The Drawing Hand

1.

Fond Childhood Memories

I was born at 4:30 a.m. on March 18, 1936 in San Antonio, Texas. My mother was half French and half Mexican. My father was a descendant of Apache Indian and Mexican. His descendants had receded into Mexico. The native Indians of Leon, Guanajuato where he was born were the Chichimeco Indians. We were twelve siblings. Seven boys and five girls. The boys were Camilo, Pedro, Florentino, Inez, Reynaldo, Gonzalo and Tomas. The girls were Alicia, Maria, Marta, Eva and me, Aurora. I was the twelfth child.

We lived in a two room house, with a covered porch. Our house faced Cameron Creek. Our house was the second one from the corner. In the front room my father and my five brothers slept in two beds. The back room was occupied by my mother, my three sisters and me. From the front room we could see the street and the sloping land leading to the Cameron Creek. We could also see the houses on the other side of the creek. There were numerous pecan trees on both sides of the creek. And we could also see the bridge that was over the creek. It was only half a block away from our house. From the doorway of the back room we could see our back yard that stretched out about thirty feet. Passing that, one could see the outhouses. There were three individual showers, three individual toilets and three galvanized sinks. The showers and toilets were enclosed in small wooden rooms. The sinks were out in the open. In that neighborhood the houses did not have their own bathrooms or sinks. Ten houses shared those facilities. Very few houses in that neighborhood had electricity, we did not.

I guess my story begins when I started first grade. Nobody called me Aurora until I started school. And at that time, there was no kindergarten. My nickname was Chata to all my friends, neighbors and relatives. I did not know why till much later. Chata? What does that mean? Plum face?

The first day I went to school, my mother made me the sign of the Cross on my body, donned on my dress and away we went along the river edge walking. All the time she kept telling me to pay attention, since I would have to do this every day. She said, Do not cry and be happy. There will be many children there to play with. She was still holding on to my wrist when we entered the school hallway. It was a good day up till then. When my mother handed the papers to the teacher she checked the papers stood back and looked me up and down. She cannot come to school like that, she has to have shoes. My mother could not understand so another worker came over and told my mother in Spanish, zapatos, tiene que tener zapatos. This meant she has to wear shoes in order to be in school. To me it was not a big deal. When you do not have something you do not know and you do not miss it.

We went back home. My mother started to get busy with her chores. And she opened the back door for me. She told me to go play. From the back door and back window she could see me at all times. My toys to play with were small branches, twigs, leaves, water and the torritos. Torritos were some kind of a little bug that had horns. They would dig and dig the dry grey dirt until they reached the surface. I know now they were ground beetles, but I called them little bulls. It is amazing how even as a child you can see and understand the struggle and determination of a species to accomplish their objective. I would wait until they would walk on level dirt before I would pick them up.

I picked up the beetles and put them on the palm of my left hand. I walked to the dog’s pail of water and wet my right hand to drop some water on my left hand so the little beetle could drink water. I would sing to them; torrito, torrito, torrito chiquito. Que sales para fuera por el agujerito. Which means, little bull, little bull, little bull, you dig yourself out through the little hole, what do you want? I would ask them, Que quieres, agua o frijol?" which means, do you want water or one bean?

I never had any toys when I was a child. I played with what nature had to offer. I would talk to the forces of nature too. I would also climb vines and hedges, fences, rails and bridges. I noticed now in my old age, all children like to climb. If they are kept inside the air conditioned houses with rooms full of toys and furniture they still climb. I believe you get the desire to climb when you are born, God given, for experience and to develop survival skills. I stayed outside playing and listening to birds and pigeons. I would place all my nature toys in front of me as I sat on the ground. Outside the days were beautiful with lots of light. Inside it was grey and humid. We did not have electricity.

My mother called, I went to the door and she picked me up. She sat me down at my usual place, a big metal can. She kept flour, beans, rice and other dry commodities in that can. It had a good tight lid that I was never able to open. I often tried to get in there for some prunes or preservatives.

She cleaned my hands with a wet towel. She put a bowl of food with a small spoon between my legs and said to me in Spanish, Come, por que si no van a llegar y se comen todo y no vas a cenar. She was telling me, Eat, because they will get here soon and eat all the food and leave you nothing for your supper. She was referring to my brothers and sisters.

For her supper was two tall stacks of tortillas, rice, beans, potatoes, commodity meat from a can which was pre-cooked and then mixed with corn or peas. We never had fresh vegetables other than corn on the cob. Tomatoes and onions were for stewing whatever meat she had for the day. She would make all meat with tomato and onion.

