← DISGRACELAND
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- [00:02]
Jake Brennan
This is exactly right. Double Elvis.
- [00:14]
Mood.com Advertiser
Let's be honest. Buying cannabis shouldn't be complicated, sketchy or low quality. That's why I want to tell you about Mood.com, that's M-O-Ood.com Mood ships federally legal cannabis straight to your door. No medical card, no hassle.
- [00:30]
Jake Brennan
And.
- [00:30]
Mood.com Advertiser
And here's the kicker. The quality is better than anything you'll find at your local dispensary. Yeah, I said it. Whether you're into edibles, concentrates, flour, or just looking to explore, you'll find it all at Mood. And it's not just the variety that makes them stand out. Every product is sourced from small American owned family farms that care deeply about what they grow. It's cannabis you can trust, delivered discreetly and ready to elevate your mood. And because you're a listener, you get 20% off your first order. Just head to mood.com, that's M-O-Ood.com to get started.
- [01:06]
Liberty Mutual Spokesperson 1
And Doug, there's nowhere I wouldn't go to help someone customize and save on car insurance with Liberty Mutual. Even if it means sitting front row at a comedy show.
- [01:16]
Liberty Mutual Spokesperson 2
Hey, everyone. Check out this guy and his bird. What is this, your first date?
- [01:20]
Liberty Mutual Spokesperson 1
Oh, no. We help people customize and save on car insurance with Liberty Mutual. Together. We're married. Me to a human, him to a bird.
- [01:26]
Liberty Mutual Spokesperson 2
Yeah, the bird looks out of your league.
- [01:28]
Liberty Mutual Spokesperson 1
Anyways, get a quote@libertymutual.com or with your local agent.
- [01:31]
Liberty Mutual Spokesperson 2
Liberty. Liberty. Liberty. Liberty.
- [01:34]
Jake Brennan
Hey, Discos. Thanks for joining me for another trip into our vast Disgraceland archive of episodes. This week we are featuring our story on Selena, which was originally released back on November 10, 2020. And before we get into the production of this episode, I knew Selina was a big deal, but I really had no idea how big of an artist that she actually was. This was something that requested from the early days of Disgraceland by listeners. And like I said, I knew Selena. I knew who she was, but I didn't really understand what she meant to her fans. I was also surprised to learn the shocking details behind the betrayal that was at the center of the story of her death. Selina died when she was just 23 years old. This is so sad. And this whole story's sad, but it's a story that also is a cautionary tale. And over the past few years, it's become one of the biggest true crime stories from music history. Check it out. Give me a call at 617-906-6638. Let me know what you think. All right, without further ado, here is Selena in Disgraceland. Disgraceland is a production of Double El. The stories about Selena are insane. She was only 10 years old when she began to sing professionally. At 16, she was crowned Female Vocalist of the Year at the Tejano Music Awards. She was the first teano artist on the Billboard 200 in 1994, and was second only to Janet Jackson when it came to album sales by a female artist. And she was also the victim in one of the most shocking and high profile murder cases in music history. Selena was the poster child for Latin pop In the late 20th century, at a time when Latin pop was entering its renaissance and finding a larger, more mainstream audience. If Latin pop was the question, Selena was the answer. And just as quickly as she ascended, she was silenced. But during her brief shining moment in the spotlight, she made great music. And that music you heard at the top of the show, that wasn't great music. That was a preset loop from my melotron called Buried with my boots on MK1. I played you that loop because I can't afford the rights to Take a Bow by Madonna. And why would I play you that specific slice of bedtime story gold? Could I afford it? Because that was the number one song in America on March 31, 1995. And that was the day that the queen of Tejano music was shot dead in a cheap motel. On this episode, a child prodigy, the rise of Tejano, a motel murder, and Latin pop legend. Selena. I'm Jake Brennan and this is Disgrace. Trinidad Espinosa heard it first. The sound was loud, muffled, short, thunderous. Trinidad couldn't tell if it came from the inside or outside the hotel. It sounded like an engine misfiring or a blown tire. Whatever it was, it wasn't an everyday sound. Of all people, Trinidad would know. He was one of the maintenance guys at the Days Inn in Corpus Christi. He knew every sound that place made. The clanks and hiss of the AC units, the water in the pipes, the grumble of the furnace. He could feel its vibrations course throughout the walls in every small room in the motel, probably better than anyone. He was intimate with the sound of the traffic speeding past on nearby Interstate 37. He could tell what time of day it was just by how the traffic sounded at any given moment. But this, this was different. This sound wasn't like any of those sounds, those sounds that Trinidad knew by heart. Trinidad was in the middle of repairing one of the dryers in the laundry room. The thing had been on the fritz for days, and finally it had just conked out. Probably a fuse. He had pulled it out from the wall. It was crouched behind it, taking out screws with his cordless drill that desperately needed a new battery, cursing every time the drill lost its torque. He was sandwiched between the back of the dryer and the lint covered wall when he heard it. Trinidad stopped what he was doing and waited for the loud noise to repeat or for another noise to follow. But he heard nothing. Just the distant moderate hum of traffic on I37. Based on the amount of hum, he guessed it was just about lunchtime. If that sound did come from the inside of the motel, it could have been anything. Something that could have stopped working, died out, broke, busted. Something that would either need fixing or need retiring. Things