I just finished reading a book of short stories in Spanish that mostly take place in Chicago: Vocesueltas: Cuatro cuentistas de Chicago written by Raúl Dorantes, Bernardo Navia, Fernando Olszanski, and om ulloa (Chicago: Ediciones Vocesueltas, 2007).
You get a real taste of Chicago in the stories of Dorantes and Navia even though they write about their adopted city in Spanish. I really enjoyed reading Dorantes and Navia, the best of the four. Olszanski and ulloa didn’t particularly focus on Chicago as did Dorantes and Navia. My favorite story in the book was “Duelo de sur” by Bernardo Navia. I could truly visuallize the subway stop that he described. The story breathed and smelled of Chicago despite being written in Spanish.
Of course, my enjoyment of this story was based on personal reasons. I personally knew, and still know, Bernardo Navia. I’ve known him for years after first meeting him at the University of Illinois at Chicago. Bernardo was the first graduate student to receive a Ph.D. in Hispanic Studies from UIC. We were enrolled in several classes together, he as a graduate student and I as an undergraduate.
One class in particular that I remember was a 20th century Latin American literature class in which we read Jorge Luis Borges, Alejo Carpentier, Nicanor Parra, Julio Cortázar, among others, with Professor Klaus Müeller-Bergh. I really enjoyed this class thoroughly. I still vividly remember some of the class discussions, particularly the one about “El sur,” a short story by Borges.
Well, in Vocesueltas, Bernardo updates “El sur” by placing the action of “Duelo de sur” in Chicago in the present. The story is even dedicated: A Dahlmann, the protagonist that Borges toys within his story. I enjoyed how Bernardo even notes similarities and differences with “El sur.” For example, instead of someone throwing crumbs, Julián notices that someone has thrown a tooth at his feet. And then he notices another and another before he finally sees a molar. We know that Julián is in a hospital, as was Dahlmann, but in the end he remembers that at least someone gave Dahlmann a knife to defend himself. For me, this was certainly the best story of the anthology.
Mexicanismos are words or phrases in Spanish that are unique to México, but may not be familiar to other Spanish speakers, also known as Hispanophones. French speakers are Francophones and English speakers are Anglo-Saxophones.
Anyway, in Mexico, people use words and phrases that are unique to that region and are commonly misunderstood by other Hispanophones. At UIC (University of Illinois at Chicago), we have graduate students who come from all over the Spanish-speaking world, most of whom specialize in linguistics. They can spot the dialect and region of most Spanish speakers almost immediately. Some have trouble identifying me because I have my American accent and I use words and phrases from almost every dialect that I’ve ever heard. I’m like a sponge in this regard. Sometimes, someone will throw their hands up in the air and just ask me where I’m from. They’re often surprised to hear that my parents were from México. My cousin’s husband thought I spoke with an Argentine accent. Once, a friend and I were speaking, and then I didn’t hear something she said. So, I said, “¿Mande?” and she said, “¡Ajá! You’re from Mexico!” That simple little mande gave me away as a Mexican.
Once, at the end of the semester, a professor from Argentina told us that she would bring us a torta for the last day of class. To most Mexicans and me, a torta is a type of sandwich that is served on a bun with meat and other condiments. I didn’t eat before class because I wanted to be polite and eat everything that was offered to me. Well, she came to class with a torta, but it was a cake, as in a pastry for dessert. I left the classroom hungry that day.
Another time, I brought some Thanksgiving leftovers to UIC for lunch. A graduate student from the Basque Country in Spain asked me what I was eating. I told her guajolote and camotes. She didn’t know what I was talking about. For her turkey was pavo not guajolote and yams or sweet potatoes were patatas not camotes because they didn’t differentiate between the various kinds of potatoes in Spain.
I have a friend who grew up in Seville, Spain, and we once had a minor misunderstanding. He told me that his car had broken down: “Se me estropeó el coche.” Being the nice guy that I am, I wanted to be helpful, so I offered him a ride: “¿Quieres un aventón?” I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was a little upset when he replied, “¿Y yo qué te hice?” You see, to a Mexican, un aventón is a ride, but to just about any other Spanish speaker un aventón implies some kind of physical violence. I explained to him that I only wanted to help him by giving him a ride to wherever he wanted to go, and I am happy to say that we are still friends to this day.
Another graduate student from Spain taught a class that had many Mexican American students. She frequently used the word coger, meaning “to get” or “to pick up” when she spoke not realizing that to Mexicans coger is a profanity that refers to the act of sexual intercourse that begins with the letter “f.” So, one day, she talked about picking up her dog: “Cogí mi perro.” She was surprised when the class began to laugh until someone explained to her what she had said.
