Along the border towns, it had become a time of anarchy, a time of great peril. There were trucebreakers, false accusers, and despisers of those things that were honest and good. All conceivable roots of evil were evident. Crimes went unpunished. There were many skirmishes that involved murder, the burning of property, and robberies that were being committed so atrociously all lawman looked the other way, especially if the victims were Mexican. No one was sure of anything, and the rumors of war kept the people in the Rio Grande Valley at a fever pitch. Many of the Mexican-Americans prayed to the Saints, some of whom had predicted years before that the end of time was coming.
All the dirt roads were now clear and dry. Very early on a morning in the month of October, Manuel drove Don Federico, Fred, and Juan Alvarez in their Cadillac coach to catch the train to the big city of San Antonio. They would meet the train on the land given to the railroad by his father.
The game of revenge was working powerfully on Don Federico's mind as they boarded the train. Memories of his father, especially his death, set the pulse of his emotions throbbing faster. He had found himself involved in a spider web of mischance that grew more dense and black. It was like playing a game of Russian roulette with one bullet in the chamber, not knowing when it was going to fire and who might end up dead. A plan had to be mapped out, especially in Monterrey.
"Back to what we were discussing last night," Juan said as the train traveled along, its wheels clicking rhythmically on the tracks. He was sitting in the coachman seat, facing Don Federico and Fred. "There is a way of getting rid of a certain Rinche in Mexico," said the revolutionist, lifting an eyebrow.
"Death will come to him, sooner or later. Live by the gun, you'll die by the gun. He will die like most unworthy men, and violently," retorted Don Federico.
"But, my friend, there are ways in which a man can talk!" answered Juan, leaning toward the Don. His words were very convincing. "For a few gold pieces, the Mexican banditos, being so desperate, will do anything, Señor Juelson! And you want Hanson to admit that he killed your father!"
Don Federico pursed his lips and frowned. "Just what are you trying to tell me, Juan? Keep talking, the idea is starting to appeal to me," he answered, as he rubbed his chin in thought.
"Hire a couple of desperate men. When you go to the gold mine, make believe that they are going to kill all of you for your possessions. Teach Hanson a lesson, as they say here in Texas."
"I don't mind them working on Hanson a little, like kicking his ass. He damned deserves it, but suppose they decide to kill me, too! I just don't know. We'll have to talk some more about this idea."
Fred, listening intently, thought about his father's comments.
"Let me think about it," repeated the Don. "We'll be in San Antonio shortly and will have plenty of time to talk."
For several hours while on the train, Don Federico and Juan shared their frank, open thoughts to each other, planning and deciding what was best. Don Federico had begun to have a lot of respect for the young revolutionist who had sacrificed his profession in order to join the Madero cause.
From the western horizon, a purple twilight was starting to form as the sun was beginning to set. The train had passed the Old Spanish Trail, a trail of which thousands of Mexicans and white men had died conquering Texas and making it a great republic. Straight north were the lights of the city of San Antonio, and in the distance was the mission of San Antonio DeVallero, the good ol' Alamo; it was the white man who had called it that, shouting for so many years, "Remember the Alamo!"
The streets were bustling with traffic, including several fancy coaches, and a few Model-T cars caused the public to stand in awe and amazement. Occasionally, an old Mexican man with his burro-cart, full of supplies and grain would be in traffic. Every business man was dressed in their best suits, tipping their hats to the passing ladies. Beautiful women dressed in fancy designer handbags, gloves, and elaborate big colorful feathered hats, underneath their bouffant hairdos styles. Everyone was hurrying.
San Antonio was a city that had combined the old with the new. Ancient landmarks stood beside new modern buildings. It was a town that, in 1718, was founded in order to establish the Spanish ownership of Texas, where priests and soldiers alike, tamed a wild and dangerous wilderness. San Antonio was truly a city built upon Spanish culture, and it would never lose its famous traditions.
