TEXAS TOWN LEGENDS

A PLACE IN HISTORY

Olga Muñoz Rodríquez

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“Por nuestra cultura hablarán nuestros libros. Our books shall speak for our culture.”

Roberto Cabello-Argandoña and Leyla Namazie, Editors

To Richard, Masiel, Ray, Ben, Sebi, Mia, Jack, and my beloved Ricky in heaven

Tejano Monument at the Texas State Capitol grounds in Austin, Texas. Photo by Rick Patrick.

PART I

SSG Guillermo “Willie” De León’s recorded memories of his hometown, his experiences in World War II, and the friends who went to war with him.

Prologue

In 1991, an intrepid publisher of a small-town bilingual newspaper, Olga Muñoz Rodríquez, received a request to interview World War II veteran Guillermo “Willie” De León. The request came from his friend, Rogelio Luévano, who had grown up in the same west-side barrio in Uvalde, Texas, where Willie lived. Rogelio was amazed at Willie’s stories as a soldier in the war. Because she was living in San Antonio, Texas, at the time and had a full-time job in addition to publishing the monthly newspaper for Uvalde, Texas—some 83 miles away—the publisher did not have the time to interview Willie. Instead, she purchased a tape recorder and cassette tapes and asked Willie to talk to the recorder as if she were there with him. He recorded approximately six hours. She transcribed the tapes and, because he recorded them in Spanish, also translated them to English. Part I of this book is Willie's story based on these recordings. The author converted the tapes to CDs, now available at El Progreso Memorial Library in Uvalde.

Links to films about some of the battles where Willie and his comrades from Company E fought are provided in the Recommended Websites section of this book, offering footage of the battles Willie recalls in his recordings. In one of these films, you can watch as these soldiers begin the tragic crossing of the deadly Rapido River in Italy, where the company was reduced from 186 men to 26; Willie was one of the fortunate men who survived this horrific battle.

Willie’s bilingual Spanish/English narration made the transcription and translation difficult. In our southwest region of Texas, we can be truly bilingual, often forming sentences in both our languages. From one word to the next, we switch between English and Spanish. Then, some words are uniquely Tex-Mex because we tend to conjugate English verbs as in Spanish. To push becomes “pushar.” To be attacked by artillery fire is “nos shelliaron.” There isn’t software out there that can transcribe Willie’s speaking style. Willie was unique, and his conversation needed to be written as he expressed it.

Many books have been written about World War II, but only a few tell the stories of Willie and his friends in this war. Few books tell the story from the perspective of a soldier from a small town in Texas. Willie’s recordings reveal life in Uvalde before and after the war, and through his words and the stories of other Uvalde heroes, generations that follow Willie and the author can look back and see that life is constantly changing and that each one of us can be a catalyst for change.

Willie’s surviving daughters, Delia Musquiz and Velma Román and daughter-in-law Adelfa De León (wife of the late Armando De León) and all their children and grandchildren, through this book, must know how their father and grandfather honorably served his country, how he loved his family and community, and how he wished for us all to help one another as we continue forward.

The term mejicanos is used when writing about Mexican-Americans in the South Texas region. Hispanic is a popular term, but too broad for this book. Mejicanos in Texas know they are Americans in citizenship, but their culture dictates how they call themselves within their families and communities. In the Spanish language, mejicanos is not capitalized.

This book honors all veterans of war, past and present. Willie experienced what so many other veterans in combat experienced. Many died before they could write or record their hardships, their suffering, and their constant fear of death. Willie gives readers a glimpse of stories untold. Mejicanos of Willie’s time fought two wars: the wars in Europe and the war of racial discrimination at home.

Part II of this book is a limited attempt to honor some heroes from Uvalde and other nearby small towns. Willie expressed deep sadness about the conditions in Uvalde during his childhood, and these stories are a sincere, belated effort to show him that he was not alone in his hope for a safer, more successful community. Through the years, some individuals fought the local immense oppression that has been so deeply embedded in South Texas. These dedicated individuals fought bravely to improve the lives of their descendants. These heroes may not have experienced the results of their struggles, but through this book, we can recall their efforts, thank them in our hearts, and keep their stories alive. Through the stories of just a few of the individuals who persisted in halting the oppression of mejicanos, you will see that change is possible. Sometimes, change came at a very high price for those who dared to speak up, march in protest, and ultimately file lawsuits that were eventually decided in our favor. You will also read about how the youth of Uvalde played a significant role in the changes that occurred. This book also offers examples of Anglos who contributed to the progress of mejicanos, sometimes reluctantly and sometimes just because it was the right thing to do.

A chronology of events is presented as a brief history lesson, setting the stage for the author's chosen stories about their beloved hometown. You will see how Uvalde and the region evolved from a tumultuous past to a place where anyone who dares to dream of a better life can make it happen. Towards the end of this book, the author expands on the circumstances under which it was written. Please read about the contributing authors and the individuals invited to tell their stories in the Acknowledgments section.

The Table of Contents intentionally includes more subheadings than usual, allowing readers to easily locate the sections that most interest them. Willie’s dialogue could have been reduced, but his style of speaking and the things he remembered may evoke fond memories in some or spark an interest in learning more about the war and Uvalde’s history.

Readers are encouraged to review the provided references and conduct research through the numerous excellent resources now easily accessible online. Every small-town library should have newspaper archives and old books to help you understand where your town has been and where it may be in the future. Each of us can make a difference —wherever we live, wherever we dream—and knowledge will help us do that.

In the story about Genoveva Morales in this book and through the excerpts from Dr. Juan O. Sánchez’s thesis, Encina: The Uvalde School Walkout of 1970 (1992), you will learn of one of the saddest episodes of Uvalde’s history. That year, a group of school board trustees chose to create this chapter in the history of Uvalde. Mrs. Morales was the plaintiff in the class-action lawsuit seeking the desegregation of the Uvalde schools. In an article by Charlie Robinson of the Uvalde Leader-News, we find one of the most ironic statements about the 1970 school walkout tragedy: “Willie Edwards announced that the two parties have agreed that the district complied, and both seek dismissal of the lawsuit. Each board member signed the agreement and expressed appreciation to Mrs. Morales for her efforts in making Uvalde Consolidated Independent School District (UCISD) a better and more inclusive school district.”^{^[1]}

In 2017, the Uvalde School Board finalized the decision made by the 2014 school board to bring the school district into federal compliance. That decision could have been taken by the school board of 1970 and all the others that followed them until this date. The walkout was a tragedy that could have been avoided if past school board members had the character and courage of the board members of 2014 and 2017. It took 47 years to conclude that the parents and students were justified in their protests.

This book is dedicated to a region that suffered and persevered. In addition to the story of Mrs. Morales, there are stories of other courageous activists who brought about changes that were once unimaginable. Their stories, with different characters, are repeated in many communities in South Texas, throughout the country, and perhaps the world. Through these small-town legends, we realize that it is often the actions of individuals that make the difference, and that we can learn from their ingenuity and courage in confronting life’s challenges, wherever we call home.

Several beautiful songs in this book help tell the story of people in South Texas. Readers can find these songs online when available.

Chronology of events

1824: Mexico invites foreign settlers to populate the Tejas Territory.^{^[2]} ^{^[3]}

1835-1836: Anglo-Texan settlers’ revolt against Mexico along with the battles of the Alamo and San Jacinto, changed the lives of Mexican people in Texas forever. For Mexicans living in Texas, it has been said that they did not cross the border; the border crossed them. Many were to lose their lands, their dignity, and their lives because of the atrocities committed against them.^{^[4]}

1846: Presidential candidate James Polk expanded the doctrine of Manifest Destiny and proposed the annexation of Texas as a primary objective.^{^[5]}

1846-1848: James Polk was now president of the United States and provoked an intentional war with Mexico to complete his takeover of Mexican territories. The Mexican-American War (1846-1848) ended with the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, and Mexico was forced to cede 55 percent of its territory, including parts of present-day Arizona, California, New Mexico, Texas, Colorado, Nevada, and Utah, to the United States. Mexico relinquished all claims to Texas and recognized the Rio Grande as the southern boundary with the United States.^{^[6]}

1856: Uvalde was founded by Reading W. Black, who first named the town Encina and later renamed it Uvalde for Spanish governor Juan de Ugalde.^{^[7]}

1861-1865: The Civil War divided the country over the issue of slavery. Texas Governor Sam Houston was against secession from the Union. Still, the legislature voted for a convention to vote on the decision and eventually voted to join the Confederate States. The Confederate States relied on slavery, as it was the backbone of their economy; the Union states were more industrious and did not rely on slavery.^{^[8]}

1914-1918: World War I began in 1914, after the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, and lasted until 1918. During the conflict, Germany, Austria-Hungary, Bulgaria, and the Ottoman Empire (the Central Powers) fought against Great Britain, France, Russia, Italy, Romania, Japan, and the United States (the Allied Powers). ^{^[9]}

1914-1919: “The regular (Texas) Rangers, along with hundreds of special Rangers appointed by Texas governors, killed approximately 5,000 mejicanos between 1914 and 1919, a source of scandal and embarrassment. In January 1919, at the insistence of Representative José T. Canales of Brownsville, the legislature overhauled the force to restore public confidence. During the next two months, sordid stories of Ranger brutality, debauchery, and injustice emerged. As a result, Texas lawmakers decided to maintain the four companies but reduce the number of recruits from twenty to fifteen per unit. They instituted more competitive salaries to attract “men of high moral character,” but with minimal expense accounts. They also established specific procedures for citizen complaints against any Ranger wrongdoing.” ^{^[10]}

1928-1932: Herbert Hoover served as president of the United States during one of the country’s most economically depressed periods. He opposed direct federal relief payments, fearing that welfare programs would result in massive debt. He believed that Americans should provide for themselves. His stubborn views delayed economic recovery from the Depression. ^{^[11]}

1929: Sharecropping and sheep shearing were the main livelihoods for mejicanos in Uvalde and surrounding communities. The stock market crash made their lives even more difficult.^{^[12]}

1929: The League of United Latin American Citizens (LULAC) was established in Corpus Christi. It became the longest-active civil rights organization for Mexican Americans in the United States. LULAC women’s auxiliaries followed.^{^[13]}

1933: Franklin D. Roosevelt was elected President of the United States, a time when most banks had shut down, industrial production was down over 50 percent from 1929 levels, 13 million workers were unemployed, and farmers were suffering. Although experimental, Roosevelt’s visionary program, the New Deal, with public relief, public works programs, and the Civilian Conservation Corps, among other measures, proved successful. With incredible resilience, Mexicans in Texas, who had survived grave injustices before and suffered even more after 1929, at last began to emerge from so much despair. ^{^[14]}

1940: The Selective Training and Service Act of 1940 was instituted, requiring all men between 18 and 21 years of age to register for the draft. The wars in Europe and East Asia and the fall of France to the Nazis in June 1940 made the entry of the United States into the war inevitable.^{^[15]}

