Nebraska’s weather had softened when I began my twice-weekly foot patrol up Vinton from 13th Street in South Omaha. The area had evolved from a middle-European into Latino neighborhood of taquerias, small Spanish shops and bilingual tattoo parlors.
Armed with passport, whistle and camera phone, I strolled unnoticed to 24th Street and back, almost a mile each way, the whistle unused.
In Minnesota, Mexican flag stickers have proliferated on bumpers. The locals refer to it as “ICE fishing.” Here, below my American flag, the Mexican flag had been partly torn off my bumper. Like patriotic Minnesotans, I hoped the flag would attract ICE’s attention. No such luck yet.
I stopped for brunch at Louie M’s restaurant, a South Omaha fixture for almost 100 years and a MAGA stronghold. The server said the Latino kitchen staff was buzzing about my whistle and whether it meant what they thought. I nodded yes, and she confided she was tired of all the red hats and rhetoric.
I went past the kitchen when I left. Their smiles were broad, and more than enough reward.
