DOWNTOWN CANTINAS

The Chamber of Commerce has no problems pushing Brownsville as the New Orleans of the Rio Grande, but you'll never hear its leaders promoting its French Quarter as the Cantina Capital of Texas.

From its inception, Brownsville was a Wild West town. Juan Cortina and his bandidos riding into town on a Sunday morning in 1859 and killing their gringo enemies or the black soldiers stationed at Fort Brown in 1906 allegedly shooting up the town under cover of night weren't extraordinary incidents to the citizenry.

Besides the natural disasters and the plagues that would wipe out scores of residents, murders and hangings were common occurrences. In order to deal with these extreme conditions, the people turned to alcohol. In a few words, Brownsville has been a drinking town.

For many, transporting drugs north from Mexico is business-as-usual. During Prohibition transporting alcohol into the United States wasn't considered a crime. For those law-abiding individuals who didn't want to jeopardize their comfortable lifestyles, they could cross to Matamoros and imbibe to their heart's content.

"Catholics aren't afraid of sinning," an Oblate missionary remarked after he returned from a six-week trip along the river's brushland evangelizing to the poor families scratching out an existence. "They are afraid of dying with sin on their souls. In Brownsville they aren't sinners because they are bad people. They are sinners because they drink too much."

Cantinas still dot Brownsville. "Delta" Dave Handelman, the popular guitarist, will drive downtown for an afternoon of drinking.

"I stop at the watering holes that I've been patronizing for more than three decades," he says. "The Barrel House was my original home away from home, but I split my time these days between the Sportsman Club and the Palm. I'm more sympathetic to the Sportsman. Its air-conditioning is full throttle. On a hot summer day, the Sportsman is a cool cave in the middle of hell."

Joe Kenney's Checkers Cafe on Washington is now the Carta Brava. It cooks on the weekend. The New Frontier and Los Pescadores are sad places even on their happiest days. The Chicago Night Club, which once rivaled the Carta Brava in popularity, has reopened.

Informally tabbed the Market Street Cantina District by those publicists facile with nicknames, the historical San Fernando building, erected in 1886, houses four of the funkiest cantinas this side of the Pecos. There used to be five, but Arturo's shut its doors when Arturo Gonzalez, a constable, died. It was a spare joint with a few tables but an excellent juke box.

"If I sell three cases of beer every day, I break even," he used to say. "I'm not in this business to make money. I have this little place where me and my compadres can get away. There's something about this area that gets in your blood. I like the people. There's no pretension. A few cold beers and a cheap prostitute. Keeps everything simple."

Arturo may have moved on to that Great Keg in the Sky, but the tradition continues. La Movida owns the corner across from Market Square while Dominos Club, Mi Tejanita and Norma's Bar occupy the Fernandez building on the Adams Street side. There is nothing fancy about any of these cantinas. The prices reflect that philosophy.

"It's another world," says Tony Gray. "You walk into the upscale establishments on the northside. The gals check you out and you can hear them asking themselves, 'Is this the guy who's going to buy me that $200,000 house because I have something that he wants?' The downtown girls are more down to earth. They ask themselves, 'Can I clip this guy for $20 because I have something that he needs?'"