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This is a relatively simple story. It is something with which I lived but did not realise until very, very recently. Many folks and followers of this somewhat helter-skelter account of my life and my understandings, interpretations, and experiences know that we are apt to paint in broad strokes at one moment and then suddenly revert to fine brush detail, figuratively speaking. Only my mother was a painter…my oldest brother was a pen and ink artist extraordinaire. I am a dilettante of a sort.
Most of the OROGs (Order of Readers of the Old Gringo) who follow this screed are aware that my father was born in Gwinner, Sargent County, North Dakota because he had to be close to his mother at a time such as that. That blessed event occurred 117 years ago. The family then consisted of a successful wheat farmer aged 50, his new wife aged 40, and a boy-baby less than a year old.
The wife had a father who was associated with the Washburn - Christian Mills in Minneapolis, Minnesota who was an industrialist tinkerer, somewhat under the auspices of that concern. He was an experimenter, a kind of industrial spy and negotiator, and a student of modernity, progress, and improvement. He had travelled to Europe, studying their techniques of farming and their industrial implements and their elaboration as well as maintenance. He also studied the processes of processing, refining, distilling, preserving, and transporting farm products, both perishable and storable.
This nouveaux Renaissance Man was, like his great-grandson, something of a cross between a spontaneous, impulsive actor and a deliberating, calculating thinker. Not quite manic-depressive to be sure, but one who could lead his fellows into exasperation, I am sure. His next to last folly and success was the purchase of a relatively large hacienda (plantation) in a rural place in Vera Cruz State in easternmost Mexico. He, along with his daughter (my grandmother) cared for this plantation in the tropical forests in the highlands west of Tuxpan, about 40 miles from the Gulf of Mexico.
All went well save for one thing. From 1893 through 1900 inclusive, there were three devastating freezes and snow episodes, something unheard of, nor written about, from the time of the arrival of the white man on said soil. The Totonac Indians and the Huastec Indians of the area had no word in their language for snow, for instance. The climate quite normally always gave each year eleven months of steamy days, cool nights with mountain breezes, and two heavy rainy periods, the Spring and the Autumn. Like clockwork and calendar pages.
After the third round of freezes and snows, my great-grandfather had to leave the effort he had begun in the 1880s (somewhere in this mass of papers in my command post, I have abstract and Mexican title, with the date and dimensions). The orchards and plantings of mangos, avocados, citrus, and the like were all destroyed. Money was set aside by the Christian family to pay for several years more to the people such as those very noble servants, workers, and tradesmen who had attended the plantation for the better part of 15 years…according to my father.
This father of mine, who was less than one year old, 117 years ago, spoke only infrequently about his grandfather…or even his father…or his mother. He had no distaste for them, and in fact, seemed to revere them as people a little beyond human. He, as a late and only progeny, was terribly, terribly spoiled. For instance, at the age of 10 he had a 60 pound pet male racoon that he had raised from a pup…and who slept in his room in the fancy house on the edge of Ed Couch, Texas. His toys, were we to have them to-day, would bring a Duke's ransom.
The family had moved down to the very frontier of Texas, adjacent to the Rio Grande and the northeastern-most part of Mexico during the mid-19teens. There they established a farm with row cropping and citrus orchards and irrigation. All of this was done in concert with the presence of Peter Bonesteel Christian who had moved into that area some ten or twelve years before. He had, by hook and telegraph, managed to coax his daughter and son-in-law to come down to the violent, crazy, hell-hole, combat zone of Hidalgo County, Texas during those years of social and military upheaval of the Mexican Revolution, to grow 300 pound cantaloupe and 10 - pound oranges while baling 15 bales / acre of Egypt-grade cotton. To be sure, Peter Bonesteel Christian could spin a good tale even in his dotage…and frequently the tales were accurate.
For several years, the Newton family did well, prospering and suffering a major setback when their first home burned to the ground in 1918, only a couple of years after its construction. Thankfully, much was salvaged because much of their "stuff" was still stored in the train warehouse in Weslaco, 8 miles to the South. The house was rebuilt, and life began and ended during a pleasant 10 year sojourn, terminated by a fairly sudden set of reversals.