1941: On December 7, the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, precipitating the entry of the United States into World War II. The war started in 1939 and involved 30 countries. The Axis powers were Germany, Italy, and Japan; the Allies were led by the United States, the United Kingdom, the Soviet Union, China, and France. ^{^[16]}

1945: On May 8, 1945, members of the German military high command signed an unconditional surrender with representatives of the Allied forces. Gen. Douglas MacArthur, supreme commander in Japan and the Pacific, officially accepted Japan’s surrender on September 2, 1945.^{^[17]}

1945: The famous British liner, Queen Mary, arrives in New York Harbor on June 20, 1945, with thousands of US troops from European battles.^{^[18]}

National events and Uvalde’s gradual emergence from racial inequality

1909: The National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) was officially formed to champion the modern black civil rights movement for African Americans. In its early years, its primary goals were to eliminate lynching and to obtain fair trials for blacks. By the 1930s, however, the activities of the NAACP began focusing on the complete integration of American society.^{^[19]}

1950: By the 1950s, the NAACP had begun to support challenges to segregation at the elementary school level. ^{^[20]}

1953: President Eisenhower appointed Earl Warren, governor of California, as the new Supreme Court Chief Justice.^{^[21]}

1954: On May 17, 1954, US Supreme Court Justice Earl Warren delivered the unanimous ruling in the landmark civil rights case Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka, Kansas. State-sanctioned segregation of public schools was a violation of the 14th Amendment and was, therefore, unconstitutional. This historic decision marked the end of the “separate but equal” precedent set by the Supreme Court nearly 60 years earlier. It served as a catalyst for the expanding civil rights movement during the 1950s.

“Although there was considerable resistance to the Supreme Court’s ruling in Brown v. Board of Education, minority groups and members of the civil rights movement were buoyed by the Brown decision even without specific directions for implementation. Proponents of judicial activism believed the Supreme Court had appropriately used its position to adapt the basis of the Constitution to address new problems in new times. The Warren Court stayed this course for the next 15 years, deciding cases that significantly affected not only race relations but also the administration of criminal justice, the operation of the political process, and the separation of church and state.”^{^[22]}

1963: On November 6, 1963, James Tafolla was elected to the Uvalde School Board, becoming the first mejicano elected to the board.^{^[23]}

1964: Following years of social unrest in the country, with Black Americans protesting social and educational inequality, the Civil Rights Act of 1964 opened the way for political activity, protests, and lawsuits that dramatically changed the nation.

1964: Alonzo Villarreal becomes the first mejicano city councilman included in Uvalde as a candidate through the established custom of normally running candidates as a slate of only Anglo candidates.^{^[24]}

1966: Joe Uriegas becomes the first Mexican-American elected to the Uvalde City Council. He ran against the conventional slate of Anglo-dominated candidates. He did not complete his term, choosing to run unsuccessfully for state representative.^{^[25]}

1970: On April 14, 1970, Mexican-American students walked out of their schools to protest discriminatory practices in the Uvalde schools triggered by the School Board’s decision not to renew the contract of teacher Josue George Garza after five years of teaching in Uvalde. Students lost a year of school when the school board refused to address their complaints and rehire Mr. Garza.^{^[26]}

1970: The Mexican American Parents Association, the group formed during the school walkout, supported by the Mexican American Legal Defense Fund and attorneys Pat Maloney and Jesse Gámez, filed a class action lawsuit against the Uvalde Consolidated Independent School District. The plaintiff was Genoveva Morales, the president of MAPA (Mexican-American Parents Association) on behalf of her children, and the defendants in the case were Dr. Dean P. Dimmitt, C. A. Dishman, Jake Lanning, Taylor Nichols, Buell Stewart, Garvis Marsh, Frank Miller Jr., and R. W. Shepperd (an ex-board member) all board members, and Gordon L. Erkfits, president of the German American Parents Association which was formed to antagonize MAPA.^{^[27]}

1970: Gilbert Riojas was appointed to the Uvalde School Board to replace C.A. Dishman, who resigned in October of that year. Many saw this appointment as an acquiescence to the walkout demands. Dishman was board president when the school walkout began on April 14, 1970. Taylor Nichols was elected president of the board to replace Dishman. In November 1970, Mike Mireles was promoted to principal at Anthon Elementary, one of the school board’s attempts to rectify its lack of mejicanos in supervisory positions. Riojas won an elected term in April 1971.^{^[28]}

1971: Gilbert Torres goes before the Uvalde school board to request re-zoning of voting districts. The board suggested he talk with an attorney, as the board could not make these changes.^{^[29]}

1973: The US Department of Health, Education, and Welfare charged the Uvalde School Board with violating the Civil Rights Acts of 1871 and 1964. In November 1973, US Administrative Law Judge William Walter Hentz ruled the four Uvalde elementary schools were segregated, and such discrimination was fostered by the school board, particularly in its location of the schools and its creation of attendance zones in 1966. As a result, the school district could forfeit its right to federal funds. This decision marked a dramatic change for Uvalde’s mejicano students as the school board was forced to enact desegregation of its elementary schools.^{^[30]}

1974: Gilbert Torres elected first Mexican-American County Commissioner.^{^[31]}

1975: The Mexican-American Parents Association (MAPA) triumphed after the Supreme Court refused to review the decision of the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals in New Orleans on the Morales v. Shannon lawsuit. That court ruled that Uvalde CISD in Texas had failed to desegregate its school system in violation of the Fourteenth Amendment to the US Constitution and Title VI of the Civil Rights Act of 1964. The court ruled that the District had violated the rights of Latino plaintiffs, and the District was placed under a desegregation order.^{^[32]}

1977: Four plaintiffs filed a lawsuit requesting redistricting to provide greater representation of mejicanos on the Uvalde school board. Gilbert Torres had gone before the board to address this issue, but the board refused to make changes.^{^[33]}

1977: Radio Station KVOU briefly offers its first Spanish talk show, Comentario, to Olga Muñoz Rodriquez and Ramón Velásquez. It ran at 3 pm on Sunday afternoons for 30 minutes and covered events following the desegregation of the Uvalde public schools and other political events. Pressure from Anglo businesses threatening to boycott the radio station made it necessary for owner Jay Harpole, Sr., to cancel the program after a few months.^{^[34]}

1977: El Uvalde Times, a bilingual newspaper, published its first issue on November 13, 1977.^{^[35]}

1978: Rogelio Muñoz is named County Attorney on August 25, becoming the first Mexican-American to hold this post. County Judge Leo Darley played a highly instrumental role in his appointment. Muñoz served only for a few months to finish the term of the late David White Sr. because the local Democratic party, dominated by Anglos in the community, nominated David White Jr. as their candidate for County Attorney, and Muñoz chose not to run against him.^{^[36]}

1978: The park historically called “The Mexican Park,” located at the corner of West Main Street and S. Farrar, is renamed “Jardín de Los Héroes” (Garden of Heroes Park) following a contest sponsored by Uvalde’s LULAC, the American Legion Post 479, and the Fiesta Committee. Dr. Anita Smith submitted the winning name.^{^[37]}

1980: El Uvalde Times published its last issue on May 29, 1980.^{^[38]}

1982: The Uvalde School District lost a lawsuit filed in 1977 by the US Department of Health, Education and Welfare (HEW) (now renamed Health and Human Services) and decreed that the system of electing school board members at large was illegal and required the school district’s board to consist of seven members to serve for three years and the terms to be staggered on a 2-2-3 basis. Two members were to be elected from each of two districts, and the remaining three were to be elected at large. The boundaries for the two districts were established.^{^[39]}

1982: Amaro Cardona elected as County Commissioner.^{^[40]}

1985-1994: Rogelio Muñoz became the first Mexican-American District Attorney for Uvalde, Real, and Medina County and served nine consecutive years, running unopposed during his term.^{^[41]}

1989: Rogelio Luévano elected the first Mexican-American mayor of Uvalde.^{^[42]}

1991: El Uvalde Times returns as a monthly tabloid on April 13, 1991, and closes again with the last issue dated May 1992.^{^[43]}

1991: Willie De León records his memories. The author’s cassette tapes. (Later converted to CDs.)^{^[44]}

1993-2016: Maggie Del Toro was elected the first Mexican-American Uvalde County Tax Assessor & Collector. ^{^[45]}

1993: Willie De León passed away on August 22, 1993, and was buried with full military honors at Uvalde’s Hillcrest Cemetery.^{^[46]}

1993: On October 12, the Uvalde Civic Center is named in honor of SSG Guillermo “Willie” De León.^{^[47]}

1999: Ismael Sosa, Jr., PhD, became the first Mexican-American President of Uvalde’s Southwest Junior College in August 1999, followed by Hector Gonzales, PhD, on August 1, 2013.^{^[48]}

2007: In June 2007, Uvalde Consolidated Independent School District (UCISD) sought to dismiss the desegregation order altogether, a move opposed by MALDEF. The trial was set for Oct. 27, 2008, but the parties reached a tentative agreement in August 2008.^{^[49]}

2008: Following approval by the UCISD board in September of 2008, the US District Court in San Antonio signed a consent order memorializing a settlement agreement between the district and the plaintiffs.^{^[50]}

2013: On May 27, 2013, the Civic Center was re-dedicated in Willie De León’s honor after renovations were completed with assistance from the US Department of Agriculture Community Facilities Program.^{^[51]}

2014: The UCISD Board of Trustees hires a mutually agreed-upon consultant to assist in bringing the district into compliance with the consent decree. The board members in 2014 who began this process were Stephen M. Gerdes, President; William G. Edwards, Vice-President; Javier Flores, Secretary; Luis Fernández, Member; Robert Fowler, Member; María Elena Martínez, Member; Brent Rutledge, Member.^{^[52]}

2014: On March 31, Uvalde Junior High School was renamed Genoveva Morales Junior High. Mrs. Morales was the plaintiff in the Morales vs. Shannon lawsuit, which ultimately led to the desegregation of the Uvalde schools. She was also the president of the Mexican-American Parents Association (MAPA), which was formed by the parents of the students who participated in the historic 1970 school walkout. This event marked a dramatic change in the relationships between Anglos and mejicanos in Uvalde. (See the Table of Contents for the story of Mrs. Morales.)

2017: After 47 years of litigation, the case Genoveva Morales et al. vs. E. P Shannon et al. was finally resolved Monday evening, July 31, 2017, during a special meeting of the Uvalde Consolidated Independent School District Board of Trustees. Board member María Elena Muñoz Martínez stated, “I'm proud of what this board has accomplished, and I hope I never have to go through this again.”

