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Border
Patrol
Shootout on the Rio Grande
El Paso (1916)
"No Hard Feelings, but I think of you everytime I sit down." |
Editor's
Note:
The recent shameful persecution and imprisonment of two U.S. Border
Patrol Agents for shooting a drug smuggler in the buttocks brings
to mind a similar incident in which another Mexican National was shot
by the Border Patrol. Same shooter, (U.S. Border Patrol) same shootee
(Mexican National). The same body parts were wounded very near the
same location. Only 91 years and a few caliber points separate the
two (leaving out the overzealous prosecutor). Despite the similarities
of the two incidents, the outcome of the earlier occurrence was far
different from the contemporary one. |
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This first
person excerpt is from the book "Border Patrol: With the U.S. Immigration
Service on the Mexican Boundary 1910-54" by Clifford Alan Perkins
(Texas Western Press, The University of Texas at El Paso, 1979):
One
stretch of the river where numerous aliens crossed was just west of
downtown El Paso,
directly opposite the Union
Depot. Shortly after everyone had gone to lunch, leaving me on
duty with one of the stenographers for company, a [railroad] switchman
telephoned in to report that two of our outside officers were pinned
down behind the depot with rifle fire from across the river.
With no alternative but to lock the office,
I grabbed a Springfield rifle and two or three boxes of ammunition from the supply
room, and with the stenographer to drive, set out in the only transportation available:
the truck we used for a patrol wagon. When we reached the depot and parked the
truck, I crawled to within shouting distance of the two officers. So long as they
stayed put, they were fairly safe near the water in a large hole near the base
of an uprooted tree. Raising up cautiously, I could see there was no shelter for
them if they left the hole, at the same time I spotted the rocks protecting the
Mexicans firing at them. Realizing that the only way to put a stop to the shooting
was to get at the Mexicans from an angle, I told the officers not to move and
I crawled back across the tracks. Running along in a semi-crouch to stay behind
the railroad embankment, I worked my way up river around the bend to a point where
the men doing the shooting were exposed. Taking deliberate aim because of the
distance, I pumped out three or four shots in rapid succession. At the second
or third shot, one of them jumped up from cover as if he had been stung and took
off south at a run. I threw a few more shots at him for good measure, which increased
his speed somewhat but also gave the others a chance to get away.
Weeks
later, a Mexican strolled into the office and told the clerk at the front desk
that he wanted to see Senor Perkins. After being ushered to the door of the office
where I was working, he ambled through, looked me over deliberately, then greeted
me with a smiling, "Hallo, Perkeens. You know you shoot me?" Puzzled by his knowing
my name and acting as though there was nothing humorous about a shooting, I asked
him "When? And where?" Laughing and telling me I was some fine shot, he said he
had been one of the men shooting from the rocks at the two officers behind the
depot. With the admission that one of my bullets had accounted for his speedy
departure from the scene, he dropped his pants. On each buttock were two tiny
round scars from a bullet passing through about an inch below the surface." |
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