Published August 9, 2019.

EL PASO — The gunman strode up to the Walmart, where Guillermo “Memo” Garcia and his wife Jessica were raising money for their 10-year-old daughter Karina’s soccer team, selling the traditional Mexican snacks of chicharrónes and aguas frescas.

They were not supposed to be here.

Another team had booked the coveted spot in front of the popular Walmart, a supercenter close to downtown El Paso and its sister city, Ciudad Juárez, that draws thousands of binational shoppers on weekends. But that team had a last-minute conflict, so their coach offered the space to Jessica.

Before they left home, Memo said he wanted to bring his gun. Jessica was startled. It’s a youth fundraiser, she said. So he left it.

About an hour later, at 10:30 a.m., the fundraiser had sold out of fruit juice when, witnesses said, the shooter fired at a woman loading groceries in the parking lot, hitting her in the face. The Garcias thought the sound was fireworks. This is El Paso, a city with just 23 killings in 2018. They saw smoke and heard popping noises. Then they saw the assault rifle.

Memo, a coach on the El Paso Fusion girls’ soccer team who is nicknamed “Tank” for his size, grabbed Jessica and his 6-year-old son, little Memo, sheltering them with his large frame, his back to the shooter. Another soccer coach and his father did the same, blocking kids with their bodies. The gunman kept firing.

Bullets riddled Memo in the back. Jessica was struck in the legs.

They appear to have been among the first victims of the rampage that killed 22 people, including eight Mexican citizens, and injured more than two dozen on the morning of Aug. 3, according to police and witness accounts. The apparent explicit targeting of Latinos terrorized Hispanics across the nation this week and renewed focus on what some say to be a surge of racism and white supremacist ideas.

Read more: Family with boy playing baseball in Texas and Mexico shows border crisis divide in daily life

The victims from the fundraiser were quintessential El Pasoans: Hispanic and bilingual with deep roots in Texas and Mexico. Their lives revolve around their children’s baseball and soccer teams.

Their lives spanned the border: Memo, 35, was born in Juárez, but moved to El Paso for high school. There he met Jessica, 31, the U.S.-born daughter of Mexican immigrants. She teaches English as a second language in an El Paso school and Memo transports heavy machinery.

They spend most weekends with his family in Juárez, where little Memo plays on his second T-ball team. They have complicated feelings on the surge of Central American asylum seekers that has overwhelmed El Paso this year; they want to help, but they wonder how much more the city, or the country, can take.

They are the face of El Chuco, a nickname for this border city that recalls the “pachuco” zoot suit culture popularized by Mexican-Americans in the 1940s. Sometimes called the Ellis Island of the border, the city is where generations of Mexicans have sought entry to the United States since before World War II, going on to build lives across the nation, from Houston to Los Angeles and Denver.

But these soccer team fundraisers and their children might have seemed exactly the targets the accused gunman was looking for. Law enforcement officials said 21-year-old Patrick Crusius of Dallas drove 11 hours to El Paso, a city that is 80 percent Hispanic, after allegedly posting a hate-filled screed laced with white supremacist themes.

The online manifesto railed against a “Hispanic invasion of Texas” and accused immigrants of taking jobs from native-born Americans. Police said Crusius got lost in El Paso, stopping at the Walmart because he was hungry. They suspect he ate something in the store, perhaps even surveying customers inside, before grabbing his assault-style rifle from the car and stalking back to commit one of the 10 deadliest shootings in modern American history.

It would have been impossible for him to miss the fundraiser, squarely between the two entrances, everyone in bright pink T-shirts under a canopy.

“He probably thought, ‘Oh there’s my target,’ ” said April Garcia, who is not related to the Garcia family, but whose husband Ray heads the children’s baseball team Xsquad. Memo Garcia is one of the coaches on that team and his son, little Memo, plays for it.

Essay: El Paso, where everday life crosses the border

Had the gunman not judged based on skin color or ethnicity, he might have discovered the obvious, April said: These are middle-class, moderate, suburban Americans who exemplify the nation’s values.

“They are parents like us. Their lives revolve around their kids,” said the 44-year-old mother, an organizer for the El Paso American Federation of Teachers. “They either have soccer practice or baseball practice. One parent is here with this kid, and the other parent is with the other kid. I don’t understand why this would happen to parents like that.”