When my father and brother Pedro arrived home, my mother told them about the school and shoe requirement. Up to that point I had always been barefoot inside the house and outside the house. My sister Eva’s shoes were too big and she needed them for school herself. She used to let me borrow them to play inside the house, but not to wear outside.

As I was leaving with my dad and Pedro to go to Cohen’s mercantile store, my mother called out, Lalo, el algodon. Which meant, Lalo the cotton. Lalo was short for my father’s name Ladislao. And the cotton was for extending the duration I would keep my shoes. He turned back reluctantly and stretched out his arm saying, Si, milacha which was his affectionate nickname for Emilia, my mother’s real name.

When we got to Cohen’s, my brother Pedro took over. He sat me on a box and talked to the store clerk about the shoes. I was fascinated with everything in the store, the wonder of it all. The materials, leather, scales, galvanized tubs, pails, shoes, men’s clothes and electric lights hanging from the ceiling. I had not seen the electric lights in school yet, because we had been stopped inside the hallway. No shoes. I never was the type to pay attention to adult conversations; mostly I was always observing everything with my eyes. Curious and inquisitive, that was me.

My brother and father had me try several different pairs of shoes. With each pair he would insert the cotton in an attempt to find the pair that would leave a good margin of space between my toes and the shoe. Finally they settled on a pair, black high top and shinny. I wore the shoes home. They were a must for school. I was ready for school now.

Once I started school, it was the same routine every day. Mother would walk me part of the way only. She would stand on the sidewalk looking at me until I turned to walk up the stairs of the school yard. She wanted to make sure I reached the school grounds; she knew there was a teacher waiting by the steps. Her daily advice to me was, Do not get close to anyone. Do not get near any men, even if he offers you candy or a nickel. Run, Run to the teacher.

The school was fenced all around by a cement border that was about three feet high. Attached to that cement border was a chain linked fence. During recess we would stand by the fence, our hands on the fence and scream at the few cars, people walking by or cats and dogs passing by. It was our way of entertaining our selves. We did not have monkey bars or swings to play with at recess. We had two wooden see-saws that were usually occupied by the older kids, not the first graders.

I found it challenging to learn in a school that only taught children in English. For the school only had two lady volunteers that spoke Spanish and were able to help children whose primary language was Spanish. My mother and father could not speak a word of English. My parents were legal residents who acquired their green cards in El Paso Texas in 1919 for the price of .25 cents each. Nine of my siblings were born in El Paso, Texas between 1920 and 1928. And three of us, me included, were born in San Antonio, Texas.

My parents felt they were too old to learn English. But they understood the importance of their children learning and speaking English. My siblings and I never forced them to speak English with us. At home we always spoke Spanish with them. We loved them and respected them. We would have never contradicted them in any way.

Time moved on and one day the teacher asked us to recall an important memory. As far back as we could. Many children did not understand. So they brought in an interpreter who spoke Spanish to explain and translate what the teacher wanted. We expressed ourselves with drawing the memories that came to our minds. In the first grade you express yourself with few words and pictures. I could not express myself in English so I drew a picture of a butcher’s block. The picture of the butchers block had a knife hanging on the side with me sitting down underneath it. In the picture, a hand was covering my mouth.

The teacher collected all the papers and sat at her desk. We napped with our heads resting on our arms for a few minutes. She clapped her hands and said, Children, you can play with the blocks and toys. She was holding all the papers in her hands. She walked over to me.

The teacher took my hand and escorted me to the hallway. She motioned to the interpreter to come over. She asked the interpreter to question me about my drawing. And the interpreter did question me. The lady asked me several questions about my drawing. The only way I could explain the drawing to her was to tell her the truth. That my family was always around that table doing something. She asked me What? I answered her, I don’t know. She then asked me, The hand, does it hit you? I said, No, it gives me something to eat. I can see their feet so I am not afraid. Then the teacher told me to go sit down.

That day when school was over, the teacher and the interpreter walked me from the school to where my mother was waiting, at the half way point. From there they walked with us all the way to our house. My mother showed them the butcher’s block and what was upon it. There was a hammer, a piece of marble stone, empty coffee cups and finger nail files and a big bag of pecans.

She told them, "Every night, we shell pecans. My husband makes pecan candies, which we sell or barter in the neighborhood. The seven dollars he receives a month from the WPA and the bag of commodities is not enough for our family. So every night as we shell the pecans, we pass a few pecans to Aurora who is under the table, so as to keep a close eye on her. We have kerosene lamps in the other room and do not want her wandering around.

