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| IRENE GARZA QUE EN PAZ DESCANSES, por fin __________ |
There shall never be enough justice for Irene....she was a complicated, very competent, beautiful, very very intelligent girl (I am 70 and can say "girl" and "boy" if I wish). I knew her from a very far distance. My eldest brother Milton (Chico) knew her as a classmate, a fellow member of the McHI marching and stage band, of the Thespian Club, and other school groups.
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| Dr. Milton Birchard Newton Ph.d with daughter Helen, around 1969, more or less. Helen is the Niece of El Gringo Viejo and his boss, Diana. |
My mother, and Mrs. Lucille Hendricks, and Mrs. Helene Kreigh, heard the news and were crushed....it was time for the dark glasses, literally. They went to render their sympathy and solidarity. The Garzas were almost like zombies, as were we all.
The Butch Chastain death (1957), the deaths of Pat Higgins and Dickie Reynolds in the wreck on the levee bridge south of town (1959), and the the Irene thing (1960), it was as if there was a horrid black cloud hanging over the City of Palms.
I remember to this day when a gaggle of beautiful Latin girls came out to our place...on what is now on Nolana...about 100 yards east from 336 (10th Street). They were in an Oldsmobile Convertible...and completely made-up, flounced, and petticoated..coiffed and correct...giggling and so forth, and they wanted to see my brother Milton.
That, as a child of 6 or 7 years, was as close as I ever came to that remarkable young woman. I was the one the girls sent to find my brother. He came out in Wellingtons, dirty Levis, and a T-shirt and a farmer's straw hat. You can imagine how he might have reacted, but he waded bravely in and entertained the "girls". He was just turned 17 years of age at that time.
They spent about an hour at the house, (probably much more, but I truly do not wish to exaggerate to any degree) because they checked out our canal and bamboo stands. That being the case it must have been a Saturday. I remember that Irene sat on the far right side of the rear-seat of the Oldsmobile, and she did all (or most) of the talking. She was easily recognisable, because she was the drum major of the McHI Varsity Band...everyone knew her and her very noble family.
I probably looked like a typical rural hick, barefooted, mouth agape at the presence of these Spanish / Mexican princesses, especially Irene who was very, very much a Local Star. My mother received the girls with some quickly (home-made) iced lemonade, and our governess (or maid if you wish) was very aloof towards the younger girls because she knew that they were violating...or edging towards violating...certain social norms.
So Guadalupe Gonzalez, Otomi' Indian from Cholula, Puebla had the opportunity to "raise her nose" and be curt with the "privileged, white, Latin girls", but she attended them well, as did my mother (Guadalupe Gonzalez is her own story, perhaps soon we can write about her). Milton spun some tales...probably true tales...I feel as though it was during the cotton harvest time. All of the girls looked like angels and smelled like Heaven.
Little did we know, that by the time 7 more years would pass, McAllen would be in emotional ruin and Irene would be in Heaven...because of that bastard Fiet.
Hell hath no cellar deep enough.
El Gringo Viejo
The Butch Chastain death (1957), the deaths of Pat Higgins and Dickie Reynolds in the wreck on the levee bridge south of town (1959), and the the Irene thing (1960), it was as if there was a horrid black cloud hanging over the City of Palms.
I remember to this day when a gaggle of beautiful Latin girls came out to our place...on what is now on Nolana...about 100 yards east from 336 (10th Street). They were in an Oldsmobile Convertible...and completely made-up, flounced, and petticoated..coiffed and correct...giggling and so forth, and they wanted to see my brother Milton.
That, as a child of 6 or 7 years, was as close as I ever came to that remarkable young woman. I was the one the girls sent to find my brother. He came out in Wellingtons, dirty Levis, and a T-shirt and a farmer's straw hat. You can imagine how he might have reacted, but he waded bravely in and entertained the "girls". He was just turned 17 years of age at that time.
They spent about an hour at the house, (probably much more, but I truly do not wish to exaggerate to any degree) because they checked out our canal and bamboo stands. That being the case it must have been a Saturday. I remember that Irene sat on the far right side of the rear-seat of the Oldsmobile, and she did all (or most) of the talking. She was easily recognisable, because she was the drum major of the McHI Varsity Band...everyone knew her and her very noble family.
I probably looked like a typical rural hick, barefooted, mouth agape at the presence of these Spanish / Mexican princesses, especially Irene who was very, very much a Local Star. My mother received the girls with some quickly (home-made) iced lemonade, and our governess (or maid if you wish) was very aloof towards the younger girls because she knew that they were violating...or edging towards violating...certain social norms.
So Guadalupe Gonzalez, Otomi' Indian from Cholula, Puebla had the opportunity to "raise her nose" and be curt with the "privileged, white, Latin girls", but she attended them well, as did my mother (Guadalupe Gonzalez is her own story, perhaps soon we can write about her). Milton spun some tales...probably true tales...I feel as though it was during the cotton harvest time. All of the girls looked like angels and smelled like Heaven.
Little did we know, that by the time 7 more years would pass, McAllen would be in emotional ruin and Irene would be in Heaven...because of that bastard Fiet.
Hell hath no cellar deep enough.
El Gringo Viejo
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