that needed fixing, needed Trinidad. Things that needed retiring. Well, that was someone else's problem. What now? He thought, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand that held the drill. He had the dryer to fix. And then there were the faulty fluorescents in room 121 in the AC unit in 152 TVs weren't working in a few of the other rooms, and one of the outlets in the lobby was, quote unquote, temperamental, had a mind of its own. The front desk clerk said Trinidad had too much on his plate. He couldn't handle another problem today. He was too old for this shit. He stepped outside the laundry room to the exterior corridor of the motel to see if he could figure out where the bang had come from. As soon as he walked outside, he heard it. Screams. Shouts. Two women sprinting down the corridor. The one in front was the one screaming. Her long dark hair flailed chaotically behind her. Her shirt was bloody, her eyes wide, teary, panicked. He couldn't make out what she was saying, if she was saying anything. Her incoherent screams were the sounds of a desperate person. The woman chasing her was yelling at her to stop. She was shorter, older, soccer mom, haircut in determined stride. As she ran, her arms pumped up and down in the air. She was desperate but controlled. Trinidad saw something in her right hand, something that went in and out of view as her arms pumped up and down. It took him a few seconds, but as soon as he made out what it was, he went for the nearest phone. She had a gun. By the time the bloody, panicked woman made it inside the front lobby of the motel, the shorter woman who had been chasing her had given up, turned around, walked away calmly. Cool, collected, like it had never happened. She went back to the room. The room they came from. Room 158. Shana Vella was working the front desk of the Days Inn lobby when the bloody woman came rushing through the glass door. Shauna jumped, gasped hand over mouth she couldn't believe. Wasn't just the blood that shocked her. The blood was everywhere, all over this woman's tracksuit, smeared in a path that ran from outside all the way to where she stood, pooling at her feet on the lobby floor. Blood was one thing, but what Adshana really shook was that she was pretty sure that this bloody woman was Selena. Selena Quintanilla Perez, the undisputed queen at Tejano Music, Corpus Christi's pride and joy. A local celebrity with a massive audience and a real down to earth head on her strong shoulders. Lead singer of the group Los Dinos, Grammy winner, the Tejano Music Awards, Female Entertainer of the Year eight years running. Now she was the unlikeliest of superstars, just a regular person, a next door neighbor type, humble, kind, proud. The kind of celebrity you felt you could just trust instinctively, no questions asked. She was only 23, and not one iota of her fame had gone to her head. Everyone loved her, especially here in Corpus Christi, Texas, her hometown. Shawna recognized Selena underneath the blood and the sweat and the panic, recognized her voice as she shouted wildly into the room, lock the door. Someone lock the door. She's gonna kill me. Goosebumps ran down Shana's spine. She went from hero worship to chaos control real quick. Then Selena collapsed on the floor of the lobby. It had taken all of her energy to get her there, get her to safety. Her body crumbled so suddenly it was like every bone in her body had disappeared and she went limp. The lively superstar was lifeless. Another motel employee in the lobby, Ruben de Leon, kneeled over her as her eyelids fluttered and her eyes started to roll around in her head. Who? Reuben asked her. Who's gonna kill you? The blood kept coming, and there was more of it than any of them realized. Yolanda, Selena muttered with some of her last labored breaths. Room 158. Outside, it was getting loud. Cars came rushing from all directions. Cops, locals, rubberneckers tuned into police scanner action and of course, the press. The woman who had chased Selena outside had left room 158. It was sitting behind the wheel of her blue Chevy pickup in the motel parking lot. It idled. The sky darkened. She could feel the storm about to roll in. She was frozen, couldn't decide what to do to back up to pull forward, to move or not to move. She held the thing.38 on her lap and sat still. Suicide as painless crackled from the truck. Shitty AM radio. Yolanda started to shake Cars, the kind uniform cops drove with big V8s and rattly pickups. Off duty specials rumbled down the i37 off ramp alongside the SWAT team in Humvees, helmets, guns drawn, hands fixed in ready position on the seat of her Chevy. Yolanda's cell phone buzzed. She let it go off for a few and then answered it. It was the police. They had her surrounded. They knew she was Yolanda Saldivar. And they knew she had just shot Selena. Yolanda went full hysteria. She raised the.38 to her head. She wasn't going anywhere. You hear that? She'd die in that truck, she assured them. The courage faded quick. Then fear, tears, the fast hyperventil. I don't want to live anymore, she sobbed into the phone. I don't think I can forgive myself. The cops training kicked in. Full hostage negotiation. It was a seesaw. They talk her down, then she'd blow back up. She'd raise that revolver to her temple and then lower it and then raise it again. The cops would wrap sympathy. They'd wrap stern. They'd wrap responsibility, obligation, and then throttle back with empathy. For nine, ten hours, you. Yolanda sat in the driver's seat of that blue Chevy pickup, her snub nosed.38 pressed to her temple. On again, off again. The clouds rolled in. The rains came. The weather beat against the truck's windshield in scattershot rhythm. Hard Tejano bop. Yolanda tried hanging onto her freedom through the madness of the moment. Incessant cop talk, an arsenal of guns pointed at her. Guilt and shame bearing down on her in the San Antonio standoff. The longest day of her life. Eventually it became too much. She gave herself up. Yolanda was going to jail. And Selena. Selena was dead.
