In the summer of '70 I worked as a hod carrier in Nogales.
I was on break from the U of A in Tucson, where I was an English major.
The guys I worked with were a rough bunch, rowdy and drunken.
They liked me in spite of my long hair and schooling. I was strong and
worked hard, and didn't take any shit. I was 19.
Somebody planned a trip to Topolobampo, just west of Los Mochis on
the Gulf of California.
We had a few drinks in Nogales and got on the train, six of us, three
hoddies and three bricklayers. I found my way to the bar car with it's
mirrors and tin deco, and got sloshed. The bartender woke me when
we hit Los Mochis. I got up, stunned drunk, and got off the train.
There were three or four lines of people sleeping in rows on the landing.
I saw a place just wide enough for me and laid down between them.
My buddies searched for me and finally found me as I was the longest sleeper.
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married the stone mason and took the autovia from Nogales to Guaymas for honeymoon. 