“I agree,” said Willie Edwards, “I’m so happy this has come to an end. I’m so proud of this board. This was the right thing to do, and we’re here to serve all our students.”^{^[53]}

(The board members in 2017 who took this dramatic resolve were Stephen M. Gerdes, President; William G. Edwards, Vice-President; Javier Flores, Secretary; Luis Fernández, Member; Robert Fowler, Member; María Elena Martínez, Member; Roland Sánchez, Member.)^{^[54]}

CHAPTER ONE

A moment frozen in time

Reims, France

Staff Sergeant Guillermo “Willie” De León placed his elbows on his desk as his hands tried to hide the tears welling up. He didn’t want Bruno to see him. Bruno was the English-speaking German prisoner, his assistant, and the bookkeeper of the Prisoner of War (POW) camp. They were staring at several young men standing outside their tent, facing toward the prison yard. Willie was the Chief Warden of the camp, and the men they were watching had stolen a loaf of bread from the camp’s kitchen. The prisoners were brought to Willie for punishment. He decided to have them stand in the area where the other incarcerated German soldiers could see them. They were to hold a rock with their outstretched arms for some time. The rock was not to be too small or too large, Willie had told Bruno and the lagerführer (camp leader)^{^[55]}, who also assisted him, and that the punishment was to discourage the rest of the prisoners from doing the same.

One of the prisoners could not stand still, and it was difficult for him to keep his arm outstretched. Willie asked Bruno to bring that soldier to him. He saw that the young man had a prosthetic arm from his elbow. Willie realized the young man was trying to hold the rock with a hand that was not his, as Willie described it. The sight of the young prisoner triggered Willie’s thoughts to someone he loved very much, and this was the cause of his tears.

In what must have been a quivering voice, Willie told Bruno, “Go to the kitchen and get a loaf of bread and bologna, whatever you can find, and give it to them. Then tell them they should not steal again because others will want to do the same, and that the food is scarce, and they are stealing from their fellow prisoners.” Bruno and the lagerführer tried to object to the interrupted punishment, but Willie had made a calculated decision.

When the prisoners left, Bruno approached Willie and said, “You've got tears in your eyes. What are you crying for?” Willie responded, “You know why I let those boys go? Why my conscience would not let me punish them?” The lagerführer said: “They deserve to be punished because otherwise others will do the same.”

“Yes,” Willie told him, “but I am going to tell you something. I remembered my home, my hometown, where I am from. And I will tell you something else. I remembered my father, my papá. That is why I am crying. Yes, these are tears in my eyes. My father had an accident back in 1932. He became disabled when he lost the use of both his hands. And that is why I don’t want you to punish those boys.”

During the five years Willie was on the battlefields, when he had faced death so many times, he had pushed back thoughts of his life back home. But now that he was assigned to a rear army position, away from the conflict, and that the war was ending, he let go of his repressed emotions for a brief moment. Bruno, the man who was the enemy he had chased and fought against, was now asking him a thoughtful question, “Do you miss your Daddy?”

“Yes,” Willie answered.

Willie must have been overwhelmed by the Germans’ genuine empathy. Friendship and compassion, any simple act of kindness, can blossom in another unsuspecting soul. Willie and Bruno were about the same age, in their twenties. They were brought together by world events they perhaps did not fully understand, by decisions made by distant government and military leaders. At that moment, however, they crossed barriers of culture, military conflict, and opposing statuses of control. They reached out to understand and support each other. Willie had been anguished about punishing the hungry German soldiers. “How much is a loaf of bread worth?” he wondered. He thought of the awful gruel and the slice of bread the prisoners were fed, but his responsibility was to maintain control of the prisoners under his watch. By this time, the Germans had already been defeated. There was no need for harsh punishment, Willie thought. He had opted for a moderate punishment, but even that, Willie could not fully impose. In return, he was rewarded with compassion from one of his prisoners when he needed it.

He and Bruno did not have training for managing a camp of prisoners of war and all the situations they were to face. The moment required them to act instinctively, based entirely on the nurturing and the examples of human relationships they learned at home. Formal education and military training had little to do with two young men living this extraordinary moment in their lives.

The day after it happened, Willie felt a remarkable change in the prisoners, because, as in any small town, everybody knew everything that went on in the camp. They silently showed their gratitude as they greeted him. Willie summarized the events this way: “I fought these men, I chased them, and they chased me. They, just like me, were in the same predicament. We were simply where we had been ordered to be. But they came to trust me.”

His decision had the intended result —they were friends at a most improbable time and place.

It was at this POW camp in Reims, France, that Willie was to end his military service. The Point System was enacted to begin sending the troops home. Willie needed 85 points, and he surpassed this number easily. On the list posting the standings of the soldiers at the camp, Willie’s name was at the top with 126 points. He left the camp the same day and began a bumpy journey home.

German POW camp at Reims, France. Willie’s story of the prisoners who stole bread from the kitchen took place at this camp. Photograph by Heinz Radtke, via Wikimedia Commons (CC BY-SA 3.0).^[56]

That day was an eventful one, but before we return to it and other memorable events at the camp and his life in Europe, we will let Willie begin by recalling his life before the war. Let's sit beside him as he recounts his evolution from a young, naive boy from a small town in South Texas to a hardened soldier, a father-like figure, and brother to his friends in combat. Prepare to laugh and cry with him, smile at the simplicity of a young man, and admire the wisdom of an elder in his community.

Be amazed at how much detail he remembered despite his advanced years. Accept his shortcomings and the fact that he moves from one period to another because, in a natural conversation, we do the same. I have used some discretion in editing his words and rearranging a few of his stories. After listening to the tapes for so many years, I understood what he meant to say, and he trusted me, through his own words, to use his recordings as I saw best.

Sun, teach my master to be like you

If this book could play a song that would take you back to the time when Willie De León was a young boy, so that we can capture the sadness between the lines of Willie’s words, it would be this song. It captures the plight of the Mexican laboring families living in this country and in Mexico, where the song originated. They had no one to defend them and were no longer safe from violence or abuse from those for whom they had to work. Linda Ronstadt sings it beautifully in her album Canciones de mi Padre (Songs of my Father) (1987).

El Sol Que Tú Eres

(The Sun That You Are)

Sol redondo y colorado

Como una rueda de cobre

De diario me estás mirando

De diario me miras pobre

Sol que tú eres tan parejo

Para repartir tu luz

Habrías de enseñarle al amo

A ser lo mismo que tú

Me miras con el arado

Luego con la rozadera

Una vez en la llanura

Y otra vez en la ladera

The Sun That You Are

Sun, round and red

Like a copper wheel

Daily you are looking at me

Daily you see me poor

So fair to everyone

As you spread your light so equally

You should teach my master

How to be the same

You see me with the plow

Later with the sickle

One time on the plains

And another time on the hillside^[57]

The Uvalde of the 1930s

Guillermo De León was born in Big Bend, Texas (possibly Terlingua) on June 25, 1919, and came to Uvalde as an infant with his parents, Alberto De León and Tomasita Rodríguez Luna. Alberto was born in Real de Catorce, San Luis Potosí, and Tomasita was born in Piños in the state of Zacatecas, Mexico. Alberto’s father was a miner in Mexico, and Alberto himself worked at the mercury mines in the Big Bend area. He brought his family in search of work at the nearby asphalt mines in Blewett and Dabney, Texas, approximately twenty-three miles from Uvalde. Traveling by wagon with several small children, with Willie being the baby at the time, one can only imagine the hardship of such a journey in those days.

Willie had eight sisters, but by the time he returned from the war, only one, Ventura, was alive. Her children, recalling the story she told them, remember the siblings, but some details are missing. The oldest sister was Petra, who married Toribio Fierro and passed away at age 43; Rafael De León, who passed away at the age of 4 months; Leonor, who died at four months; Luisa, unknown date of birth; Ventura, who passed away in 1999 at age 88 and was married to Sóstenes Rocha Sr. of Uvalde; Juanita De León who married Carlos Ruiz of Uvalde; Trinidad De León who died at age 35 and the ninth child was Venturita who was born in 1922. Willie’s mother, who was a midwife, passed away soon after he returned from the Civilian Conservation Corps when Willie was sixteen years old.

Willie began recording his memories by taking us back to when he was about thirteen. Herbert Hoover was president, and life was hard for the mejicanos in the small town of Uvalde, where Willie grew up. The stock market crashed in 1929, and the country was still reeling from the effects of the Great Depression. At that time, Texas consisted of many small rural communities, and the conventional wisdom was that the state would be spared from the ravages of the depression affecting the larger industrial regions of the country. In the end, the depression came to make the lives of Texans more difficult, but to a greater degree for mejicanos in Texas and other parts of the county.

For Willie and his childhood friends, the events of the day were beyond their concern. They accepted their daily struggles as any child does, finding joy in being with their friends. Their toys were homemade slingshots with which they played “war” games, killing each other with the little black balls from chapote trees^{^[58]}. Little did they know that later in their lives, the game would become so real.

Life was very difficult for mejicano families in Uvalde and the surrounding communities. Mistreatment of Mexicans was the norm for most white people, rich and poor. The only work available was clearing land and building fences for ranchers to expand their crop cultivation and raise cattle. Sharecropping was the only option for many families. Some sheep-shearers earned a little more than the ranch and farm laborers, but they had to travel outside Uvalde, leaving their families behind. They traveled to Ozona, San Angelo, and beyond, working away from home for several months. As with sharecroppers, what sheep shearers earned left them very little because they had to pay back what the rancher or capitán had advanced to them.

Juan O. Sánchez, in his master’s thesis, Encina: The Uvalde School Walkout of 1970 (1992), observed that in Uvalde, 1900 and 1960, Hispanics were at a disadvantage to Anglos in all economic, political and social settings:

All three areas were dominated by the Anglos; in no area were Hispanics in a prominent

position. The only situation in which Hispanics were initially on an equal footing with Anglos

was in land holdings. As the years passed after the initial start of Uvalde, the Anglos through

legal, and, as previously mentioned, less than honorable means, gained control over lands

once held by Hispanics. Thus, by the end of the nineteenth century not only were Hispanics

subordinate socially, they had also lost their once prominent position as landholders.

Uvalde, as will be remembered, was established not by Hispanics, but by Anglos. It was the

Anglo who came into the region with the economic means to buy the land. A few Tejanos who

owned land acquired it through purchases and some obtained it through land grants. Since it

was the Anglo who established Uvalde this automatically put the Hispanic in a subservient

position. Unlike other communities that were established by Hispanics and thus had an

established Hispanic political elite, in Uvalde there were no Hispanic politicos that could

compete with the dominant Anglo elite.^[59]

The well-to-do Anglos saw the mejicanos as cheap labor for whatever work they offered. For the white poor, mistreatment of mejicanos lifted them an imaginary notch toward the status of the more affluent whites, giving them some satisfaction. The reality for Willie and his pueblo, as a mejicano denotes his community, was that it was their destiny to suffer from the racism created by the takeover of their lands, by illegal means, or by our country’s intentional wars with Mexico. Later, they also replaced slave labor for the ranchers and farmers after the Civil War.