- [13:52]
Mood.com Advertiser
Let's be honest. Buying cannabis shouldn't be complicated, sketchy, or low quality. That's why I want to tell you about mood.com. that's m o o d dot com. Mood ships federally legal cannabis straight to your door. No medical card, no hassle. And here's the kicker. The quality is better than anything you'll find at your local dispensary. Yeah, I said it. Whether you're into edibles, concentrates, flower, or just looking to explore, you'll find it all at Mood. And it's not just the variety that makes them stand out. Every product is sourced from small American owned Family farms that care deeply about what they grow. It's cannabis you can trust. Delivered discreetly and ready to elevate your mood. And because you're a listener, you get 20% off your first order. Just head to mood.com that's mood.com to get started.
- [14:45]
Liberty Mutual Spokesperson 1
And Doug, there's nowhere I wouldn't go to help someone customize and save on car insurance with Liberty Mutual. Even if it means sitting front row at a comedy show.
- [14:54]
Liberty Mutual Spokesperson 2
Hey, everyone, check out this guy and his bird. What is this, your first date?
- [14:58]
Liberty Mutual Spokesperson 1
Oh, no. We help people customize and save on car insurance with Liberty Mutual Together. We're married. Me to a human, him to a bird.
- [15:05]
Liberty Mutual Spokesperson 2
Yeah, the bird looks out of your league.
- [15:06]
Liberty Mutual Spokesperson 1
Anyways, get a quote@libertymutual.com, or with your local agent.
- [15:10]
Liberty Mutual Spokesperson 2
Liberty. Liberty. Liberty. Liberty.
- [15:15]
Jake Brennan
Selena has been shot and killed in Texas. Millions of Americans were learning Selena's name for the first time when they caught the 11 o' clock news on the night of March 31st. But for millions of others, for the fans of Tejano, Tex Mex and Latin music whose numbers had grown exponentially over the last five years, each mention of her murder on the radio or television was an emotional blow. Selena's death put a hole deep in the heart of Texas. Texas, San Antonio, Monterey, the entire Tejano community. They had lost one of their own. A 23 year old phenom, an icon, a queen, a sister. The Madonna of Mexico. Selena was family to them. They were family to her, the Tejano community, her fans, neighbors and friends. She was their greatest ambassador. And she had been taken from them suddenly, violently. Selena's rise to the top of the Latin pop world happened in tandem with Tejano's golden age. Tejano music was huge because of Selena. Beginning in the 1980s and continuing into the 90s, internationally minded a and R men from America's major labels descended upon South Texas to exploit the fast rising popular style of La Honda, an offshoot of Tejano. And they signed every band they could find. The same thing was happening in Seattle at the time with grunge music. Different genre, same idea. From the perspective of the music industry, suits locate the lightning in the bottle and sign the lightning on the dotted line. Selena was a special kind of lightning. By the time she released amor prohibito In 1994, the last album she'd make, Tejano Music was a $50 million industry. When her first English language album, Dreaming of youf was released just months after her death, it debuted at number one on the Billboard 200 and sold 175,000 copies in the US on its first day. That sales achievement was a first for a female artist of any genre. Decades later, it remains the best selling Latin album of all time. Certified platinum 59 times over. That's 59 million albums sold. Suddenly, Selena wasn't just competing with other Tejano artists on the charts. She was competing with Madonna, Whitney and Janet. In fact, her album sales after her death were so huge that she sold upwards of 300,000 units in one week. The only female singer who had her beat on those numbers was none other than Janet Jackson herself. Selena rested peacefully at the top, and she got there by honoring tradition, respecting culture, and above all, trusting in family. In return, her family had her back. Tejano music that was a family affair. Tejano's roots go all the way back to the mid 19th century, when German immigrants came to the Lone Star State. With accordions in tow, the squeezebox took center stage in the music of southern Texas. Backed by guitars and later drums and horns, it powered waltzes, polkas, kahuntos, and by the 80s, synthesizers had replaced the accordions and horns. And Tejano was modernized and timely. Like