by Edward Marks
When FSOs gather in congenial surroundings, even very senior and well-known diplomatic personalities often begin their favorite stories with “Now, when I was a vice consul in Tegucigalpa….” Time passes and now I tell such stories. When I was a vice consul in Nuevo Laredo, I was introduced to the time-honored responsibility for the “Care and Protection” of American citizens in foreign climes. It is the most retail of a diplomat’s responsibilities. American consulates in Mexico do a lot of this sort of business, what with the flood of American tourists seeking foreign exotica across the border.
A Call from “Boys Town”
One day early in my assignment, I was called into my boss’ office and informed that an American citizen was in some sort of difficulty at an address which was clearly located in the heart of Nuevo Laredo’s red-light district, commonly known as “Boys Town”. The facts were simple: said American citizen owed a rather large bill to the establishment located at that address which he could not pay. Could the consulate come down and help sort things out? Consul Harvey Cash’s years of experience with itinerant American citizens had not dulled his enthusiasm for helping them. He also kept a straight face as he instructed me to go forth and make him proud.
Nuevo Laredo was not a large town, and I was soon parking my car in front of a relatively large and well-kept house located in the sort of neighborhood of mixed shacks, houses, and small business buildings typical of most Nuevo Laredo neighborhoods, including “Boys Town”. It was the middle of the day and there was not a great deal of traffic on the streets, nor, as it turned out, inside the house. My knock on the door was answered by a respectable looking, middle-aged Mexican lady who introduced herself as the proprietor of the establishment and the person who had called the consulate. She asked whether I would like first to see my countryman. But of course, I said, and she led me down the hall to a back bedroom.
Meeting My Client
Opening the door, she ushered me in, and there I found my countryman/client, happily asleep. I say happily because the room was airy and clean, the bed appeared equally clean and comfortable, and he had the look on his face of an innocent sleeping child. He was a man of about forty who did not appear to be much the worse for wear in any way. However, he did not respond to my gentle efforts to awaken him, and finally the proprietress, let us call her Mrs. Gonzalez, signaled me to follow her. I did so, and she took me directly into the front parlor, served me a glass of Coca-Cola (I had declined her offer of a more potent drink), and explained the situation to me.
My American citizen, let us call him George, had showed up in Nuevo Laredo and Mrs. Gonzalez’s establishment two nights before. He was not sober when he arrived, but he was peaceable, jolly, and apparently well-heeled. All throughout that first evening he had played the expansive bon vivant, standing the other clients’ tabs for food, drink, and possibly even the establishment’s other specialty [Mrs. Gonzalez was a bit vague about that]. For several hours George paid cash, several hundred dollars at least, although Mrs. Gonzalez was equally vague about this question, until the bartenders and other personnel began to keep a tab.
The Establishment’s Story
Thus passed the first evening, which lasted until the early hours of the morning, following which George was put to bed. The next day, upon presentation of the tab, it turned out that the cash seen the night before was the last George had on him. In addition, he was not very coherent despite having had a good long sleep. Mrs. Gonzalez went through George’s wallet and clothing but found only a few ID cards and suchlike. She was naturally concerned about the outstanding bill of over $800. Not sure what to do, she decided to let George continue to recover and had him placed in the back room after being cleaned up.
Twenty-four hours later George was still not coming out of his intoxicated state, at least not to the point of being coherent. George would wake up and take his meals plus the one shot of tequila Mrs. Gonzalez permitted him, but, although physically fit and mentally cheerful, he kept behaving like an amiable drunk. Mrs. Gonzalez decided she needed help. Hence the call to the consulate. Mrs. Gonzalez made it clear that something must be done about George’s bill. Until that was settled, George would have to stay with her (or be turned over to the police), although she promised to take good care of him. George was, in other words, a prisoner in a Mexican whorehouse.
George’s Journey
Equipped with Mrs. Gonzalez’ story, I returned to the consulate where the next obvious step was to contact George’s family, who lived in a smallish city somewhere in the Old South. From them I learned that poor George had long been a trial to his obviously respectable family, his current adventure being only the latest in a long history of being the Family Problem. In fact, after I explained the situation to the lady I was speaking to, her first comment was “Not Again!” This time he had somehow gotten hold of a large sum of cash and headed south to enjoy it. His trip had started about three weeks before he turned up in Nuevo Laredo, so he had apparently one hell of a toot in Mexico, turning his steps north towards home only when the money began to run out. In the event, the money had lasted until Laredo and Mrs. Gonzalez’s establishment.
If I remember correctly, I did not describe George’s situation in exact detail to his family, merely explaining his state of mind [which was apparently normal for him] and his indebtedness for room and board and assorted other items. George’s family accepted all of this with resignation and asked me to do what I could to get George back across the border and on a train home. They promised to send money to clear up his bill and to buy a train ticket.
The Happy Ending
Armed now with family instructions and a promise of money, I returned to Mrs. Gonzalez. Showing admirable restraint through all of this, my boss suggested that as Mrs. Gonzalez’s bill was probably inflated, we owed the family some effort to negotiate a lower settlement, and so I did. Sitting in her front parlor the next day, with the by now traditional Coke, Mrs. Gonzalez and I discussed George’s bill. (He, by the way, was in fine shape: cheerful, cossetted, and completely bemused.) Mrs. Gonzalez and her employees had, in a manner of speaking, adopted him. We negotiated in a friendly fashion and Mrs. Gonzalez finally agreed to accept fifty cents on the dollar.
Thus, when the money arrived the next day, I was able to visit Mrs. Gonzalez’s establishment once again on official business. I paid George’s bill and put him in my car after he had said good-bye to everyone. Cheerful as ever, George gazed at the sights of the Los Dos Laredos as I drove him across the border and to the train station. With no further incident, he got on the train and disappeared down the track towards home.
Poor George: he had played the central role in the classic adolescent fantasy and probably would not even remember it.
Ambassador Edward Marks’s Foreign Service career spanned 1956-1995 with assignments that included Kenya, Mexico, Angola, Zambia, Belgium, Zaire, and Sri Lanka. In 1976, he was appointed chief of mission to the Republics of Guinea-Bissau and Cape Verde, followed by service as the State Department’s deputy coordinator for counterterrorism and as deputy US representative to the Economic and Social Council to the United Nations. Ambassador Marks was recalled to active duty in 2002-5 to serve as the Department of State’s advisor on terrorism to the US Pacific Command.