First Person:
Dr. Al Carlos Hernandez

Thanks to my friends, TV writer Nancy De Los Santos and NCLRs Delia De La Vara, I was invited, plus one, to the 2012 ALMA Awards. My wife, Alba de me alma, is still unimpressed with our Prime Time Emmy Red Carpet adventure a few years back and thought it best that I go with my best friend and pastor, Dr. Danny Di Angelo. I surmised that she wanted me in “pastoral custody.” She is well aware of the scores of glam actresses I’ve had the privilege of interviewing over the years. As an aside, I feel I should mention that we were never invited back to the Prime Time Emmys. In my story about the experience, I wrote that there were more black guys in the band Earth, Wind and Fire (who performed) than in the audience at the Shrine.

I drove down solo from SF the day before and found myself singing, shouting and sometimes weeping at 60’s and 70’s lyrics – the soundtrack of my life – down ‘The 5.’ Highway 5 is a portal of abandoned dreams that I had driven hundreds of times before . . . before I gave up becoming a screenwriter back in the 90’s. “Wrote Five and Sold One, Then Gave the Funk Up” sounds like an urban R&B country and western tune.

At 60, going 80, and with only two restroom breaks, I was happy to get to Pasadena . . . only to discover that it was Africa hot. I encamped at The Sheraton and started to unwind when it became apparent that ALMA featured musical guest “Flo Rida” was in the room next door. I had to call my sons back home to find out who he was. I thought the musical guest was “Florida.” You know, the Mom from the TV show Good Times, starring JJ Walker? This all finally made sense once I realized that the white on white Maybach Limo on 24 inch rims in the parking garage had Florida license plates.

The Pasadena auditorium is within the same complex as the hotel. I set out to get my ‘will call’ tickets and was pleased to know I got the full VIP package and not the broke seats in the balcony. I understood later that there is a hierarchy of seating; the closer you are to the front, the bigger the deal you are. We were moderate but not camera worthy deals, which is actually a good move, in case we were really ugly, this would certainly affect production values. I made a mental note to tell my sons that the best job in the world is to be the person who hires seat fillers for major award shows.

Sunday came and Pastor was stuck on a plane at SFO. He told the flight crew he had to get to an Award show, they then somehow got cleared for takeoff. We’d planned to hit the red carpet (ground zero) at 4 pm so I thought well, if he ran late, he could cab it from LAX. I Googled a cab ride from LAX to Pasadena. 85 bucks. I grabbed a small Starbucks and raced to the airport to get him, swooped him up at 3:45…

We strolled like Mafia dons in Gucci shades with East Coast attitude to the Red Carpet area in the intense 103 degree sun. And the women where hotter than that. Without a doubt these were the best looking women ever to be in one place at one time. My Oaklandish sensibilities caused me to observe, and I may have said it out loud: These dudes are way too short and not cute enough for these women! All things being equal, I assumed most of these females had really good jobs.

Forgoing the red carpet ride, Pastor and I went to a VIP pre-show reception. We had an animated talk with our good friend and producer Dennis Leoni. I asked to be in his new western if only I could, perhaps, shoot somebody. All done with a visceral nod and in reference to the previous conversation we were having with actor Mike Gomez about my Brown Beret days.

Time stopped as actress Ruth Livier came over with a warm embrace . . . and for once I felt like I belonged there.

Ten minutes to showtime and we were ushered down the stairs to the first floor orchestra section as the taping was about to begin. Leoni had better seats than we did, yet not the seats he deserved given the body politic. I was seated next to a very bubbly plus sized model. Pastor was seated next to a defensive-lineman-sized Brokeback Boricua who literally cried when Jake Gyllenhaal came to the mike to present an award.

The show was shot in segments and if you didn’t see the show on NBC, then you wouldn’t be reading this in the first place. Suffice to say Eva was elegant, George was George, Christina is tiny, and Fonsi and McBride and my hotel mate Flo Rida kept getting in the way of Roselyn Sanchez.

What I didn’t understand is how James Roday, Bella Thorne, and Ryan Lochte can be considered Latino. I surmised that the producers used the same criteria as those Olympic athletes who want to compete in the Olympics but can’t make the American team so they end up running track for Zimbabwe or something. The danger in this six degrees of segregation thinking is that Mitt Romney, whose abuelo was born in Mexico, could win an ALMA in the Best Political Actor category next year.

When the show was over, the glittery seven-inch-healed women and the short ugly men in rented bow ties spilled out into the magical night. We boarded air conditioned buses which took us to the ‘after party’ a few blocks away. The party was held at a New Orleans styled mansion in the middle of a candle lit park, walled by billowing trees and adorned by beautiful people. The air was colored with ivory smiles and the music of careless laughter. The plates for the disco deli trays were too small. The drinks were on the house and the house was there to drink. We got to hello and heavenly hug many of my virtual friends.

No question. This was the best party I have ever been to.

There was a special roped-off room for the “network famous” folks which kept the semi-famous from looking in at them like a museum display. They seemed to be having much less fun than we were. Most of the people at the party (with the exception of Pastor D who could see right though the walls of vanity) were wondering how they could make it into the ‘network only’ area next year. And yes, I was one of them.

My own personal highlights include statements like, “Hi. I’m Eric and this is my husband Felix,” and Edward James Olmos blocking and/or guarding all the cheese at the buffet. “It is the secret fantasy of every vato, living in or out of the pachanga, to go to the ALMAs and guard the cheese, Ese!” I noticed George Lopez breezed in, stone faced, with a woman guest who looked like a rental.

Back at the Hotel we shared the elevator with members of the Olympic Gold winning Water Polo team. The ALMA Awards, after all, is a truly American event. I was proud to be part of it.

Thank you ALMA’s for a life changing experience. I know now that I always belonged there.