Blanco Vista Elementary School students march in a Dia de los Muertos parade on Friday. (Photo by Jim Cullen)
by JONATHAN YORK
Carolyn Limon was putting away her crocheted baby clothes, sweaters and blankets under the live oaks of City Square Park in Kyle. There was a tense frown on her face, and she started to complain of how business had been “very slow.”
What she didn’t understand was, why did the city have two Dia de los Muertos events Saturday afternoon, instead of just one?
“Not enough vendors and not enough customers,” she said.
The reason for the competing festivals was a bureaucratic conflict over who could use the downtown park at what time, in which city officials tried their best to mediate between competing organizers. As a result, Kyle residents got the best of both worlds — so long as they were willing to divide their time between the two.
In this little park by City Hall there was a sleepy festival with an easy pace and plenty of shade. A woman in face paint and an elaborate dress strutted by, waving at the drivers. But there were more American elements, too, such as a campy T-shirt vendor, an acupuncturist and a booth where people would sign you up to win a trip to Vegas.
There was mariachi music, of course. Professionals played it, hitting high trumpet notes without faltering or cracking, and people stood by to listen politely, sometimes bobbing their heads.
Half a mile down the road at Gregg-Clarke Park, a different scene was on. There was not much face paint, no acupuncturist and certainly no trip to Vegas. People in the crowd spoke Spanish.
The open-air building at the center of the park was set up as a stage, and bands from Hays CISD took their turns playing skilled but sometimes halting or off-key versions of traditional songs.
The strange thing was how different it felt.
The downtown band had played similar tunes flawlessly, and they had come across as pleasant background music.
Here, however, the music seemed closer to life. Maybe it was how the considerable crowd kept clapping, dancing and singing along. Or how the wind kept drowning out the microphone. Or how the adolescent voices, the whining violins and the spluttering trumpets believed so completely in the music they were trying, with such effort, to put forth.