While I was in México, I learned a few more mexicanismos. My cousin used the diminutive “-is” instead of “-ito, -ita.” For example, she went to see her “amiguis” instead of her “amiguitas.” Before we went to visit my cousin David Rodríguez in Celaya, everyone refered to him as Davis.
In the U.S. we have Spanglish, which is the mixture of English and Spanish, but I only thought it existed north of the Rio Grande (In Mexico, they call it El Río Bravo). For example, you take an English word like “to check” and make it Spanish: chequear, instead of comprobar or some other Spanish word that already exists. Anyway, they have a similar word in Mexico: checar. Several street venders approached me and called me jefe, showed some product they were selling, and said, “Checa esto.” Or “Check this out,” in English. So, this word is a little different than the Spanglish word chequear because it’s a mexicanismo. Or maybe it should be called inglañolismo.
I always thought of an aquarium as un acuario, but to my cousin in Celaya it was el pecero. I had never heard the word before, but I knew exactly what he meant. Then when I was in Mexico City, when people talked about taking the bus they still called it el camión, but now a lot of people also called it el pecero. That made perfect sense because if you look at the buses with their large windows, they do look like aquariums with people swimming inside instead of fish.
If you park your car in México City, you’re likely to meet el viene viene. He is a self-appointed parker of cars and is often found on public streets and grocery store parking lots. He doesn’t officially work for anyone. He’s just there–and everywhere else. You can’t miss him. He pops up out of nowhere waving his salmon-colored mechanic’s rag as you park your car. As you back up, he tells you how far you can back up by saying “Viene, viene.” When you get out of your car, he’s standing next to you with hand, and you’re supposed to give him a tip of two pesos or so.
Then, there’s also the aguinaldo that is a bonus that most employees receive before Christmas and before el Día de los Reyes to buy holiday gifts or pay off debts. At Christmas, children received candy bags. They were told, “Come get your aguinaldo!”
Snow was falling as I drove to school today. In all of my Spanish classes today, some students asked me if the exam might be canceled tomorrow because of the snow. Of course, there would be class tomorrow! This is Chicago!
This one particular student was sure that if it kept on snowing, I wouldn’t be able to get to campus and give the exam. However, in Chicago, a snowstorm is not merely a meteorological event. Every snowstorm, and other major climate changes, are political events of major consequences in Chicago.
You can trace this back to the snowstorm of 1979 that was improperly handled by Mayor Michael Bilandic. A few heads did roll after the snowstorm, including Bilandic’s. (I’m sure a few heads also rolled after the Chicago Fire in 1871.)
Luckily, I was living in sunny, southern California at the time. I know that even if we get three feet of snow tonight, I will be able to drive from my house in Beverly on the south side to UIC near downtown. Chicago will not be slowed down by such an insignificant snowstorm as that! Every time meteorologists predict even the remotest possibility of snow, city workers are on standby all over the city and even salting the streets before even the first snowflake has formed. Sometimes, there is more salt on the streets and sidewalks than snow. Yes, my dear students, I will be at UIC on time tomorrow morning to give you your exam. I love Chicago, the city that works (especially at Chicago overtime rates).
So, you’re studying Spanish in high school or college. Is Spanish class easy or hard for you? Do you wonder what you can use all that Spanish that you learned? Or are you afraid that you will forget all your Spanish after the last exam? Well, my friend Mike (he doesn’t actually know I exist, but I like to attach myself to successful people) used his one semester of Spanish very successfully. The One semester of Spanish Spanish Love Song on YouTube.com has more than one-million hits. It’s very popular. I found it by accident on YouTube.com one day while procrastinating instead of grading compositions. I must have listened to it about twenty times before I actually got back to grading compositions. Then, I sent the link to the video to all of my Spanish students. They loved it. And just for grins and giggles, I also sent it the UIC Department of Spanish, French, Italian, and Portuguese. I wasn’t sure how all these professors at a research university would react to such a silly video as this. Was I ever surprised! One Spanish professor even suggested making it our department theme song. That is, until a French professor then sent a link for a similar song in French, which she suggested become the official department theme song. Not to be outdone, an Italian professor sent a link for a very lame video by what appeared to be some extremely inebriated Italian 101 students sputtering Italian infinitives. No word from the Portuguese section yet since we don’t have a Portuguese professor. Well, here’s the link to YouTube.com in case you’re interested in watching “The One Semester of Spanish Spanish Love Song”:
Here are the lyrics to “Spanish Love Song.” Granted they’re not profound and they don’t provide any new insights to the meaning of life, but they are fun to hear. I love all the non sequiturs. You can actually learn some Spanish listening to Spanish Love Song. Who ever said learning Spanish wasn’t fun?
