To the Band of Brothers: February 1, 2022

When I was a kid growing up, I remember seeing my parents do and say things I swore I would never do or say. For example, oftentimes I would be sitting in the back seat of my father’s green Dodge Dart and would listen to my parents stroll nonchalantly down memory lane. They would point to places as we drove by and reminisce about what it used to be. My mother would ask, “Chino, ¿te acuerdas cuando compramos la cuna de Willie en esa tienda?” The translation goes something like this, “Chinese-man (Please, no offense intended here. Trust me when I tell you it is a term of endearment for Cubans), do you remember when we bought Willie’s cradle in that store?”

I was perplexed because I would look out the window and see my mother pointing to a Mobil gas station. Did Mobil sell cradles back in those days? Maybe you got a cradle with every tank you filled along with a discount on those lead-based Miami Dolphins drinking glasses. What I didn’t realize was that the Mobil station was formally a Canastilla Cubana. That was the store to which she was referring. For my parents, while the gas station was clearly dominating the space,  it would always be the place where they bought their first cradle (actually, their only cradle even though they had five children).

I thought the random reminiscing about places long ago lost and forgotten was an exercise I would not fall into since I was all about progress and moving on. Then, last week, I was getting gas at the Chevron on the corner of 87th Avenue and Bird and the reminiscing began. All of a sudden, I was my parents. I wasn’t sitting in the back of the Dart, but leaning over the gas tank of a Mazda and purposely pointing to the corners of that busy Westchester intersection.

I first gazed to the southwest corner and remembered walking into the Lindsay Lumber with my grandfather looking for tools and wood to build some project in his backyard. Before Home Depot took the nation by storm and encouraged “do-it-your-selfers” to do it yourself, this was the place for all your fix-it needs. It was the first megastore of its kind and was only challenged by the Golden Triangle in Kendall. I actually never went into the Golden Triangle because of Lindsay Lumber, but know of it because I watched many movies in the theater next to it.

As I panned east and crossed 87th Avenue, I saw La Carreta. Nothing much to say here because it was there back in the 80s when I was a kid. As for most of your parents, this was the staple eatery on most weekends. But, what many of them may not remember, is that in the back corner of the actual strip mall was a barbershop called T-Birds. This is where I went to get massacred every month. The owner was a cranky ex-Marine who had Semper Fi tattooed to his left arm. I remember walking in, sitting, asking for particulars on how I wanted my haircut, and then he would proceed to take out the clippers and shave everything off. Every single one of us left with crew cuts and ready to enlist.

With the gas tank full, I turned to put the nozzle back into its place and looked behind me. This is the corner of that intersection that has changed the most. For some reason, it was also the corner that brought back most memories. First, where the Denny’s is located there was a Lum’s. What’s the difference? I would say absolutely nothing. Second, and most importantly, was Luria’s. Trust me when I tell you that not a single Cuban mother or grandmother did not shop at one point in time at Luria’s. This was the Mecca of exile purchasing. You walked into a showroom, wrote down what you wanted, handed the sheet to an attendant, and the item(s) was brought to you (on a conveyor belt I think). It couldn’t have been more inefficient, but it worked at the time. 

You may be asking what about the northwest corner. Honestly, I can’t remember. It must simply be that it wasn’t important or we didn’t shop there or we weren’t interested. Nothing iconic was there so my memory skipped it. And so will this email. What is important is realizing I was doing exactly what my parents had done a thousand times and I swore not to do. I reminisced and strolled down memory lane. I am not embarrassed to say I enjoyed it. Just wait until your time comes to do the same.

Auspice Maria.