This fall has been a season of death for the people of my ancestral town of Jerez, Zacatecas. “They’d blast the volume on the radiola!” my dad said with glee, rattling off the names of long-gone cantinas he haunted — El Hernandez, La India Bonita, Flamingo Inn — and Chente’s big songs back then, “Tu Camino y El Mío” and …
