Cranky old Don Cheto has rivals on the run

DON CHETO is in the final stretch of his six-hour morning radio show, and you can feel another rant coming on. The roly-poly old man with the white hair and bushy mustache is a cranky country character who came here from a small town in Mexico years ago and hasn't stopped railing against the world ever since. On this particular morning, he's confronting his young on-air partner, Marlene Quinto, on one of his many pet peeves -- how women's liberation has ruined the lives of men.

Women don't know how to cook anymore, Don Cheto grouses into the microphone at the Burbank studios of station La Que Buena, (KBUE-FM 105.5). They don't know how to sew or even how to make a home remedy for a sick child without running out in the middle of the night to the "Reetay."

"The Rite-Aid," says Marlene, patiently correcting his mangled English for the millionth time.

"El Whot-eber," retorts Don Cheto.

Don Cheto may come off as a country bumpkin, a hard-headed but sentimental Mexican hillbilly who wishes things could be like they were in his little rural town of La Sauceda, Michoacan. But he's no fool. The character, as played by 27-year-old immigrant Juan Carlos Razo, has become the latest talk-show sensation in the highly competitive world of Spanish-language radio.

Part of the show's appeal rests on the humorous but realistic way it reflects the culture clash between immigrants and their U.S.-raised children, a drama played out daily in thousands of households across Southern California. For that, the cool, Spanglish-speaking Quinto serves as the perfect foil for the traditional Don Cheto, who fumes over her irredeemably Americanized ways.

"Women have forgotten the meaning of marital devotion," he continues on the air in Spanish, his burly frame rocking back and forth in his swivel chair as his blood starts boiling, his arms flailing, his big belly shaking. "Don't you feel in your heart, in that cholesterol-laden heart of yours, Mar-leeny, don't you feel the desire to say, 'I'm going to learn to make some chilaquiles, or just a darn fried egg with chile, so when I get married I can tell my old man (switching again to what he considers English), 'Seen dow, pleeze, my hoosbahn. Seen dow.' (Sit down, please, my husband). Don't you feel that?"

Quinto says no, and the shock sends Don Cheto into a gasping fit. Men just want women to be their maids, she counters, and thank God those days are over.