The volunteer interpreter put her hand on the high chair and asked my mother, Do you have another small child? My mother pointing to me said, It’s hers, when she sat under the table was 2 years ago when we lived on Kingsbury St. That is the memory she drew in class. Then we moved here to Laredo St. down the block from the Catholic Church. And that Church is St. Francis De Paola.

I figured my point of memory was then, when I was about 4 years old, because that was as far back as I could remember my childhood. I felt that when I used to sit under the table I had a sense of belonging, love, eating and protection surrounded by all those feet. That is one of my first memories and it was a pleasant memory for me to hold. And I still feel that those four things the sense of belonging, love, nourishment and protection are very important in a child’s life.

The teacher and the volunteer interpreter left satisfied with my parent’s explanation. And from then on I was excused daily from the classroom along with other children to have a glass of milk and three cookies. I guess the teacher figured I should be in the group of children who receive free milk and cookies. Not all the children were excused from class to receive this extra privilege. When you are children, you are always hungry.

The days turned into weeks, months and years as I continued in the elementary school learning. Everyone who worked there took exceptional care of the children. I felt very safe attending that school. It was Travis Elementary. The teachers and building itself helped us feel safe. The building was well made and there was a security fence around the entire school. I remembering thinking as a child, this place looks like a fortress. Like the Alamo. The bathrooms were located in the basement and to a small child seemed spooky. There were dark and gloomy areas and I never liked going down there.

When I was in the second grade (maybe 1943) most people were still financially impaired from the aftermath of the Great Depression of 1928. Jobs were scarce and pay was very low. My father would go daily to the Market Square that was across from Santa Rosa Hospital and look for additional work. He already worked for the WPA, but was always looking for additional work. He would always hear about things that were taking place in the downtown area. And he would come home and tell my mother the news. My father came home one day and told my mother that two men McAllister and Kallisons were giving each mother two quarters for each child they had.

My mother and I went and sure enough, there were two tables set up in front of the red Court House down town. There were two men at the tables dressed very well and with white hats, each man had a ledger. There were stacks of quarters and pencils on each side of their ledgers. We stood in line and as the line moved up I noticed that the men were asking the women in line the same question. How many sons do you have? And the women would answer them. The men would then tell the women to write down the names of each male child they had. They would give you two quarters for each son. They did not give any quarters for female children. And they would ask the women to sign the ledger book for the quarters they had received for each male child. McAllister and Kallisons offered this money to families in San Antonio once a month. I do not recall how long my mother and I went but it seemed like a long time.

McAllister and Kallisons, God rest their souls and bless their families for generations to come. It is men like that throughout the United States who came to the aid of their country without any reservation or discrimination. There were other types of hand outs that they offered, such as used clothing, shoes and other articles. And always those articles were donated by Anglo people.

2.

The good times and the bad times between 1940 and 1946

It was somewhere between the winter of 1939 and the winter of 1942 when it snowed a great deal. I remember standing at the window and looking out at all that snow. It was like a bed of white cotton stretched over the river bed, sloping down into the creek area. It seemed like the whole neighborhood of kids was out there. They were sliding on cardboard boxes down the slopes of the Cameron Creek. The water of the Creek was frozen solid, my brother Pedro told my mother. All the kids were having snow ball fights and building snowmen. They were wrapping blankets and coats around the snowman. All the kids were running and screaming and laughing for joy outside.

My mother would not let me go outside to play in the snow. I was crying and whining because I wanted to go outside very much. My two older brothers, Pedro and Camilo brought a #3 galvanized tub full of snow into the house for me. It had snowballs and a small snowman. My brother crumpled a snowball on top of my head and said, here, sit down and play, you are not going outside. I played for a little while and then I had to get close to the pot bellied stove to warm my hands. Towards the end of the day, my brothers brought in a small pail of snow and spooned it onto the saucers. They dropped some pet milk on top of it and pecan candied crumbs. We ate what we called our first snow cones, made of real snow. That joy lasted the neighborhood two to three days. After a few days all the snow had melted.

All the water from the melted snow was receding to the east of the creek. It was a nice and sunny day. My mother crossed me on to the other side of the street because I asked if I could play outside. I told her I wanted to play in the front of the house and she told me not to go into the river bed. She told me not to get close to the water. My mother then went back to the house to do her chores and I stayed to play. Like all children I heard my mother remind me not to get near the water, but I did it anyway. I got on my bottom and scooted down to the edge of the water.