First was the Crash of 1929, when thousands of banks throughout the nation, large and small, collapsed. My grandfather had been taking rental payments from people using the North Dakota property to plant wheat. Then suddenly they stopped paying…my grandfather had trouble scraping up anything due to crop prices collapsing and his "trust account" having been evaporated. As it turned out, corrupt personalities in North Dakota played a trick, common to thieves, of having the property declared in arrears for tax reasons, and then having a "quick call" Sheriff's auction.
In this procedure, some dolt is selected from the community, and that dolt will be given a relatively large sum of money to bid on the auction. Then, by previous arrangement, the dolt will win the auction and the title transferred to him. After a respectable period (30 days or so), the dolt will sell the property for some token price, and then the shysters will make off with their property and "legal title".
From 2,000 miles away, in 1929 or so, my grandfather already in declining health, could not fend for himself truly…and they simply lost everything. My grandmother was also in ill health, and her condition was declining. It was a tale that was repeated throughout much of the United States, starting in 1928 and proceeding through 1936 or so. Things did not improve much, oddly enough, until World War II began.
My father noticed this reversal of family prosperity during his last year in high school in Edinburg, Texas…and this is where the story begins to end…although there are many stories in the future that will fill in the before this and many other tales are told.
In those years, a student ended his high school at the 11th grade. My father, as I, finished the six grades of primary in five years, and he graduated from secondary a little early, and began studies at the new Pan American Junior College, in Edinburg, Texas…the County Seat of Hidalgo County by that time.
One of the last small luxuries the family had was that my father could drive and they still had a fairly new motorcar. Since Ed Couch was about 15 miles (a considerable distance in those years) from Edinburg, this allowed my father to pick up a few hours of collegiate study at the new school, not far from where he had attended high school (2 blocks).
So, early in 1929, with a high school diploma and a few college hours under his belt, he decided to "save
his family" and he took the Southern Pacific daily to San Antonio and reported to the induction centre next to Fort Sam Houston and volunteered to serve in the Army.
This was a prize for the recruiter because in those years very few candidates had a high school diploma and a bit of college. His scores were good and he was fit according to the military saw-bones. An ominous question ended the analysis of the applicant's qualification to join the service, and that was, "Are you allergic to horses or farm animals?"
He answered "No." and thought nothing more of it. He then had to hang around in a San Antonio for three or four days, for swearing in, date of induction instructions, and some paperwork. He had the opportunity in the "Big City" to stop in at an "Abraham Lincoln Brigade" organising rally…and so he received a good dose of what a real, live Bolshevik / Communist recruiting operation looked like. Little did he know that he would be having more active involvement in a more direct way with such people in a few months.
After the processing work, he was given a War Department voucher and taken back to the nearby train station, and he returned to Edinburg's train station. He returned to his home, informed his parents that he was in the Army now, and would be returning in 30 days to formalise everything and receive training.
It should suffice to say that my father did well enough in the service. The only problem was that it was in the mounted cavalry. And, to add insult to injury, he was returned to his home area, because he was a sharp kid, and because he could speak, read, and write Spanish. He was assigned to the Headquarters Squadron of the 1st Cavalry Division (Mounted), 12th Regiment. His position was something akin to what is now known as OCS (Officers' Training School), which back then was very much akin to OJT (On the Job Training) in civilian life.
For several years, the Newton family did well, prospering and suffering a major setback when their first home burned to the ground in 1918, only a couple of years after its construction. Thankfully, much was salvaged because much of their "stuff" was still stored in the train warehouse in Weslaco, 8 miles to the South. The house was rebuilt, and life began and ended during a pleasant 10 year sojourn, terminated by a fairly sudden set of reversals.
First was the Crash of 1929, when thousands of banks throughout the nation, large and small, collapsed. My grandfather had been taking rental payments from people using the North Dakota property to plant wheat. Then suddenly they stopped paying…my grandfather had trouble scraping up anything due to crop prices collapsing and his "trust account" having been evaporated. As it turned out, corrupt personalities in North Dakota played a trick, common to thieves, of having the property declared in arrears for tax reasons, and then having a "quick call" Sheriff's auction.
