Miguel Martinez, the drumbeat of the Mission, dies at 68

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“¿Eres, o no eres?”

“Are you, or are you not?” This was the question Miguel Angel Martinez-Perez asked. He might enfold you in a warm hug, wearing one of his prized Santana shirts, look into your eyes and ask you to reckon with your soul. Then, he’d crack a joke.

“It meant, how committed are you?” said his eldest son, Miguel Martinez, Jr., aka Junior. “It meant, if this is what you want, go all in. Learn, and be willing to experience everything.”

For Martinez, a giant in the Mission community, family and Danza Azteca were everything. On March 30, he passed away at home in El Sobrante with his lifelong love, Irma Martinez Alvarado, at his side. His sudden passing followed a struggle with cancer that returned aggressively in November after several years of remission. He was 68. 

Martinez and Alvarado both grew up in the Mission with families that immigrated from El Salvador in the 1960s. The couple founded Xiuhcoatl Danza Azteca group in 1993 after immersing themselves in the practice in the ‘80s. Together, they had four children: Miguel Jr., 46, Mauricio, 43, Moises, 34, and Melissa, 29.

Through danza, Martinez and Irma became central figures of Mission culture, helping connect generations of people whose families immigrated from Latin America with their Indigenous roots. At memorials, protests, lowrider shows or Carnaval, Xiuhcoatl was there. Mingled with smoke from burning copal and sage, drums and dancers create a moment of calm rarely had in the bustling streets. 

Louie Gutierrez, a danzante and owner of La Reyna Bakery on 24th Street, said of Martinez: 

“That’s the man. He’s the one. He is, he was. He’s the street; he’s the neighborhood.”

A Mission childhood

Miguel Martinez was born Jan. 9, 1955, in San Salvador, El Salvador. As a kid, he loved soccer and played wildly in and around the big backyard at his parents’ house, once falling three stories off a neighbor’s roof while trying to fly a kite. He bounced back up, unharmed. Martinez told people that as he fell, his life flashed before his eyes, which could have made him the notorious storyteller many describe.

Roberto Alvarado, Irma’s brother, a Xiuhcoatl danzante and childhood friend of Martinez, recalled one such story that may have foretold Martinez’s future.

“When Miguel was a child, his grandmother had a ring with a native face on it,” said Roberto Alvarado. “Out of all the nieces and grandchildren, she called to him. He walked over to her, and she handed him the ring. She told him: ‘This is who you are.’”

In 1966, when he was 11, Martinez immigrated from El Salvador to the United States with his parents, two sisters and grandmother. They drove a car the whole way north, through Guatemala and Mexico and up to San Francisco in search of better economic opportunities.

“My father always remembers the day he came across the border, because it was February 14,” said Junior. 

The family first settled in the Fillmore, in a tiny apartment. It took Martinez some adjusting to cramped city life. No more backyard, no more climbing on neighbors’ low-lying homes.

A few years later, they moved to the Mission, where Martinez started to put down roots. He enrolled at John O’Connell High School on Folsom Street, joining the Boilermakers soccer team and getting back onto the field.

As a teenager in the early ‘70s, Martinez and a cousin would bike around, getting an earful of the rock music played live in garages around the neighborhood. Back then, Carlos Santana and Chepito Areas were still up-and-comers, practicing in a garage off 14th Street. “Europa,” “Maria, Maria,” “Samba Pa Ti” — Martinez was gripped by the sound of Santana’s guitar.

“He loved oldies, Motown — but Santana was his idol,” said Junior. “There’s tons of pictures of him wearing Santana shirts. I don’t think I’ve seen him wearing the same T-shirt in two pictures.”

In 1973, Martinez met the love of his life, Alvarado. Her family had immigrated to the city from El Salvador when she was 7.

“Once Miguel and Irma met, they were inseparable,” said Roberto Alvarado, who was 13 when the two married. “We talk about Miguel — my sister was right there. We were blessed with him.”

The danza family

In 1986, Alvarado discovered danza, shortly after the tradition had been introduced to the area. By then, the couple had two sons.

“At one of the first Carnavals in the Mission, there were Aztec dancers there,” said Junior. Alvarado watched, captivated, and decided she wanted to learn. Martinez, always by her side, became equally taken with danza, particularly, with the resonant huehuetl drums. “He said the drum pulled him in right away,” said Junior.

The couple asked around, and soon joined the local Xipe Totec group. They danced in every Carnaval after that.

“For us,” said Roberto Alvarado, “the drum represents the heartbeat of Mother Earth. We connect that to the first sound you hear, the heartbeat of your mom. The drum pulled Miguel in.”

After a few years, Martinez and Alvarado helped found another group, Teokalli. In 1993, they branched off and formed Xiuhcoatl Danza Azteca, a group that endures to this day. All four children grew up danzantes.

“Danza is infused into our everyday way of being,” said Junior. In the Aztec religion, Xiuhcoatl is the fire serpent. “Xi” is fire, “coatl” is serpent. 

“Growing up here, it was important to have some connection to the motherland and see the traditions,” said Mauricio Martinez, 43. He noted that this year’s Carnaval will look a lot different without his father.

That connection to the motherland grew into a web of danza groups all across the country. Under Martinez’s and Alvarado’s leadership, Xiuhcoatl was invited to ceremonies regularly in Los Angeles, Watsonville, Sacramento, Santa Rosa, New York City and all over the country. They traveled as danzantes to Mexico, Guatemala and El Salvador, reconnecting with their roots.