I saw some little Perches and crawdads going east in the water. I wanted to catch the crawdads like I had done before and put them in the fold of my dress to hold them. I ran into the water after the crawdads, I was wearing my sister Eva’s red shoes. I followed the crawdads and I picked up two of them, I put them in the fold of my dress. I never realized the little perch and the crawdads were running away from danger. They were speeding fast and I was following behind. I followed them into the area under the bridge. It was gray (dark) under the bridge but I figured I would see them when I crossed to the other side of the bridge.

I never saw or heard anything before I realized that the surge of the water was taking me fast. I could no longer feel the bottom of the creek under my feet. I became very scared and I knew my mother could not hear me. I fought the water with one hand, because I was trying to still hold on to my crawdads. I swallowed some water as I came out on the other side of the bridge. I could see the sun light but I knew I was in danger. I made myself the sign of the cross and cried, Cross save me! I still couldn’t feel the bottom.

Suddenly I felt something or someone turning me around. It turned me and positioned me on a pipe that was about two feet wide that ran to the other side of the creek. My whole body was shaking, I looked up and I saw its image. It was a crystal, clear, luminous image of a man with arms stretched out to me. I reached my hand out to grab his arm and he disappeared immediately. It was like his crystal image that was so real, so there, went poof – and I was alone. When you are a child between the age of 6-8 you don’t stop to think or reason. You just do, as your eyes guide you to do. I surely felt in my child mind that he would lift me out of the water area and set me on the ground, but he did not.

I do not know how long I stayed there scared and shaking on that pipe with my body still in the water. The water was still running fast, but it never took me over that pipe. I stayed there holding on to the concrete wall and the pipe. I was afraid to climb on to the pipe and get carried away by the water again. My mother called me from on top of the bridge. She must have been looking for me already. She asked me, Chata, did you fall into the water? I nodded yes to her. She came down to where I was. She asked me as we walked hand in hand, if the pipe was slippery. I said, yes, mama and that was the end of that.

I never told her a thing about the incident. Children keep secrets too. To me that creek bed and the pecan grove on both sides of the creek were my extended beautiful playground with; fish, frogs, crawdads, birds, dogs, cats, possums, rabbits and many other animals. And I was not going to be kept away from it. I knew if I told her about what happened she would never trust me again to stay where she told me to stay. And I knew she would never let me go there again. I continued to go there though, after that I was more careful. I started to think and reason more after this experience.

My brother Gonzalo also had a bad incident with that bridge and the water. It had been raining for days and the water was rising in the creek. San Antonio did not know about bad weather bands from hurricanes that were in the area or severe flooding because there was not enough communication. We did not have a radio or a telephone. Few people did. Those things just happened without warning.

When San Antonio had severe weather like heavy rain, the creeks and rivers would flood and overflow. The water would run fast carrying debris. We would get up in the morning and go see how high the water was. There was many a time when the people on the other side of the creek could not cross the creek to come to our street which was a main street. Our street, Laredo intersected with Houston and Commerce St.

That morning the water was five or six inches below the bridge level. All the neighborhood boys were on the bridge jumping in feet first. All the girls stood there looking at them. When it was my brother Gonzalo’s turn, he jumped in and then popped his head out of the water. He started dog paddling to reach the edge of the river. And my brother Pedro noticed he was bleeding. He ran on the bridge and then scooted down to where Gonzalo was laying on the grass. He had the open metal lid of a pet milk can lodged into his flesh. It was lodged between his heart and underarm area. All the boys came and helped pick him up from his hands and feet. His bottom was dragging on the ground as they carried him up to the street level and across the street to our house.

They dragged him to our house and put him on the porch floor. When my mother opened the door, she said, Ave Maria Purisima! She told my brothers to hold him down, not to let him get up. She saw all the neighborhood boys and she told them the rest of you go look for spider webs, roll them up and bring them, a lot of them she said this in Spanish of course. She went inside and came back out with scissors, the kerosene lamp and one of my father’s white shirts. She cut the tail part of the shirt off and dampened it with some kerosene and pulled the metal lid and can out. She placed the kerosene soaked cloth on the bleeding area.

She looked at the guys and told Freddy our next door neighbor Run to the hole and get Lalo. The hole was a cantina bar in the basement of the National Theater, known in Spanish as El Pozo. Mother told Alicia my sister, Bring some water with sugar in it. Sugar water was the Mexican miracle water of our time for when you are scared or frightened or in shock. She gave Gonzalo the water to drink.

