Uresti was a great story that turned tragic
Before he was a convicted felon and a disgraced politician, Carlos Uresti was a great story. A proud former Marine; a self-made politician who twice beat the odds to pull off major election upsets; a blue-collar son of the South Side who put himself through law school and made it to the Texas Senate.
From the safe distance where most of his constituents observed his career, Uresti’s biography looked inspiring. Things only got messy at close range.
Uresti always has been a scrappy hustler with a fetish for glamour. Someone who sold himself as a common man but hungered to live — above his means, if necessary — like a high roller.
His hustler mentality took him far. Ultimately it took him too far.
That point was underlined Tuesday when Uresti announced his resignation from the state Senate a week before he is scheduled to be sentenced on 11 felony counts of fraud and bribery, involving his connection with FourWinds Logistics, a now-defunct frac-sand company.
Uresti faces a likely sentence of eight to 12 years on those convictions and awaits trial on separate allegations that he split $850,000 in bribe payments with a county judge in Reeves County to help a West Texas businessman secure a medical-services contract for a correctional facility.
He could end up owing $3 million in restitution to his victims. His wife has filed for divorce. His scandals have tarnished the family name to such an extent that his brother, Tomas, got voted out of the state House in March for the simple sin of being a Uresti.
That doesn’t even take into account the disturbing allegations, reported last December by the Daily Beast, of multiple incidents of sexual misconduct by Uresti, including sticking his tongue down the throat of a Capitol reporter and telling a female political consultant that he could tell she was wearing a thong.
Growing up in the small town of Lytle (and later the South Side of San Antonio), Uresti knew what it meant to struggle. His father, Alberto, drove big rigs across the country, while his mother, Rachel, stayed home and tried to feed Carlos and his seven siblings.
At the same time, the young Carlos had memorable brushes with Hollywood. When “The Getaway” filmed in San Antonio in 1972, his dad served as the chauffeur for the film’s star, Steve McQueen.
Carlos served as an extra during the filming of “The Great Waldo Pepper” and got to meet Robert Redford. He also witnessed the filming of the cult horror film, “Race
With the Devil.”
He never lost his youthful obsession with show business.
A fanatical devotee of “The Godfather” film saga, he turned his law office into something of a shrine to its star, Al Pacino. He hosted an annual “Night in Monte Carlos” fundraiser, prowling the casino tables in a white suit coat like Humphrey Bogart in “Casablanca.”
He even signed on as chief operations officer for El Mundo Productions, a local film company whose greatest accomplishment was producing the pilot for a mega-cheesy telenovela about the lingerie business called “Alamo Heights SA.”
The FourWinds trial exposed how Uresti, in recent years, had overextended himself in his attempts to live like the mogul he wanted to be.
He moved into a $2 million Helotes home. He bought a $77,000 Porsche. He put himself under great financial stress. It was a situation rife with the potential for disaster.
Uresti defenders privately argue that Uresti simply isn’t smart enough to have masterminded a FourWinds Ponzi scheme. It’s an insulting defense, but it’s about the best he’s got right now.
In light of all his problems, it’s easy to forget what Uresti accomplished during his 21 years in the Legislature. His commitment to combatting child abuse, in particular, was real and sustained.
He co-sponsored a 2009 bill — signed into law by then-Gov. Rick Perry — that created a task force to develop a strategic plan to address child abuse. He fought for a requirement that dental insurance be included with health coverage in child support orders.
He worked hard for veterans and pushed to make Texas A&M-San Antonio’s current South Side campus a reality.
Uresti’s earliest political mentor had been Frank Tejeda, a congressman who shared Uresti’s South Side roots and background in the Marines. When Tejeda succumbed to cancer in 1997, Uresti launched his own political career with a failed but energetic special-election campaign for his old hero’s congressional seat.
Uresti’s admirers saw him as the next Frank Tejeda, but something went awry along the way.
Alberto Uresti often told Carlos and his siblings that they must never forget where they came from. It was a valuable piece of advice that Uresti didn’t always heed.