Xsquad and the Hit Squad baseball teams gather at a makeshift memorial to honor the victims of the Walmart shooting in El Paso. Xsquad and the Hit Squad baseball teams gather at a makeshift memorial to honor the victims of the Walmart shooting in El Paso. Photo: Marie D. De Jesús/Staff Photographer Photo: Marie D. De Jesús/Staff Photographer Image 1 of / 10 Caption Close ‘Love, support and courage:’ El Paso values help families recover after rampage 1 / 10 Back to Gallery

“I don’t know where the girls are”

The wounded dropped to the ground.

Maribel Latin, a 38-year-old soccer mom with four children, landed near the eastern side of the fundraiser’s canopy.

A coach on the Fusion girl’s soccer team, Luis Calvillo, and his father, Jorge, had, like Memo, tried to shield the children. Luis, 33, collapsed behind Memo. His 61-year-old father fell to the right of Maribel.

She could hear the gunman come closer to her, so she closed her eyes, pretending she was dead. He stood next to her, firing at least eight more shots.

“He was just shooting like he was playing a video game,” she later told friends and family. “He wasn’t nervous and every shot was a hit.”

The gunshots began receding. Maribel tried 911 but couldn’t get through. She called her husband Danny Latin, a 37-year-old truck driver four hours away in Fort Stockton.

Danny had just awakened after an all-night shift. He frantically checked his 10-year-old daughter’s last known location on her cell phone. Maylene had been at the Redbox.

“I have to find our daughter,” Maribel said, hanging up.

Panicking, Danny called the couple’s friend, 31-year-old Jimmy Villatoro, a coach on the Xsquad kids’ baseball team.

“You have got to help me,” Danny said. “Maribel’s been shot and she can’t find my daughter.”

Jessica peeled herself off the ground. She had been shot in both legs and skin from her wounds flapped to the side, but she didn’t notice.

“She was in total adrenaline mode,” her mother, 53-year-old Norma Coca, explained later. “She didn’t feel a thing.”

Somehow, little Memo was unscathed.

“Run,” Jessica urged her baby, who she calls her “miracle.” She almost lost him five years ago after the boy was born with a congenital defect and underwent open heart surgery at just two months. “Run!”

Her husband, Memo, was sprawled out on the ground. She checked on him but didn’t see any gunshot wounds; doctors would later tell the family that bullets entered him from the back, spattering throughout his internal organs.

But Jessica didn’t know that yet. She kissed her husband on the forehead.

“I love you,” she said. “I’m going to go look for our kids.”

“Where are the kids?”

April Garcia’s husband Ray was by the Walmart running errands when their friend Jimmy called. The couples are close; their kids are around the same age and play on the El Paso Xsquad baseball team that Ray leads.

“There’s been a shooting,” Jimmy told Ray. “Maribel doesn’t know where the kids are.”

The two fathers pulled into the Walmart parking lot within minutes of each other, running in opposite directions. Police with rifles were everywhere. They tried to stop Ray, a 38-year-old air conditioning installer, but he pressed on.

Nearing the fundraiser’s canopy, he saw a woman on the ground, blood streaming from her face. Memo was on his back. Luis, the other girls’ soccer coach, was badly wounded; his father, Jorge, appeared even worse. Maribel and Jessica weren’t there.

Memo was struggling to breathe, but managed a question.

“Where are the kids?” he asked.

Ray did not know.

A paramedic appeared, and she and Ray applied pressure to Memo’s abdomen. More paramedics arrived, loading Luis into a stretcher.

His father, who had recently moved from Juárez to El Paso to work as an accountant, according to the Mexican newspaper Vanguardia, had not made it. Jorge Calvillo, 61, died in the spot where he had protected his granddaughter Emily from the shooter.

Rescue workers turned to Memo, whose wounds at first had not appeared as serious.

“I know you’re in there”

Maribel’s daughter Maylene, Jessica’s daughter Karina, and two other girls on the soccer team had been stationed at one entrance to the Walmart, asking shoppers for donations. When they heard the gunshots, they ran inside the store.

An employee pulled them into the bakery and told them to hide.

The gunman stalked up to the counter, pushing off all the cakes.

“Come out,” he demanded, the girls later recounted to their families. “I know you’re in there.”

The girls stayed silent. The shooter seemed to taunt them.

“I’m coming to get you,” he said, over and over.

After several long minutes, the gunman stomped off. The girls said he pulled a fire alarm, causing hundreds of panicked shoppers to rush to the store’s entrance. In the chaos, one of the Walmart employees guided Karina, Maylene, and the two other girls out the back door of the bakery and told them to run.