zydeco music in Louisiana, Tejano was working class music, regional music, and San Antonio was the Tejano capital of the world. The music was an extension of culture, an extension of family. And Abraham Quintanilla was above all a family man. He knew that his kids were musical talented. It was in their blood. He himself had sang with a Corpus Christi doo wop group in the 60s, Los Dinos. And though he had to put the dream behind him in order to hold down a steady job and raise a family, he reminisced fondly about his days snapping fingers and singing in three part harmony. So when he recognized the raw musical talent in his own children, Los Dinosaurs Road again, Abraham resurrected the name. The name meant something to the lifers in Corpus Christi. It gave them a leg up. Not that they needed it. With Abraham's son Ab on bass and his daughter Suzette on drums, they were a force. Abraham fashioned stage lights from household bulbs stuck inside aluminum cans. He commandeered a bus big bera that took the family band around the state to house parties, vacant street street corners and bars. They literally sang for their supper. A supper which their mother Marcella cooked. Best of all was their not so secret weapon, Selena. In 1981, when Abraham re christened his old doo wop group as Selena Ilos Dinos, the lead singer was all but 10 years old. She surprised the crowds, shocked them even as she commanded stage after stage and audience after audience with a voice that was breathtaking and wise beyond its years. Truly something to behold. And though English was Selena's first language, she sang in Spanish, a nod to tradition, to culture, to family. The Quintanillas were all about family, honor, respect, tradition, family above all. Throughout the 1980s, Selena Ilos Dinos rode the surging wave of Tejano music. In a way, they were the wave sometimes called Tejano ondo or Texas wave. The latest incarnation of Tejano music melded pop, country and Tex Mex. Selena y los Dinos had the goods. They tipped their hat to generations past and to their own generation. But ultimately they had the best voice in southern Texas on their side. A voice that melted hearts, that captivated, compelled, A voice that some would kill for. Selena Ilos Dinos were signed to some local indie labels, and at the 1987 Tejano Music Awards, Selena took home the trophy for Female Entertainer of the Year. She would go on to win the award for the next eight years. Selena was the pride and joy of Corpus Christi and of southern Texas. She sang sweetly, smiled sweetly, the kind of homegrown celebrity who could enthrall thousands of fans from the stage, but was just as at home out on the streets with the locals in the Molina barrio of Corpus Christi, where she came from and continued to live after she became famous. Selena's rise impressed the Latin music industry even more, and in 1989, EMI Latin Records signed her as a solo artist. Around the same time, Chris Perez joined her band as a guitarist. The two would soon become romantically involved, and not long after they eloped. Abraham was the wary type, the doubting type, and he was less than thrilled at Selena's decision to tie the knot so quickly and at such a young age. But despite what he thought, Chris wasn't just the guitar player anymore. Chris was family now. Selena's solo albums were big business. 1991's Ven con migo made her the first female Tejano singer to go gold. 1992's Entre Almimondo Pre sold 50,000 copies before it even hit shelves and sold over 100,000 copies before the end of the year. 1993's Selena Live earned her a Grammy award for Best Mexican American album, and as such, she was the first Tejano musician to win a Grammy. She was untouchable and she was informed, infallible. Her clean cut image was a product of the family environment she came from. And it was key to the legions of fans who felt like they were part of her family, felt like they were her sisters and her brothers. But her new husband Chris will put a strain on that clean cut family dynamic. One night on tour, Chris partied hard with the crew and the band around Real Fiesta Loca. When Selena found him the next morning, he was standing in the doorway to a trashed hotel room. He knew he had fucked up. He saw it in her eyes. Selena didn't play the fuck up game. Chris had to come correct. Not just with Selena, but with her father, Abraham too. And that was like telling Vito Corleone that you just knocked over his daughter's wedding cake. Then there was the night Chris left a bar in San Antonio, slightly