MOE "SNAKE-EYES JUAREZ
A PRIVATE DETECTIVE
IN EAST LOS ANGELES IN THE 1950s
The hot California sun beat down on
the cracked pavement of Brooklyn Avenue
in East Los Angeles. Moe "Snake-Eyes" Juarez
pulled his battered 1949 Ford Woody up to
the curb, killing the engine with a sputter.
He'd been driving these streets for over a
decade, working cases from his cramped office
above a noisy bakery. As Juarez stepped
out onto the sidewalk, he adjusted the
brim of his fedora against the glare.
This neighborhood had been his stomping
grounds since the days of Prohibition
back in the 1920s. A lot had changed
since then, but the hustle and Code of
the Streets remained the same. Moe's
beady eyes scanned the area, missing
nothing. His nickname "Snake-Eyes" came
from his keen eye for the dice during his
gambling days. It was a skill that had
kept him alive more times than he could
count over his 10 years as a private eye.
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A PRIVATE DETECTIVE IN EAST LOS ANGELES IN THE 1950s by Robert Nerbovig
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Clothes became a point of pride as the decade progressed. Men traded their work dungarees for sharp gabardine slacks and two-tone spectator shoes. My brother Miguel saved for months to buy a drape jacket with wide lapels and padded shoulders from La Moda Elegante. He'd pair it with a porkpie hat tilted just so. Food reflected both our Mexican heritage and American influences. At home, Mama still made traditional dishes like chile colorado and nopal salad. Restaurants along Whittier Boulevard showcased this culinary fusion. At Lucy's Drive-In, you could order a hamburger with a side of refried beans. The Taco Hut introduced many non-Latinos to Mexican food, serving "Americanized" versions of tacos and enchiladas. For special occasions, families would dress up and head to El Encanto for crispy chiles rellenos and seafood cocktails. Cars became more than just transportation ? they were status symbols and cruising vessels. The boulevard hummed with the sound of souped-up engines. My cousin Rafi was obsessed with his '48 Chevy Fleetline, spending weekends polishing its chrome and lowering the suspension. He'd cruise Whittier Boulevard with his arm hanging out the window, hoping to catch the eye of pretty girls. Other popular models included the bullet-nosed Studebaker Champion and the sleek Mercury Eight. Wealthier families might show off in a Cadillac Series 62 or a wood-paneled Buick Roadmaster station wagon. A few hot rodders started customizing their rides, chopping roofs and adding pinstriping. The first lowriders began to emerge, though they weren't yet called that. Stay tuned, homies. The streets of East L.A. never sleep, and neither does our boy Moe. Snake-Eyes was the man to call when shit got real. Whether you was some abuela getting pushed around by the city, or a big shot with skeletons in your closet, Snake-Eyes was your go-to vato. Moe "Snake-Eyes" Juarez became the baddest PI in East LA, ese. He never forgot where he came from, but he wasn't afraid to step to the big boys either. In a city full of pendejos and corrupt foos, Snake-Eyes was one of the good ones. And in East LA, that's saying something. A young Chicano kid watching from a nearby stoop eyed Juarez warily. "You the dick that got called about the Delgado case?" the youth asked, stubbing out a hand-rolled cigarette. Juarez gave a curt nod. "That's right. What can you tell me about it?" The kid smirked. "I might know a thing or two...if the price is right." As he reached into his jacket for his wallet, Moe couldn't help but grin. Working the East L.A. streets - this was his life. No matter how tangled or dangerous the case, he always found a way to stick his nose in and uncover the truth. 
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