The Tacos that Built a Family

(If you are reading this post on a RSS reader, you might want to click through to Life Begins @ 30 for the slideshow.

As we entered the Taco House last week, I steadied my grandfather on my arm.  "The taco is $1.29," he said.  "When I bought the Taco House, we sold it for 25 cents."  Two women in front of the restaurant became really animated when they saw him.  "You know who I just met," one exclaimed into her cell phone, "I met Bill.  You know THE Bill."

My grandfather's name is Hank Silva, but in the Los Angeles community he is often known as "Bill".  He bought Bill's Taco House in 1960 from the original Bill who had owned it for eleven years.  Grandpa owned the restaurant for 25 years and many of his customers just assumed his name was Bill.  He never corrected them.

The story that led my grandfather to own the Taco House is a real up-by-your-bootstraps, American-way story.  He grew up very poor -- moving around, but mainly in the Central Valley --  and went to school very sporadically only through elementary school.  During some of his youth, he picked fruit and cotton up and down the Central Valley -- figs, prunes, rhubarb, and strawberries.  When the workers would break for lunch, grandpa and his best friend Tony would pretend that they were going to lunch as well.  But they didn't have any money and didn't eat.  When lunch was over, they would come back to the field, chewing on a toothpick and pretending that their bellies were full from the feast that they'd just eaten.

In 1939, grandpa had a small amount of money saved and felt that he was destined for something greater than ranch work.  He wanted to leave the valley, but didn't know where to go.  "San Francisco or Los Angeles," he told his friend Tony at the bus station.  Grandpa had been waffling about which direction to go.  "Just go buy me a ticket to either place."  Tony chose Los Angeles.  "You're going to Hollywood," Tony told grandpa, in a decision that was pivotal for grandpa's life and the future of our family.

Grandpa met my grandmother in 1945 (a great story for another day), served in the Navy in World War II, and then returned home to support his family.  He held many jobs including working at a bra factory (where grandma worked as well), selling Baby Butler children's furniture, and selling tract homes in Riverside County.  In the late fifties he was working at a trucking company and had an accident -- he fell from the dock and injured his elbow.  The insurance company compensated him for his injury by giving him $10,000 (the equivalent of $69,000 today).

That $10,000 insurance check is the money that grandpa used to buy the Taco House.  The restaurant is on Martin Luther King Blvd. in Los Angeles, about a mile east of USC.  "We were open until four a.m. on Fridays and Saturdays," mom recently told me, "and there would be a line down the block after the clubs in the area let out."  The taco that they were all lining up for is, what I could imagine, the perfect drunk food.  It's greasy and full of spices and a fully craveable meal. 

Every once in a while, someone who had just been released from jail would come into the Taco House because they'd been craving Taco House food in the slammer.  Celebrities also came into the Taco House -- sometimes limos would pull up and people like Barry White and the singers of the Fifth Dimension would come in to get their taco fix.  Many people who grew up in the neighborhood and became successful -- singers, boxers, politicians -- would continue to return to Bill's Taco House.  "I remember when Barry White was coming in and no one knew who he was," grandpa told me recently, "and then he kept coming back when he was famous."

Recently on a trip to the Taco House alone, I tried to assess the taco.  It's a seasoned hamburger patty, grilled and cut into three pieces, with a slice of cheese ("What kind of cheese, Grandpa?"  "Yellow cheese."), diced tomatoes, shredded lettuce, and a spicy chili gravy all wrapped with a fried taco shell that is more soft than crunchy but with a fried flavor.  Today's taco is pretty true to the original recipe, and the one that grandpa used.  I laughed the other day at a user review on the Internet recently that called it "good Mexican food."  I agree more with a different user who called it "good junk food."

"We would get a delivery of fresh ground beef every day," grandpa said on the drive home last week, "and on Saturdays, we would order 500 pounds of beef."  Each taco uses less than a quarter of a pound of beef, so that's a heck of a lot of tacos. 

Grandpa was really well known in the community.  It's still a treat to run into people who went to Bill's as kids in the sixties and seventies and talk to them about what they remember.  Aside from selling popular food, he provided the land for a Head Start school next door to the Taco House that is there to this day, and gave back to the community in many other ways.  When the Watts riots occurred in 1965, neighbors urged grandpa to leave as the riots were breaking out, and spray painted "brother" on the wall of the Taco House.  The Taco House was saved from being burned or looted while businesses all around were destroyed.

Grandpa sold the Taco House in 1985.  It's still in existence, and in fact there are now one or two other "Bill's Taco Houses" around town, though I have never been to them.   

It's hard to know where our family would be had grandpa not come to Los Angeles, or had he not owned the Taco House.  Much of the family -- my mom, my uncle, my godmother, my grandmother and even my dad -- worked at the Taco House at one point or another and it's a major part of our family history.  My grandparents have taught me so many life lessons, but grandpa's ownership of the Taco House taught me some big ones:

• Make people happy by giving them good, honest food.
• Treat them with respect, no matter what their background or social status.
• Intuition and real world experience trump formal education.
• Once you have a dream, work and work and work until you see it to fruition.