When all the kids came back with the spider webs, she put all of them together and made a flat gauze like wound dressing. She then put part of the spider web gauze inside Gonzalo’s wound and laid the flap of his skin on top of it. She left the other part of the spider web gauze on top of his wound and applied pressure. This was an old home remedy that was used to stop bleeding by the Mexican people.

My father and some other men came in and lifted Gonzalo onto some blankets and took him to the Robert B. Green hospital. The spider webs worked to stop the bleeding and the nurses in the hospital looked at him and asked about the spider webs. They shook their heads in disapproval. They stitched my brother Gonzalo and gave him two shots and some pills to take home. They kept him a while in the hospital. After a doctor saw him again they said everyone could go home. My mother scolded us all the way to the house.

We all had our share of bad times there on Laredo St. My father’s bad time came after the winter weather. It was spring and the weather was still cool. It was already getting dark when we were heading to the Fiesta of San Jacinto and the carnival around the Market Square. My mother had her usual grip on my wrist; we were walking in the front. My brothers and sisters were behind us walking with my father who was smoking his cigar. The crowd was bad, the people were going in all different directions and the noise was overwhelming.

My mother crossed over to the Plaza, from there you could see vendors, tables and people standing and eating. My dad got us cotton candy, popcorn and lemonade. We headed out of the park and into the street to circle the plaza. It was bad everybody from San Antonio and its nearby towns seemed to be in the plaza. Then we turned on San Saba going north walking with the crowd. We could not even hear each other talking.

Suddenly my dad came to my mother side and showed her that blood was running out of his shirt. My mother waived her hand to motion to us, Let’s go, we are leaving now to go home. We all picked up the pace for the house, it was four blocks away. When we got home, my mom immediately sat my father down. My father’s face was red and sweaty. She boiled some water, got some cloth, scissors and the kerosene. She cleaned the area with a cloth dipped in hot water. She could barely hold it, the steam was coming out. She told him, like one inch meaning that the stab wound was about one inch wide. I do not know what he told her, but she did what he ordered.

Later my brother said that mother had burned the end part of a metal file in fire and put that red hot metal file into the stab wound in my father’s stomach. She stitched the wound with kite string thread. The next day my mother went to Basilas’ pharmacy and talked to the pharmacist. He gave her some items and she treated my father’s wound per the pharmacist’s advice. My father never went to the hospital. The fact that he was a heavy set man with some extra weight around the abdominal area helped to keep the knife from going into the area of the vital organs. He stayed home from work a few days and when he talked to the next door neighbor, Juan said that it must have been some crazy person doing this to people in the crowd. We never went to the carnival again.

On the weekends my Father would always take us as a family to different places. Some of them were: San Pedro Park, the Park in front of the Knights of Columbus Hall and downtown around the area of the San Fernando Cathedral. The theaters in the vicinity included the O’Brien, the Zaragoza and the Teatro Nacional (the National Theater). They were all pretty close together within walking distance from our house. For the gentlemen in the area there was also a Burlesque house a few doors away from El Tenampa Bar.

We first saw the original King Kong movie at the O’Brien Theater. The O’Brien Theater was on Houston St., if you stood at the intersection of Santa Rosa and Houston facing East and walk on the right side of Houston until you would pass the Tenampa Bar and the Cameron Creek Bridge, the following block would be the O’Brien Theater on the right side. In a city the size of San Antonio in the 1940’s a lot of news was word of mouth. That afternoon the lines to go into the O’Brien Theater for the movie viewing were over a block long each line. The excitement and tension building up was terrific waiting in line. While we were waiting for entrance into the movie house, a man was walking up and down the lines selling chalupas, the fried corn tortilla shell topped with beans, lettuce, tomato and shredded cheese. The basket he had on his right arm filled with chalupas must have been three feet wide. He had layers upon layers of chalupas in that basket. The chalupas were five cents each and he had hot sauce for you to pour on your chalupa if you wanted. My dad treated us all (nine in total) to a chalupa which came out to forty five cents, that was a lot of money at that time.

When we got to the edge of the black curtain the man counted us and told my father, it would be a nickel for each person going in. My father gave him another forty five cents for all of us. My father did not watch the movie. Camilo went in first to count nine chairs and then the rest of us followed him with Pedro at the end of the aisle. My dad left and he was back like in 10 minutes with popcorn and a jar with ice cold lemonade with one glass. He whispered something to Pedro, he motioned all of us to stay seated and left. I do not know how long my father must have saved and scrimped money for the treat of going to the movies we enjoyed that day.

