Immigrant Papers

   I saw my friend Gus the other day. He is unmistakably Hispanic, although he prefers the phrase, "epidermically darkened American." He is a hoot.

   When we worked together Gus would occasionally succumb to my urgings and go to the workout place with me. He would lift tiny weights for an hour, his eyes would pop and he would just give out. Still, he had been a marine (typist) and he wanted to be in shape again.

   One week he hit the gym with me almost every day. Heartened, one day just after All-Hallows Eve, Gus bragged about his exploits to his wife Leticia, in front of me. 

   "I am going to be in shape like Senor Davis," he told her.

   "When will he be in shape like you?" Leticia asked.

      "Not tomorrow," I answered.

   "By Christmas?" she asked.

    "Not this Christmas," I had to reply.

   We all laughed.

    It is bothersome to me that this man, my friend, with four earned degrees and a  tour of duty in the US Marine Corps (yes, as a typist; just the smell of white out, he says, brings flashbacks of his days in uniform; but he was a US Marine and even their typists are tough, ok?) looks like someone who could be stopped and asked for his papers in Arizona.

   We have to get control of our borders. Here are some ideas:

  1. Everybody in America stop using illegal drugs. No market, no production, no drug wars.
  2. Mexico, bring yourself under the rule of law, somehow. You are inviting annexation by your violence.
  3. Arrest the employers of illegal aliens, instead of bewildered Mexican peasants.
  4. Right now, begin a visiting worker program, tax them like all others and send them home when the work season is done. While they are here, take care of them like they were people.

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