Spanish Love Song
Hola, señorita. ¿Cómo te llamas? Me llamo Mike. Me llamo Mike. ¿Dónde está el baño? ¡Feliz cumpleaños! ¿Qué hora es? ¿Qué hora es? La ra ra ra ra Me gusta la biblioteca. Vivo en la casa roja. Yo tengo dos bicicletas. Muchas gracias y de nada. ¿Cuántos años tienes? Un momento, por favor. It’s “The One Semester of Spanish Spanish Love Song.” Mi mamá es bonita. Mi gato es muy blanco. Perdóneme. ¡Perdóneme! La ra ra ra ra Uno, dos, tres y cuatro. Cinco, seis, siete, ocho. ¡Nueve, diez! No remembro how to say eleven. Antonio Banderas, Nachos grandes y Cinnamon Twists. It’s “The One Semester of Spanish Spanish Love Song.” Au revoir.
I hope you enjoy this video. So, you see? Spanish is a very fun language. Please share it with everyone who teaches or studies Spanish!
I’ve learned that with my Ph.D. and five bucks I can buy a cup of coffee at Starbucks. I’ve also learned research skills that allow me to circumnavigate the Google-verse. I can find anything and everything on the Internet—everything except a job.
I’ve been searching unsuccessfully for a tenure-track position in Spanish for twelve years now. However, I’m not bitter at all. Actually, I’m sure I’m on the verge of finding a job very soon. In 1995, I was awarded a tenure-track position at a community college near my home. This was the ideal job for me. As a community college student myself, I would have been the perfect role model for most community college students. I was supposed to teach some combination of English and Spanish courses because I had one M.A. in English and one in Spanish. I immediately applied to a doctoral program in Hispanic Studies so I could move up another step on the salary scale. Sadly, when the college board of trustees met, they decided that my position wasn’t necessary, and the college couldn’t afford to pay another salary. I had lost my tenure-track position before I even taught my first class! And I have continued my fruitless job search ever since.
Now why did I want a Ph.D. again? Well, since I was in grade school, I wanted to be the most educated person in the world. I remember I once asked my seventh-grade teacher, Sister Laverne, “What’s the highest degree you can get?” And she immediately responded, “Ph.D.” with a sense of awe and reverence. “I’m going to get one of those someday,” I told her. In my heart, it was more like a solemn vow, an eternal quest for knowledge. I would someday be Dr. Rodríguez! However, I never wanted to be a medical doctor. I get squeamish if someone describes medical procedures in too much detail.
There were a few bumps, detours, and stalls on the road to becoming Dr. Rodríguez. My parents groomed me for the life of a manual laborer. As a high school student, I was already a full-time factory worker and couldn’t graduate. Well, it’s hard to get into college if you drop out of high school. Go figure! But I got my GED. I’d hate to think that I wasted six years in high school! Then, I worked in a peanut butter factory for twelve years with a brief three-year stint in the Marines Corps in the middle. I’d say that was a significant detour to becoming Dr. Rodríguez. I must admit that while I was in the Marines, I enrolled in an English composition class at Fallbrook Community College, but ended up dropping out because the composition professor critiqued my writing. Didn’t she know that I would someday be Dr. Rodríguez?
Dr. Rodríguez was ever-present in my thoughts as I continued reading and writing. I always fondly recall my conversation with Sister Laverne. I didn’t even know what a Ph.D. was back then. (And now, I’m not sure what to do with it!) There was no escaping those constant reminders of my becoming a doctor. My initials are DR! Every time I bought a house, I kept initialing DR. My license plate, the same one that I’ve had since the 70s, begins with my initials: DR.
When the peanut butter factory closed, I tried my luck as a standup comedian. I was fairly good, but I couldn’t handle the Bohemian lifestyle of the starving artist. I needed a steady, good-paying job. Okay, I admit it. Over the years, I’ve developed an addiction to food.
So, I became a police officer because the job paid well and offered good benefits. Being a police officer wouldn’t be so bad if there weren’t so many criminals. In 1987, the Chicago Police Department encouraged everyone to go back to college to get a bachelor’s degree in order to qualify for future promotional exams. Well, at first, I resisted going back to school. But the very first time I had to work the midnight shift, with the realization that I would have to work midnights every third month, I made up my mind to finally graduate from college and find another line of work. So, I enrolled at Richard J. Daley College and earned my A.A. in two years while working full-time on the afternoon shift. When I went back to school, I was able to request working the straight afternoons and avoid midnights altogether. I loved the fact that Chicago’s Mayor was Richard M. Daley, and I attended the college that was named after his father Richard J. Daley.