“Compared to how our lives are today,” Willie recalls, “there have been a lot of changes. Nowadays, everything is different and a lot better. How nice it would have been that things had been this way, but it was all so sad back then.”^{^[60]}

I will tell you, Olga, I know the people of Uvalde so well that I know where everybody came

from. Most people who settled in Uvalde came from Knippa and La Pryor, and some had lived

in the mines. (These asphalt mines were located some twenty miles from Uvalde in the small

communities of Blewett and Dabney, Texas.) Around 1928, people from Uvalde would work in

Knippa, about ten miles from Uvalde, to pick cotton in the fields. They would call Knippa El

West. Imagine that. For us, Knippa was very far away, as we traveled by wagon, and we would

have to camp out in the fields. Quite a few mejicanos would work there. The Germans owned

the ranches and didn’t pay us by the hour. We went half and half, others worked for a third, and

everyone in the family had to work. The arrangement was called a medias (sharecropping).

The families were assigned 150 to 200 acres, and the owners would say: “These are yours.

You plant so many acres of cotton, so many of corn, whatever.” I know because I had an uncle

who worked at these ranches. At the end of the year, the rancher would come and ask, “How

many bales of cotton did you make?” Half would be for the rancher and half for the families.

The same would be true for corn or any other harvested crop. The only advantage to this

arrangement was that the families didn’t have to pay rent. They were allowed to raise chickens

or hogs. These were theirs, not the ranchers. Those working under lower cuts didn’t do very

well. I remember the Colorado Ranch where Juan Rodriguez and his wife, Juanita, worked.

Carlitos Talavera, may he rest in peace, worked at that ranch for half of the crops he

harvested. Mr. Arizmendi was at another ranch further up and also worked a medias. Those

German farmers did not let these families make any money. They would take everything from

them. That is how they lived; they lived well but didn’t get ahead. Felipe Martínez and Cipriano

Martínez also worked a medias. He had a large family, so they would clear land at other

ranches and were paid by the hour. This way, they earned a little more. A large family was able

to make a little more money.^[61]

The Germans owned the ranches

When Willie says that most of the ranches were owned by Germans,^{^[62]} some historical information could shed light on the population make-up of the time. The Texas Historical Association website relates that Germans first arrived in Texas in the 1830s, with a majority settling in what has been called the German Belt. It stretched from Galveston and Houston on the east to Kerrville, Mason, and Hondo on the west. This congregation of Germans was a result of the concepts of “dominant personality” and “chain migration” and a device known as “America letters.”

Friedrich Diercks, who operated in Texas under his alias, Johann Friedrich Ernst, was the dominant personality who successfully convinced fellow countrymen to settle in America. He immigrated to America intending to settle in Missouri, but when he learned that large land grants were available to Europeans in Stephen F. Austin’s colony in Texas, his plans changed. In 1831, Ernst received a grant of more than 4,000 acres from Stephen F. Austin’s colony in Texas in what is now Austin County, which came to be the nucleus of the German Belt. He used the concept of “America letters” to entice German migrants, describing Texas as an earthly paradise with no winter, abundant game and fish, fertile land, and virtually no taxes. His occupation as a professional gardener in the Grand Duchy of Oldenburg in northwestern Germany and the fertile land in Texas influenced the development of farming in South Central Texas.^{^[63]}

Unfortunately for mejicanos in Uvalde and surrounding communities, many of these German farmers for whom they worked were not very kind to them. Add to that the activities of the Ku Klux Klan, the rogue Texas Rangers, vigilantes, and the recorded disdain and humiliating descriptions of mejicanos in the Uvalde Leader-News of those days, and it is easy to understand Willie’s words: “Our lives were so sad.”

Later in this book, you will read two stories written by a historian in his own right, Alfredo Ibarra. He wrote about life in this period and gives us a glimpse of the incredible hardship placed upon mejicanos by cruel ranchers and farmers of this era. You will also read about the lasting impact of the treacherous Ku Klux Klan, which dominated Uvalde for a decade, and how it instilled the bigotry that permeated every aspect of living conditions for mejicanos and was passed down to their descendants.

Toward the end of his life, Willie thought things were much better than in his earlier years, but those of the author’s generation knew that much more needed to change. Most Anglos had an attitude that was ingrained in them for generations: that anyone who was not white was inferior and, therefore, could be treated with disdain and abused to enrich themselves.

Mexicans living in South Texas, despite their sad and complicated lives, were decent people with the responsibility to provide for their families as best they could. When we read the manner of speech of Alfredo Ibarra, we realize that his generation spoke with respect and dignity, characteristic of a well-educated society. Within their families and communities, they greeted each other respectfully, and good conduct was instilled in them by their ancestors from a time before the arrival of the Anglos and their invasion of their peaceful worlds. Carmen Ibarra Iruegas, in her book Uvalde Families Through 150 Years, also takes us back into the lives of her great-grandparents and grandparents, reflecting on the formality and dignity of their generation. Some of these cultural traditions of respect are still observed among the descendants of Uvalde’s older families.

When we read of the atrocities committed by white Uvaldeans, in particular those that belonged to the Ku Klux Klan, against the mejicanos living here, we wonder how evil could have invaded their souls to the point that humiliating mejicanos, instilling fear in them and causing them physical harm and even death, while using them to live more affluent lives. How could they call their actions a normal way of life? They attended their churches and read the Bible, interpreting it in a way that justified their actions. Historical accounts by writers of the time, as well as articles published in the Uvalde Leader-News, serve as a testament to their twisted mentality.

When children grow up in this environment, they are subjected to the bigotry that is still evident to this day and continues through our state’s educational system. We still have today individuals on the Texas State Board of Education who are selecting textbooks that whitewash history to glorify individuals who did not deserve it and reject textbooks that accurately depict history.^{^[64]} Willie saw significant improvement only because his early life was so much worse. We have progressed and have the freedom to clean up the aftermath of the years of Uvalde’s evildoers.

Indalecio Gonzáles, Alex Castillo’s great-grandfather, is pictured at his small ranch in Montell, Texas, with his granddaughter Eloisa Gonzáles, daughter of Alberto and Marianita Gonzáles Castillo. Courtesy of Alex Castillo.

When our children, through textbooks, are deprived of a history that accurately reflects their ancestors' contributions to their country and the reasons for their slower economic advancement, they are starting with the encumbrance of diminished self-worth and the biased attitudes that some teachers have when they use such skewed textbooks. Prejudiced historians, such as Walter Prescott Webb and others, must now be countered with the work of our historians, including Juan O. Sánchez, Leticia M. Garza-Falcón, Mónica Muñoz Martínez, and many others. Supposing the Texas State Board of Education continues to promote literature that justifies the history of dominance in our state, parents should research the available books to enhance their children’s education. Through such literature, which documents the tenacity of our ancestors in surviving oppression and their efforts to improve their children’s lives, we can inspire our youth to strive for limitless accomplishments. In Part II of this book, I introduce such individuals.

El Gato Negro knew who the Klansmen of Uvalde were

In his extensive research on the Ku Klux Klan in Uvalde, Juan O. Sánchez discovered the following:

Uvalde Klan No. 279 was established in 1923, and its membership included individuals from

every social spectrum. The Briscoe Library at the University of Texas at Arlington holds the

original membership list, among other documents. Of the 355 individuals identified in the

original membership list, the occupation was included for 323. Included among the initiates

were various members in governmental positions, and some individuals were still holding office

as late as 1946. Many Klan descendants continued in the footsteps of their ancestors,

maintaining racist and subservient attitudes regarding Hispanics. Two members were city

employees, and six were county employees, including a justice of the peace and the sheriff.

Also identified were three attorneys, and one was at one time either an appointed or an elected

official. The Uvalde Klan vented its moralistic bigotry against Mexicans through nighttime raids.

Klan members riding in the back of pickups assaulted Mexicans who were out late at night. The

culturally ingrained belief of Mexicans as morally deficient and promiscuous meant that if they

were out at night, they were promoting social perversion. It was the duty of the Klan, therefore,

to address behavior seen as inimical to society, and the disruption of the behavior meant the

use of violence. That such actions took place without any known repercussions is indicative of

the complicity of the local authorities.

‘¡Ahí vienen los Clanes!’ (The Klan is coming!), was the Spanish warning about the Klan. As a

means of avoiding Klan aggression, young Mexican males were warned not to be out at night.

As was the case in other cities and towns throughout Texas, there were indications that

whippings took place in Uvalde. However, the race of the individual did not matter; if a person

was known to be involved in illegal activities, or was neglecting the family, a visit by the Klan

was sure to occur. The Klan’s extremely racist and conservative ideology left an indelible mark

on the community, negatively affecting for decades the educational, economic, and social

position of the city’s minorities.^[65]

Willie De León and his generation lived through the times of the Ku Klux Klan and suffered its devastating consequences. Sánchez’s research also reflects their lack of common sense and the source of their collapse:

During the reign of the Klan in Uvalde, it was common knowledge among many Whites just

who the members were. This knowledge was much less common among Blacks or Hispanics,

yet there were members of both minority groups who had a fairly good idea of who the

Klansmen were. One such individual was a Black shoeshine young man by the name of Calvin

Caraway, who was brother-in-law to Willie Rae Caraway. Known as “EI Gato Negro” (The

Black Cat) by Hispanics and called “Cal” by the Anglos, Mr. Caraway spent many years shining

shoes in a local barbershop. It was related that if anyone knew who the Klan members were, it

would have been him. The question comes to mind as to how a bootblack would know who the

Klan members were. The answer is simple. In their infinite wisdom, the Klan did not change

their shoes when they donned their costumes, and when seen by Mr. Caraway, he would

recognize the shoes and, thus, the owners. During this time, few people could afford more than

one pair of shoes. Mr. Caraway passed away in the mid-1980s before this research began.

Otherwise, his help with the Klan list would have been invaluable.

The demise of the Uvalde Klan came about through a combination of three factors. The first

was economic. With the onset of the Great Depression, it suffered a loss of membership

because of a lack of jobs and the need for individuals to use their limited income for necessities

rather than for paying dues. Second, because some Klansmen broke the moralistic code of the

organization, the Klan suffered at its own hands, much as current televangelists have. Klan

members became involved in promiscuous affairs, causing the public to question their

righteousness and stop supporting the organization. Finally, the overbearing attitude of the

Klan in the imposition of its moralistic will caused a backlash of negativism, which also fueled

its downfall. Before the demise of the Klan, however, the Klan dominated Uvalde for more than

a decade, from the mid-1920s to the late 1930s.^[66]

How Uvalde was governed

Willie wanted us to have a view of how public officials were chosen, and public services run:

During this time, there was a lady who operated the Water Works, Mrs. Simpson. She owned

the business and collected for the water. Later, she sold it to the city and got good money for it.

She was married to an old man, Clarence Bowman. I know because I worked for Clarence

Bowman when I came home from the service, and he would tell me about it.