In this procedure, some dolt is selected from the community, and that dolt will be given a relatively large sum of money to bid on the auction. Then, by previous arrangement, the dolt will win the auction and the title transferred to him. After a respectable period (30 days or so), the dolt will sell the property for some token price, and then the shysters will make off with their property and "legal title".
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| The 1925 Hidalgo County Courthouse Edinburg, Texas _________________________________ |
My father noticed this reversal of family prosperity during his last year in high school in Edinburg, Texas…and this is where the story begins to end…although there are many stories in the future that will fill in the before this and many other tales are told.
In those years, a student ended his high school at the 11th grade. My father, as I, finished the six grades of primary in five years, and he graduated from secondary a little early, and began studies at the new Pan American Junior College, in Edinburg, Texas…the County Seat of Hidalgo County by that time.
One of the last small luxuries the family had was that my father could drive and they still had a fairly new motorcar. Since Ed Couch was about 15 miles (a considerable distance in those years) from Edinburg, this allowed my father to pick up a few hours of collegiate study at the new school, not far from where he had attended high school (2 blocks).
So, early in 1929, with a high school diploma and a few college hours under his belt, he decided to "save
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| A Locomotive of the Period - served from 1909 until 1936 ______________________________________ |
This was a prize for the recruiter because in those years very few candidates had a high school diploma and a bit of college. His scores were good and he was fit according to the military saw-bones. An ominous question ended the analysis of the applicant's qualification to join the service, and that was, "Are you allergic to horses or farm animals?"
He answered "No." and thought nothing more of it. He then had to hang around in a San Antonio for three or four days, for swearing in, date of induction instructions, and some paperwork. He had the opportunity in the "Big City" to stop in at an "Abraham Lincoln Brigade" organising rally…and so he received a good dose of what a real, live Bolshevik / Communist recruiting operation looked like. Little did he know that he would be having more active involvement in a more direct way with such people in a few months.
After the processing work, he was given a War Department voucher and taken back to the nearby train station, and he returned to Edinburg's train station. He returned to his home, informed his parents that he was in the Army now, and would be returning in 30 days to formalise everything and receive training.
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| Above, as stated, is the first passenger train to make it from Brownsville to Rio Grande City. My father rode it once, late in his service, in the "Command Car" with the General and his staff. My father was the lowest ranking officer on board that car…but at least he was there!! The engine depicted in the next image up was more like what took him to San Antonio to join the Army as well as the one that he took "with the General". |
He served from sometime during mid - 1929 through the mid - 1934, essentially doing frontier patrol on the Rio Grande, mainly between San Ygancio, Texas, and Fort Ringgold - Rio Grande City, and Fort Brown - Brownsville. He had various encounters, similar to to-day's ups and downs, but those are stories for another time.
What becomes important is that he marries around the time of his enlistment finishing up. He has lost his grandfather, father, and mother, and is preparing to go out into the real world, out of uniform, and into the Depression, into civilian life, with nothing to serve him but his wits and his life experience. He had some understanding of agricultural processes and agri-mechanics and so forth, and he had a wad of money from his time in the Army, because he had spent little or nothing while serving. He is 23 years old.
He did a little "field supervision" for large growers who knew him and his family and his wife's family at first, and then noticed that almost all the draft animals were gone and mechanisation was now almost universal. He begins to…how is it said?…network with the various farm and ranch personalities, all of whom learn fairly quickly that my father is deft and adept in dealing with what is perhaps the most valuable element standing on all these properties, and that is the semi-legal, and legal Mexican citizen who is looking for work in Texas.
While these folks were a long way from home, they adapted to conditions well, learned quickly, and thought that a workday was from sun-up until sun-down, or "whatever it took". My father and mother also delivered mail, mailers, and newspapers, they also began thinking about a future involving their own agricultural business. The year 1936 came and the stork was in flight, arriving in early May at the Edinburg Hospital…which was fortunate there because it was a fairly regular SRS (Stork Resting Station) for some reason. In this case, he brought my eldest brother Milton Birchard, Jr.
My father began including a wider and wider network in his activity, both social and professional. He happened to make an impression finally on a gaggle of men who were involved in a contest with various other investors, growers, and processors. He began to be given social responsibility such as forming up and guiding the local Boy Scouts of America Troop in Edinburg, and helping, while being paid, with the Pan American Tennis Team, which had developed quite a nationwide impression almost overnight.
