Today is Cinco de Mayo, the annual commemoration of the Battle of Puebla, where Mexican nationalists defeated French invaders in an embrace of freedom and rejection of berets.
But that was a mere afterthought in the weekend festival at Civic Center park. Reputed to be the nation’s largest Cinco de Mayo festival, it is a blowout of culture and, increasingly, commerce.
Yes, you had sombrero and serape merchants, plus the ringing bells of paleterias, those roving carts offering flavored ices.
But you also had pitchmen from Dodge, Tecate beer, Sauza tequila, the Libertarian Party and any number of insurance companies. I pitied the folks who spent the day dressed as foam-rubber BlackBerry handhelds, their dignity plummeting as their temperatures rose.
Rick Rodriguez, tucking into a plate of carne adovada, summed it up with a shrug. “Everybody seems to be selling something,” he said. “It gets crazier every year.”
The crowd, too, was a mix of the traditional and the new.
A band of girls teetered by on spike heels, obviously their first outing in them. Teens sported Lakers jerseys and were often laden with bling and tattoos.
Then you had older gents in guayabera shirts, and immaculate cowboys from Mexico with razor-creased jeans, snow-white shirts and boots made from alligator and ostrich hide.
Planned Parenthood reps handed out condoms. “They’re free — wheeee!” yelled one.
Enchanted Airbrush offered tattoos, presumably the temporary kind. A sign said it all: “Ideal for Promotions, Corporate Branding and Party Fun.” Caramba.
Kids lined up for a ride in a fighter-jet simulator hosted by the U.S. Navy. “Accelerate your life,” the sign said. I’ve swabbed a deck before, so I passed.
And then a sight that brought a genuine thrill, though you heard it before you saw it: a line of Aztec dancers in spectacular feathered headdresses. They snaked through the booths, announcing their arrival with the syncopated rattle of shell ankle bracelets, wooden drums and a conch horn.
Beautiful.
Out on the lawn, Miguel and Gabriella Martinez were engaged in an emergency diaper change of their 5-month-old son, Ramon.
“This is his first Cinco de Mayo, and of course he won’t remember a thing,” Miguel said. “But I wanted him to at least hear the sound of it, the music and the crowd.”
“It’s part of who he’s going to be, this mix of cultures,” Gabriella said.
Food was everywhere, from old-school posole to Chan’s Chicken-on-a-Stick. This being a Denver street fair, patrons gnawed on turkey legs. Some were discarded on the ground — ant farm ahoy.
Standing by one of the sound stages was a handsome man in black. His name was Vic DeLeon, and he would soon lead his group, the DeLeon Brothers Band, on stage.
DeLeon has played at every Cinco de Mayo festival in Denver. The festival means much to him, and fans came up and shook his hand like he was royalty.
“I think a lot of it is the tradition, the culture,” he said. “It’s keeping alive the music that came out of that time, but at the same time crossing over and trying to root it into the music of today.”
Viva Cinco de Mayo. Bring on the Fourth of July and the hot-dog vendors.
William Porter’s column runs Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Reach him at 303-954-1977 or wporter@denverpost.com.
