Did Brownsville Ever Have a Theater Called “El Tiro”?
A downtown name remembered, disputed, and finally placed.
Bronsbil Estación – Reborn exists to preserve pieces of
Brownsville history that survive unevenly—some in archives, others only in
memory. The story of El Tiro belongs to both.
The corner of Eleventh and Washington Streets, across from
the Stegman building, has carried more history than it shows today.
Most longtime residents remember the México Theater, which
screened Spanish-language films and hosted Noche de Aficionados, an amateur
program that drew steady crowds. Fewer recall that the same corner was once
occupied by the Dreamland Theatre, built in 1913 and later adapted to changing
audiences and times. The Victoria Theatre on East Fourteenth and Harrison
offered a similar amateur program under the operation of the Ricardo Ruenes
family, while the México was managed by the David J. Young family.
When Young reopened the Dreamland as the México in 1939,
Spanish-language cinema was firmly established along the border. The theater
prospered quietly, becoming part of the ordinary downtown rhythm.
Yet another name has lingered in local memory.
Some residents have referred to the México Theater as “El
Tiro.” Extensive searches of surviving newspaper archives and public
photographic collections have never produced a marquee or advertisement bearing
that name.
The absence of such material, however, does not settle the
matter.
Rogelio Agrasánchez of Harlingen, Texas, a local historian
who holds the world’s largest private collection of Mexican motion-picture
memorabilia, confirmed the name’s use and produced a Spanish-language
advertisement identifying the theater as El Tiro. The advertisement has not yet
resurfaced in public collections.
In a town where records are incomplete and memory often
fills the gaps, that confirmation is sufficient. The name existed.
The Spanish word tiro refers to the report of a gunshot. One
explanation traces the nickname to sounds heard during the showing of Western
films. Jesús Abete, later a projectionist at the Fiesta and Charro drive-ins,
believed the gunfire heard inside the theater carried through thin walls and
into the street.
It was a plausible explanation. Brownsville history,
however, offers another.
William Crafts was a former policeman whose service record
had drawn unfavorable attention. He had struck men with the butt of his
revolver and discharged his weapon while on duty, incidents that led to
complaints and his dismissal from the force. He was later reinstated.
By 1917, saloons across Texas were steadily disappearing as
local option laws, tightening ordinances, and a growing reform movement
reshaped public life. Crafts was operating a saloon of his own, a business
already facing uncertain prospects.
He had also made an enemy.
Juan Sánchez, known in Brownsville and Matamoros as El
Marrano, was a gambler with an established reputation on both sides of the
river. Bonifacio González, another former lawman and an associate of Crafts,
completed a triangle that would soon close.
The encounter occurred at approximately 9:30 p.m. on Sunday,
June 4, 1917, on the north sidewalk of the Dreamland Theatre.
Sánchez was walking west on Eleventh Street wearing a
light-colored Palm Beach suit. His pistol was drawn and pointed downward. When
he turned and saw Crafts and González approaching from the northwest corner of
Eleventh and Washington, he spoke first.
“No me tires, amigo.”
He then raised his weapon and fired.
Crafts was struck once through the heart. Sánchez fired
three additional shots, striking González before he could return fire. Crafts,
mortally wounded, managed to draw his revolver and fire four shots before
collapsing six feet from the gutter. One bullet grazed González’s hip, passed
through the rear of David Young’s automobile, and lodged in the back seat.
Despite his injuries, González walked halfway to the police
station at City Hall, one block away, before being assisted by officers. He was
placed on a cot and died ten minutes later from a wound that severed an artery
in his neck.
Inside the theater, men, women, and children heard the
gunfire. Panic did not follow. Several composed patrons urged calm and
prevented a rush toward the exits. Jim McDavitt, moving from the front entrance
toward the rear, witnessed the shooting as it occurred.
Little was said publicly about the cause of the feud. It was
reported only that Crafts and Sánchez had narrowly avoided a duel two weeks
earlier and had quarreled again that afternoon. A woman standing near Sánchez
suffered powder burns when the shooting began and escaped injury only by moving
clear as Crafts fired his final shots.
Other dramas have played out on the streets and inside the
buildings of downtown Brownsville. Some were recorded. Others were remembered
only in passing. In cases like this, the past does not disappear. It remains
where it happened, waiting to be noticed again.
Editor’s note: This essay is presented as a narrative
history grounded in archival research and firsthand recollection rather than as
a comprehensive scholarly survey.