Back then, when a person came into a government post among the Americanos, he didn’t have

to worry that he would be ousted in a year or two. There were no votes. It was as they would

say, ‘just get in there,’ or ‘we'll put this person here.’ Dick Evans was the city manager and held

the job for many years. I don't know how he came out, but he was there forever. Roy Benson,

the city engineer, I believe, left the post because he passed away. And so that was how the

town was run. Roy Benson had a brother named Harvey Benson, but he didn’t stay. He did

some other things. These men were anti-Mexican. Harvey Benson, that man had no use for us.

I don’t know about his children, there were many, who knows if they changed their attitude. Our

people were all so far behind.

I know all these men who own businesses now; I remember them very well. I know how many

of them started. Pete Knowles used to sell shoes for many years. He worked for Mr. Schwartz,

selling shoes for a salary.^[67] Julien Dart, who owned Julien’s (a lady’s dress shop), would get

up at four o’clock in the morning to deliver milk. He walked from house to house, leaving bottles

of milk. These men are very wealthy now.

People today, including young people in their thirties, say they don’t remember many of these

things. If the parents are well off, their children do not know how they suffered and all that

happened fifty-five years ago. Today’s mejicanos have a lot better life. The bad life began in

the 20s and got a little better from 1955 through 1960, and later. We did not have any mejicano

representatives for any office, not one with any power. Whites governed us. We were so far

behind.^[68]

Roosevelt's vision: The dignity of work

“President Herbert Hoover,” continued Willie, “¡no más, no!”^{^[69]} This short phrase summarizes how inhumane they thought the man was. Thankfully, Franklin Delano Roosevelt defeated him in 1932 and quickly organized the relief programs to help people with food. “Everyone who was needy,” recalled Willie, “or didn’t have much work or had a lot of children, or perhaps the man was ill, was helped by these programs. Now, if you didn’t find enough work, at least you had food to eat. During this time, Johnny Martinez, the brother of Tinte (Fausto) Martinez, was in charge of the relief programs for us. Everyone went to see him for help. President Roosevelt also established the Work Progress Administration (WPA) in 1935, which consisted of work projects like building roads in town and on nearby ranches. We were paid a minimum of twelve dollars every two weeks. This was easier, more stable work and a little better pay. We didn’t have to kill ourselves to earn our money. Life got a little better because you could count on work, money, and food.”^{^[70]}

Willie went to work for the WPA with two older friends, Gilberto Rosales and Alberto Amescua from Sabinal. They were sent to build small bridges for ranchers in Reagan Wells for about six months:

We would camp out there for the week and come home on Friday afternoons. Willie Scott was

the cook, and we worked with other Anglos; we all worked together. There were no rich folks

then. Among the people working there was the father of former Uvalde Police Chief Vance

Chisum. Many others are well off now, but back then, I remember their fathers, and many of

them worked for the WPA. After that project was finished, we found other work. Someone even

wrote a song about the WPA for those boys who didn’t want to work because although we were

all poor, some didn’t want to work. I still remember that song (Willie laughed), but I’m not going

to sing it for you!^[71]

Willie theorized that there was some arrangement with the government and the ranchers to allow them to kill some of their cattle and give the meat to the people:

“The cattle that were either too fat or not in good condition to sell,” says Willie, “the ranchers

would round them up and kill them. We would get the word that they were going to kill some

cows. ¡Órale! (Listen up!).” We would say: “the inspector is going to such and such ranch.”

They would let us know. We were all needy, so off we would go to these ranches. We would

stand on the fences, watching them shoot the animals with their rifles. The first one of us that

grabbed the animal’s leg would claim it. He couldn’t get it all for himself; two or three people

would share it. If someone said, “I didn’t get one, we would tell him, “Don’t worry, there is

enough for all of us.”

Now, some ranchers did not want to give away their cows and would not announce the killing.

We were always on guard, however, and we more or less knew. When they found out,

someone would always sound the alarm (el pitazo, as Willie says). Sometimes, by the time we

heard about it, it was too late. If we could, we would go and see how good they were. The

ranchers preferred to burn them rather than let us have them. Other ranchers did come and tell

us, “Come to my ranch,” they would say. “We are going to kill five, ten, or fifteen.” They would

kill plenty for us. It happened about once or twice a month. It was one of the things President

Roosevelt did: he was good to us. In 1935, the Uvalde Fish Hatchery was created as another

project of the WPA. It is still there on the outskirts of Uvalde, going toward Del Rio (on the Old

Eagle Pass Highway). I worked there, uprooting trees and digging ditches. There wasn’t much

work, only about a month and a half. I was about to turn sixteen when a lady there told me I

was too young and suggested I work at the CC Camps. (The Civilian Conservation Camps

were enacted as part of Roosevelt’s New Deal program.)

At the CC Camps, I was paid five dollars, and twenty-five dollars was sent home. That was a

lot better because it included meals and clothing. All my friends were poor, so we went to the

CC Camps. We were all the same bunch, the same ones who later joined the Army, but at

these camps, we did not go fight; we went to work to learn a trade in whatever we wanted. If

you wanted to learn a trade, you could, and those who didn’t, would work on building fences or

dams. It was in building dams that I began my trade as a rock mason. I set rock at the Fish

Hatchery. There at the entrance, where you can see the little figures, I worked as a young man.

A man called Frenchie taught me and encouraged me to pursue this trade. If you go there, you

will see the two pillars. I built one; and old man Frenchie built the other one.^[72]

The vision of President Roosevelt became a reality and gave hope to the youth in South Texas. Enrollee teaching class at CCC Co. Camp SP-42-T, Garner State Park, Uvalde, Texas. National Archives /35-SU-2J-2.

The basketball team of CCC Co. 879, Camp SP-42 T, Garner State Park, Uvalde, Texas. National Archives. /35-SU-2J-3.

Red Cross Life Saving Class at CCC Co. 879, Camp SP-42-T Garner State Park, Uvalde, Texas. National Archives /35-SU-2J-1.

All that was in 1935. Two years ago, I went back about fifty years later and built a sign there.

CC Bennett came and asked me if I could do it. “What do you think Willie?” he asked me, “Do

you think you can build a sign there? I'll give you a contract.” Well, I built it exactly as it is there

today (in 1992). You will see the new sign when you leave Uvalde (on the Old Eagle Pass

Highway). Mr. Bennett was very pleased, and I told him: “Once I was run off from here because

I was too young. Are you going to run me off now because I am too old?” He laughed. “You did

all that before?” “Yes,” I told him. “I did all that.”^{^[73]}

The CC boys have a new awareness

We went off to work with the CC Camps in Arizona, and we returned with more experience, a greater understanding of how things were in Uvalde, and more awareness of the discrimination that existed. Things were a little better, but some things were still the same. When we returned, the movie theatre was still segregating us from Anglos. Mejicanos and Blacks could only sit in the back or on the side seats. It was Pat Tafolla who went and talked to the owners, clearly and forcefully, and told them they were wrong. Eventually, the segregation stopped, but it was many years later. We must appreciate what this young man tried to do for us in Uvalde. He later died in the war.

Through his research, Sánchez understood the reason for the relationship between mejicanos in Uvalde and the Anglos. He interviewed former members of the Ku Klux Klan and relatives of them. A copy of this thesis, Encina: The Uvalde School Walkout, is archived at Uvalde’s El Progreso Memorial Library. He interviewed former residents of Uvalde who also related the story of Pat Tafolla, a high school senior at the time:

During this period, some Hispanics began to challenge the established rules. One incident

involved the downtown theater known as The Strand. (Later, it became El Lasso). The theatre

was segregated into three sections. The balcony was set aside for Blacks, and the downstairs

area was divided, with the front half set aside for Anglos and the back half for Hispanics. In

1939, the rope that divided the downstairs area was removed through the intervention of an

individual by the name of Pat Tafolla, who later was killed in World War II. Tafolla had taken his

mother to the theater, and they were told not to sit in the section reserved for Whites. Pat

pointed out that he had sat in that section when he attended the theater along with other

members of the football team, of which he had been a member. Pat, who was well educated

and spoke English flawlessly, also told the owner of the theater that it was wrong to have the

rope separating the sections and, at the same time, have a Hispanic working for him, a man by

the name of Trinidad Castillo, who worked in the theater. Hispanics, Tafolla argued, should be

permitted to sit where they wished. The owner conceded the argument and allowed Pat to

remove the rope.^[74]

Although Pat Tafolla was only a high school senior at the time, he stood up for his community. This incident is meaningful because of Pat’s age and can be seen as a catalyst for things to come. Later, Uvalde saw the courage of high school and elementary school children by participating in the school walkout of 1970. Later in this book, we honor Tafolla and some individuals who worked unselfishly to make this historic change possible.

“We returned from the war in 1945, and still,” said Willie, “two or three years later, we were not considered worthy of having a cup of coffee up front at restaurants owned by Anglos. We mejicanos all had to go to the back, through the kitchen, to eat or drink anything. At the bar called Shadow Land, where the HEB store is now located, we had to drink a beer standing up at the bar. They would tell us, ‘You can’t sit here. Go stand at the bar to drink it.’ That’s the way it was.”^{^[75]}

A ridiculous scene

The extent of mistreatment of mejicanos in Uvalde and any area in the country where mejicanos lived is evident in Sánchez’s dissertation. Following is a scene that he created for us, which, while reminding us of the sad times Willie remembered, the story could make our readers ridicule the extent to which the Anglos carried their cruelty:

Refusal of service at restaurants and segregated movie theaters were just two of many

different ways in which Uvalde Hispanics experienced discrimination. In Uvalde, many

establishments displayed a sign that read “No Mexicans Allowed.’” Some places in Uvalde

continued to refuse service to Hispanics up to the 1960s. Another long-time Hispanic Uvalde

resident talked about the time he was employed at the restaurant in the Kincaid Hotel as a

dishwasher. As the sign mentioned above was being displayed, he was not permitted by the

restaurant manager to go into the dining area to retrieve dirty dishes. Instead, the waitresses

(who were White) had to place the dishes into portable trays and take them to the end of the

counter. The individual interviewed stated that the manager instructed him to retrieve the trays

by entering the dining area in a crouching manner behind the counter, and go to the end of the

counter, still in a crouching manner, to take the trays back to the kitchen area to wash the

dishes. In this manner, he would not be seen by the customers, and would observe the rule of

“No Mexicans Allowed.”^[76]

That sign must come down!

Willie continued his story:

At North Uvalde there was a sign at a bar we called El Colorado that said, “No Mexicans or

Dogs Allowed.” There’s a story about that sign and how my godfather, Pablo Pérez, began to

make lasting changes in Uvalde. He was a businessman who started, as they say, with

nothing. When I returned from the war, he was on his way up. He was always working to

improve our lives. He wanted the Anglos to treat us better. One day he told me, “Godson, do

you remember how I started with just a bowl of chili?” I said, “Yes, I remember.” Then he

added, “From that bowl of chili, look where l am now.” The man was happy because luck had

favored him.

