"Maybe you have should take a good look at yourself and run for office and become a politician. You're the perfect man with an education to get things started. You are the main man bringing all of this together, simply by asking questions. You have already questioned the injustice in this area and have gotten the State of Texas and the Federal Government interested and started with this investigation."
"I'm still new in this community," replied Don Federico, "but the thought has run through my mind. Someone has to stand up to all of these injustices."
Bishop rose to leave. "I plan to spend however many years it takes getting to the bottom of all this goin' on with the conspiracy and with hundreds of documents, investigating what the people of the Valley have to say and trying to prove it." He spewed to his side. "I'm gonna have to hire people in Austin to help me with all the paperwork. I don't trust anyone here dealing with classified documents. Thanks for your help. I'll be in touch."
"Let's have dinner sometime. Just send me word when you're coming to Mercedes City, and we'll have a feast for you. My family and I would be honored having you as our guest. We have plenty of room."
Don Federico was still unnerved by the disturbing information imparted by the Captain. He watched as he mounted his horse. "By the way," he commented, "you didn't tell me the names of the suspected Germans in this town."
"Didn't say, but if it would help you with some of the information, one of the names in the classified documents is Foster. The other one, I think, was a retired judge. Both are friends who are involved in this conspiracy. The other person—we're not sure yet if he's providing the money for these destructive doings, which will be dangerous to the production of cotton in the Valley. The three men under suspicion are being paid by Germans living in Mexico, who are trying to disrupt the production of cotton, which is like gold, as you know. Foster is a German chemist. Rumors are that he is trying to amass a huge accumulation of boll-weevil beetles and release them into this community, destroying the production of cotton. But we can't prove it at this time."
"I'm new to this community and don't know the names of many that live here. I don't know a Foster. The only person that I know that's a retired judge is Judge Howard Ale."
"I think that was the name mentioned. He's under investigation already, thanks to your written documents that you mailed us. He's tough shit, clear up to his neck!"
"Not Howard Ale!"
"Yep, I think that's the name! Sounds familiar."
Don Federico stood with his mouth open, staring at the impressive gentleman riding away on his fine horse.
CHAPTER 19
The universe was always busy throwing another mind-boggling curve, so did the evil omens begin to stir with evil forces; all seemed to be living in the lawless, turbulent conditions that prevailed around the Rio Grande Valley. There was much talk among the Mexican-Americans and it was starting to take its toll, as everyone was beginning to live in constant fear. It was anarchic and dangerous to cross the border at night from either side; a killing here; a lynching there; someone found dead, shot through the head; someone with his head severed; bloated bodies floating in the river; robberies; hundreds of cattle missing; and many horses stolen. The natives with cash in hand started to hide their money, especially gold and silver dollars, in strongboxes. They hoarded and buried the coins in secret places on the ground, and many in their chimneys.
The feelings of hatred from both races caused them to blame each other for the crimes; however, the majority of deaths were those of the Mexican-American people. All this brought emotional hostility, which boiled and seethed underneath the surface. The face-slapping terms, "greaser," or gabacho, or gringo occasionally would create a scuffle and a fight would break out, with someone knifed or killed by stray bullets. Rumors of another revolutionary threat became the main topic throughout the Rio Grande Valley.
Don Federico continued diligently with his volunteering and taught the small children from across the tracks, in spite of the rumors of war and problems in the Lower Rio Grande Valley. He was proud of his achievements. In the fall, he had started with five boys and nine girls, and by the spring of 1912, he had over twenty-two Mexican-American children in his classroom. When he was not seeing about his cattle at Spanish Acres, he would roam out into the barrios where the poor Mexicans lived in their one-room shacks and hovels, and hand out baskets of food. He would stop and talk to the parents about the importance of an education for their children. So many of their children, especially the boys, would start school, but, come spring, when the fields had to be planted and later harvested, they would not return.
"They must be taught," was Don Federico's urgent request and his anxious concern. "The children must be trained to think for themselves. We are living in a new democracy, and with a good education, they can become important in our new society. They need to learn—they need to be able to read and write."
"We are very poor," the fathers of growing boys in the Mexicans barrios would say. "We need our boys to help us in the fields. Look at my wife breastfeeding, with another one on the way. We need the money to provide us with food on the table." Most of the barefoot Mexican children would come to school with sad, haunted eyes, hungry bellies, and ragged clothes, the same ones that they would wear all during the school week. So pathetic and pitiful, they did not have enough food in their bodies to keep a fly alive.
"The children need to get an education," cried Don Federico. "Send them to school to learn and be educated. Do you want to be slaves forever? Is that what you want for your children? With knowledge, they can buy all the shoes and clothes they want later. Their education will never go away, now is the right time to learn. Let me teach them, and I will furnish the children with food." This he graciously did.
Don Federico was quickly becoming a great man in the eyes of the poor Mexican people, but a harsh thorn in the side of many of the white farmers who made a living working the young Mexicans out in the fields. Most whites did not want the Mexicans to be educated. It would put thoughts in their minds—next they will be demanding more rights, they would say. If they go to school, who is going to work the fields and farms in the coming years?
