El Norte

by Carrie Gibson

  The bracero program and the issue of illegal migrants was also a major concern for groups like LULAC and AGIF. To them, the question of documentation was a crucial one; undocumented workers threatened to roll back the hard-won gains of those with the proper papers and Mexican-Americans.92 Middle-class community leaders like Hector García believed their position was in the best interests of the wider community, including the undocumented workers, who they felt were too often exploited.93 García and Senator Lyndon Johnson were in regular correspondence about the issue. In one letter explaining to García the measures being taken in Washington, Johnson said, “If our relations with Mexico are to continue on the friendly basis of the past, some suitable solution to the wetback labor problem is going to have to be worked out,” before asking García for his suggestions on the matter.94

  In 1953, García’s AGIF published a report titled “What Price Wetbacks?” It argued that Mexican migrants were “a threat to our health, our economy, our American way of life.”95 The report argued further that the poor living standards suffered by Mexicans under the migration system left everyone worse off, claiming: “These are the wetbacks—sad-eyed and sick, desperate beings unaware that their illegal entry and existence bring with them to the areas they infest soaring statistics on syphilis, tuberculosis, infantile diarrhea and other diseases, along with a host of crime and other socio-economic problems.”96 The report outraged some members of the Mexican-American community, in part because it seemed to reaffirm every stereotype about Mexicans while revealing internal class divisions. However, García and the AGIF continued to campaign for a repeal of the bracero program.97

  The year after García’s report, an answer to this question emerged: Operation Wetback.98 It was led by Joseph Swing, who was commissioner of immigration after a long career in the military that included being part of the Punitive Expedition against Pancho Villa in 1916. The deportation operation claimed great success despite corresponding public criticism of its rough tactics. More than 1,000 people were arrested daily, and it was claimed that more than a million people were sent to Mexico by 1955. However, the bracero program was still in place. In the same period, the number of legal bracero contracts continued to rise, more than doubling from 201,280 in 1953 to 447,535 by 1959, with around 150,000 to 200,000 braceros working in California’s Central Valley alone.99 Often workers without papers ended up being legalized through what was called “drying out the wetbacks.” This involved illegal farmworkers being taken to the border, given papers, and returned to work. Sometimes a worker needed only to set one foot across the border to make the “reentry” legal.100 In the end, the power of the growers’ lobby contributed to the longevity of the bracero program, which had been due to end in 1947 but lasted until 1964.

  The following year, the Hart-Celler Act of 1965 introduced another overhaul of the immigration system, repealing the national-origins quotas and allowing 290,000 visas a year, with up to 20,000 per country in the Eastern Hemisphere (Europe, Asia, and Africa), for a maximum total of 170,000, while the entire Western Hemisphere was allotted 120,000 overall. At first there were no specific country quotas, and at this time Mexicans and Canadians accounted for up to two-thirds of immigrants to the United States. Overall, visas were to be prioritized for current citizens’ or residents’ family members, or for immigrants who had desirable professional skills.101 Just over a decade later, in 1976, an amendment was introduced to establish country quotas of 20,000 for the nations of the Western Hemisphere; it hit Mexicans the hardest, as they were the largest group of immigrants.102 In that same year, 781,000 Mexicans were apprehended as “illegal” after the quota changes, in addition to the closing of a loophole that had previously allowed undocumented Mexicans to regularize their papers if they gave birth to children in the United States. The exceptions that had long existed for Mexico were now firmly at an end.103

  AS SPORTS ARENAS go, Dodger Stadium is in a league of its own. It seems to hover above the ground, ringed by mountains, and its smooth, modern design made it a classic of contemporary architecture from the moment it opened in 1962. Before the construction of this sporting icon, the area northeast of downtown Los Angeles where it was located had been known as Chavez Ravine, home to more than a thousand mostly Hispanic working-class families. A small panel inside the stadium notes the date—September 17, 1959—when ground was broken, after which more than eight million cubic yards of earth were moved.

