Laredo voters observed a century-old custom on Apr. 6, 1886 by picking public servants for the coming year. But when the winners tried to rub salt in the losers’ wounds, the streets of the border town turned into a battleground.
By Texas standards, Laredo is an ancient settlement. Founded in 1755 on the banks of the Rio Grande, it slumbered for generations in peaceful solitude. More Mexican than Texan, or for that matter American, the Lone Star Revolution was a distant drama with little local impact.
In 1767 Laredo began holding annual elections, which evolved into a festive occasion as much as a political ritual. For residents young and old the springtime plebiscite was the most eagerly awaited event of the year.
From San Antonio to the north and Corpus Christi to the east, railroads converged on Laredo in 1881. Gone for good was geographic isolation replaced by rapid economic growth. In five fast-paced years, the population doubled with more newcomers arriving by the day.
Because of the boom, the good-natured contest for the mainly ceremonial positions grew into a nasty struggle for influential and lucrative political plums. Instead of the fun and games of the past, the election of 1886 promised to be a ballotbox brawl.
Since the Civil War, Laredo politics had polarized along party lines. Depending upon the poor for support, the predominantly Republican Citizens’Party adopted the nickname “Guarache,” Spanish for a simple sandal. The opposition, who identified with the Democratic Party, chose “Bota” or boot as the symbol of their comparative affluence.
Prior to the 1886 polling, city and county offices were evenly divided between Guaraches and Botas. But early in the campaign, both factions made it clear they were out for blood and planned to take no prisoners.
Tradition dictated that the competitors stage weekly parades through the center of town. The Guaraches came up with a new and very loud wrinkle, an old cannon whose roar rattled windows for blocks. Also, in the back of their minds lurked the thought that an artillery piece just might come in handy.
Nine days before the polls opened, a Bota alderman was slain in a Laredo pool hall. The fact that the murder had nothing to do with the election and the killer was a rancher from another county did not keep the Botas from blaming their hated rivals.
Under the pretext of maintaining law and order, the Bota sheriff deputized scores of party members. The Guaraches protested the provocative move but to no avail. The result was heightened tensions and rumors of both sides stockpiling arms. Despite fears of violence, election day came off without a hitch. Other than the usual arrests for public intoxication and petty voter fraud, Guaraches and Botas were on their best behavior.
The Botas recorded a stunning triumph coming within two offices of a clean sweep. While the Guaraches tried to drown their disappointment at an open-air wake, Bota bigwigs urged their rank and file to stay off the streets. The next day when everyone sobered up, they would have a victory procession.
But the younger Guaraches refused to go home. Repeated firing of the ever-present cannon forced the high school to dismiss classes, and polite suggestions that they disperse were met with sullen threats.
The Bota youth, flushed with success, decided to hold a mock funeral for the opposition. By noon a sarcastic leaflet inviting the losers to their own burial was being distributed throughout Laredo. The prank infuriated the Guaraches, who were already itching for revenge.
Older and presumably wiser party heads convened an emergency meeting but failed to find a way out of the dangerous dilemma. By mid-afternoon, 150 armed Guaraches had massed on Main Street to confront the Bota procession.
At 5:40 p.m., the Botas started their march. Party dignitaries and musicians led the way followed by 120 men carrying Winchesters. This rifle company preceded four columns of pistol-packing Botas with 30 more on horseback bringing up the rear.
The issue of who fired the first round was never settled, but it was a purely academic question since the initial shot triggered thousands. What newspapers across Texas called a riot was in reality a pitched battle that raged for hours. With neither side giving an inch, the fighting would have continued long into the night had the army not intervened. At sunset soldiers from Fort McIntosh occupied the town, and the commanding officer ordered the combatants to lay down their weapons. Bota and Guarache meekly obeyed.
Both sides concealed their casualties making an accurate count of the dead and wounded impossible. The official death toll was set at a dozen, but estimates ran as high as 50 for the Laredo Election Riot of 1886.