“Everywhere we went, Miguel was accepted,” said Roberto Alvarado. “He was royal, king-like. Walking into Mexico City for the first time, with our flag, he was still up front. Fearless. And always humble.”

When Martinez first came to the Mission, the area was largely Mexican. As a result of upheaval in countries further south, more Salvadoreans, Guatemalans and Nicaraguans migrated north.

“When you hear ‘danza,’ you immediately think of Mexico,” said Prishni Murillo, a worker with the city’s Department of Children, Youth and Their Families. Coming to the Mission, it could be hard to feel recognized as someone who wasn’t Mexican, she said. Murillo arrived as an undocumented child in the ‘80s. 

“Through word of mouth and Carnaval, I was invited to check out Xiuhcoatl.” At this time, Murillo wanted to explore her heritage “beyond the flags.” Her mother was from El Salvador, her father Costa Rica. “I learned Miguel was Salvadoran. Him and Irma were always saying, ‘our people don’t believe in borders, and neither do the drums or the smoke.’”

Murillo said Alvarado and Martinez “really role-modeled a healthy relationship, young sweethearts that kept at it.”

As she grew into a young activist, said Murillo, Martinez would tease her at practices. “He was always a jokester. ‘What are you protesting this time?’ he would ask. I’d show up, too intimidated to say ‘hi,’ but then he’d make fun of my shoes,” she laughed. “He was old school. He didn’t venture out of his wardrobe much.”

Joking aside, Martinez fully supported the Chicano movement. When Murillo asked them to dance at protests, Xiuhcoatl did not hesitate. They danced at rallies in 1994 against Proposition 187, which denied social services to undocumented people, and they danced at San Francisco State University’s first Ethnic Studies conference.

Roberto Alvarado, 62, remembered the patience that his brother-in-law showed him. “When I first started danza, Miguel didn’t know if I was going to hang around. I was on the street, doing things I wasn’t supposed to be doing. He kept saying just keep coming back to the circle. Twenty-nine years later, I’m still here. This is all Miguel’s work — I’m just a product.” 

Martinez and Alvarado were leaders and healers, building a community all over California, said Roberto Alvarado. “A lot of students came to our group because there was much dysfunction in their families,” and Xiuhcoatl became their family.

“You hear people saying they were going down the wrong path and my dad helped show them the way,” said Mauricio Martinez. “Many of his students have said, ‘thank you for sharing your father with us.’”

Although Mauricio isn’t actively involved in danza these days, it’s a huge part of his life, which includes performing as a drag queen who goes by the name Gemini. “My dad was super supportive, he went to every drag show he could attend. A lot of LGBTQIA+ community doesn’t get that support. 

“My dad is a good man,” said Mauricio. “They don’t make those anymore.” He added, “My nephew, Luciano, 8, wanted to say something. He just wanted to say that his grandpa was his best friend.”

When word spread of Martinez’s cancer, the family called friends and community from all over to dance in Oakland’s Mosswood Park, across from Kaiser Medical Center, where he was hospitalized. On March 15, around 80 people took part in a huge danza ceremony that Martinez could hear from his window.

“That was one of the days he came to terms and was at peace with what was happening,” said Junior. Two weeks later, he passed away.

On Friday, April 10, several danza groups came together at 24th and Capp streets for the annual ceremony honoring Coyolxauhqui, the Moon goddess in Aztec mythology, organized by Gutierrez. This year, the ceremony was dedicated to Martinez. People from around the Bay, young and old, came together in the smoky tent, singing and sharing memories.

“The last week I saw him, he brought me this little medallion,” said Gutierrez, who grew up nearby but didn’t meet Martinez until 1991. “Miguel stressed, ‘look your best.’” When they first started dancing, Gutierrez showed up in sweatpants and t-shirts. “Miguel goes, ‘Louie, next time, just dress good.’” Gutierrez smiled at the antics of his old friend.

“He was the Santana of danzante,” chuckled Gutierrez. “This guy embodied the Mission. ‘¿Eres o no eres?’ I heard one of Miguel’s dancers say it the other day. That’s the whole point of what we’re doing.”

A note from Irma

“It wasn’t supposed to end like this! Our love story ended so abruptly and aggressively due to cancer. We had planned on growing older together at least until our 80s. This all ended March 30, 2023.

“So many years, so many beautiful memories that I hold in my heart, that is difficult to write down. Miguel was an amazing man, husband, father, grandfather and my best friend. 

“He was my guy; the love of my life — we grew up together and full of gratitude that our children, Miguel Jr., Mauricio, Moises and Melissa chose us to be their parents. Forever grateful our children chose their amazing spouses and have gifted us with five grandkids and one on the way. 

“We also created a beautiful danza family — Xiuhcoatl Danza Azteca in the Mission District. Miguel was the Jefe de Jefes! A true leader, warrior, teacher, father figure to many and let’s not forget a STORY TELLER. 

“We loved to travel to Ceremonias in the U.S. as well as Mexico, Guatemala and El Salvador to reconnect with our Motherland and our traditions was a way of life for us. 

“My beloved beautiful Miguel is now an Ancestor guiding us with his light, love. You’ve earned your eagle wings my love — soar to the moon, sun and the universe. 

“Your spirit will live for an eternity and beyond. 

“I adore you my love.”

Donate to support the Martinez-Alvarado family’s services here. The celebration of life for Miguel Martinez will be 4 to 8 p.m. Friday, April 14 at Duggan’s in Daly City. The funeral mass will follow at 10 a.m. Saturday at St. Paschal Baylon Church in Oakland. A danza celebration will be held April 30, location TBD.