It was my godfather who built the subdivision here called Alameda. He started building homes

in the area, where the Mike Esparza Funeral Home was later built. He didn’t own all the land

but was in charge of all the building there. He owned the building opposite Merejildo Gallardo’s

grocery store (known as Kuick Check, located on West Main Street), where Jerry’s Cafe was

later located. (Kuick Check later became Dora’s Restaurant, and that building no longer exists.)

My godfather had a bar there called El Tabú. He was a man who was always well-groomed,

used a perfumed powder called Tabú, and always had a clean appearance, so Emilio

Hernández and I gave him the nickname El Tabú. Emilio moved to California and died there.

He also used to own a café near Royal Cleaners on Grove Street, owned by Tomás Zapata.

That property used to belong to a Mr. Gonzáles. This man lived many years at the mines and

opened a gas station where Casal’s is now (at the corner of West Main and Grove Streets).

There were two brothers, and the entire corner property was theirs. Back then, the older people

owned entire blocks, from corner to corner. All the land in front of the Catholic Church used to

belong to Mrs. Luisa Riojas, and on the other side, all that belonged to the Ayalas. Where the

elderly Mrs. Ayala now lives, all that belonged to old man Ayala. I knew many of the older

adults who owned all these properties. Sometimes, I have all this information in my head and

remember all the names, but then I forget. There were many long-lived residents of Uvalde, like

Poncho Quiroga, one of the oldest people here. These people owned entire blocks of land.

Some of their families still own them, and some have sold them.

Behind the Catholic Church lived Pedro Castro, who used to repair the roads around here. He

had mules and hired people to work the road scrapers. In 1939, he was the one who built the

road that led up to Reyes Cafe (on Highway 90). This road wasn’t very good at the time. A

good road for us back then was Hacienda Road, which later became Fort Clark Road. If you

went down the roads past the Nueces River and cut to the left, past all those hills, you would

get to the (asphalt) mines and could turn and get to the small community of Cline. Around this

time, there weren’t any roads or houses in the area around the Uvalde cemetery (on Highway

90 West). All that was a wooded area, and to reach the cemetery, there was only a dirt road.

Where I used to live around there, there were no homes, just our house and that of the

Gonzáles.” There was a windmill there. All that area behind the Derby Drive-In, by the

cemetery, around where Anthon School is now, up to where the Catholic Church is now on Ft.

Clark Road, was all trees and shrubs.

Well, getting back to my padrino (godfather) Pablo, he always wanted mejicanos to have a

better life. One day, he says, “That sign at the Colorado Bar, we have to take it down. Who will

go with me?” Simón Cantú said, “I’ll go with you to take it down.” He was one of those old

tough men. Then Reginaldo Romo said, “I’ll go with you and let old man Mike Esparza drive us

in his car.”

They returned and put the sign on the bar, showing it to everyone, and kept it there for a while. I never knew what happened to that sign and never asked anyone about it. I never see the ones I could have asked. I never run into them to talk about that.^[77]

Removal of that sign was a courageous event at the time. One must keep in mind the circumstances under which it happened. Anglos were not subtle in their disdain for those who did their hard work for little pay. Throughout the country, similar signs affirmed their cruelty toward the poor and the downtrodden. After years of accepting what Anglos did to humiliate and subjugate mejicanos, this moment has to be remembered for the significant message it sent: “Enough is enough.” It has been remembered through word of mouth for years and it always has a great sense of pride. One man led, and the others so willingly followed. The pride in their accomplishment was a lasting one. Relatives of these men should feel very proud.

Willie returned to his memories of his conversations with friends along West Main Street:

Sometimes, I would go out and talk with some friends like Merejildo Gallardo. In the afternoons,

we would gather around his store and the Hernández Cafe across the street. That café

belonged to Casimiro Hernández. The other brother was Emilio. “Casimiro,” he would say,

“what is Pablito doing now?” I would say, “I don’t know, but he is up to something. I see him

measuring with his feet over there.” “Yes,” he added. “Get ready, Willie,” he said. “By tomorrow,

there’s no telling what he’s going to ask you to do.” “Well, he is my godfather,” I said, “I will help

him.” So, my godfather would then say, “Look, godson, I want to fix things this way or that.”

“Ok,” I would say, “I will help you.” Time passed that way. We all had to work to figure our way

through life. My godfather Pablo, in time, became sick. He must have had cancer of the

stomach or something like that because he lost a lot of weight and eventually died at age fifty-

four.^[78]

Reginaldo Romo agreed to go with Pablo Pérez, Simón Cantú, and Mike Esparza Sr. to take down the sign that read “No Mexicans or dogs allowed” at the Colorado Bar in North Uvalde. Courtesy of his son Ruben Romo.

Look at that building. I did that!

By then, I was doing more work as a carpenter and bricklayer, [Willie said.] One day, Chano

Treviño from el Barrio de Abajo (the lower barrio, around Uvalde Memorial Park) said: “Willie, I

want to build a store. What do you think? Can you build it for me?” That two-story building is

still standing, right across where Gonzáles has his office, a little further up. Chano Treviño’s

house was on one side of the street, and the store was across. Later, it became a dance hall,

and they had parties there. I was about twenty-six years old. I have made several buildings that

have been around for many years. For me, it is an honor to go by and tell my kids, “Look at that

building. I did that!” I also built the one where Jerry's Cafe is located on West Main Street and

Rowland’s store downtown. I knocked down the old jail; I was in charge of demolishing it. I

worked there for about a year and a half, building it. I worked for the company contracted to

build it and was in charge of the job site. That is why I know Vance Chisum. I knew his father

when they weren’t very well off. Later, Vance became the Chief of Police. There were lots of

little children in the Chisum family. When we returned from work, I wish you could see the little

old man. All of the little kids would come out of the house to greet him.”^[79]

A song for Willie and South Texas towns

Willie wanted us to remember the Uvalde of his younger years. If he were alive today and we could honor him with the customary serenade, I would choose the song Caminos de Tierra (Dirt Roads) by Joe Solís, which appears in David Lee Garza’s album Ya Me Cansé (2006). This song will bring memories to almost every mejicano who grew up in a small South Texas town. The hardship we all faced over the years was made less painful with the nurturing we received from our families, church, and barrios. The composer captures the joy of being happy despite being poor and ignored by those who could have helped us. I provided my English translation of Mr. Solis’s original song. You can listen to this song online by going to YouTube and searching for “Caminos de tierra.”

“Caminos de tierra”

Caminos de tierra

Ay cómo quisiera volverlos andar

Y al caer la tarde

A la hora de cena

Mirar a mi padre llegar

Mi madre barriendo,

Mi abuela leyendo

Oir mis hermanos jugar

Ay cómo quisiera

Ay si yo pudiera

Caminos de tierra

Volverlos andar

Había una pasta

Con sus nopaleras

Mesquites, veredas

Por donde podríamos pasar

Y al decir dos cuadras

Cerca de la iglesia

La tienda de la vecindad

Tortillas mi madre

Cigarros mi padre

Mi abuela algo para almorzar

Ay cómo quisiera

Ay si yo pudiera

Caminos de tierra

Volverlos andar

Domingos de Pascua

Sabores de raspa

Campanas de la Navidad

La misa el domingo

Los viernes el bingo

y el sábado para bailar

Ya cantan las ranas

Suenan las campanas

El tren ya se oye silbar

(Coro)

“Dirt Roads”

Dirt roads of home

Oh, how I would like to walk on you again

And in the evening

At dinner time

See my father come home

My mother sweeping,

My grandmother reading

Hear my siblings play

Oh, how I would like

Oh, if only I could

Dirt roads of home

To walk on you again

There was a field

With its cactus bushes

Mesquites, dirt trails

Where we could go

And about two blocks down

Near the church

The neighborhood store

Tortillas for my mother

Cigarettes for my father

For my grandmother something for lunch

Oh, how I would like

Oh, if only I could

Dirt roads of home

to walk on them again

Easter Sundays

Snow cone flavors

Christmas bells

Mass on Sundays

Bingo on Friday

And Saturdays to go dancing

The frogs are singing

The bells are ringing

We can hear the train whistling

(Chorus)

On November 6, 2018, my husband Richard and I traveled to Corpus Christi, Texas, to visit Mr. Solís, thank him for this beautiful song, and obtain his permission to publish it in this book. I located him by searching YouTube, and I first received a response from his nephew, Daniel López, leader of the popular Tejano band Aventura from San Antonio. It was a great joy to sing some of the verses of Caminos de Tierra with Mr. Solís, his daughter Jolyn Solís, and his little grandson, Ivan Noah Tamez, as our audience. Mr. Solís, now 70 years old, is the author of many songs, and he sang a few verses of a new song he is currently writing, which merges our technology-filled world with our longing for someone we have lost. The song is about his wish to buy a cellular phone that reaches heaven to speak to his loved ones there. If only that were possible, many of us would love to do the same!^{^[80]}

CHAPTER TWO

My service in World War II

“I am going to relate to you about my time in the war,” began one of Willie’s tapes.^{^[81]} Look for the story between the lines of his narration, for the anxiety mixed with the promise of adventure for young men serving their country. There was no anger or resentment, but acceptance of the consequences they could not control. They were full of joy and hope, and their childhood friendships and culture were to be priceless treasures in the dangers they would face.

It was in the latter part of 1940, and things were difficult for us mejicanos in Uvalde. Realizing

that we would have to serve our country, and with all that was happening to us, I volunteered to

serve. I wasn’t the only one; there were friends of mine who also volunteered. There weren't

many of us because Uvalde was a very small town back then. We didn’t have much education

because our parents were poor; they couldn’t help us.

Those of us who hung around together were all about the same age. We were, as they say, a

gang. At that age, one has to have friends and do things together up and down the

neighborhood. We were anxious to serve our government. Some were also very sad because

they had to leave. The draft was pushing us. It had been enacted before the start of World War

II. We were going to have to go; we were, as they say, cuqueados (our goose was cooked).

Many of us in our neighborhood had already registered, and we did a lot of thinking about what

was going to happen and what we would have to do. We all worried about being drafted and

wondered who would be called. Some were classified A1, others A2, A3, and so on. Boys who

were still in school in the eighth and ninth grades were on the draft list. There was nothing

more to do but to endure whatever was to come. About eight or nine of us hung around

together like the kids do today. We would be shouting and doing whatever we pleased, except

that we all walked everywhere. Back then, it was a rarity for someone to own a car. We lived

poorly.

When the Draft Board was established here in Uvalde, the one assigned for us to see was

Lencho Nevarez, a local young man. We would say: “They named Lencho to the Draft Board.

We are going to have to see him.” By the latter part of 1940, I already had a classification card

and was an A3. I didn’t have to go right away. Eventually, I would have had to go, but I would

have gone in 1943 or 1944. Those who were A1 and A2 were going sooner. I decided to

volunteer and put an end to all the commotion. I was already married. I got married in 1940.