buzzed after a few drinks, and got behind the wheel of his mom's Oldsmobile. His cousin sat in the passenger seat, his friends spread out in the back and they hit the highway in search of barn and Rodos. Chris floored it. He was so far ahead of the patrol car that he figured there was no way in hell the blue lights were meant for him. He knew he was dead wrong when the cop cars multiplied around him him. He pulled over. Officers hit the street. Shotguns were drawn, cocked. Chris stared down the barrel of a long neck, standard issue, and felt like he was back in the doorway of that hotel room, looking into Selena's disapproving eyes, playing that fuck up game. One of the cops pulled Chris cousin from the car and held him on the ground. Maybe it was the couple of beers Chris already had in him. Maybe it was the pitiful sound his cousin was making outside his mouth, tasting gravel with an officer's boot on his neck. But Chris was out of the car, enraged, empowered, ready to throw down as soon as he put his hands on the one cop. Another standing nearby raised his shotgun point blank. Chris and his cousin were cuffed, brought downtown. Chris's first instinct was to keep his mouth shut and not shame Selena and her family with the news of his arrest. But everyone knew who he was, how he was connected to Selena. He'd have to tell her. Have to tell Abraham. The family trusted him to do the right thing, to make the right decisions. And he clearly had betrayed that trust. Little did he know, little did anyone know, that Selena was also busy betraying the family's trust, her husband's trust. And she was doing it on the regular. She was spending more and more time in Monterrey, Mexico, where she was looking to expand her clothing boutique business. Selena etcetera it was there that she met Dr. Ricardo Martinez, a plastic surgeon who would quickly become more than just a friend. Selena confided in Ricardo, told him about Chris's arrest and trashed hotel rooms and the ways in which she was unsatisfied with her marriage. Ricardo became her financial advisor and showed her a place in Monterey where she could live. Where they could live together, start over, take things to the next level. Selena wasn't so sure she'd trusted Ricardo, but she wasn't sure that she trusted herself. Maybe it was all just fantasy, something she could daydream about for a hot minute while she cooled down, about whatever was stressing her out. At the moment. Few knew about what she was doing in Monterey, who she was talking to and the plans she was entertaining. There was one woman in particular who knew all about it. And the whole thing made her antsy, suspicious, jealous. Because she wanted Selena for herself. She wasn't going to compete with the plastic surgeon who was five hours away from their Corpus Christi base. She was family, and she'd do whatever she needed to do to keep Selena close. We'll be right back after this. Word.
- [26:40]
Mood.com Advertiser
Word. Word. Let's be honest. Buying cannabis shouldn't be complicated, sketchy or low quality. That's why I want to tell you about mood.com. that's m o o d dot com. Mood ships federally legal cannabis straight to your door. No medical card, no hassle. And here's the kicker. The quality is better than anything you'll find at your local dispensary. Yeah, I said it. Whether you're into edibles, concentrates, flower, or just looking to explore, you'll find it all at Mood. And it's not just the variety that makes them stand out. Every product is sourced from small American owned family farms that care deeply about what they grow. It's cannabis you can trust. Delivered discreetly and ready to elevate your mood. And because you're a listener, you get 20% off your first order. Just head to mood.com. that's mood.com to get started.
- [27:35]
Liberty Mutual Spokesperson 1
And Doug, there's nowhere I wouldn't go to help someone customize and save on car insurance with Liberty Mutual. Even if it means sitting front row at a comedy show.
- [27:45]
Liberty Mutual Spokesperson 2
Hey, everyone, Check out this guy and his bird. What is this, your first date?
- [27:49]
Liberty Mutual Spokesperson 1
Oh, no. We help people customize and save on car insurance with Liberty Mutual together. We're married. Me to a human, him to a bird.
- [27:55]
Liberty Mutual Spokesperson 2
Yeah, the bird looks out of your league.
- [27:57]
Liberty Mutual Spokesperson 1
Anyways, get a quote@libertymutual.com, or with your local agent.
- [28:00]
Liberty Mutual Spokesperson 2
Liberty. Liberty. Liberty. Liberty.
