After spending the night in Nashville, we headed to Memphis. We had to stop at Graceland, the famed home of Elvis. I think most of us were surprised at the amount of people who were there to visit and some even appeared tearful and somber.

A Govea

After spending the night in Nashville, we headed to Memphis. We had to stop at Graceland, the famed home of Elvis. I think most of us were surprised at the amount of people who were there to visit and some even appeared tearful and somber. As an old Chicano, I will admit to liking his music. But liking him as a person? Not so much. It was not the drug use, after all for entertainers; it is almost to be expected. Maybe it was his support of former president Nixon. Or the stories of him mistreating Mexican females when he was in Mexico filming a movie. Either way, it was a good brief stop for our group. If nothing else, we made the almost 100% White crowd nervous with our presence. They may have thought we were about to pull an Alamo on them.

   Somewhere past the smoky mountains (which are really smokey) and the foliage in October is beautiful, we finally ran into some fellow travellers. It was another 15-passenger group of students from San Antonio and MAYO members. We both pulled over and had a real Raza moment of purpose and history. There was genuine excitement to see some follow travelers, especially since we were all a little nervous about what the turnout would be. After a few Pics we parted ways and continued down the road with a renewed sense of purpose and hopeful of what was to come. 

  As we pulled to the motel, we noticed several buses there and vans like our own. Then we saw people cheering and applauding. I wondered what was going on. Who were they cheering for? And to our surprise, once we exited our van, we realized the applause was for us. Porque (Why) well, the explanation was an easy one. They were fellow Raza March folks. Some were from California, Arizona, and other areas and, like us, they were happy to see other March people arrive. Especially since this was to be the first National Latino March and Rally. Welcome hermanos (brothers) was a constant refrain. Spanish music was in the air, along with laughter. We were all happy to have finally made it in. After all, it had been a long trip twenty hours plus, even though we broke it into two days.

  Once in rooms we all crashed for a while. Then we went out for dinner hoping to find some Mexican food, but there was none to be found. We settled for pizza again and headed back to the motel where we all got busy making signs for the march. I penned a sign that read “It’s a March Not a Name Game’ as a reference to published news report that we didn’t really have a name or theme. As a call back to the Million Man March that happened in 1995. Our signs referenced our city, our LULAC Council 4568 and a call for unity! A little later, we heard guitar strumming and singing coming from the parking lot right under our rooms. Evidently, some of the young guys from the California group had noticed the young ladies in our group. And they decided to serenade them. Which was cool for them, but just to be safe, I made sure we had some adult females in their room. When you are responsible for someone else’s’ children, you can’t be too careful. 

  The morning arrived almost too soon for most of us. By now, we had been away from the comfort of our own beds for three days. And it was wearing on us, but as we looked out the window I could see others already loading vehicles with signs and water for the March. As I walked out, I could hear the excitement in the air and the distinct smell of marijuana. I engaged some people in small talk about the latest March news and the route itself. They, like me, shared the concern that because of the lack of media coverage, the turnout might not be good. After this was to be the first National Latino March and we feared that if attendance was low, it would hurt our cause. 

   Finally, the time arrived for our departure to the March; we gathered at the old RFK Stadium, which used to be the home of the Washington Football Team. There was a sizeable crowd there ready to board the subway for downtown D.C. Pero (but) I was still hoping for more people. And much to my relief, my wish came true. Once we emerged from the subway, we started seeing more and more people popping up from other streets. By the time we reached the actual route staging area, it was clear there were hundreds of people already there.

  People carried signs that identified as being from New York, Fla, Arkansas, Texas, California, Colorado and just about every state in the nation. In addition, some people were representing organizations like LULAC, Immigrations Rights groups and even Gay Rights groups. Some were representing Mexico and other Central American nations as well. When I really felt the crowd size was when we went under a bridge and the cheering and chants seemed to vibrate off the overpass walls. In the crowd were people dressed in Aztec garb, Matachines drummers, La Virgen Emiliano Zapata and Pancho Villa also made an appearance. When I looked back from my place in the March, it seemed like the line of people had no end. I thanked God for having been able to be a small part of this truly historic moment for our community.