  The area was named for the councilman Julian Chavez, who served the city from 1850 to 1875. In 1912–13, the land had been sold and houses built across what had been three parts—Palo Verde, La Loma, and Bishop—all of which Chavez Ravine now comprised. It was a neighborly, close-knit community but not a wealthy one. Its residents had to petition the city council for improvements, such as streetlights and paved roads.104 Using this poverty as a rationale, in 1949 the city council decided by a unanimous vote to relocate all the people living there to a public housing project as part of a wider urban renewal scheme. Such a move would have turned many homeowners into renters, an unpopular prospect among the residents, who did not want to lose their homes.105 At this point, Chavez Ravine had a population of around thirty-seven hundred people, of whom roughly two-thirds were Mexican or Mexican-American.106

  Plans were designed for Elysian Park Heights, a development of 3,364 housing units in tower blocks for seventeen thousand people on 278 acres, with schools, a community hall, and shops.107 The high-rises did little to sway the residents of Chavez Ravine, who did not want to give up their small plots of land to live in apartments. Throughout this period, residents of Chavez Ravine were forced to defend their position, with women in many of these families taking special pains to point out that their husbands, brothers, and sons had served in the Second World War and the conflict in Korea; these were families of veterans.108 Agnes Cerda, who had two soldier sons, told one of the hearings about Chavez Ravine’s future: “Take our homes away from us and you are taking away our incentive to be good American citizens. … Would you put your mother out of your home and give it to the Housing Authority? You would not.”109 After much debate, the plan was canceled in 1953.

  Despite the failure of the plan, the city acquired Chavez Ravine in 1955, under Ordinance 105,801, approved by Mayor Norris Poulson, which authorized the purchase of the 185-acre Chavez Ravine site from the federal government for $1.3 million, with the proviso that it was to be used for “public purposes only.”110 By this time, many of the residents had left, and the plan at one point was to turn the area into a city park, including an eighteen-hole golf course. Instead, baseball solved the city’s conundrum. Los Angeles offered Walter O’Malley, the owner of the Brooklyn Dodgers, the 185 acres, plus $2 million to clear it and another 115 acres of land in the area, if he would move his team across the country from Brooklyn. O’Malley agreed, and the Dodgers became the first major-league team on the West Coast, followed immediately by the New York Giants, who moved to San Francisco.111 Once O’Malley’s deal became publicized, residents and concerned Angelenos started a “Save Chavez Ravine for the People” movement, but the citywide voter referendum to approve the contract passed 351,638 to 325,898 in June 1958.112

  The following May, forced evictions began, including that of Manuel and Avrana Aréchiga, who had been fighting in court to keep their home of thirty-six years.113 When the construction crew and police arrived, the Aréchiga family, consisting of four adults and three children, barricaded themselves in their home. In response, deputies broke down the doors, and, less than ten minutes after they were dragged out, two bulldozers leveled their home.114 Another resident, Aurora Vargas, vowed, “They’ll have to carry me out,” which they did on May 8. The Aréchigas took their battle to the courtroom, this time to obtain what they considered to be fair compensation: $17,500 against the $10,050 they had been offered, as well as $150 a month until the payment was made. After years in court, the family accepted the lower offer.115

  The Dodgers would go on to fill that sta
dium time and again with fans, many of whom by the 1960s had seen the game of baseball itself experiencing profound changes, starting with the then Brooklyn Dodgers’ decision to overturn the sport’s color line by hiring Jackie Robinson in 1947. This brought about the end of the Negro leagues and opened the door for darker-skinned Cuban, Dominican, and Puerto Rican players to join Robinson in the majors.