When I transferred to the University of Illinois at Chicago, I also transferred to a police district closer to home. So, I lived and worked in Bridgeport, the home of Mayor Richard M. Daley. As luck would have it, I was the new officer in the district so I would have to work assignments that the seasoned veterans didn’t want. As the new guy, I had to sit in an unmarked car guarding the mayor’s house because most police officers didn’t want to be anchored to one place for the entire shift. I, on the other hand, loved guarding the mayor’s house, sitting there reading the assigned texts for my classes. I was the perfect officer for the post because the mayor didn’t like the officers to watch TV while on duty. I loved to read, and I always studied to get good grades. When the mayor would leave his house, I had plenty of time to put away my book before he saw it. For a while there, I really loved being a police officer! I must admit that I loved the job, but I hated working most of my weekends.
Well, I graduated with a double major in English and Spanish. And since I could study most of my shift, I also graduated Phi Beta Kappa. I applied for a few jobs after graduation, but I was unsuccessful. When the mayor was reelected, I just had to take advantage of my situation. I applied to graduate school for both English and Hispanic Studies at the University of Illinois at Chicago, since they offered many classes that would fit my schedule. I applied for two graduate programs because I desperately wanted to go to graduate school. I wasn’t sure which program would accept me and I really didn’t care as long as I could become a graduate student. I wanted to guard Mayor Daley’s house with a purpose. The mayor’s security detail loved having me in front of the mayor’s house because I was always wide awake and guarding the mayor.
Well, I did get accepted to graduate school! To both programs! I agonized over which program to choose. I loved English and American literature, but I realized it would be more difficult finding a job with an English degree. I made up my mind to choose the Hispanic Studies program because I loved Spanish literature, and I could probably find a job with a Spanish degree since I was bilingual. But why should I be forced to choose between the two programs? Suddenly, one afternoon, while I was guarding the mayor’s house, it occurred to me, like an epiphany. Since I could read all day while I’m at my police job, I could enter both programs! And so, I did.
When I graduated with two MAs in 1995, I was hired by the community college, even though I never actually got the job. But I was still in a doctoral program for Hispanic Studies. Mayor Daley was reelected again, and I was finally on the road to becoming Dr. Rodríguez in earnest.
When I earned my Ph.D., one of my police partners bought me a nameplate for my uniform that said, “Dr. D. Rodriguez” as a graduation gift. At first, I was hesitant about wearing it, but then I wore it proudly. The supervisors and top brass who saw the nameplate were impressed. All my police colleagues began calling me “Dr. D.” Whenever someone asked me a question and I knew the answer. Someone would invariably say, “That’s why he’s the Doctor!” Of course, there were playful jokes, too. One police officer would always tell me about his aches and pains, and then ask me for a prescription for painkillers. “I’m not that kind of doctor,” I’d tell him. “But if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll read you some poetry.” No one ever took me up on the poetry reading.
I’ve been teaching for twelve years now. I really love the interaction with the students, even when we argue over silly matters. I’m the greatest teacher in the world! (But aren’t we all?) Most students seem to enjoy my classes and often ask me what I’m teaching next semester. Sometimes, I say things that make the students laugh, so I write them down. I’m thinking of going back on stage. I’m not joking!
Well, I’ve given up looking for a tenure-track position. So if some university or college wants to offer me a position, I may accept it, but only if I don’t have to go through another interview with a search committee. I’ve learned to accept the fact that I’m a retired police officer after a mere twenty years of service: I came, I saw, I retired. I really enjoy teaching so I’ll continue teaching as a lecturer at the University of Illinois at Chicago. However, I am proud to have earned a Ph.D. I once made a pilgrimage to the UIC Library to visit my doctoral dissertation. As I wrote it, I often wondered if anyone would ever read it. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that not only had it been checked out a few times, but someone had also marked some passages! So now, I flaunt my degree whenever possible. I use Dr. or Ph.D. next to my name whenever possible. My PBK newsletter comes addressed to Dr. David Diego Rodríguez. I can’t wait to start getting bulk mail addressed to Dr. Occupant or Dr. Neighbor. I started a blog titled, “David Diego Rodriguez, Ph.D.” at davidrodriguez.us. I love being Googled. If I ever accidently bump into someone on the mean streets of Chicago and they say, “Watch it, asshole!” I’m going to say, “Hey, that’s Dr. Asshole to you!”
Chicago USA 