When the theater was full a man came out on the platform and said, If you see something that frightens you just cover your eyes, hear and listen. But do not look. If you walk out before the movie finishes, we will not give you your money back. This was the original King Kong 1933 film. The lights went out and every one became quiet for the beginning of the movie. This movie came to San Antonio sometime between 1940 - 1943.

You can imagine the excitement, the joy and the feeling of camaraderie amongst all children, the teenagers and adults with the anticipation of fear and the expectation of the unknown that was about to flash on the big screen. The movie was worth every penny. Everyone was clapping, whistling and screaming when the lights came on. No one asked for their nickel back. The adrenaline that worked up in the theater could have blown off the roof. And the awakening of the sense of survival in the audience was beyond comparison. Plus the fact that we the people of San Antonio saw a glimpse of how the people of New York were living. We had never seen New York or how they lived there, we were in awe. When we left the theater my father was standing on the curb and walked us home. My father had a deep sense of responsibility towards his family. He did not depend on his sons to take care of his daughters.

My dad took us to the movies once a month to other theaters which included the State Theater and the Empire Theater. They had cowboy movies with Gene Autry, the Durango kid and Tom Mix, Lon Chaney, Bella Lugosi and Boris Karloff. The National Theater was always showing Cantinflas, Tin-Tan, Jorge Negrete, Pedro Infante and Maria Felix. The Zaragoza was mostly vaudeville, Don Chame, La Chata Noleska, Mateo Camargo, Lydia Mendoza and Beatriz, La Paloma del Norte.

Prior to the Japanese war we had many good times. Camilo, Pedro and Inez already had part time jobs. And Tomas and Gonzalo were selling news papers on the street corners of down town San Antonio or doing shoe shine work on the corners of Houston and Commerce St. Alicia and Marta were still cleaning houses and running errands for the Anglo ladies on Kingsbury and S. Flores St. Seven days a week in the afternoon they went to clean their homes and were paid twenty five cents a week.

The ladies were generous and would give them discarded clothing. My father was still working for the WPA, making candies and gambling for nickels and dimes. My father smoked all the time, but we never saw him drink. My father’s words were, Men that drink develop the habit and become abusive with their wives and children. My father was a hard working man and always kind hearted. In comparison, my mother was less emotional but also a hard worker. My mother was doing all her chores and her hands were full with nine children. She would wash every day by hand, her hands were forever inside those wash tubs; washing, wringing and rinsing. She was always hanging all our clothes on the lines like all the other women in the neighborhood.

Eva and I would always sit on the steps and play with our nature toys. My mother showed us how to trap pigeons using a box, a stick and a long string. She made us be very quiet and explained the pigeons would not come down if you are moving or talking. She started buying baby chickens and kept us busy with that. We would give them chicken feed, water and hold them. We talked to them and played with the baby chickens.

If there was no money for movies we would play ball, horse shoes, coin on the line, marbles or go skating. My brother would open up the ball bearing skates and convert them into scooters. My mother always kept us very occupied so we would not stray away from her or get in trouble.

Dona Juana and her crippled brother lived next to us. We did not know what was wrong with him but he was completely bedridden. She received a monthly check from the railroad and lived a better life than anyone on the block. She had a radio, electricity and a chest for ice that she shared with the neighborhood for left over meals. We could store our food in her ice box. She had a huge ice box where the block of ice was held in the mid compartment, which in turn cooled the other two compartments. We could store our food in the bottom and the top compartments.

Dona Juana was so obese she could not walk down the steps. Everything outside her house was done by the younger, healthier men and women on that block. Like running her errands, cleaning the yard, cutting wood for her stove, sweeping rooms, hauling ashes out of the stove, connecting the rubber hose back on the ice chest to drain the water outside. The neighbors did all these things for Dona Juana because she was very generous with the things that she had that we could not afford.

My sister Marta would always trim Dona Juana & her brother’s finger nails and their toe nails. Marta later became a licensed beautician. My mother would stand by her side to coach her. My mother was in menopause and her hands shook too much, thus she did not risk doing the crippled brother’s whiskers (mustache ).