That was at a very young age, but I had to find someone to take care of me. When you don’t

have anyone to live with, you have to find a way to form your life. My mother died in 1938 when

I returned from the CC Camps. This was the organization that the government had created for

young men who needed to work.

During the years that I was in the CC Camps, my mother would receive the money I earned. I

left in 1936 or 37, and when I returned, she died. So, I had to move on with my life. I would run

around with my friends, and among them were Johnny Flores, Rafael Gutiérrez, and Manuel

Gonzáles. These friends were about my age and lived on Bates, the oldest street in Uvalde.

There were no other streets but Bates and Carrizo Road. Those were the only streets we could

roam. Back then, Bates Street only extended up to the Torralba store, which was on a small

piece of land where the Torralbas now reside. Back then, the Torralbas didn’t live there. There

was a lady there, and two brothers whom we used to call las patas largas (the long-legged

ones). They owned the home, and the block ended there. The town was very small, and we

could walk through all our neighborhoods in a short time. From there, we would go to the West

End Park (now known as Jardín de los Héroes). There wasn’t anything there at the time, only

the creek (Cook’s Slough), and we would climb the trees and jump in the water, just spending

the day there.

All the boys I have named here left for the war. We all registered for the service; the first one

from Uvalde left on January 14, 1941. The first one to go was Juan Sánchez. (He left from

Brackettville.) He was followed by Arnulfo García, who was already at Fort Sam Houston by the

time we arrived, as was Cuco (Refugio) Ruiz. We were sent further up because they already

had too many at Fort Sam Houston. The majority arriving there were guys we had met at the

forestry camps in Arizona and New Mexico. There were many of those camps, and there was

one here in Uvalde (at Garner State Park). But we didn’t want to stay here. We wanted to know

about other camps. Then we returned, and shortly after that, our gang was together again.

Among us were also some Anglos from Uvalde. There was Clarence Heard, the son of a

rancher from Reagan Wells, and Otis Doughtry, who worked at the post office for many years.

They were good boys; they were very nice to us. I imagine they were as needy as we were;

that’s why they were with us at the camps.

The war began, and it seemed like it was planned, as all of us were chosen. In that first draft, it

was Manuel Gonzáles and I, but the others who drafted were also from the CC Camps. As it is

stated in the book Among the Valiant, it seemed that we had been prepared for war with the

training at these camps, much like the Germans had done with the SS Troopers. Hitler had

already designated them for his planned war. They all knew what they were doing.

We arrived at Fort Sam Houston and were then sent to Brownwood in 1941. We were training

there for two or three months. It was intended to get us in shape, and then we began

maneuvers in Louisiana. We weren't going of our own accord; we were sent there. We began

maneuvers at Fort Polk, Louisiana, and the company to which I was assigned was Company E,

141st Infantry. Rafael Gutiérrez went to Company D, 141st Infantry.^[82]

SSG Guillermo “Willie” De León. Courtesy of Sóstenes Rocha, Jr.

Willie and his friends joined the 36th Division, also known as the “Texas Division” and the “T-Patchers,” and was formed from National Guard units. It was originally organized in 1917 at Camp Bowie in Fort Worth, Texas. On November 25, 1940, the 36th Division was called to active duty (Now it is located in Brownwood, Texas.). It went to Louisiana for maneuvers, where they participated in mock battles with General Walter Kreuger’s Third Army. Then, in February 1942, they moved to Camp Blanding, Florida, and trained in the Carolinas, spending the winter in Camp Edwards, Massachusetts. The division left for North Africa^{^[83]} in April 1943.

In his book Among the Valiant, Raul Morin (1963) described Company E:

One of the most colorful infantry companies that fought in the Mediterranean during WW II

was Company E, 141st Regiment of the 36th (Texas) Division. They started their frontline

action when American troops landed at Salerno.

Company E was peculiarly different from all other infantry units that landed in the European

campaign. The entire company was made up of Spanish-speaking soldiers. They included

Mexicans, Mexican Americans, and the so-called Latin Americans. Many of the enlisted men

spoke limited English. All of the non-coms and platoon officers were Americans of Mexican

descent.

The decision to form a company of all Mexican Americans was unusual in the United States

Army. It turned out to be a good decision for the Division and these soldiers because they were

given promotions and commissions that may not have been possible in other units. The

transfers from other companies into E Company made the unit one of the strongest and

certainly an outstanding company in the 36th. While the other companies filled their ranks with

raw recruits sent in by the draft boards, E Company was up to full strength with seasoned and

well-conditioned GIs who had been in the Division since pre-war days. They stood out in drills,

field problems, weapon firing, and infantry tactics. They built quite a reputation for themselves

in the regiment during their early training days.^[84]

Willie continued his memories of the departure:

Because we were young, we were happy to be there, but at the same time, we were sad

because we had left a girlfriend, a wife, or a family. With time, we had to put all that behind us.

We were in the service now, so forget all that. We had to go wherever we were taken.

The maneuvers were not too long, lasting about three months, and there were other divisions

that ended up with us in Europe: the 3rd, the 35th, the 45th, and the 36th. During maneuvers,

the Yankee divisions were going to be fighting against us. When we arrived at Camp Polk, we

were among the first recruits. They were raising tents for the soldiers arriving. Before the

maneuvers began, I told Rafael: “Do you think we are going to see some more recruits? What

do you think?” After a few days in the service, we felt “little wings,” we felt older and didn’t feel

like rookies anymore.

We were more aware of things. We wanted to see who else was coming in. About three days

later, a soldier from Rocksprings, Ticho (Tirso) Carrillo, came by and informed us that two men

from Uvalde had just arrived. “You should go see them,” he said. “Maybe we will go tonight,” I

said. “It's not far. We should go before they move us somewhere else.” That night, Rafael,

Manuel, and I went to Camp Polk and spoke to soldiers there to see if someone would tell us if

there were any guys from Uvalde. A lieutenant told us, “Yes, there is a guy from Uvalde at that

tent.”

When we arrived, the first person we met was Ramón Torres. He said, “So you are here. How’s

it going? Are you on your way over there?” ‘We are not going. They’re taking us!’ “Chihuahua,”

he said. “Small world, isn’t it? Have you been to that tent over there? I'll take you there. George

Ciprian is there.” “George Ciprian?” “Yes, and there are others close by. There are only two of

us here, but there are more from Uvalde.” So, we talked until about ten o’clock that night and

then returned to our camp, happy, having at least located some others. The maneuvers

started. ¡Ay, Chihuahua! The sergeants began to figure out how it was all to work out. We were

all rookies, and the sergeants were told to take us here, hide us there, and not to let us drink

from our canteens. These would be filled with water, but they had to last us all day. They would

check our canteens, and we would be punished if they found them empty. We would be told,

“You drank it all. We gave it to you for the whole day because from here on out, there won’t be

any water. You will get water only at certain times to fill your canteens.” They would punish us

to train us from the very beginning. That was good.

At any rate, we were taken into the woods, and since it had rained, we would be looking out for

puddles or streams with a little water. If we were thirsty, we would drink water with a little dirt in

it, so we would not use it in our canteens. We would fall on our stomachs, and we would drag

ourselves around.^[85]

Willie entered the military with friends from home. At their training in Fort Polk, Louisiana, their apprehension about their future was comforted by finding each other there—courtesy of Sostenes Rocha Jr.

We were in combat; we would drink from our hands and look out for the sergeant or the

lieutenant. My, what things did we go through. We would say a few cuss words through it all.

One night, about ten days into the maneuvers, our sergeant forgot about us. We were suddenly

moved in the middle of the night and told that the enemy was coming. It was all a simulation.

What we didn’t like was that there may have been twenty-five soldiers waiting for the enemy,

and then we would see one guy from the enemy side with a red band across his chest or

wherever, and we were told to run because there was a battalion of soldiers. It was hard for us

to take it seriously, to have to run because we saw one soldier running toward us, so we had to

run back. And that is how the maneuvers were.

Anyway, by the sergeant’s negligence, in one of these moves, another soldier and I were in a

hole, and we fell asleep. Our sergeant never came to wake us up. In the morning, I could not

see anyone around us. There was no one sticking their heads out. It was about six o’clock

when we started to look around. “Do you hear something?” “No. I don't hear anything.”

“Chihuahua, where did our company go?” “I have no idea where it went!” “Let’s get the heck

out of here!” We didn’t see the sergeant, or anybody. “Well, let’s go and walk that way.” Well,

there we went. We arrived at a place where there was a swamp and brush everywhere. We

saw some guys sitting there with the red band across their chests. They were the enemy! They

just looked at us, and when they saw we were wearing the blue band, one shouted, “We have

some prisoners! We have prisoners!”

“Prisoners?” We had gone to them to ask them if we were lost and didn’t know where we were.

They said again, “We got some prisoners.” And they took us, and after a while, they told us:

“We are going to have to take you to Deridder.” Deridder was about sixty or seventy miles from

where we were. That was where our enemy had its camp for prisoners of war. The good thing

was that once we became prisoners, we stayed at the camp and slept there day and night. We

were fed three meals a day and were very well nourished. Well, we couldn’t believe our luck.

We didn’t have to go anywhere with our rifles hanging from our shoulders. We just put it up

somewhere. What luck! The soldiers from the north were all Anglos, and we were Mexicans.

My friend and I had been talking to each other in Spanish, and a captain who heard us asked:

“Are you all American citizens?” “Yes, we are American citizens. We were born here, but we

are from Mexico.” “Oh, it’s the first time I see a Mexican.” “Well, you are looking at one now.”

We then told him that there were many mejicanos in our company. The captain said, “Well, you

are prisoners now. You are with us. The maneuvers might be over in a month and a half, but

you will have to stay with us until the maneuvers are finished.” “Ok. Ok.”

Well, chihuahua, we had a good time because we had nothing to do. The officer who caught us

liked me because he told me: “There’s the kitchen.” I started right away to help the cooks feed

their soldiers, not ours. For me, it had nothing to do that, to help out. I would take the captain

his plate. I knew where he had his tent. I would shine his boots, his shoes. I earned their

friendship. I had a good time in those maneuvers!

When the maneuvers were over, a prisoner exchange would take place. They took us to a

place that had been cleared, like a baseball park, but bigger. The prisoners of the Red Army

had their prisoners on one side and our army on the other. They would call out the name of one

of our prisoners and then the name of the other side. We began exchanging prisoners, one by

one.

That was how we were liberated. It was all a simulation, a dry run. We imagined it would be

that way in the real war. I don't know how it was done at the end of the war in 1945, but that

was how it was done during maneuvers. We simply did our job as soldiers in our companies

and were unaware of what was happening.