My mother felt as though my father was burning the candle at all six ends, and puffed up a bit about it…but in the main she knew something positive was in the future and continued to help on all fronts. Although shy, my mother was also very active in church matters, along with various service clubs. She employed a maid who became essentially the Directora General of the domestic situation…although my mother excelled in cooking, sewing, painting, and gardening. She and Guadalupe Gonzales Gonzales never had a cross word in 30 years of interaction. Guadalupe (Lupe) worked four days on and three days off the entire time.
In any regard, one day a man came from on high and asked my father if had ever thought about going into the citrus business in a serious way. My father had been doing some grove care work and supervision, and although it was hard work, it was rewarding, to his way of thinking. This man decided to "domesticate" my father and offered him a set of alternatives, and suggested that it would be a good idea to talk it over with the wife and his crew of Mexicans (which my father said later that he had never seen those men as "his" crew). He saw them as "associates" and friends, and to him it seemed that they were all "Keepers" (excellent workers)".
So, my father went and talked to my mother. She said she was tired of him going out to take rich kids on hikes with their cute little uniforms when there were bigger fish to fry (…or something to that effect). So my father went back to this possible benefactor and said that he would like to take plan "A".
Plan "A" meant accepting a loan for the purchase of a tract of land north of McAllen, Texas of some 20 acres, with the mineral rights and legal work. That act would cost a little more than 5,000 dollars (remember, that was in 1939). It would also require about 5,000 dollars for the purchase of four late model, used John Deere tractors. They were jewels., and each served until the end of the time that we were in the business.
There were many other things to be bought, like a house and pickups and trailers, and equipment, and attachments for the tractors, lodging for the Mexican workers, and on and on. In all, the financing would come up to around 55,000 dollars which was a preposterously huge sum.
The experience with my grandfather caused pause, so to speak, with both my father and my mother…as well as my other grandfather and grandmother, who were adamant about the ills of doing business with Yankee bankers. They pointed out what had happened to "everyone in the South after the War" and they knew what had happened when my other grandfather could not pay off a bank note with a minuscule remainder (2 payments of 60), and was foreclosed of all his property in Ed Couch, due to a Bully Banker with deep political connections.
But my father was willing to take charge and, as stated above, jump off the cliff, assuming massive debt but knowing inside that he had the mettle to rise to the peak of the mountain. Supposedly my mother said one time to her mother, "Mom, if he can ride a warhorse at full gallop and hit a target with a Krag and Jorgensen carbine at 50 yards, he might can do anything." That, of course, was in reference to his service in the Mounted Cavalry just a few short years before.
To make a very long tale just a short as possible, and to save a whole lot of stuff for a later time, we shall move on to the climax. During the earlier times just after the beginning of this article we pointed out that my grandparents had moved down to the Lower Rio Grande Valley and bought property for a farming operation. It was a considerable purchase, perhaps 320 acres. All the while, a just slightly before, another individual came down to the Lower Rio Grande Valley and bought a bit of land…about 130 acres…near the newly founded town of Mission, Texas…about 35 miles from the town of Ed Couch, which is east of Mission.
This other arrival was also active in the citrus and nut production business and was disposed to begin a retirement regimen where snow and cold would not hold sway for large portions of any given year. This was, of course, the Great Commoner, William Jennings Bryan, the populist Democrat speaker, politician, and philosophical guide to the saner part of the Progressive movement.
In three runs for the Presidency of the United States, William carried almost every Southern State each time…and in the case of Texas, oddly enough, he carried it all three times.
In any regard, in 1909 he established a home just north of Mission by about two miles and began to become active in the burgeoning agricultural industry. The main movers and shakers were mainly into the infrastructure, such as the business of putting irrigation systems into place, levelling farmland, developing regimens of planting this, that, and the other crops. These fellows were actually glad to have Bryan in the area because even people who did not vote for him liked him anyway, and he was a good draw to attract land buyer and investors.
