Editor, Erin Spens, spent the Day of the Dead in a San Diego cemetery with a bunch of lowriders and their immaculate (bouncing) vintage cars.

In Southern California, Mexican culture is so embedded in local society it can be difficult to separate it out. Here Halloween is almost synonymous with the Day of the Dead, though historically the two celebrations are very distinct. This year I was invited to a Day of the Dead (Día de los Muertos) celebration in a cemetery in San Diego. Eager to experience a traditional version of the Mexican holiday, I jumped in my car and drove straight south.

Shark, president of the Veteranos Lowrider Car Club of San Diego, organized the celebration at Greenwood Memorial Park to include the traditional food, face painting, activities for kids, and a massive representation of the lowrider car clubs across the city. Families, as tradition goes, travel to the cemetery on the Day of the Dead and leave bright orange marigolds, the traditional Mexican flower used to honor the dead, on the graves of their loved ones. They will say a prayer and reminisce about their dearly departed. Some might build a shrine in their house with photos and objects and celebrate at home with traditional food and drinks. Others will spend the whole day at the cemetery setting up canopies above their family’s graves where they’ll clean and decorate the gravestones, eat, drink, and reminisce the day away.

To outsiders, the skulls and intricate shrines that families decorate with can lend a macabre atmosphere to the day. It doesn’t take long, however, until you start picking up on the underlying humor of it all. Some skeletons are dressed up as exaggerated versions of departed loved ones, sparking laughter and floods of memories for those who knew the deceased. It’s an opportunity to dust off a story or two, to share your own experience, and to keep those who have come before us, with us.

On top of all of the celebrations at the cemetery, the flamboyant Mexican-American tradition of lowrider cars are woven throughout the festivities. These vintage cars date as far back as the 1930s and display incredible creativity, attention and care. Generally the year and style of the car is determined by the club you belong to; some clubs allow unlimited accessorizing and others are very strict. Members display loyalty to their club through an ornate plaque in their back windshield and with the logo embroidered proudly across the back of their matching jackets.

Others don’t belong to a club, like Ivy Westmoreland – one of the few female lowriders in San Diego – and are considered ‘solo riders’ who are passionate about the cars but don’t fit into a club. Ivy’s ‘Purple People Eater’ is her pride and joy, and she won’t let just anyone ride in it. “When I go out in my car, I represent this community. I don’t let just anyone ride in my car. They have to have the same values that we do, or I’d be letting this family down.”

The car clubs aren’t all about chrome and rims. Throughout the year the clubs come together for different community events and fundraisers. George and Gloria Beltran who organize many of the events for the San Diego Lowrider Council have done teddy bear drives for disadvantaged kids at Christmas time, they’ve raised money for families who can’t afford a funeral for a deceased loved one, they even provide entertainment for Quinceañera celebrations. “We’re very aware of what’s happening in our community,” George says, “and as much as we can we try to help out. It’s one of the advantages of having organized clubs. We can all come together and have a much bigger impact.”

It’s easy to see how tightly woven this community is, and how one expression of the culture feeds another. That’s not to say it’s all happy all the time. A few of the car owners referred to themselves as OG’s – old gangstas – and say the car clubs can act as a family and an outlet for those who need it. But life in all of its ups and downs, the beginning and the end, can be celebrated.

A representative of Greenwood Cemetery, notes the differences between cultures and their respective approaches to death and memorial, “The Mexican Day of the Dead tradition takes the fear out of death. The whole point is to celebrate life and family, and to thank those who came before and who worked to give us the lives we have today. Most people would say they live a better life than their parents and grandparents and this is an opportunity to thank them and remember their role in our life today. And it’s not just adults, kids are exposed to death very early on through this tradition which seems to take some sting out of it.”

I’m struck by how totally different the cemetery feels on the Day of the Dead compared to Memorial Day. For me, Memorial Day has always felt heavy and uncomfortable. Caucasian tradition is to avoid talking about or celebrating anything associated with death – we’re meant to fear it, push it away with all of our might, even pretend it isn’t there – and standing in the cemetery on the Day of the Dead that tradition (my tradition) feels like one huge wasted opportunity to party. I think our greatest aspiration in life should be that, in death, those who remember us would do so by celebrating. Pitch a tent above my grave, bring all the kids, make some crazy colorful art, decorate your car, paint some faces and laugh at them, eat and drink and say a prayer for me and blast some music and live as much as you possibly can. That’s what I want.

By Erin Spens