Nouvelle Pinatas : Once Used Only at Children’s Birthday Parties, These Ethnic Ornaments Are Now ‘In’ Everywhere

Catarino Cristobal emerges from beneath a garish canopy of Santa Clauses, Christmas trees and oversized wedding cakes to explain that, well, pinata- making is a pretty good business, especially in the U.S. holiday season.

But no one ever became a millionaire at it.

“We just earn enough to live,” says Cristobal, an enterprising father of seven who supplements his income by selling fresh fruit and helotes-- Mexican-style corn on-the-cob--from street carts.

“It’s nice because my children can work here with me,” adds Cristobal, one of the many Purepecha Indians who have migrated from their island homes in Mexico’s exquisite Lake Patzcuaro as pollution has thinned its fish population, stripping area residents of their former livelihood.

Cristobal’s cluttered workshop-home in a former dance hall near Tijuana’s Red Zone district, is one of the dozens of cooperative-like family operations here where pinateros (pinata- makers ) have been especially busy in recent weeks crafting colorful Christmas likenesses.

In another shop directly behind, men, women and children, all Purepechas, labor to complete a huge order of star figures for a U.S. fast-food concern amid a surreal clutter of pinatas and partial pinatas; hundreds of pieces hang from the ceiling like game birds from the rafters of a hunting lodge. In busy periods, the workers cook, eat and sleep in the midst of the Dickensian tableau.

The First Steps

The modest facilities are the first steps in a pinata chain that leads to supermarkets, stationery stores, fast-food concerns and specialty boutiques north of the border.

Once a largely Mexican custom, the use of pinatas-- hollow figures filled with candies or other treats and bashed open by enthusiastic children--is now popular in much of the United States, though it still is most prevalent in border states, such as California and Texas.

Like Mexican food and beer, pinatas appear to have become an “in” ethnic item, prized from Los Angeles to New York as inexpensive (generally less than $10 each), bright and somewhat exotic party fodder, conversation pieces and decor items.

Hundreds of thousands are imported into the United States annually from Mexico, mostly from cottage-industry family workshops like Cristobal’s Tijuana facility, although no one knows the number or the total value with anything approaching certainty.

In the weeks before the holiday season, vans, pickups, station wagons and tractor-trailers loaded with all sizes and shapes of bright pinatas can be seen heading north at border crossings from San Diego to Brownsville, Tex. (While designed for candy, it’s not unusual for U.S. border inspectors to find pinatas stuffed with drugs and other contraband.) A network of distributors and importers, many with family contacts in Mexico, move the pinatas nationwide.

“We’ve seen a tremendous growth in the past year,” says William Spiking, vice president of La Sorpresa Imports, an El Paso firm that runs a pinata assembly-plant in neighboring Ciudad Juarez, Mexico. His plant produces more than 1,000 figures daily for export to America.

“Traditionally, we looked at candy stores (as clients), but in the last few years there has been a lot more interest in children’s parties, and even adult parties,” says Spiking, who notes that pinatas combine two childhood passions: Smashing things and candy. “With the exception of Pin the Tail on the Donkey,” Spiking says, “there really aren’t many other children’s party games that are commercially produced.”

Outlets Multiply

While long common in Latino neighborhoods--Christmas, Cinco de Mayo and other holidays traditionally bring out pinatas in shops of East Los Angeles and similar communities--the ornaments in all sizes and shapes are now on sale at various outlets.

“It’s not really an ethnic item for us,” said Wade Anderson, a buyer with Sears, Roebuck & Co. in Chicago, which sells pinatas in its candy departments nationwide, prices starting at $7.99 each. “We sell them as well in middle-income neighborhoods as we do in the inner city.”

“They’re real popular,” says Virginia Coello, owner of Pinata Time, a party-goods store on Manhattan’s Lower East Side where the figures retail for $12 to $15. “I think everyone’s heard of them.”

Latino sales do remain big, kindled by residents’ youthful memories.

PinataLand, specializing in high-quality pinatas produced by Mexican and Central American artisans in Los Angeles, has done a brisk business since opening in May on South Alvarado Street in Los Angeles. “I thought there was a need,” explains owner Catalina Esquivel, a Guadalajara native. “Every time I wanted a pinata, I had to go all over to find something nice.”

Tianguis, a Southern California ethnic grocery chain that is a subsidiary of Vons Inc., carries pinatas year-round. “You go into our store any time of day, and you’ll find pinatas, “ says Ron Fujishige, director of the non-perishable division at Tianguis.