Arriving in the evening, Don Federico, Fred, and Juan decided to stay at the famous San Antonio Hotel in which many of the supporters of the Revolution were staying and where they would conduct their meeting. Most of the men were brilliant and well educated in Europe; all were fed up with Díaz's tyrannies, the terrible conditions, and the oppression of the poor. All of them were determined to put in the one man who was right for the job—Francisco Madero!
"Where is Madero?" Don Federico questioned. He was torn between doubt and enthusiasm to see his friend and colleague become the next president of Mexico.
"Señor, Madero is meditating at this moment," said Sanches Azcona, a journalist who had met them at the entrance of the hotel. "Pancho Madero became a spiritualist while he was in Paris, France." He kept talking while he led the three into a large waiting room suite.
"A spiritualist," Don Federico mused. "But—" He never completed his sentence, as his thoughts took him back many years. Come to think about it, it was the Madero family who always said that little Panchito, as he was called, was the "chosen one" in their family. Members of his family, and also a spiritualist, had told him that he was special and would do great and wonderful things and that one day he would be President of Mexico.
Juan and Don Federico found themselves being introduced to other important men present, such as Aquiles Serdan, from the state of Puebla; Roque Estrada; Gilardo Magana; Francisco J. Mugica, another journalist from the state of Michoacan; and Venustiano Carranza, governor of Coahuila, under the Díaz regime. They also met several businessmen from San Antonio, Ernesto Arteaga, and José Vasconcelos, a lawyer. Many important Mexican-American Tejano with money like himself were there to help and support Madero. The whole hotel looked like a Mexican convention held in that city.
Coming out from one of the other rooms, Señor Madero appeared. He was small in stature but known for his big-heartedness. His face was round and pleasant, with eyes alert, and an openness giving him the look of someone who had never known bitterness, much less hardship. Everyone stood up, and the animated talk and laughter that had gone on immediately prior changed to a deep silence.
"Compadre, Federico!" shouted Madero. Both men embraced in an abrazo. "It's been a long time. I'm glad you're here and that Juan convinced you to come to my cause."
"I would not have missed it for the world! But! What happened to you, compadre?" replied Don Federico, trying to figure out what was so different about Madero. His face reflected a frown but instantly turned into a pleasant smile.
"Oh! That's a long story, amigo. Come! Let's sit down and I'll explain. But who do you have with you?" Madero was looking at Fred.
"This is my oldest son, Fred. He's only ten years old but he was already anxious to meet you. One day he will tell the story of this great reunion. He is attending the military school in the spring and will continue his education later for higher things. Fred! Shake Señor Madero's hand!" demanded Don Federico.
Fred stood in awe, shaking the hand of the next President of Mexico, and felt honored and proud.
"You are only ten years old and already you're as tall as I am," retorted Madero, who was looking squarely into Fred's eyes. "You are going to be a very tall man." He laughed and patted Fred on the back.
Making their way through a mix of elaborate living room furniture, all sat down on an old Victorian velvet couch while Madero ordered one of the men to bring drinks for him and his guests.
Madero explained to Don Federico that he had disguised himself as a railroader, working as a brakeman, and had to shave his beard off. He said that his life had been in danger since his arrest in M
onterrey and that Don Porfirio Díaz had given the order to shoot to kill. His life wasn't worth a peso in Mexico while Díaz was running the country. He went into a lengthy discussion of the thousands of men and women who would risk their lives for the goodness of their country. Texas was the perfect place, and here in San Antonio, they would all join together to plan the Revolution.
Don Federico could see that Madero had changed. Not only in his voice, which was soft but high-pitched, but also in his manners, which were eloquent and kind, sensitive to the needs of his people, as he would say. He spoke with his hands, a sign of extreme nervousness.
On the third day of the convention, Gustavo Madero joined his brother and the rest of the revolutionists. He had been to Washington, D.C., to take on the difficult assignment of raising more funds. Gustavo was the tallest of the Madero family, dashing and gregarious, fair-skinned, with light blue eyes, one of which was made of glass. As the days passed, the men became acquainted with each other and contributed their thoughts and feelings, taking on the difficult task of the coming struggle.