  While the game had been segregated in the United States from its inception, it had not been in Cuba. Segregation did exist in the amateur leagues, which were usually affiliated with private social clubs that often excluded Afro-Cubans. However, the professional leagues had no color bar, and black and white players from Cuba and, later on, the United States could train and play through the winter months on the island. In 1908, the first professional team, the Cincinnati Reds, played against the Cuban All-Stars.116 The talent of Cuban players was obvious: Cristóbal Torriente managed, in one 1920 matchup, to outslug the Yankees’ Babe Ruth three home runs to none.117 Ruth was not gracious in defeat, saying, “Them greasers are punk ballplayers. Only a few of them are any good.”118 The pitcher José Méndez—known as the Black Diamond—later managed to strike out Ruth three times during the winter of 1921–22 with his impressive fastball.119

  Yet in the United States prior to 1947 anyone with black skin could play only in the Negro leagues. Rodolfo Fernández, who played in the Negro leagues in the 1930s, as well as on Cuban teams, recalled life on the road in the United States: “Sometimes we couldn’t find a place to sleep, so we would sleep on the bus.” The struggle was worth it to Fernández, who said: “I was proud though, because when we would play in the United States, people would point us out as Cubans. This was because the Cubans had something that other people thought was special.”120 Many talented Hispanic players went to the Negro leagues, such as the Puerto Rican Francisco “Pancho” Coimbre, who played for the New York Cubans in the 1940s; and the Cuban Bernard Fernández, who pitched for the New York Black Yankees. Afro-Caribbean players were deeply involved in both suffering under segregation and later navigating the changes as the game became integrated.121

  Lighter-skinned Cubans had a better chance, though team owners often had to prove their players’ “whiteness” through sworn affidavits and other evidence shown to officials and journalists.122 A few players, like Adolfo “Dolf” Luque, managed to join the majors; Luque spent most of his career with the Cincinnati Reds, with one newspaper describing him as “very light-skinned” and looking “more like an Italian than a full-blooded Cuban.”123 His pale complexion and blue eyes were not sufficient, however, to shield him from racial taunts from the crowds.124 Most Hispanic players, like Martín Dihigo—nicknamed “El Maestro”—played in the Negro leagues, as well as in Cuba and elsewhere in Latin America, but never had a chance in the majors, barred by the color of their skin. Dihigo retired before the integration of the game but was later inducted into the U.S. Baseball Hall of Fame, as well as halls of fame in Cuba, Mexico, and Venezuela.125

  The post-segregation era of baseball would see many great Hispanic players reach the major leagues, including the “Cuban Comet” Orestes “Minnie” Miñoso, who joined the Cleveland Indians in 1948, debuting the following year, before becoming the first black player for the Chicago White Sox in 1951. Before this he, too, had played in the Negro leagues. Perhaps the most famous Hispanic player was Puerto Rico’s Roberto Clemente, who debuted for the Pittsburgh Pirates in 1955; sadly, his brilliant career was cut short when he died in a plane crash in 1972 while helping deliver supplies to earthquake-ravaged Nicaragua.

  Miñoso and other Afro-Latino players found in their early years in the majors that they were caught in a strange bind: besides not being white, they were also not black enough to achieve the level of popularity in the black community that African-American players had.126 Hispanic players more generally found themselves objects of ridicule at the hands of sportswriters who belittled their Spanish-accented English or repeatedly described them as “hot-blooded.” They also faced residual prejudice from white teammates and opponents; for example, Miñoso was one of the players most often hit by pitches, and despite being the first Afro-Latino star, he still awaits a place in the Hall of Fame.127

  Great players have also come from Mexico, where a baseball league dates back to the 1920s. Fernando Valenzuela Anguamea, who had a stunning decade pitching for the Los Angeles Dodgers from 1980 to 1990, inspired “Fernandomania” in the city. Cubans also continue to arrive, though they have to defect from Cuba first, as Yoenis Céspedes and José Abreu have done. Dominicans have been an increasing force in the major leagues, contributing many of the game’s best players. One of the most recent inductees to the Baseball Hall of Fame was Pedro Martínez, his 2015 election making him only the second player from the Dominican Republic to receive the honor, the first being the Giants pitcher Juan Marichal, in 1983. Overall, the number of Hispanic players of all hues and nationalities continues to rise steadily, and they now make up 27 percent of major-league players.128