The original Bill's Taco House is located at 219 E Martin Luther King Jr Blvd., Los Angeles, 323-233-1587.

(Update, 10/3/07: Check out my uncle's comment in the comments section.  A great addition to the story.)

Comments

[cookiecrumb]

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
I love this story.

[Anita]

I have been waiting for this post since I saw the Flickr photos. I love it!

I went to school at USC (but, in the words of someone clever, "don't judge me") and somehow never stumbled across the Taco House. We're going to LA in a few weeks, so I'll have the chance to fix that.

[sam]

that is the best story I have ever read on a blog. I had no idea. That is awesome beyond awesomeness.
Teary and speechless, now, soppy sentimental old me.

[jen maiser]

cookie, Anita and sam -- thanks!

Anita, if you go make sure to look for pics of me and the family on the walls from when I was a toddler. There are a couple of them.

:-)

[jeanne bee]

what a great story! I feel so lucky to have met him! Now I need to make the pilgrimage to Bills!

[Tea]

This is wonderful, Jen. What an amazing family you have! I feel like I want to make a pilgrimage to Bill's now.

And snazzy new site design!

[beccy]

Sam sent me over to read this and I'm glad she did, what a lovely story.

[chrisb]

Hi Jen
Sam said I should read your family story. Like Beccy said I'm glad I did as it's a truly wonderful story and a lovely tribute to your Grandpa.

[unc]

Another well written story Jennifer. One thing I observed working with 'The Bill', is his ability to be 'on' whenever he entered the doors to the Taco House.
My father had a gift of being on stage and ready for showtime. Entertainers loved him, as well as everyday people, because he was an entertainer himself. He would dance to the jukebox, ( gracefully I will say for an overweight man), tell jokes to anyone, and visit everyone.
He could exhibit all the charm and charisma of a politician, as when talking to the mayor at a breakfast, or city council members.
Above all he would entertain, talk and laugh with the lowest elements of society that most of us shun because of vanity and/or smell.
People would eat at the Taco House to visit, or talk to 'Bill'. Wilt Chamberlain, the L.A. Laker center, on a visit to the Johnny Carson show, was asked by Mr. Carson, what has changed in his life since he is now famous. Not much, he says, I still eat my tacos at Bills. It was an institution that may never be repeated, but dreamed about by many.

[Clare]

what a great story...very inspiring. Made my morning, thanks!

[Jennifer Jeffrey]

I love this story so much... the mere fact that someone painted "brother" on the building during the riots speaks volumes about how your grandfather ran his business and treated people.

A cherished family story if there ever was one.

PS: Your blog's new wardrobe is ever-so-fabulous. I love the charcoal grey "overcoat." Perfect for fall.

[ellen]

great story...is this the Taco house that was featured on TV just recently??

[sam]

wow - new look - looks cool

[jen maiser]

Jeanne - yes, a pilgrimage is in order. Since you've met him, don't you think that this story isn't complete without some video of him? He's such a character.

Tea, Jennifer and Sam, thanks! I think I might announce the site design, but this is the "soft opening."

Beccy and Chris - thanks for stopping by. So sweet of Sam to point you here.

Uncle Karl - thanks so much for writing this. You added another layer to the story.

Clare, thanks. It was a fun one to write.

Ellen - I don't know of any recent TV show?

[Anna Peschong]

Thank you for sharing this story, getting some background on the Silvas explains a lot about how you got to be wonderful you. Please, more stories about your special family!

[molly]

It made me so happy to read this story on your blog, and especially to see the photos! I had heard the story before but the pictures of your grandfather in the restaurant put it into a delightful present day context. Hank and Lupe are so special - thanks for sharing them with us!

[Camille Jauregui]

I was just blog hopping and found this great story. It made me think of my family who owned a Mexican Restaurant in Chico for almost 32 years before my parents sold it last summer. When we were little kids, they called it the "Taco House" even though the name was "Ricardo's" I have great memories growing up there and working. In a way I am sad that it's not still in the family...

[Debi]

Very nice story. Thank you for writing.I am Hank's great niece Debi. Let him know I read the story.

[Rachael]

I great friend of mine who grew up in Boyle Heights loved Bill's Taco House more than anything. He passed away this past summer, and reading this...well, Im just overwhelmed. Lovely, lovely post. Thank you so much. Thank you. And thank you especially to your grandfather who made so many people happy.

[Anita]

I was looking for opening hours and found a great writeup on the LA Times site.

Excerpt: "In short, there seem to be three secrets to Bill's long life: 1. Being down with your peeps. 2. Keeping your prices low. 3. Gravy."

http://www.calendarlive.com/dining/100361,0,1314298.venue