*****
On the fourth day, and by Señor Madero's request, Don Federico addressed the men of the convention in the main ballroom, to say a few words of encouragement.
"My friends and colleagues of the Revolution," he began. "Being a Mexican-American, a Tejano, I stand before you with mixed emotions. I have feelings for all mankind. Most of my colleagues on both sides of the border are suffering. By looking like a Mexican and saying you're a Mexican, it suggests that there are much endurance and anguish mixed with misery ahead. The majority of our people on both sides, in Mexico and in Texas, are not educated, so they live by what means of survival given to them. Normally only hard labor is allowed to them, by reasons of our ‘roots of indifference.’ My blood boils to know that all the years Don Porfirio Díaz, has been in office, he has not educated the people, especially the children, in Mexico. Education is the most important thing in people's lives. I'm a firm believer that reading and writing open the door to understanding. It gives you knowledge, and knowledge gives you power. Education is not expensive, but ignorance is, and we have most of the Mexicans living in both counties in an ignorant state, having to live as slaves, despised, because they do not know any better. After hearing and listening to the terrible stories of what's become of our beloved land, we need a change. It's never too late to remedy an evil in a good country, and a change with an honorable President is needed in Mexico. One who knows its people and is willing to sacrifice with his sweat in the upcoming struggle to get rid of corrupt people in that government. I feel deep in my heart that it is just to oppose the current government of President Díaz that for so many years has made slaves of its people, instead of educating them so they can better themselves. I'm donating this money and hope that all of you dig deep into your pockets and in your hearts for the better change and for a brighter future. In our hands, we hold the future of our Mexico. It's my country, too, my mother's country."
Don Federico paused and scanned the crowd. "It is with humility that I was honored to speak to you this way. Mexico is being run by tyrants and being dominated by greedy foreigners on both sides of the river. And wherever there is greed, there is cruelty and injustice. As long as there's injustice, there will never be peace. Mexico is our foundation as our country—it's our roots. We must defend what is rightfully ours: our country, our families, and our property. If we all band together and perform our highest duty by making it possible for all, we can surely overthrow the tyranny of Porfirio Díaz. Francisco Madero is a man of great courage! A man that is willing to stand against all odds, especially the great evils that have oppressed the people of Mexico. Let us give him the strength to support this cause—for the future, for Mexico. For this reason, I ask of you, as great men and patriots, to join hands and support the honorable, the impeccable man of unstained honor— Señor Pancho Madero."
"Bravo! Bravo!" Juan yelled standing up and clapping. "Bravo!" yelled the rest of the comrades. There arose a great roar, and then all stood up and joined in with great respect for El Señor Don Federico.
"It's a brave man who speaks those words," said one of the attendees.
"All of us should be able to speak in that form," replied another revolutionist.
Madero embraced Don Federico, as uncontrollable tears trickled down his round face. "It is wonderful, compadre, that you feel that way. Now I truly know my struggle will not be in vain."
"I trust that none of the colleagues here will refuse their aid in forming a government of justice and honor," added Juan with exaltation. "We are willing to die for our heritage."
Madero, who now had the floor, spoke to the men of when he was brought before Díaz and later had been put in prison. "It is honesty that Mexico needs," said Madero to his colleagues. "There has been little of it. The crimes that are being committed on both sides of the border have lowered the prestige of both countries. Yes, mí amigos and patriots, it is honesty that Mexico needs."
The following days were full of encouragement and patriotism. Madero, with the help of his brothers and suggestions from Juan, Don Federico, and other eloquent members, drew up the plan of San Luis Potosi. It was for the restitution to the peasants of the lands in Mexico.
They all began organizing a formal government. It was a good feeling, among honest and courageous men, as they all joined together making decisions with mutual sympathy and kindness. It was also during the convention that Don Federico had invited all the honored guests to attend his daughter's 16th birthday celebration. Many thanked him and said they would attend.