Discontent began to develop among many of the white farmers, saying that the Don was stirring up trouble, giving the Mexican-Americans all kinds of ideas. Rumors began spreading to discredit Don Federico's background as being black, that old man George had come from up north and had changed his name to conceal his identity. Others were disputing his last name of Juelson. "What kind of name is that? Sounds Jewish to me!" they would say. The Jews were hated and those who dared come to Texas, especially the southern part, changed their names. Few Jews were residents of the Rio Grande Valley.
Don Federico's thirst for educating the small children was like seething lava ready to erupt within him. He would keep silent, continue to study and teach, and help the Mexican-Americans with anything he could, even with food. When it came time for him to be in the classroom, he would tell each child that they were the most important person in the world, that each child could make a difference in the community. The children would stare at him in wonder. He would never punish his students but would praise them highly. Little by little, the Don would tell them the story of the great Aztecs and Mayans, their great civilization, and the one great race, the Mestizos, which had developed from the Mexican melting pot.
Don Federico would teach them of Father Hidalgo's words:
Don't ever forget who you are. There is pride in your Mexican heritage. Don't be ashamed of your nationality. Stand straight, with your head held high, walk side-by-side, fearless in the sun. Keep our customs and traditions, for they must never die. Shake the burden of servitude and meet everyone with an equal eye; seek peace and pursue it; spurn all that is evil. Defend what is right, and you will never go wrong. Educate yourself, for without it, you will not be a light unto the world. Learn about the life, for so many things are not written in books.
He felt the children needed to
know that someone did care, for they were all part of the great social cause. So many Mexican-American families had already lost their self-esteem and did not care who they were—they were only trying to survive in a cruel, prejudiced, and discriminating world.
The Mexicans coming from Mexico feared the trouble in their land; in turn, they would look north toward the United States, with many children and not enough jobs to fill each need. Don Federico took his father-in-law's advice. He appointed Miguel Garcia at Spanish Acres to hire the Mexican workers with five or more children, who were willing to do a day's work to clear five hundred acres for the development of cotton. They began putting up tents around Spanish Acres, giving them places to live.
Another project that had triggered Don Federico's interest was the coming of oil. He had to thank Bernard Hanson for that since the Ranger was so adamant in taking over some of his lands and even took the liberty of probing his property with the strangers that wandered into the resaca. If there was black gold on his land, he wanted to get to the bottom of the issue. He hired a man by the name of John Shaw, to inspect his land and find out for sure if there was any possibility of oil. Shaw was a retired engineer who had worked in Houston's refinery and had come to the Rio Grande Valley, buying land west of Mercedes City called "Jackass Prairie." Within a week Shaw responded back and told Don Federico that the possibility was there. Don Federico gave orders to Roy Dale and his vaqueros to give Shaw full authority in bringing in the equipment needed to begin the operation of drilling for oil. The vaqueros would see that the cattle did not interfere with the operation. It would take months to begin this costly procedure since many of the pipes and machinery were being imported from Houston by ship to Brownsville and then hauled with mule wagons to the resaca.
The farmers and merchants in the Valley were becoming very prosperous; however, in Mexico, things did not seem to be going well for Madero. Those who had cherished the hope of peace, like Don Federico and his father-in-law, Don José Hinojosa, were all due for a rude awakening.
In Mexico, Madero had failed to use stern measures against the counter-revolutionaries who were increasingly becoming the subject of unpopular criticism. Madero had appointed various members of his family to cabinet offices, thus exposing them to charges of nepotism. The Madero's women were also the target of critical newspaper gossip, many reporting that they were all indifferent, looking like European queens rather than Mexican women. And jealousy arose within the Madero's families.
There had been separate messages being transmitted through Mexico's Washington Embassy by Henry Lane Wilson saying that Madero was corrupt, dishonest, and very insincere. Ambassador Wilson, who had many rich interests in Mexico and favored Huerta, disliked Madero from the beginning of his taking office. Madero complained to the United States that the American Ambassador was meddling in the internal affairs of Mexico, knowing he had liked Díaz but had preferred for Huerta to become president.
When the time came for Madero to give the people "forty acres and a mule," it seemed that only those who were already rich got more. Madero had lost interest in the cause that had put him in the office, and he failed to carry out his agrarian promise. He did not work fast enough to satisfy the poor in his country, like the mango tree that took years before it yields fruit. Madero had fallen from grace.
*****
In the spring of 1912, newspapers throughout the valley were reporting the spectacular news of the fateful sinking of the "unsinkable" ship, the Titanic, making its maiden voyage and colliding with an iceberg. Headlines never spoke of the hundreds of poor Irish, Scottish, and other European immigrants coming to the United States to make a better life for themselves who lost their lives trapped in the bottom of the ship by drowning and freezing in the Arctic waters. During the same year, Don Federico got word that his friend Don Yturria, his banker and a rancher friend from Brownsville, had died. The two had shared the breeding of Santa Gertrudis, the Angus, and other varieties of cattle.