When Jimmy found them, the girls were crouching behind a car. Recognizing their brothers’ Xsquad baseball coach, they rushed up to him, crying. He shielded them as they ran out of the parking lot to the Sam’s Club across the street. A soccer mom pulled up in her Jeep and said she would take them to safety.

“Can you find my mom?” Karina pleaded to Jimmy.

He promised that he would. Her dad, Memo, was OK, he said.

Then Jimmy bolted back to the Walmart looking for Jessica and little Memo.

Jessica had run inside the store searching for her son. She heard the gunshots coming closer, so she hid behind an ice chest. The shooter walked up to near where she was crouching and fired several rounds at a man and woman on the floor.

She thought she was going to die, too.

After the gunman left, Jessica tried to run out but she collapsed. Strangers lifted her into a grocery cart and were wheeling her to safety when she saw Jimmy, who had come to find her. The two hugged fiercely. Jimmy said her husband was with Ray, the baseball coach.

“Is he OK?” Jessica asked, and Jimmy nodded, although he wasn’t certain.

As rescue workers took her away, she pleaded with him to find her son.

“Please,” she yelled tearfully, “save Memo.”

“I think I’ve been shot”

Another soccer parent had found the 6-year-old in the Sam’s Club, so Jimmy rushed there. Frightened shoppers had streamed inside seeking safety and police were putting the store on lockdown. They still did not know if there were more shooters; some reports had suggested there may have been as many as four.

Jimmy found little Memo on Aisle 1. The child was wearing sandals and had tripped when he ran, bashing his face against the concrete. Blood streamed from the gash.

“Coach,” the boy said. “I think I’ve been shot.”

No, Jimmy said. You just fell and got hurt. You’re going to be OK. And your mom’s OK and your dad, too.

“Coach,” little Memo said. “Can we go home?”

No, Jimmy said. We have to stay here for a while until the police say we can leave.

He called Ray, the Xsquad baseball coach who had been caring for little Memo’s dad.

“I found him,” he said.

He could hear Ray telling the father that his son was safe. Memo gave an audible sigh of relief, then the paramedics rushed him to Del Sol Medical Center.

More worried about Juárez

Memo’s father was in Juárez when his wife called to say there had been a shooting. Guillermo Garcia Sr. is from the Mexican border city, but lived for years in El Paso until returning to his hometown after some issues with immigration. He has resided there peacefully for a decade, seeing his wife, children and grandkids several times a week when they cross over for little Memo’s T-ball practice or dinner. That’s how life is between these two sister cities: Mexicans live in El Paso, Americans call Juárez home, and others flit easily between.

At first, the patriarch thought only Jessica had been shot. He did not find out about his son until later.

“I’m still in shock,” he said.

For years, he and his family worried about violence in Juárez, where more than 1,200 homicides were reported last year. They never gave a thought to any danger in El Paso.

“I’m sad, to be honest,” he said. “This is happening because of racism. They want to finish with all the Mexicans.”

With no tourist visa, he could not visit the hospital, so he waited anxiously for updates by phone. By Sunday, Memo was in an induced coma. Doctors had tried to perform surgery on his abdomen but his blood pressure was too high and his kidneys started failing. The injuries had been worse than they thought.

Luis, the other girls’ soccer coach, was also in a coma, and his father, Jorge, was dead.

“These last few hours have been the worst of our lives,” his wife posted on Facebook.

Maribel was recovering, although the bullet had torn through her foot. Jessica was healing physically, but she was distraught.

When she sleeps, she shakes and trembles, her mother said. She repeats what happened over and over as if she still can’t believe it.

The doctors had wanted Jessica to stay hospitalized longer, but she resolved to leave by Monday. She wanted to be with her children. Finally, the medical staff gave in, telling her that if she could walk to the bathroom and back, they would allow her to check out.

“It was so painful, but she did it,” her mother said. “She was determined.”

By Monday night, Memo and Luis had appeared to turn the corner. Doctors were able to perform several surgeries and though they remained in critical condition, they were stable. It seemed they would make it.

Jessica checked out with a walker and a wheelchair, but she was home.

A meeting with Trump

When President Donald Trump touched down briefly in El Paso Wednesday, Jessica was eager to meet with him.

It was the president’s second tragic stop of the day, coming after a visit to victims of a second mass shooting last weekend in Dayton, Ohio, that left nine dead and at least 27 wounded. His appearance in both cities were controversial; in El Paso, several Democratic lawmakers, including U.S. Rep. Veronica Escobar of El Paso, urged him to stay away.