- [28:05]
Jake Brennan
Yolanda Saldivar asked to see the.38 caliber Taurus revolver. It was right there under the glass. Compact, snub nosed, lightweight, easy to conceal, cheap as fuck. And it would get the job done. It would do what needed doing. The clerk gave Yolanda a funny look. Wasn't she just here? Hadn't she just returned the same revolver a few days before? And now she wanted it back? Which is it, lady? Do you want the gun or not? Yolanda definitely wanted the gun. She knew she'd get that funny look. Knew she'd get the question. The clerk wasn't wrong. She had bought it once already. Then she returned it. But that was a mistake. Returning it was definitely a mistake. She needed the gun, Honor. In her pocket, in her clutch. The thought of spending another day without the weight of that little.38 made her shake, sweat, panic. She told the clerk she worked as a nurse for the terminally ill, and she needed protection from family members who had made threats on her life. He didn't know that Yolanda hadn't worked as a nurse for years, but he knew she was full of shit. Regardless, he didn't care. She passed the background test. And honestly, he couldn't give a rat's ass what she needed the gun for. As long as she had cash, he'd take her money again. She wanted bullets, too. Hollow points. The kind that hit fast, opened fast, did as much damage as possible. Fast. She wanted 20 of them. Transaction complete. Yolanda walked outside, sunglasses on, revolver nestled inside her jacket pocket. The wind rustled her short haircut, gave it the most tender of tousles. But she imagined that her hair was long and luxurious. Hair that the wind could really grab onto and twirl around in slow mo ecstasy. She would rocked her most badass stroll through the parking lot. Big confident strides, her darting, uncertain eyes hidden behind her dark shades. She didn't care what anyone else thought, didn't care what any random passerby thought when they saw her walking or walk. She was walking hard, walking with a little piece snuggled next to her. She was a badass, and she would do what badasses had to do. It was the morning of March 31, 1995. She wondered if she would have to use the gun that day. Yolanda had been a faithful servant to Selena for the last four years. Her friend, confidant, employee. What Yolanda wanted more than all that was to belong. To be a part of the family, be indispensable. And from the moment she saw selena perform in 1991. She knew she wanted to get closer, be a part. Yolanda couldn't believe that they weren't hawking Selena Murch in the lobby after the concert in San Antonio in 1991. So she brazenly offered to set up the Selena fan club. Yolanda would be its president. Yolanda hustled. Yolanda preached the word of Tejano's queen. Yolanda spread the gospel of Corpus Christi's greatest export, Selena. Under Yolanda, Selena's fan club's membership ballooned to nearly half a million. So Yolanda continued to climb the family ladder. From fan club president, Yolanda worked her way up to be Selena's assistant and then to helping manage the clothing line, the Selena, etc. Boutique shops. She had access to the checkbooks. She held the purse strings. Selena trusted Yolanda so much that she had her running recon on Monterrey in anticipation of Selena etc. Breaking into the Mexican market. But there was a darker, more obsessive side to Yolanda's devotion. She covered the walls of her bedroom with posters of Selena, her boss. She kept a stash of Selita VHS tapes at the ready. She'd break them out when she had visitors. She thought about Selena, talked about Selina, dreamed about Selina. She laid in her bed, a Selena CD playing loud from the next room, and looked up at the poster on the wall. The 24x36 inch spread, a dominant force, Stacks of cash hidden underneath her pillow. She imagined her face next to Selena's face. Big toothy smile, elegant dress, perfect hair. Her imagination went deeper, as if she could sing like Selena, could sing, like she, too, was the Madonna of Mexico. She heard the applause, heard the screams for her attention, for their attention. She needed her sunglasses back on to shield her eyes from the explosive camera flashes. She, Yolanda Saldivar and Selena Quintanilla Perez. They were the Tejano queens, an undeniable duo. The Selina CD ended and the music stopped filling the house. And in the quiet stillness, she realized that of course she wasn't a Tejano queen. She was just Yolanda. She existed somewhere in Selina's long shadow, needed but unseen, trusted but unknown. And then fans started to complain that they were sending in their $20 fan club fee but weren't receiving anything in return. That fan club money was supposed to be funneled to charities, but the charities weren't seeing any dough. It was being funneled elsewhere. Soon the boutique shop started failing as well. The bookkeeping discrepancies were rising. Selena, etc. Employees were complaining about Yolanda's management skills. Mostly about her lack of skills, period. She had control of the purse strings, but she was generally a mess when it came to management. And people were noticing. Abraham, Selina's father, noticed pretty damn quick. He smelled a rat. The rat had gotten close, earned trust. And then it did what rats do. Abraham knew what a rat looked like, knew where it lived. He could smell it a mile away. He knew the rat had committed a cardinal sin. The rat betrayed the family. On the morning of March 9, 1995, Abraham held an emergency meeting with Yolanda and Selena. He was going to call Yolanda out and he wanted his daughter to see it all. The Queen would have a front row seat to her most loyal subjects