
A Look Back at the Downtown of My Youth
by District 8 Rep. Beto O’Rourke
As a young boy, Downtown was always an adventure. It was a distant place, even though I lived little more than a mile away from the center of it.
It had long-since stopped being the place that the adults in my life, my parents and their friends, would go on any kind of regular basis—with some exceptions. My dad worked in the County Courthouse starting in the late 1970s through the mid-1980s. I would get to go into work with him from time to time, the drive Downtown interesting and a little wild, a combination of the bumpy humpy streets and the way he drove. Every now and then my mom would take me with her to the Popular to shop for clothes. I also have some good memories of the Christmas town in San Jacinto Plaza.
As I got older I started to experience Downtown more on my own, mainly through after-school visits to Saint Patrick’s for the CCD classes my mom had put me in and the reading group at the Main Public Library that my dad had put me in. I lived close enough to walk to and from these expressions of my parents’ best intentions, and on my way there or back, I could wander around and explore.
Later on, I sought out adventures with friends, sneaking on to—and having security remove us from—the roofs of the tallest buildings we could find. We’d also walk Downtown to buy gear from the Army supply shop, switchblade combs, guitars and harmonicas from the pawn shops, frozen scorpions from the Saddleblanket Company, then find ourselves hanging out in the plaza to check out the hustle and bustle—because there was no hustle and bustle in any other part of town. As I entered high school, every now and then I’d walk over to Juárez with friends who wanted to grow up faster than you could almost anywhere else.
I went away to school and when I would come back for summer break, Downtown was the place we’d go to buy cowboy hats, jeans and clothes by the pound. Ironic t-shirts, vintage 1970s thrift-wear, Border fashion that I thought might impress my friends in New York.
When I moved back to El Paso, I saw Downtown with new eyes. In New York City, I had lived for seven years in a Downtown that worked. And as I walked through the desolate after-hours canyon of Downtown El Paso, I thought of all of the raw potential of these beautiful empty or half-empty buildings – the Plaza Hotel, the Cortez, the Bassett Tower, the Mills. I got an apartment on Stanton overlooking Downtown, and as we built up our little company, the first place we moved it to, after outgrowing my apartment, was the corner of Stanton and Texas. Downtown still held excitement and adventure, and that’s where I wanted to be.
I also joined a book group comprised of people who’d returned to El Paso and, like me, were convinced that it was the greatest, most interesting place in the world. We read books about the history of El Paso, about the wars and empires (religious, national and narcotic) in which El Paso has played a central role, about other cities and how we compared to them. Many of our conversations turned to Downtown, about its potential and what we could do to help move it along. In the short run, it never got further than talk and dreaming. In the long run, however, many of us have never stopped thinking about it, talking about it and, each in our own way, doing something about it. Some from that original group are proponents of the Downtown plan, some are critical of it, and others are waiting to see what part they can play.
But we probably all agree that we’re fortunate that the city’s focus is once again on Downtown, and the fact that it has dominated conversations, editorials, discussion groups and countless public forums shows that we are getting back to our roots as a city and that, for most of El Paso, Downtown is transforming from a place of memories and unrealized potential to a place of action and consequence.