Some have blamed Trump for helping to spur such an atrocity with statements and Tweets that often disparage Mexicans and immigrants. They noted that the gunman’s use of the term “invasion” to refer to Hispanics is one the president has employed hundreds of times in speeches, Tweets or Facebook ads when talking about immigrants from Mexico or Central America.

Trump’s supporters, including acting White House chief of staff Mick Mulvaney, have defended the president.

“People are going to hear what they want to hear,” Mulvaney told NBC this week. “My guess is this guy’s in that parking lot out in El Paso, Texas, in that Walmart, doing this even if Hillary Clinton is president.”

Federal prosecutors have said they are exploring charging the shooter with a hate crime and have called it an act of “domestic terrorism.” He likely will face a death sentence.

Jessica had a “few choice words” for the president, her mother said.

“Some of it is blaming him for what happened because of his Tweets and some of it is about banning assault weapons,” she said.

Jessica was one of two victims who had been released to return to University Medical Center to meet with the president. None of the eight patients still being treated there agreed to see him, a hospital spokesman told the Washington Post.

Ray and Jimmy, the two Xsquad baseball coaches who helped rescue Memo and the children, accompanied Jessica. Jimmy, who said he is a Republican but does not always agree with Trump, had his cap autographed by Trump and his wife, Melania. Ray came away feeling impressed by the president.

“I thought he was being sincere,” he said. “I have a different image now than from seeing him on TV.”

But he said it was time for lawmakers to ban assault weapons.

“Why do we need them?” he asked. “It’s been time, since a long time ago. You would think after Sandy Hook, with little children being killed, that something would have been done.” (A gunman killed 20 children and six adults at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Conn., on Dec. 14, 2012).

Yet Ray also thought it was urgent for his wife, April, to obtain her concealed carry license so she could have a gun to protect herself and the children.

Maribel’s husband, Danny, thought so, too.

“It changes the way you look at things,” Danny said. “In three seconds, everything can change.”

Their daughter, Maylene, has clammed up about the shooting. They are giving her space, but planning to take her to a counselor.

As the sun set Wednesday, the presidential plane long gone, the Xsquad baseball team Memo helps coach held their first practice since Saturday. Jessica and little Memo did not attend. Neither did Maribel. But her husband Danny was there with his son, and so were April, Ray and Jimmy.

“We wanted the kids to feel normal again, to get back into their routine,” April said.

They spread out a giant banner on the grass, painting “El Paso Strong” on it in red and blue. All the children signed their names.

After practice, they headed down to the memorial site behind the now-shuttered Walmart. Hundreds of El Pasoans had showed up and Matachines dancers performed the traditional Mexican tribute to that nation’s patron saint, the Virgin of Guadalupe.

An African-American church group sang “Amazing Grace” and Andy Olivarez, a 43-year-old El Paso firefighter, played the soulful hymn on his bagpipes. Olivarez was supposed to work Saturday but took off for a bagpipe recital, so now he said he feels “survivor’s guilt.”

“I should have been there,” he said. “I’m speechless about it all, really. It’s horrible.”

The memorial was so packed that April and the Xsquad baseball team could not see any space to place their banner. Eventually they found a spot and the boys lined up in front of it, clasping hands. They said a prayer.

A large poster nearby had a message for the shooter: “If you only got to know our people, our streets, our culture, then you would have seen how precious our city is,” it said. “You chose hate without knowing us. Our love will follow you for eternity.”

In a brief text to the Houston Chronicle, Jessica Garcia echoed those words.

“I just want everyone to know that El Paso is not racism, not hate, but love, support, and courage,” she said. “An El Pasoan would never have done this.”

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Ways to help:

Fusion Soccer Team fundraiser

Donate to Jessica and Memo Garcia

Donate to Luis Calvillo

Lomi Kriel is an immigration reporter for the Houston Chronicle. Contact her at lomi.kriel@chron.com. Follow her on Twitter at @lomikriel .

Marie D. De Jesús is a staff photojournalist for the Houston Chronicle where she has concentrated on developing relationships with Houston's diverse immigrant and marginalized communities. Prior to the Chronicle, De Jesús worked for the Democrat and Chronicle located in Rochester, New York and the Victoria Advocate in Texas. Follow her on Instagram and Twitter, or reach her by email at marie.dejesus@chron.com.

Design by Stephanie Lamm and Jasmine Goldband.

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