Race and the Houston Police Department, 1930–1990: A Change Did Come

CHAPTER 5. The Storm Clouds of Change: The Death of José Campos Torres and the Emergence of Triracial Politics in Houston, 1978–80

You take these handcuffs off, and I’ll whip all of your asses. You are just a bunch of pigs. —JOSÉ CAMPOS TORRES CHAPTER 5 The Storm Clouds of Change The Death of José Campos Torres and the Emergence of Triracial Politics in Houston, 1978–80 A s the drama over the Randy Webster and Billy Keith Joyvies shootings was subsiding, another highly publicized case of police violence rocked the city of Houston. On the night of May 5, 1977, the arrest, beating, and drowning of José Campos Torres brought the storm clouds of change to the city.1 Torres’s death galvanized the politically fragmented Hispanic community, much as the Texas Southern University Riot on May 16–17, 1967, had helped create a more dynamic class of leaders in the African American community.2 The tragic insignificance of Torres’s life catapulted him to martyrdom. He became the ultimate symbol of police racism, injustice, and brutality. His death prompted Houston’s mayor, Fred Hofheinz, to say that “something is loose in the city that is an illness, that has infected the police.”3 His death also Storm Clouds of Change 111 prompted Vance Muse to observe, “Houston cops—by many standards, are the worst cops in the nation: They are disorganized, corrupt, poorly trained and most pertinent to your fears, over armed and brutal.”4 Torres’s death raised several questions: Did his race play a significant factor in his death? What kind of respect did the police have for Mexican Americans? Did police training and procedures validate this kind of aggression? Why were Torres’s actions construed as a threat to police authority? What was the police code of silence? But the most important question was What did his death do to transform Houston’s racial ethics? Torres was born in Houston in 1953 to José Luna Torres and Margaret Torres. He served three years in the army in the Vietnam era, from 1973 to 1976, and was a member of an elite combat unit until his heavy drinking led to repeated arrests. Those who knew him suggested that the more he drank, the worse his temper got. His first sergeant, Donald Myers, observed that “Torres had the potential to be a good soldier, but alcohol got the best of him.” Torres’s attitude, like that of many returning veterans, was angry and hostile toward authority due to his treatment by a racist society when he returned home. He was particularly angered by the police, who, he felt, harassed Mexicans.5 The Mexican population’s sustained growth forced the Houston police to make quick, systemic adjustments. The police department had had a “Latin Squad” in the 1930s, but that name had slowly evolved to what the force called the “Mexican Squad” by the 1960s. From 1930 through 1970, the number of Mexican Americans on the force grew faster than the number of African Americans, although it is statistically significant that most of these officers were Mexican or Latino in surname only. Herein lay the root of most of the tensions between the police and the Mexican American community: the Latino officers had no sense of community identity. Furthermore, some of these officers lacked experience and training. Manuel Crespo, for example, was a mortician who was hired and trained as a special detective in the 1930s, but did not follow the promotion track from patrolman to detective. Officers like Crespo provided valuable surveillance and a minimally visible police presence. Mexican Americans and Mexican nationals frequently felt the sting of the law, particularly from the old Latin Squad. Police in Houston’s barrios were, for the most part, reputedly aggressive and brutal. Their presence aroused fear and mistrust. This historical mistrust had intensi- 112 C H A P T E R 5 fied by the 1970s. When the city’s murder and robbery rate increased in the late 1970s, Chief Caldwell attributed much of the crime to Mexican nationals.6 Such anti-Mexican attitudes homogenized all Spanish-speaking people into one group—Mexicans—with little distinction among American citizens, Mexican citizens, and people from various other Latin American nations. The fate of José Campos Torres must be examined within this context . On the night of his arrest and death, Torres had been drinking heavily at the 21 Club, a hole-in-the-wall bar located at 4700 Canal Street, near the...