So, William Jennings actually intended to finally settle down and make money passively, while engaging in political debates by editorials and exchanges of letters. But, alas for him, such was not to be. A man nowhere near his moral or intellectual equal, Woodrow Wilson, called upon Bryan to serve as his Secretary of State, and Bryan somewhat reluctantly, but with aplomb and resolution picked up and moved, selling his really nice, new home and rendering up his orchards and groves of fruits and nuts to the market. It is said that he always regretted the act of leaving the "Magic Lower Rio Grande Valley".
Bryan, in my opinion, served Wilson well, but Wilson did not serve Bryan well…and clashes with the really spooky "Colonel House", Wilson's closest advisor had a steady negative effect on on Bryan. You all know I am telling the truth, because Bryan was certainly not my philosophical or political cup of tea, to say the least. But he was, like your humble servant, a person with considerable Confederate appeal, and unlike Wilson, was also a believer in the future of the Negro as a fully integrated, accomplished member of the American civilisation. Wilson was a bigoted nut-case liberal Progressive who still had notions of shipping all Negroes back to Africa…or worse.
In any regard, now you will know the rest of the story. For several years our family lived just off Bryan Road by one lot, a principal street in near-downtown Mission, Texas. My male child spent a year or two at the elementary school named for Bryan, which is of course on Bryan Road about 8 blocks from where my son lived…(along with his sister, mother, and El Gringo Viejo).
So, for all these years of my life I did not know until yesterday that the man who bought the Bryan house when Bryan was called to serve President Wilson was the very same Owen Councils, the banker who backed my father in the establishment of the business of his life.
So, the song, "Shall the Circle, Be Unbroken" keeps going around in circles. You all should also know, my father paid off everything ahead of schedule in spite of terrible climate problems in the late 1940s and early 1950s (droughts and freezes). He began a career in teaching at the secondary level. He also taught at the school where he took his first college hours, but by that time it had become a "university". He also completed a curriculum that led to a kind of doctorate in administration of facilities for the mentally disabled.
He ended his professional career as the Superintendent of the Texas State School for the Mentally Retarded. He brought many low-keyed reforms to that facility, which remains the largest of many such facilities in the Republic of Texas. The staff literally wept both when he retired and when the died in 1983.
Now you know what a long-winded Texian can do when it's too cold to bait a hook. More later, and we certainly appreciate your time and attention.
EL GRINGO VIEJO
My mother felt as though my father was burning the candle at all six ends, and puffed up a bit about it…but in the main she knew something positive was in the future and continued to help on all fronts. Although shy, my mother was also very active in church matters, along with various service clubs. She employed a maid who became essentially the Directora General of the domestic situation…although my mother excelled in cooking, sewing, painting, and gardening. She and Guadalupe Gonzales Gonzales never had a cross word in 30 years of interaction. Guadalupe (Lupe) worked four days on and three days off the entire time.
In any regard, one day a man came from on high and asked my father if had ever thought about going into the citrus business in a serious way. My father had been doing some grove care work and supervision, and although it was hard work, it was rewarding, to his way of thinking. This man decided to "domesticate" my father and offered him a set of alternatives, and suggested that it would be a good idea to talk it over with the wife and his crew of Mexicans (which my father said later that he had never seen those men as "his" crew). He saw them as "associates" and friends, and to him it seemed that they were all "Keepers" (excellent workers)".
So, my father went and talked to my mother. She said she was tired of him going out to take rich kids on hikes with their cute little uniforms when there were bigger fish to fry (…or something to that effect). So my father went back to this possible benefactor and said that he would like to take plan "A".
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| This is a picture of the type of tractor for which my father jumped off the cliff. It is a 1935 model B John Deere, of which four were purchased, all used, reconditioned, and guaranteed by the seller. |
There were many other things to be bought, like a house and pickups and trailers, and equipment, and attachments for the tractors, lodging for the Mexican workers, and on and on. In all, the financing would come up to around 55,000 dollars which was a preposterously huge sum.
The experience with my grandfather caused pause, so to speak, with both my father and my mother…as well as my other grandfather and grandmother, who were adamant about the ills of doing business with Yankee bankers. They pointed out what had happened to "everyone in the South after the War" and they knew what had happened when my other grandfather could not pay off a bank note with a minuscule remainder (2 payments of 60), and was foreclosed of all his property in Ed Couch, due to a Bully Banker with deep political connections.