During that same year, there were serious outbreaks in Mexico against the administration. Zapata, the gentle Indian campesino, with the help of other Indians in the state of Morelos, held the state against the Federalist troops to subdue them. Zapata was demanding the redistribution of the great land estates that were never distributed. Other similar outbreaks occurred in the state of Yucatan. Former Maderistas renounced allegiance to their great chief. The "Apostle of Democracy," the great redeemer, Madero, had begun like so many of his previous predecessors, making promises that were never kept. His presidency ended in a terrible disaster, fulfilling the prophecy.
*****
As the year of 1912 came to a close, Don Federico's estate had flourished with many cattle, several hundred bales of cotton, and the oil being pumped in the resaca. By the end of the year, they had shipped several hundred barrels from Brownsville to an oil company in Houston.
In the early part of January, 1913, as the skies were clearing from an overcast, cloudy month, Doña Francisca received a letter from her mother in Monterrey telling her that her father, Señor Hinojosa, had gone to Mexico City on business, to sell some of his bulls, and had not returned home. Don Federico found Doña Francisca on the front porch, despairing and in tears.
"It's my father!" she cried desperately, holding the letter in her hands. "Father has been gone for over three weeks, and Mother had not heard a word. She thinks something happened and fears the worst!"
Don Federico read the letter, frowned and replied, "I think your mother is overreacting. Your father knows Mexico City like the palm of his hand. He knows what he's doing. Surely General Del Calderóne, with whom he is staying in the Capital, knows where he is. The last time we heard from him, he was staying in his villa close to La Reforma with El General." Saying this, he kissed her on her forehead and found a wicker chair and sat next to her, trying to console her. "Before long, we will all be together again like it was two years ago. You are already feeling better. Victoria will be here, getting married, and Fred should be home from his academic studies."
Doña Francisca began crying again.
"Francisca!" Yelled Emma, coming up the road in her one horse-buggy. Her voice that was always high pitched now sounded dull and flat. In her hand was a telegram. Triumphantly, in her high-heeled shoes and feather hat, she approached the porch. "It's your father, Francisca! Grandmother Alvarado said that he was put in prison on suspicion of supporting Madero's policies and accused of being a spy!"
Doña Francisca stood up. "In prison!" she cried. "Spy! What's going on? What's with Madero's policies? He is the President of Mexico. Father only wants eternal peace for Mexico."
"According to the telegram, General Huerta has arrested your father and several others, including Madero's brother, Gustavo, and put them all in prison. Huerta has seized the National Palace with the help of the Federalist troops and the military cadets," answered Emma, hugging Doña Francisca.
"Dios mío!" she said. "My family, what will happen to them—and the girls in the convent?"
"Grandmother Alvarado said there is trouble in Mexico City and that the newspapers are not giving out much information. She heard this from a message sent to your mother from a family friend in Mexico City, who is trying to help get your father out of prison. I'm starting to worry about the girls."
Doña Francisca sat back in her rocking chair. Startled and horrified, she stared for a moment and brought her hands to her face. She sobbed and gasped for air in between her coughing, as tears rolled down her face. Mamá Maria, who was staying with them in Mercedes City, opened the screen door and looked shocked, having overheard the conversation. Don Federico motioned for Mamá Maria to take Carlos inside.
"I'm sending a telegram to General Del Calderóne in Mexico City immediately," murmured Don Federico in shock. "He should know what is going on with Madero." He looked puzzled, as the frown lines on his forehead became heavy. What was he to expect, remembering what the United States Marshal Bishop had told him about Madero? And the girls in the
convent, what was going to happen to them? "I'm beginning to think that I should go to Monterrey and get Victoria and Felicia out of the convent," he declared.
*****
As the days passed, time seemed like an eternity. There was no message back from Mexico City. The Brownville Herald kept reporting trouble in Mexico, that Huerta had overthrown Madero. The San Antonio Weekly Express was coming with eyewitness accounts and dispatches from consular officials in the capital saying that Gustavo had been killed and that Madero, with his vice president, had been arrested. Everyone in the Rio Grande Valley became frantic. War hawks and reporters kept coming from the frontier, telling of gory sagas that were happening in the interior of Mexico.
Finally, on February 24, came the final blow. The newspapers were reporting that Madero and José Maria Piño Suarez, his vice president, had been brutally killed. U.S. President Woodrow Wilson had just taken office, and the whole border was in chaos. Men were lined up, five deep in the cantinas in Reynosa and all over the border towns, talking of taking up arms.
The area from the mouth of the Rio Grande River to Baja California was aflame with panic. War had broken out in Mexico. The atmosphere was tense. It split Mexico wide open since Ambassador Wilson was being blamed for his meddling in foreign affairs between Mexico and the United States, bringing discontent and hatred toward all Americans.
The winds of evil had stirred. It was as if the devil with his demon angels had been cast out of the bottomless pit to devour anything and everything, making a furious and futile effort to regain possession of the earth. The oceans roared and the roll of distant thunder sounded—the devil was marching his hosts from within.
Roots of Indifferences Page 40