We were still surviving from the pecan grove on both sides of the Cameron Creek. The pecans were a source of sustenance and income. We were assigned one cup of shelled pecans before we could go next door to Dona Juana’s house to listen to the radio. Everyone came in quickly and quietly and her brother would tell her to turn the radio on. We would listen to the big band music, commercials, Joe Lewis fights, news and everything that was available.

The news of the Pearl Harbor and the Japanese war came over the radio. It was a shock to all the people that were in her room listening to the radio that night, as those kinds of conversations were generally around the down town area and for men. It was shocking news in a town the size of San Antonio and we were not prepared. As far as I know and remember, everything was radio, telegram and very few phones. Dona Juana’s brother told her to turn off the radio and then told us to go home and pray.

My brother Camilo was already working for the Big Red bottling company on Martin St. This was their first location in San Antonio. I don’t know how long it was after the news on the radio, that my brother came home and informed my mother he had volunteered to enlist in the Army. When he told her the news I could see the sadness in her eyes. He went over and hugged her. My mother was a very strong, stern, honest and hard working woman. And she never cried. She called me over to her and sat on the edge of the bed and held me real tight. I kissed her on the shoulder. Little did Camilo and my mother know what was to follow. We were at war with Japan. But my mother was heading for a war of her own. And no one was going to be able to help her, except herself.

If you are a curious child it is amazing how much you can pick up even if you don’t understand the language just from tone of voice, body language and facial expressions and surroundings. People give you a lot of information without you asking for it. All you need to do is be quiet and observe. Learning to be quiet was forced on me by my mother. She could tell me what to do with her eyes. She would meet someone that was like her up ahead.

Like in all families with different languages you learn the language you hear. When I started elementary I could converse with anyone in Spanish and also understand it and speak it 80 percent correctly. As busy as my mother was she taught us to read and write simple phrases in Spanish and she was right, the time had come to put this skill to use. Her children would have to write to her in Spanish and she would have to write back to them.

It is sad that for a mother losing your children can take so much out of your sanity, your soul and your life. If you poll the world, 95 percent of women would probably want to die first (before their children), no matter what the problems are in the family or how dysfunctional.

I found out later my mother and father had buried three of my siblings in El Paso, Texas. My parents were married there on January 25th 1920. Florentine, Reynaldo and Maria had been left behind (buried) in El Paso, Texas. My mother left El Paso the summer of 1928 already pregnant with Tomas. She came to San Antonio in the company of her two brothers, Marcelino and Enrique. She left her grief behind with my father’s promise that he would come as soon as he could. My father arrived in San Antonio in February 1929. Tomas was born March 2, 1929. Although my father brought with him money from all the assets he sold, his money went quickly with so many children and the struggle for work when the stock market crashed in October 1929. For me I feel that was the gray time for my father.

My mothers’ gray time was when she chose to follow her family to San Antonio. We all make mistakes and she realized much later she had not escaped her fate. She was running from the memory of the three children she buried. She had given up the security and the better kind of life they enjoyed in El Paso as well. In San Antonio, she would face poverty and laborious work like she had never done before though her family was here. My father’s family remained in El Paso. Martina, my paternal grandmother, held the reins in her hands very tight and she and her other three sons would not follow my father to San Antonio. Why should they? Because of my father’s efforts and connections they were well set up. He helped them to start up businesses.

When my parents were in El Paso, Martina took all the brunt and helped my mother tremendously. My mother was forever pregnant; she had nine children in nine years. Of course she needed help, and Martina did it all. Martina loved being a grandmother to all those baby boys and she pampered my mother to no end. Running out into the street, with a baby in her arms, whenever my mother would crave something to eat or drink. And then my mother wanted to leave. Bad mistake.

The dark was when my father tried so hard to establish himself as a business man and go into business for himself in San Antonio only to meet much opposition. In El Paso, he had liquor stores on both the U.S. and Mexican sides of the border that were run by his brothers. He was very active himself with his horse and buggy ‘chauffeur’ service. He crossed the border shuttling people back and forth everyday for pay. He did this every day of his life in El Paso. In the early 1913’s when he started the buggy chauffeur business in El Paso, one could not say a Mexican man and an Anglo man were friends. But my father worked daily with the Deputy Marshall in the County of El Paso, Deputy Marshall, J. Hill. Maybe they weren’t friends but they worked together daily and had developed a sense of trust with each other. Marshal J. Hill was trying to protect the city and the county of El Paso and at the same time he was trying to help the city grow businesswise. He had to act as business man and real estate agent for the development of El Paso. He would rely on my father to take white people across the bridge and back to the U.S. daily. My father did this daily for fourteen years. During spring and summer there were massive wind storms and in the winter it was icy cold. There were more Anglo people coming into El Paso during the spring, summer, and autumn, than in the winter. It was early in the century and travel was difficult in the winter.

