The landmark venue, which historically has been the Mexican-American community's social headquarters for more than 60 years, was dressed up to say goodbye to the couple.

It was a emotional goodbye. After all, Eddie and Olivia have a special history with the ballroom at East 26th Street and South Second Avenue, which opened Sept. 14, 1947.

They met at El Casino and had their first dance together. Their families celebrated weddings, anniversaries and quincea帽eras, and they attended fiestas, baptisms and school graduations. They also glided across the ballroom's famed dance floor when local or out-of-town bands performed.

Their relationship with El Casino is no different from many other 蜜柚直播-area families that have celebrated at the South 蜜柚直播 ballroom.

But no couple has had the special, one-of-a-kind connection with the ballroom that the L贸pezes, parents of three adult children, have had in the past 17 years or at any time period during the ballroom's history.

Simply put, the L贸pez couple saved El Casino.

"It was dead," said Eddie L贸pez, 68, a west-side resident.

L贸pez had retired from the U.S. Postal Service as an auditor when he took on the challenge of resurrecting the forlorn ballroom after a destructive October 1991 storm ripped off its roof and revealed that El Casino and its owners, the Latin American Social Club, were deep in debt.

The Latin American Social Club, which had organized in 1932 and purchased El Casino in 1968, owed more than $210,000 in federal and local taxes, and to vendors, and more than $190,000 in repairs. The club also had let the insurance lapse on the building, said L贸pez, who had joined the club's board of directors about the time of the disaster.

"We could have filed for bankruptcy, but we wanted to do it the hard way," said Eddie.

And they did.

The roof was patched and L贸pez went to work 鈥� without a salary. He and Olivia, as El Casino's managers, organized weekend fundraisers, they rented out the ballroom and they gathered volunteers to help rebuild the ballroom.

The L贸pezes didn't have to take on the daunting task. They could have continued their involvement with girls softball at Joaquin Murrieta Park, on North Silverbell Road near West Speedway.

But El Casino tugged at their sentimental hearts. Eddie grew up a few blocks from the building and later when his family moved to Menlo Park on the west side, his family attended numerous events there. Olivia's large family also had a deep attachment to El Casino.

"I wanted to be part of the group that brought it back," Eddie said.

There were others who were critical in resurrecting El Casino. Ra煤l "Butch" Mart铆nez and his son, Fred Mart铆nez, who currently is the bar manager, helped revive the ballroom. And private loans from Sabino Alvarado, Pete Mu帽iz, Eduardo "Lalo" Valenzuela, and Edward and Ysaura "Chawa" Encinas were indispensable, said L贸pez.

"The loans were given because of Eddie's integrity and character," said Olivia, 62.

The L贸pezes also loaned the club money. All the loans were paid back with interest because the banks refused, said Eddie.

"They knew the history of the Casino," he added.

But the banks and others unfamiliar with El Casino's history underestimated the commitment of the L贸pezes and the families that spent years celebrating special occasions at El Casino.

Finally in October 2000 the remodeled El Casino reopened, and, in 2007, it celebrated its 60th anniversary.

But two years later the L贸pezes ended their relationship with El Casino. The club's board of directors decided someone else will manage El Casino, L贸pez said.

The L贸pezes contributions are indelible. They left El Casino with no debt, on a firm footing and a place where new generations of families can celebrate their accomplishments and culture.

Countless 蜜柚直播 families owe the L贸pezes a big thank you. On their behalf, gracias.