But my father was willing to take charge and, as stated above, jump off the cliff, assuming massive debt but knowing inside that he had the mettle to rise to the peak of the mountain. Supposedly my mother said one time to her mother, "Mom, if he can ride a warhorse at full gallop and hit a target with a Krag and Jorgensen carbine at 50 yards, he might can do anything." That, of course, was in reference to his service in the Mounted Cavalry just a few short years before.
To make a very long tale just a short as possible, and to save a whole lot of stuff for a later time, we shall move on to the climax. During the earlier times just after the beginning of this article we pointed out that my grandparents had moved down to the Lower Rio Grande Valley and bought property for a farming operation. It was a considerable purchase, perhaps 320 acres. All the while, a just slightly before, another individual came down to the Lower Rio Grande Valley and bought a bit of land…about 130 acres…near the newly founded town of Mission, Texas…about 35 miles from the town of Ed Couch, which is east of Mission.
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| It would probably dismay Ted Cruz to see how similar at the same age, he and William Jennings Bryan appear, at roughly the same age. _________________________ |
In three runs for the Presidency of the United States, William carried almost every Southern State each time…and in the case of Texas, oddly enough, he carried it all three times.
In any regard, in 1909 he established a home just north of Mission by about two miles and began to become active in the burgeoning agricultural industry. The main movers and shakers were mainly into the infrastructure, such as the business of putting irrigation systems into place, levelling farmland, developing regimens of planting this, that, and the other crops. These fellows were actually glad to have Bryan in the area because even people who did not vote for him liked him anyway, and he was a good draw to attract land buyer and investors.
So, William Jennings actually intended to finally settle down and make money passively, while engaging in political debates by editorials and exchanges of letters. But, alas for him, such was not to be. A man nowhere near his moral or intellectual equal, Woodrow Wilson, called upon Bryan to serve as his Secretary of State, and Bryan somewhat reluctantly, but with aplomb and resolution picked up and moved, selling his really nice, new home and rendering up his orchards and groves of fruits and nuts to the market. It is said that he always regretted the act of leaving the "Magic Lower Rio Grande Valley".
Bryan, in my opinion, served Wilson well, but Wilson did not serve Bryan well…and clashes with the really spooky "Colonel House", Wilson's closest advisor had a steady negative effect on on Bryan. You all know I am telling the truth, because Bryan was certainly not my philosophical or political cup of tea, to say the least. But he was, like your humble servant, a person with considerable Confederate appeal, and unlike Wilson, was also a believer in the future of the Negro as a fully integrated, accomplished member of the American civilisation. Wilson was a bigoted nut-case liberal Progressive who still had notions of shipping all Negroes back to Africa…or worse.
 |
| This is apparently a wedding, taking place in April of 1919 in the home and obviously on the grounds of the Bryan House a short time after Owen Councils and his family had purchased it. _________________________________________________ |
In any regard, now you will know the rest of the story. For several years our family lived just off Bryan Road by one lot, a principal street in near-downtown Mission, Texas. My male child spent a year or two at the elementary school named for Bryan, which is of course on Bryan Road about 8 blocks from where my son lived…(along with his sister, mother, and El Gringo Viejo).
 |
| A relatively recent photograph of the Bryan House _________________________________ |
So, for all these years of my life I did not know until yesterday that the man who bought the Bryan house when Bryan was called to serve President Wilson was the very same Owen Councils, the banker who backed my father in the establishment of the business of his life.
So, the song, "Shall the Circle, Be Unbroken" keeps going around in circles. You all should also know, my father paid off everything ahead of schedule in spite of terrible climate problems in the late 1940s and early 1950s (droughts and freezes). He began a career in teaching at the secondary level. He also taught at the school where he took his first college hours, but by that time it had become a "university". He also completed a curriculum that led to a kind of doctorate in administration of facilities for the mentally disabled.
He ended his professional career as the Superintendent of the Texas State School for the Mentally Retarded. He brought many low-keyed reforms to that facility, which remains the largest of many such facilities in the Republic of Texas. The staff literally wept both when he retired and when the died in 1983.
Now you know what a long-winded Texian can do when it's too cold to bait a hook. More later, and we certainly appreciate your time and attention.
EL GRINGO VIEJO
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