John Contreras:  

It was early morning on a cold December day that i came into this world. The youngest of four brothers, sons of my father Roman and mother Marge, themselves from Arizona (Globe and Miami), their parents from Jalisco and Guadalajara Mexico. We grew up on the “other side of the tracks” in a small home built by my father and his half-brother Isaac. We lived modestly; attended Church regularly (I was an altar boy). My father drove a truck and worked as a warehouseman, my mom raised and cared for her four boys. At a young age we moved to a new home near a grammar school, walking distance to the local high schools. At the time we were the only Mexicans in the neighborhood, but no one cared or noticed. My father bought a bar and my mom became a noon supervisor at my grammar school and as time went on, the de-facto interpreter at the grammar school. Across the street lived my two best childhood friends - we played endlessly in the neighborhood roaming far and wide through fields and creeks backyards and sleepovers. I spent my teeny-bopper and teen years between both high schools. Freshman and Sophomore years at East Campus, Junior and Senior years at North Campus. By my Sophomore year my brothers were serving in Viet Nam. My oldest Dennis a Corpsman, Tom a Deck Captain and Roman a Deck Ape, all U.S. Navy...Two were drafted, one had a choice to enlist or, well you know... My father served in the U.S. Army, a Tech Sgt. He worked on cutting edge tech at the time: RADAR. To this day i have his hand-written notebook each page stamped Top Secret. My draft lotto number was 255… but it was not meant to be. It was the 70’s. Friday night football, Homecoming, the Prom, crusin’, keggers, rock n roll (real rock n’ roll) and a riot closing the high school for three days. In those times at my high school you were Chicano or Jock or Aggie or Hippie or Afro-American and forces converged on a fateful Wednesday morning i will always remember. Cake-cutters, chains, belts, pipes, bats…When school reopened police were on campus and may be till this day. I grokked the road ahead as i sat in that field listening to the Valedictorian so embarked upon education to escape. Two years at the local JC and dispensing with their councilors, made my way to U.C. Berkeley. WOW what a culture change. People's Park, Telegraph, co-ed dorm, Grateful Dead and meeting up with a group of guys i still see today one of whom played keyboard in the nefarious band Microwave Kitten! We rocked the Frats causing Boalt Hall to ask us to knock it off... Needing a break, I moved to Chico. Built fences, met up with buds from High School and generally decompressed. Moving back home i worked a number of retail jobs, got a certificate of paralegal and pursued disso’s and enforcement of judgement and debt. My dad had fallen ill and could no longer work his bar, so he sold it to me for a dollar. JC’s Tavern, like my fathers’ (Ro’s Tavern) was a working man's bar - no hard liquor, beer and wine only (in my hometown Mexican bars then did not get licenses to sell hard liquor). Catered to laborer...Expand for more