Elote Man ‘loves the fight to live’
East End street vendor represents the will of the community to support one another in sickness and health
On one of the hottest days of the year, 68-year-old street vendor Emilio Vargas sets out with his classic squeeze horn that hangs from a thin rope attached to his cargo bike, along with a horseshoe for good luck.
They call him the “Elote Man” for the Mexican-style corn he sells throughout Second Ward. On a good day, which starts around 11 and ends around 6, he sells out. But Emilio, originally from Sabinas, Coahuila, Mexico, knows his current lack of business is due to COVID-19. People aren’t coming out to buy from him as often anymore. Hidalgo, Eastwood and Settegast Park were once huge draws for weekend family crowds and a main source of income for our street vendors. Typically he would be making the rounds between different parks, but some are still wrapped in yellow caution tape.
Emilio is currently selling fresh fruits, drinks, assorted chips, raspas and a small menu of watermelon, sliced cucumber and pineapple because his product isn’t selling fast enough. Emilio is no celebrity but he is one of the most visible people in our community. As he navigates through our streets, he weaves us together. He represents how, no matter what,
we check on each other.
My neighborhood
I’m a true product of the East End — a Magnolia Park Shark, an East End Little League All-Star, the 35-year-old son of a Mexican immigrant mother, may she rest in peace. I come from a time before the Metro green line split Harrisburg in half and even further back when the iconic neon glow of the Maxwell House coffee cup could still be seen from downtown.
The COVID-19 crisis is hitting our community harder than others. Roughly one-third of coronavirus tests for Hispanic people come back positive and Hispanics account for a disproportionate share of all related deaths in the state — about half. Many have no choice but to keep working on the front lines. Others face dire circumstances of losing their jobs. We know who works in the shuttered restaurant kitchens. At the same time, many in our community don’t have access to small business loans and unemployment payments that benefit others.
I consider myself a street photographer, so I can show what people are facing, and how some of the most hardworking people in our society come together, how we give even if we don’t have much to give.
For years I’d make the daily trek into downtown and speak with the people who call the streets of downtown Houston their home. I created relationships with some of them, and they would eventually invite me into their lives and allow me the privilege of taking their portraits. But you can only take so many photos before you start to get involved.
My hope is to raise awareness here, on Instagram, wherever people will see and read my work and come together for those in need.
Connecting
I teamed up with Cesar Espinosa of FIEL, an immigrant-led civil rights organization, to talk to street vendors in the East End and ask them how they’re adapting in these uncertain times.
I think I get this need to connect from my mother, Guadalupe Lopez. She could speak to anyone. During her time here on Earth, she worked tirelessly as a teacher’s assistant and was a great mother. Lately I’ve been thinking more about her journey here. I never got the chance to ask her exactly how she made it to America.
I’ve also been thinking about my grandmother, Margarita Martinez. An immigrant from Mexico, she worked as a custodian for Rice University, a job she held proudly for 35 years. Growing up I remember watching the daily struggles that my grandmother and mother endured to keep our family together. They divided their time between church, home and helping others.
My mother once met an undocumented woman at church and helped her find work and a place to stay. That friendship lasted until my mother passed, and her friend is still a part of my family’s life; she helps take care of my grandparents.
Selflessness runs deep throughout the Latino community here in Houston and in many other Latino communities throughout the country. Growing up, we were living paycheck to paycheck, but we were still sharing with family friends who were struggling. I think we do that because we know that at any moment, that could be us. That kind of mentality is instilled in the Latino community. We rally around each other.
Don Emilio’s story is a testament to that.
A year ago, he was struck by a car and suffered a broken shoulder. His bike was a complete loss. For many aging vendors, an accident like this would have meant ruin. But the community rallied and organized a crowdfunding benefit to help him stay afloat and he was able to recover.
La lucha
He started business back up in April. And then, the pandemic.
After first meeting Don Emilio in mid-July, I spent the next week looking for him again. Days went by with no luck. Then a friend told me he was out working and selling in the heavy rain.
He was low on funds but said he still needed to work, even though it was storming.
“Me gusta la lucha para vivir,” he said. I like the fight to live.
“I’ve never been a drifter or in gangs,” he told me as we kept dry in the shelter of an old neighborhood carwash. “I have always just worked hard.”
Tireless and humble, he is the perfect example of a classic neighborhood street vendor.
Most East End vendors are senior citizens and some of the hardest working people you’ll ever meet. They are our grandparents, mothers and fathers, and should be treated as such. So it’s important, especially now during the pandemic, that we come together and help people like Emilio, who against all odds continue their tradition. I’m reaching out to those who have more than they need. Buy from these vendors, and if you can spare more money, a tip or gift card to a near by restaurant goes a very long way. Your help doesn’t even have to be monetary. It can be a simple hello, or ask how they’re doing.
Together, our community can keep the tradition of street vendors alive, and also the livelihoods of those who depend on it.