indiscretions. Abraham accused Yolanda of embezzlement. She was a thief. She was stealing from fans, taking money from Selena's pocket. From the family. He had proved proof. He had testimony of employees at the San Antonio shop. In Abraham's eyes, there was only one way this ended. Yolanda had to go. And if she didn't make right the wrong she had committed, he'd sue. He'd drain her. She'd be left with nothing. No job, no family. It would be like that time she was accused of stealing nine grand from the doctor's office she worked at in the early 80s. Yolanda had no idea how Abraham knew about that shameful part of her history. But he did. Abraham did his homework. Abraham went deeper. He accused Yolanda of being a lesbian, of having an unrequited crush on his daughter, and that she was a spurn, jealous, bitter woman. A spurn, jealous, bitter rat. Yolanda felt the panic bristle against the back of her neck. She wrung her hands, her long nails clicking against one another. She thought about being poor again, thought about being slandered, thought about being without her adopted family. A life without the close confidence of Selena was a life she didn't want any part of. She looked across the table at Selena, who saw the anxiety in her eyes and knew what she was thinking, felt her panic. Selena was experiencing her own panic because Yolanda knew about Selena's visits to Ricardo and Monterey. Selena knew that Yolanda knew some of her deepest, darkest secrets. And Selena was terrified that Abraham would back Yolanda into a corner and Yolanda would squawk, would say something she shouldn't. The two watched each other from across the table. Equal parts trust, equal parts terror. Yolanda was shaking. She kept her head down but raised her eyes enough so that she could lock in on Selina's unwavering gaze. Abraham Kennedy kept talking, his voice rising with anger and disappointment. The two women tuned him out. Their minds raced, eyes unflinched. Each felt their other's cold stare. Selena was shocked at what she had heard, was taken aback by the accusations her father laid bare. But she also knew that Yolanda, crook or no, was privy to some very private Yolanda had Selena's number, knew what she was capable of, knew her her deception, knew that she was more complicated than just another Tejano singer from San Antonio. Yolanda, from her bowed head, raised eyes, gaze, translated what Selena's eyes were saying. That Selena was a little surprised, sure, but that Selena wasn't shocked. That she knew Yolanda had some crazy in her, had some desperation in her. Yolanda would do what she needed to do to survive, to thrive. And that Selina would have to do as she she had to do to survive as well. And if that meant turning a blind eye to whatever the fuck Yolanda was cooking up, so be it. After the meeting, Yolanda couldn't shake the feeling she was being followed. On her road trips from San Antonio to Monterey and back again, she'd watched the same black sedan in her rearview mirror. It lurked behind her, kept a distance of a few car lengths, but it was always there. Or so she thought. One day she walked to her car to find the tires slack against the gravel. Someone had let the air out, all four of them. The rims pressed the ground. She anxiously scanned the area to see if that black sedan was nearby. She was scared. Far from safe. That's when she bought the.38 for the first time. She had lost Abraham's trust, and she was pretty confident that she had lost Selena's trust too. And if she was losing trust, she was losing family, losing protection. This little.38 made her feel a little safer. Selena didn't want to believe it. Didn't want to believe that the person who had set up her wildly successful fan club, who had been instrumental in making that Monterey connection, who ran the day to day business at the boutiques. Selena didn't want to believe that that person was stealing from her. But Abraham's proof was hard to deny. Cutting Yolanda from her life wasn't going to be that easy. Yolanda also knew the clandestine things Selina was up to over the border. Her dates with the doctor, her plans to pick up stakes and relocate to Mexico, start a new life with a new man. Whether those were concrete plans or a fleeting fantasy, Yolanda knew All the details. Selena trusted her to keep the details in the vault. If Selina cut her loose, the vault could open up and then she'd really have problems. So partly to bide time, partly to throw Abraham off the scent, and partly to wrap up the expansion plans they had started together. Selina started putting Yolanda up in motels, first at the Bayfront Inn, then the Budget Inn, then the Day's Inn. Selena moved her around while she figured it out. Maybe she could fix the pickle Yolanda found herself in and everyone would wind up happy. Maybe Yolanda would fix it herself. They were sitting in an idling car when Yolanda told Selena just how worried she was. She was anxious. She was paranoid. She thought she was being followed. She thought her life was in danger. She was worried that for all intents and purposes, her life was over. But she was taking necessary precautions. She'd be safe. She didn't have anything to worry about. She pulled the sub nose.38 from her pocketbook, and though the sun fought through a cloudy haze, it reflected off the revolver's barrel and made a flicker, a glint. Selena couldn't believe what she was seeing. A gun. Why on earth did Yolanda need a gun? Was she that worried? That paranoid? Was she that crazy? It was March 30, 1995. The park is parking lot of the Days Inn, 901 Navigation Boulevard, Corpus Christi. Selena told Yolanda to check into the room, get some rest, and that she