Even during the coldest wintry nights my fathers’ horse and buggy would be parked there in front of the Hotel Plaza. He would cover his horse as best he could and be in and out of the hotel lobby trying to pick up fares. He told me how bad the dark skies were and the massive howling of the wind. It was as if it was trying to tell you something. He mentioned how looking up at the dark sky you could see the stars making so many movements. He said, It’s spooky to look up into the dark sky and see some things moving about, you close your eyes and shake your head and look again and accept it but you cannot understand it

During the wintery seasons in El Paso, my father still made money, even though there were not too many tourists. He made money because he learned how to play cards and dominoes with deputy J. Hill. He would play on the Mexican side and make money with his cards and domino playing in the red light district in Juarez. The area was known as La Calle del Zumbido. This was the buzzing area of all kinds of entertainment in Juarez for anyone who had money.

For my father 1929 was the darkest year of his lifetime. He was not allowed to open a horse and buggy chauffeur service here in San Antonio. He was not allowed to open a liquor store here in San Antonio. He felt he was being discriminated against here in San Antonio, something he never once felt or experienced in El Paso, Texas. He tried several times to get a permit for his horse and buggy business and was repeatedly told no. My uncle Henry (Enrique) lived across from Santa Rosa Hospital and tried to help my father get his permit to open his business in that vicinity which was predominately Hispanic. He wanted a permit to sell beer and liquor. He was told no. He attributed this to the fact that he was a Mexican National with a green card. He had a character reference from deputy J. Hill but that did not help him. He felt humiliated and low, as if they were backing him into a corner and not allowing him to make a living for his family with the things he knew how to do.

My father ended up having to use all of his gold coins he had brought from El Paso, which he had earned. He actually lost more than half the value of his gold coins in order to barter for the food and clothes that we needed. No telling how many coins he used so we could continue to survive. He took many odd jobs in the downtown area so he could stay close to home and his in-laws. My father always believed the Anglo people of San Antonio at that time were still carrying a grudge over the battle of the Alamo and Mexican Nationals even if they were here legally.

The black time for my parents came when Camilo became very sick shortly before he was supposed to report for service in the Army. Before my mother knew it he was in the hospital with double pneumonia. Camilo did not want to stay in the hospital. The hospital would bathe him with ice water for the fever. He did not like that. He kept saying he was leaving for the Army. He wanted my mother to take him home so he could get well at home. He felt he would get better at home and then would be able to go into the service.

My mother made a fatal mistake. She gave in to his wishes and brought him home. She tried all kinds of remedies on him to no avail. She would sit next to him for hours with a rosary in her hand praying and changing his clothes. People were coming in and out to see him and bring us food. I stood by her chair with my arms on her knees. It was always gray and dark in those rooms. She never opened the doors. Camilo was asleep most of the time and getting weaker.

Everyone else in the family was doing for themselves, my mother had stopped cooking. My father would take milk, coffee, bread and water to the bed side for both of them. In as far as making any requests of my mother, concerning Camilo, my father would not interfere. My mother would try to feed him and keep him drinking fluids. Camilo did not want to eat anymore. My father would leave for work and come back with groceries.

I don’t think she realized he was dying. And when he did, she took it really hard. She never cried before or after Camilo’s death. After that she was always dressed in black. She was sad, bitter and confused. Everyone eventually started to go on with their daily life except her and me. She kept me from school, doing her chores and with me next to her. My father and mother began to argue more and more after Camilo’s death. I could hear them when my siblings were in school.

When Camilo died my mother was hysterical and she blamed his girlfriend, Sherri. Sherri was a girl who went to high school with Camilo and they were dating. All the kids in the neighborhood would go to Medina Lake to picnic and swim. One weekend when Camilo had to work at the Big Red plant, he and Pedro did not go to Medina Lake. Pedro had found a job at a tire shop and that’s why they couldn’t go to the lake.

That weekend when they did not go a terrible tragedy happened. Sherri drowned while swimming in Medina Lake. This news was very hard for Camilo and was a contributing factor for his wanting to go into the Service, to get away. Sherri was his first love. When Camilo passed away, my mother in her moments of sadness and depression would blame Sherri for his death. My mother believed Sherri came back to take him. She would tell my father that she heard Camilo’s