Mexican carry

I would like to thank you and Mr. Ayoob for bringing his great column to your pages. I have been a reader of your magazine (as well as your sister publication, American Handgunner) for some time now. I have heard the term "Mexican Carry" in a variety of articles and was always wondering why it was called this. Being Mexican-American myself, I did not want to be ultra sensitive since I know how that can get out of hand, but it made me wonder. I am glad Mr. Ayoob cleared this up for me.

The article pays tribute to my grandfather, Miguel Acosta (or "Don Miguel" or "Patron" as he was called by his friends). My grandfather was seven-years old when the Mexican revolution broke out in 1910. His father chose to fight on the side of rebellion for the right to be free men, not oppressed by the privileged. My great-grandfather and my grandfather were firm believers of the infamous words of Emiliano Zapata, "'I'd rather die on my feet, than live on my knees." My grandfather began his part of the rebellion as a water boy on the front lines. Five years later he took up arms at the age of 12. In his old age, he would tell me of his few memories of those days.

Despite the fact that my grandfather fought to be a free man, his rights to carry a firearm were stripped away, just as Mr. Ayoob pointed out. That did not matter to him, though, for I still recall heading into town (Caborca, Sonora) with my grandfather with a Colt 1911 (I can only assume it was chambered in .38 Super due to ammo restrictions in Mexico) tucked crossdraw in his pants and covered by his coat. I still remember visiting the ranch in my childhood and being mesmerized by an armoire in his room that held two Mauser bolt-action rifles, one Winchester, and his two beloved pistols (the 1911 and a revolver which I can only remember being a double action, similar to a S&W).

Don Miguel died a proud man ravished by cancer. I was 11 years old when I spoke to him last. When I became interested in firearms, I inquired about my grandfather's pistols and rifles. All of them had been foolishly given away to people who were not part of the family. The momentos I so desperately wanted are lost forever. Only the memories remain. So when I read this article I cried at the memory of my grandfather. There are days when I too carry my 1911 tucked in my pants just like he did (albeit in a Don Hume IWB holster). It helps me remember where I came from and what he taught me.

Thank you so much for honoring my abuelo. To you abuelo: Te extrano mucho y descansa en paz mi viejo.

Miguel Fernando Gomez-Acosta

via e-mail

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