would see her tomorrow. Yolanda didn't need all 20 hollow point bullets. She only needed one. One shot. Fast, explosive, precise. Maximum damage. Minimal effort. Deadshot. Her story about what happened in room 158 changed. It changed when she sat in her truck in the parking lot of the Day's Inn, the.38 pressed to her pulsating temple. Then it changed in the interrogation room after she was arrested. And again it changed in the courtroom when she went up on trial for the murder of her former employer, friend, and confidante. In one story, Yolanda bought the.38 to take her own life. In room 158 she confessed to Selena that she was at a dead end. She had made mistakes. She had made some wrong decisions. She was selfish, greedy, lost sight of what was important, and now her actions were going to sink her once and for all. She simply couldn't live with it, never mind the guilt. She wasn't about to go back to being a nobody. She brought the sub nose piece up to her temple. Her hand shook rapidly and the hollow points banged around inside the metal chamber. Her bracelets clicked together. It was all sound and vibration coming from the end of Yolanda's hand in the side of her, her head. Selena couldn't listen anymore, couldn't watch anymore. She had to get help. She leapt up from the edge of the bed where she was sitting and went for the door. She pulled it open and there was the outdoor corridor and overcast sky. Yolanda frantically motioned with her hand, the hand that was holding the gun, and it just went off. In another story, Yolanda was convinced that Selena was going to run away to Monterrey and lift a new life with Ricardo Martinez, convinced that Selena was wearing disguises for her south of the Border rendezvous. In fact, Selena had met Yolanda at the Days Inn with a suitcase packed for a couple of days and a Mexican work permit. She was going to leave behind her husband, Chris, and upend the trust she had built within her family. Yolanda wouldn't let that happen. Yolanda couldn't let that happen. And so she pulled the revolver on her employer, her, on her business associate, on her friend. She pleaded with Selena, begged her to reconsider, to not make her do it. Don't make her do something drastic, something rash. She didn't want to pull the trigger, didn't want to hurt Tejana's pride and joy. But if Yolanda didn't stop her from ruining her life, who would? It was her duty, Yolanda reasoned. Selina tried reasoning with Yolanda, explaining what it was she wanted and how it ultimately was none of Yolanda's business. And then she tried to Leon the hotel room. She figured there was no way Yolanda would actually pull the trigger. Selena was halfway out the door when she felt something hot and sharp blast through her. Back. Then there was the most likely story. The story Selena's family and the public believed Yolanda was face value. Yolanda was jealous. Yolanda was controlling, manipulative, obsessive, petty, bitter, athletic thief. And the bullet she put into Selena was 100% cold blooded. The court of public opinion certainly thought so. Crowds formed outside the courthouse in Houston, where the trial had been relocated from Corpus Christi because there was a lower Hispanic population and therefore less bias. Several hundred Selena fans took to Channing just to see her. The signs read San Antonio wants a guilty for verdict and hang the witch. There were drawings distributed of Yolanda firing range fodder. Someone wrote Kill Yolanda in white shoe polish on a Toyota's windshield. Meanwhile, gangs in Houston, Miami and Los Angeles made a bet to see who would get their hands on Yolanda. First. If she was found innocent, street justice had already been determined, no matter what, the court ruled. On October 23, 1995, the court found Yolanda Saldivar guilty and sentenced her to life in prison with the possibility of parole in 30 years. That possibility comes around in 2025. Time will tell soon enough if street justice is lying in the cut. Selena was a rarity. She was insanely talented, had a voice like no other. She honored her culture, the legacy of her family and other families like hers, and also brought the music of her family into the present tense. She was the face and the voice of modern Tejano of Latin pop as it evolved into a chart topping phenomenon in the late 20th century. And she was beautiful. Down to earth. The best of both worlds, the real deal. Honest, truthful. Everyone wanted to be by her side. Some wanted to be by her side more than others. Some would do just about anything to stand there and then would do the unthinkable to prevent anyone else from getting as close. And that is a disgrace. I'm Jake Brennan and this is Disgrace. Disgraceland was created by yours truly and is produced in partnership with Double Elvis, the Exactly right network. Now iHeart podcasts credits for this episode can be found on the show notes page@gracelandpod.com if you're listening as a Disgraceland All Access member, thank you for supporting the show. We really appreciate it. And if not, you can become a member right now by going to Disgracelandpod.com Membership members can listen to every episode of Disgraceland ad free rate and review the show and follow us on Instagram, Tik tok, Twitter and Facebook Disgracelandpod and on YouTube@YouTube.com Disgracelandpod Rocka Rola He's a bad, bad man. All right, Discos, what did you think of our Selena episode? Give us a call, let us know. 617-906-6638 voicemail and text his GraceLandPod on the socials. Coming up next in Disgraceland, our new episode on Foo Fighters and the death of Taylor Hawkins. Don't go anywhere.
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