Among the talking and chatting, there were many important names mentioned, including one Doroteo Arango, later to be known as Pancho Villa, who was staying at the moment in the city of Chihuahua, the capital, of the State of Chihuahua. His wisdom was referred to as "superior," knowing all the roads and paths in the Sierra Mountains. "Pancho Villa is not afraid of the devil himself," the crowd would say. The governor of Chihuahua, Abraham Gonzales, who at one time had had dealings with Don Federico's father in buying cattle, had also joined the Madero cause. Already, rumors of Emilio Zapata in the south of Mexico were becoming widespread along with talk of Felipe Angeles, who at the moment was living in exile in Paris, France. A brilliant authority on artillery tactics, he was regarded as a man of high principles and knew the finer intricacies of modern warfare.
Don Federico, Fred, and Juan had been in San Antonio for nine days and had enjoyed the historical, important meeting. At this time, Juan bid his farewell, with an abrazo, heading for the state of Chihuahua to be with Pancho Villa, but promising to do his best to get back for Victoria's party.
It was the beginning of the rainy season, and a gentle drizzle had begun to fall. The atmosphere was threatening in the city, as news of plotting the Revolution had leaked out. United States agents were like hornets all around the hotel trying to get secret information about what was happening. The great Don had an urgent instinct to leave the city as soon as possible, not wanting his name or Fred's connected to the Revolution or to have any involvement with any political news. War hawks and some reporters wanting to get the news first were already printing pamphlets, recruiting volunteers, asking for money to fight for the Mexican cause, and mercenaries began to enter the country of Mexico for hire.
Don Federico felt the trip to San Antonio had been very successful, but there were activities awaiting him at Spanish Acres. The planning of Victoria's fiesta birthday party was in order with much work and preparations. Many important people were coming from Mexico, eminent people from both sides of the border, and many families from the surrounding ranchos.
Taking advantage of their remaining time in San Antonio, Don Federico and Fred went to the large department stores on Commerce Street with a list a mile long to do their shopping: tailored suits; shoes and socks of all different sizes for every male member of the family and household; bolts of material that consisted of plain and different patterns and colors, lace, organ
dy, broadcloth, silk, Irish linen, and gabardine; ornaments for the ladies' hair; belts, ties and buckles for the men. Across the street was a small Sears and Roebuck mail-order store, in which the Don decided to buy the largest Acme Regal enameled steel range made, to surprise Mamá Maria and the rest of the ladies who worked in the kitchen. Seroco ready-mixed house paint in tinted white was bought in twenty-five and fifty-gallon barrels. Everything would be loaded onto the train for shipping the following day.
On the other side of the cobblestone street, the two entered the Western Union Telegraph Office to send a message to the hacienda, advising his wife of the time of their arrival, and to be ready for Roy or Manuel with two mule wagons for the enormous amount of supplies that would be coming.
Several blocks from the mercantile building in an upstairs room stood the office of the Pinkerton Detective Agency. Don Federico decided to visit Tom White and pay the rest of the money that he owed him. Surprisingly, he was met at the door by a short, elderly woman, with her white hair pinned on top of her head, and wrinkles displaying every one of her years. Holding papers in her hands, she greeted him very professionally. "May I help you?" she addressed him warmly.
"I'm looking for Tom White," said Don Federico, bringing out a swollen envelope from his dark vest and handing it to the lady. "He did some investigation for me down in South Texas, for the last sixteen months, with which I am very pleased. While I'm staying in San Antonio, I thought I would bring him the rest of the money I owe him."
"Tom White is one of our finest agents, but we have not heard from him for over three weeks now. He mailed us some information from Harlingen, which we turned over to the United States Marshal in Austin. That was the last message we have gotten from him. Some of the other agents have questioned his silence. Maybe he decided to stay down in the Rio Grande Valley and retire there, as he's of a retiring age, you know!" The elderly woman returned to her desk with the envelope.
Roots of Indifferences Page 17