  THE FAILED HOUSING scheme for Chavez Ravine was one example of the postwar enthusiasm for “urban renewal” in the 1950s and 1960s. The aim of renewal was to clear slums and put in their place high-density public housing. The Housing Act of 1949 set out ambitious plans for 810,000 units of public housing in six years. It was followed by the Housing Act of 1954, and federal funding was given to almost one thousand urban renewal projects in total between 1949 and 1964.129 In some places, entire communities were uprooted, as in parts of the Upper West Side neighborhood of New York City, made famous by the film West Side Story, with its warring teenage gangs the Sharks (Puerto Ricans) and the Jets (Polish-Americans). The Upper West Side stretches roughly from 59th Street to 110th, along Central Park. Although an expensive area of New York City today, for part of its history it was home to poorer immigrant communities, like the ones in West Side Story. In the early 1960s, buildings in part of the area were razed to make way for the Lincoln Center performing arts complex, which sits between West 62nd and 65th Streets.

  Urban renewal was not confined to big cities. Smaller towns in the West also had problems with inadequate housing. Even in the 1930s, officials said Hispanic and black neighborhoods in Phoenix were as bad as any “tenement districts of New York,” and many people lived in shacks without running water.130 Phoenix constructed 604 units of public housing in response by 1941.131 Another report described San Antonio as having “one of the most extensive slums” in the entire nation, with twelve thousand Mexicans or Mexican-Americans living in a one-mile patch.132 These were not urban apartments or tenements but wooden shacks, some of which had been horse stalls.133 Between 1949 and 1958, the city built 3,600 units of public housing.134 At the same time in Dallas, Albuquerque, and Phoenix, fierce opposition to public housing projects arose, though other forms of “urban renewal”—which often led to the displacement and resettlement of established communities—continued in the decades that followed.135

  Poverty was not the only barrier to home ownership. Often Hispanics were barred from owning or even renting in certain parts of cities, or, in more extreme cases, they were excluded from an entire town. Peppered throughout the United States were what were known as “sundown” towns—shorthand for the sentiment “Don’t let the sun set on you here”—with the intention of keeping the population white. Local ordinances permitted discrimination against potential black residents, and at times this extended to Hispanics, Jews, Chinese, and Native Americans.136 In the case of Mexicans, one such example was South Pasadena, California, a “sundown suburb” that permitted Native Americans but tried to keep out Mexicans and Chinese people. It was accidentally integrated when Manuel Servin, a professor at the University of Southern California, was allowed to buy a historic home there because residents thought he was Native American when he was actually Mexican.137

  Other types of housing discrimination were often more straightforward. The “declaration of restrictions” for a new housing estate in 1950s Phoenix stipulated
, “None of the lots numbered One (1) to Thirteen (13) inclusive; Fifteen to Seventy (15 to 70) inclusive, shall ever be sold, leased, rented to or occupied by any person who is, or whose spouse is, or who is a descendant of or whose spouse is a descendant of a Mexican, Japanese, Chinese, Mexican-Indian, American-Indian, Korean, Malay, Filipino, Negro or Hindu, or any person of any race other than the White or Caucasian Race.”138 Such stipulations were far from uncommon.

  The Sunbelt areas of the Southwest had experienced rapid population growth during and after the war. Tucson, for example, which had 35,000 people in 1940, became a city of 213,000 by 1960.139 In such places, attempts were made to keep Mexican-Americans from buying homes in certain exclusive neighborhoods. Middle-class Mexican-Americans found themselves at times being forced to distance themselves from working-class Hispanics because the term “Mexican” was becoming associated with a lower social class.140 The historian David Gutiérrez remembered these types of tension spilling into his personal life in East Los Angeles. “Even as a child,” he wrote, “I was struck by what often seemed to me to be almost comical love/hate relationships between U.S.-born Mexican-Americans and more recent immigrants from Mexico.” In his own family, the “wetbacks” were a target of reproach because “the mass immigration of so-called backward, un-Americanized illegal aliens reinforced the negative stereotypes Anglo Americans held about all Mexicans.”141