The adults in the little barrio would come to hang out as well.   The little mercado could often be the hub of  the neighborhood social scene.

Buy a beer. Microwave some instant coffee or a cup of noodles eaten with a plastic fork.  Lupita would often have little tasty chili verde burritos for sale at the counter wrapped in wax paper.  Just a few pesos.  Everyone loved them.

The wooden bench on the sidewalk and some plastic chairs worked well to share neighborhood gossip and sports stories. There was always a radio playing Mexican ranch music.  Lupita’s favorite.

Evenings were the best after it got cooler.  Under the lone street light.  The occasional moth and bug flittering through the dusty glow.   After work.  After chores.  No kids. The neighborhood dogs would loll around the bench as well.  The dusty concrete was cooler than lying in the gravel road that was still radiating the Mexican heat and there was always the chance of a scrap or two!

42- years…there won’t be a 43^rd.

There’s a padlock on the door now.  I wasn’t close enough to know them intimately but they were always kind and smiling and easy to chat with.  They were always there.

And now they are gone. No note.  Nothing on the metal door.  I’m not even sure who I would ask.  You just always assumed Lupe and Lancho would always be there.  Now, it doesn’t feel right.  A part of the neighborhood just isn’t there anymore.

I hope there wasn’t a tragedy or someone got sick.   I will miss stopping by for a Coke.

Maybe they just succumbed finally to the big box stores like Sam’s Club and others popping up way on the other side of town.  But those are way on the other side of town.

Folks are reluctant to travel far to shop and fiercely loyal to the little stores.  To a point.  Driving costs gas…and time.  And there’s no one to chat and gossip at the big store.  But like so many places around the world, at some point the big stores are convenient.

But I see more and more empty storefronts in town.  Even here on this side. Away from the big shopping centers.  No one is hanging out anymore.  The neighborhoods are changing with time.  Like the wohp…wohp…wohp of the old ceiling fan.  Time ticking down.

Sadly, I look through the smeared dirty windows into the darkened shop and see only my own reflection.  Lupe and Lancho don’t work here anymore. I think they are missed on so many levels.

That’s our story…

Jonathan

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Jonathan Roldan has been writing the Baja Column in Western Outdoor News since 2004.  Along with his wife, Jill, they own and run the Tailhunter International Fishing Fleet in La Paz, Baja, Mexico  www.tailhunter-international.com.  They also run their Tailhunter Restaurant Bar on the famous La Paz malecon waterfront.  If you’d like to contact him directly, his e-mail is riplipboy@tailhunter-international.com  or drop by the restaurant to say hi!

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