Some Trepidation

Fanned in part by exposure on Sesame Street and other programs, pinata parties--in which excited youths, sometimes blindfolded, take turns batting the hanging figure in a frenetic effort to pry loose its contents--have become almost de riguer at many children’s birthday parties.

That has caused some trepidation. Many parents are dismayed that strong boys tend to end up with most of the goodies, shoving aside smaller, less aggressive rivals.

“It can be kind of a disgusting sight, actually,” says Deborah Macdonald, a San Diegan who has a master’s degree in child development. “It can bring out the worst in humanity.”

In response, she and other parents have changed the rules. At a recent pinata party for her 4-year-old, Macdonald stuffed the figure with Mexican coins, one for each child in attendance. The coins later were exchanged for bags of candy, one for each participant.

Pinatas are produced in Mexico on a seasonal basis: Pumpkins and witches for Halloween, hearts for Valentine’s Day, leprechauns on St. Patrick’s Day. Production must be timed correctly or manufacturers can get stuck with a load of Santa Clauses after Christmas; also, the crepe paper used to make the figures tends to fade so most producers and distributors must have completed their Christmas orders by mid-December and are thinking ahead.

“We’re already hot and heavy into our Easter production,” Spiking says. “We do a boy chick, a girl chick, a sitting rabbit, an Easter egg. . . .”

Smugglers’ Haven

Pinatas also have provided smugglers a haven. “All kinds of things are hidden in them,” says Bobbie Cassidy, a U.S. Customs Service official in San Diego. “Anything that’ll fit in ‘em: Dope. Liquor. Steroids. Birds. Switch-blade knives. Fruit. . . .”

The most unusual discovery? “Once we found two illegal aliens lying under a load of pinatas. “

Unauthorized imitation is another complication. Traders cannot legally import copies of characters such as Snoopy, Mickey Mouse, the California Raisin and dozens of others--all of them widely available as pinatas in Tijuana--without permission from the holders of the copyright or trademark.

It’s a constant problem as pinateros and other artisans south of the border cater to the tourist crowd and are more than willing to reproduce any image in a variety of mediums for a price, Cassidy says, adding, “Spuds McKenzie has been a big problem. He’s copyrighted, he’s protected, and Customs enforces that. But people keep trying to bring him across the border.”

Such happenings are a recent occurrence in the inexact history of pinatas, which are believed to have been brought to Mexico by the Spaniards four centuries ago. Initially, according to some accounts, pinatas were reserved for Lent, the pre-Easter season in Roman Catholic belief. The smashing of the figure was said to represent Christian faith destroying Satan. Another theory is that the Spaniards used pinatas as a kind of “classic come-along,” in the words of one pinata dealer, to attract Indians to the church.

Whatever its genesis, the practice is well established in Mexico, where pinatas are customary at celebrations, including the posadas on the nights before Christmas.

Variety Greatly Expanded

Traditionally, pinatas were made in the shape of five-pointed stars. A papier-mache mold encased a clay pot, which held candies, cookies, nuts, trinkets and other gifts. The mold was decorated with colorful paper.

Today, the variety of pinatas has greatly expanded. And clay pots have been largely replaced with cardboard interiors--a safer, albeit less attractive evolution.

The process of constructing pinatas has changed little, though staplers are in wide use and an assembly-line style and pace predominates. It is a laborious, monotonous trade, reserved for some of the city’s poorest residents, often recent migrants from the Mexican interior who have few alternatives.

There is little time, or inclination, for creativity in pinata manufacturing. Competition is intense among pinateros, who quickly rip off the new figures that do well in street sales. All merchants here are extremely secretive about the names of their U.S. customers.

“If there’s work and you’re fast, you can earn a decent salary,” says Marcos Zarate, 27, who on a recent afternoon was fashioning pinata stars in a back yard near downtown. He says the workshop owner pays him 25 cents a figure; he can produce up to 50 a day, for daily earnings of $12.50--a respectable salary here, but one totally dependent on the highly seasonal U.S. market.

Forms Shaped and Stapled

In the workshop behind Catarino Cristobal’s shop in Tijuana, pinateros begin with cardboard boxes, which are cut into shapes to fit specific pinatas. Once the forms are shaped and stapled, newsprint is applied for stiffening, using a simple paste made with flour. Strips of colored crepe are pasted on to the exterior.

“This is the only work we could find,” said Seferino Aparicio, a 40-year-old father of 10 who was shaping pinatas along with many of his children in the dusky amber light of the workshop.

“We have to do something,” he said, adding that he has only been in Tijuana for six months and that he hopes to return soon to his island home on Lake Patzcuaro. “I miss it there.”