The Peña-Lara Story

December 7, 1941, began as a typical fall Sunday in Laredo. Nothing out of the ordinary was planned that day. It had been chilly the night before, with the temperature hovering about forty degrees. The temperature was expected to slowly climb as soon as the sun appeared to start warming the atmosphere. As was customary, my father, Humberto, rose early that morning to deliver The Laredo Times, and then attended six o’clock Mass at San Agustín Church. He returned home and took a nap while the rest of the family rose, dressed, and attended Mass—there were a number of hourly Masses on Sunday morning. Pita then prepared lunch. The family ate, read the paper or listened to the radio, visited with one another, and did assigned chores before my father left to walk to the Tivoli Theatre where he worked as an usher. He usually reported to work about fifteen to thirty minutes before the first showing at 1:00 p.m. Unlike today, when a movie might play a couple of weeks or longer, depending upon its popularity and audience draw, most movies during the late 1930s and early 1940s ran for two or three days before the billing changed. Beginning on Sunday and running through Tuesday, the Tivoli Theater featured Unholy Partner, starring Edward G. Robinson, Edward Arnold, and Laraine Day. It was an unremarkable tale about a tough, ambitious newspaperman (Robinson) who started a new tabloid in 1919 New York City. His silent partner (Arnold), a gambler who helped finance the project, turned out to be more than Robinson had bargained for. A host of problems between the two ensued; thus, the rationale for the movie’s title. The irony of the movie, as it turned out―its premiere in Laredo did occur on December 7, 1941―involved what was shown at the beginning of the movie. New York City and America, in general, were celebrating the end of the First World War―the so-called “war to end all wars.” Anyway, tickets for the movie were a dime a piece and included on that day a short newsreel―Fox Movietone News, the precursor of television’s evening news, and a Donald Duck cartoon. Among the patrons that early afternoon were Mario and some military personnel from the 56th Cavalry Brigade stationed at Fort McIntosh. Servicemen frequented the Tivoli Theatre, especially on Sundays. When the movie began at one o’clock, Japanese fighters had been bombing and strafing the American fleet at Pearl Harbor for over an hour. Unholy Partners must have been especially boring for the projectionist that day because he was listening to the radio instead of watching the movie. At about 1:28 p.m., there was an interruption in the radio broadcast to announce the surprise attack, which prompted the projectionist to immediately phone my father. Walking through the theater lobby where the concession stand and bathrooms were located, the patron passed through a draped door entrance into the main sitting area of the theater. Hanging on the rear left wall was a phone, which connected the downstairs with the projectionist’s booth atop. A low, soft ring indicated that the projectionist needed something from the usher or there was a problem. When my father answered the phone he was told to come immediately upstairs to the booth. “The Japanese are bombing Pearl Harbor,” the projectionist told my father. The shock of hearing about the attack was something that my father never forgot. Though relations between both nations had been strained for some time, the United States now found itself at war with the Empire of Japan. A formal declaration of war was easily passed by the United States Congress the following afternoon, with the urging of President Roosevelt. All eighty-two senators voted yes with only one nay vote cast among the 389 House members. That lone vote came from Rep. Jeannette Rankin (R-Montana), who had also voted nay to President Wilson’s call for a Declaration of War in April 1917. At some point during the movie my father whispered the news to Mario. There was never a doubt what Mario would do next. He was determined to join the U.S. Naval Reserves, and to do it as soon as it was feasible. Meanwhile, the projectionist received a phone call from Fort McIntosh requesting that he announce to all servicemen that they were to report to base immediately. War preparations had begun. Orders were quickly issued to protect all communications along the border served by the brigade. As was his routine, my father walked home that afternoon and ate supper between five and six o’clock before returning to work, where he ended the workday at nine o’clock. While dining at home, Tétol and Mario, who had returned home after the show, along with Javier, informed my father of any new information about the attack. The whole family was attuned to what was being broadcast over the radio that afternoon. Beginning then and continuing for several weeks thereafter, discussions on military voluntarism were held between Tétol and his younger boys. Both boys wanted to serve; it was just a matter of when. Tétol never objected to the idea. “You are American citizens,” Tétol reminded his sons. “You have a right to defend your country.” Tétol had come to believe he was an American, too. But that feeling of patriotism was not always shared with some of Tétol’s fellow Mexican associates who also resided in Laredo. One particular Mexican national rooted for the Germans after Hitler declared war on the United States a few days after Pearl Harbor. He was deeply jealous of the United States, according to my father. “You’ll see. You’ll see,” he told Tétol. He believed the German army was second to none. “When the United States invades Europe, they’re going to get their butts kicked by the Germans.” Tétol knew better. He loved Roosevelt and knew what his country could do once stirred into action.