They continued to move us around to different parts of the country, not just in Louisiana. We

had some training in North and South Carolina, and they took us to the beach, on the sand, for

several months. We were in different parts of Texas to get used to different climates and

terrain. We spent months here and months there.^[86]

Raul Morin added some insights to Willie’s memories of Company E:

From Camp Bowie, they started out eating together, training together, sleeping together,

speaking Spanish when serious, and English for military discipline. Together, they enjoyed not

only the regular Army chow but also their preferred Mexican dishes, which many times were

prepared by the company cooks who were also of Mexican descent.

In early 1943, the 36th Division was shipped out of Staten Island, New York, Europe bound.

Everyone agreed that “Easy” company era la más alegre. (It was the most joyful.) They were a

fun-loving group with many laugh-provoking individuals who were always springing crazy antics

among the company. Enrique Fuentes, from Crystal City and “Güero” Garza of San Antonio

were a couple whose specialty number was Las Comadres (In this context, “the gossipers”)

act. In this comedy-riot act, they would impersonate two back-yard gossiping old maids in the

manner of speech, gossipy wit, and even in style of dress with makeshift costumes of

bedsheets and pillows. On the boat trip across the Atlantic, this couple kept the troops

entertained with their fun-zest and comedy acts. Of all the companies on board, none had as

many entertainers as E Company with its many instrumentalists and its semi-professional

singers. There were duets, trios, and quartets who kept up a steady dancing and singing tempo

with their Mexican and Spanish boleros, rumbas, guarachas and ranchero music and songs.

Added to the Latino atmosphere was the fact that the two ships that carried the 36th overseas

were approximately named the Argentina and the Brazil.^[87]

PVT Refugio “Cuco” Ruiz was killed at Normandy, France. Courtesy of Gloria García.

We sailed from New York

“Finally, we arrived in New York, and we realized that this was the real McCoy,” continued Willie. “We were really on our way to Europe. The boats were ready: the Mississippi, the Argentina, and others. We were loaded on the USS Brazil and landed in Africa.”^{^[88]}

In his book Patriots of the Barrio, author Dave Gutiérrez (2014) describes the departure:

On April 2nd, the USS Brazil and the men of the 36th Division sailed off into harm’s way. Many

of the men had never been aboard a ship for any extended time, and being crammed aboard

the Brazil didn’t make things easier on their stomachs. As a result, many of the Texans were

introduced to seasickness. The bunks below were stacked four high with very little room in

between. The Navy chow, on the other hand, was good and plentiful, which was what they

were able to keep down anyway. The zigzag maneuvers by the USS Brazil to keep away from

the German U Boats did not help anyone’s stomach.^[89]

Willie continued his memories of North Africa:

There was some battle action still going on, and we saw some action. Later, we went through

training in Rabat, on the Mediterranean, as I told you on another tape. There, we ran into some

guys we knew from Uvalde; there were quite a few who served there. One can’t remember all

the names, but you do remember friends you spent time with who were in your gang and knew

each other very well, and now we were together over there.^[90]

Pi Brownwood, Texas in 1941: 1st SGT Rafael Gutiérrez, SGT Pole Cadena of Pleasanton, Texas, SSG Guillermo De León. Gutiérrez and De León were from Uvalde, Texas. The three landed in North Africa. Courtesy of Sostenes Rocha Jr.

An unexpected encounter

In Africa I experienced something I didn’t expect because the world is so small, after all.

Incredible things occur in a war, things you would never have imagined you would have to do. I

don’t even know how to explain this, but when you least expect it, you found friends over there

who know you from your hometown. You would be so happy when that happened amid battle.

When you are in battle, you have nothing else to worry about but your life, and something good

happens.

I was already a Staff Sergeant when I landed in Rabat, Africa. I was placed in charge of

guarding a 12-mile sector of the beach. Our job there was to report anything we saw, and we

had walkie-talkies to communicate whatever we saw. One day, I met up with the sergeant I

was going to relieve and asked him: “Have you seen anything?” “No, everything is quiet.” “No

civilians?” “No, I haven’t seen anything.”

As I continued to look out at a part of the sea ahead of me, I focused on a specific area and

saw something move. I told the sergeant I was going to check it out. Back then, when I was

younger, I could see better, travel much longer distances, and do some incredible things. “I

think I see something; I’d better go check on it.” “Ok, let’s go. You might be right, or you might

be wrong.” “Well, I'm right.” We jumped on the rocks, and he suggested a route to a sandy

clearance where the water was lapping. I told him, “No, I’m going through the back, behind

those rocks, where the water came up to them.” “It’s dangerous over there.” “I don’t care. I

could jump and get in through there.”

I climbed up since it wasn’t too high to get there, but it was dangerous. I looked around and

heard noises as if someone was below me. I heard voices, so I kept looking around until I

reached a larger clearing, and I told the sergeant, “I’m going to jump from here.” He stared at

me and said, “You will probably get hurt.” “No. It’s not too deep. I could jump. I jumped down

and landed in a place that looked like a room, very clean, like a cave.” “Look what I found!

Somebody’s been over here.”

We continued walking around the rocks and arrived at the spot where we turned behind a large

rock. Inside, we found a family of Spaniards who were having a party there. I found out it was a

party because the head of the family told me later. When I jumped down, they were startled.

Both the man and the women were scared. Since we spoke Spanish as they did, I asked the

man what they were doing there and if they didn’t know that the area was off limits and that

they were violating a law. I asked if they had not seen the signs. I spoke to them harshly

because we had to. We weren’t going to talk sweetly to them. Then the Spaniard told me:

“Look, we have this place here to celebrate. Today is a holiday for us (I did not know what it

was) and we come to this place every year.” “Yes, but there’s a war going on now. This place is

a restricted area.” Then the Spaniard said, “Well, then we will have to go. We'll have to load

everything into our wagon and go home.” I told him that I was sorry that I had to do that to

them, but that I was following orders and that there was nothing I could do for them. Before he

began to walk away, the man started to talk to me. He said he had a business and told me

about his family, home, and where it was. He said, “I am leaving, but I would like for you to

come by there, maybe on a Saturday or Sunday. Do you like to drink?” “Not much,” I said, “but

I do like to drink.’”

I don’t think there is a soldier who doesn’t drink. I didn’t use to drink, but when I entered the

service and I stayed at the camp, there was always someone who would push me. They would

say, “What are you doing there? Let’s go have a beer, and we'll come back later. They’re

gonna kill you anyway. At least you'll go with a beer in your belly.” “Well, I got into drinking

whenever I had a chance. Yes, I will drink a few. I am not a regular drinker, but I will drink

about two.” The tavern owner then said: “Well, we can drink there. On Saturday or Sunday,

whenever you want. l am always there. These are my two daughters, and they serve at the

tavern. My family is there.”

The Spaniards didn’t call this business a bar. They called it a tavern. “But I want to tell you

something,” he continued. ‘I know many American soldiers who have been fighting in Tunisia,

and there is a young man who says he is from Texas.’ ‘Oh, you have talked to other soldiers

from Texas?” “I wish you would come to my tavern. This young man is mean. He's not a

sergeant, but he’s a mean man. He drives tanks with the 1st Armored Division. He has already

run off several Texans because he doesn’t want them to get near my daughters. He doesn’t let

them have a beer.” “Oh really? Well, whoever that is, I will come. That Mexican that you are

talking about doesn't scare me. You say he is in the 1st Division?” “Yes,” he said. “He comes

every Sunday afternoon to see my daughter.” The girl was very pretty. “Ok. I'll go there next

Sunday. We are going to be here anyway until we leave for Sicily. If we are called, that will be

the first invasion that is planned, or we may go to Salerno, which is also predicted. We are

getting ready for it. We are in the line of fire,” I said.

I returned to the camp, which was located between Rabat and Casablanca, about 30 miles

from Rabat and 30 miles from Casablanca. During the week, I went to see Sergeant Enrique

Ochotorena, who we all called “Sweet Pea.” “Hey, Sweet Pea!” “Que pasó De León?” “Listen, I

got invited to a tavern in Rabat. I am not going to tell you how I found it, but I have a friend

there.”

If I told Ochotorena, who was a higher rank than I, he would say, “What did you do? What

happened?” “And that man,” I added, “Has some very pretty daughters. What do you say we go

there?” “Of course,” he replied. “Let’s go.” That Ochotorena was a tough one. I told him, “You

and I can go. Who else can we take?” “I don’t know.”

Gabriel Navarrete, like Sweet Pea, was also from El Paso. Ochotorena asked him, “Will you go

with De León and me to Rabat to a tavern to drink a beer?” “Of course I will. Let’s go.”

Ochotorena asked me if I knew how to get to the tavern. “I don’t know, but I have an idea

where it is.”

We didn’t know the town, but guided by the directions the Spaniard had given me, what

buildings to look for, and what road to follow, I was sure we could get there. On our way there, I

told my friends about the mean soldier the Spaniard had told me about. Navarrete said, “He

must be one of those types that like to drink and create trouble.”

Well, we made it to the tavern. The man had a very nice place; he hadn’t lied about that. There

was a large mirror that allowed us to see toward the doors behind us and all around. I

introduced my friends and told him they were from the States: “They are both from El Paso.

This is Sergeant Ochotorena; we call him Sweet Pea and Sergeant Navarrete,” I told him. We

ordered some beers and began talking with him, but the Spaniard kept looking around. The

Spaniard’s pretty daughters were there, and one of them kept looking at us. She must have

been saying, “These are the ones that ran us off the beach.” “It’s a nice afternoon,” the

Spaniard said as we began talking.

We were on our second beer when we heard the loud rumbling of a motorcycle far away. As it

got closer, I imagined it to be one of the heavy types, like the ones used in the military. The

driver was revving it up. The girls threw their heads back. They knew it was that tough guy.

Ochotorena hit me with his leg to alert me. The old man told us, “That's the one I told you

about. Did you hear how he roared in?” The driver got off, and just as they do in Western

movies, he opened the door with both hands and looked all around. It was like watching a

movie. As soon as I saw him, I thought. “I know this guy.” “You know him?” “Yes.”

By God and my mother, I swear I never expected to see him there. It was Johnny Flores,

nicknamed in our gang in Uvalde as La Víbora (the Snake). As soon as he turned, I called him

by that name: “¡Víbora!” He stared in all directions, then turned toward me and said, “¡Mira a

De León!” (Like saying, I can’t believe it’s De León!) He came toward me, and by the time he

got to me, his eyes were full of tears. He cried; he cried there with me. He hugged me and

cried. Poor Johnny Flores, he cried that day.

“What’s going on?” he said. “You’re here?” “Yes, I told him. We have been here three weeks.”

“Golly,” he said. “I never expected to see you here, brother.” “Yeah, you didn’t expect to find

me here, but here I am. What can I say?” “¡Híjole! (Golly!) I didn’t expect to see you here. And I

am sure you didn’t expect to see me either.” “I have always had hope,” I told him. “I never lose

hope. Faith and hope are always with me.” “Well, that’s good,” he said, but the moment

changed when he asked me, “Have you seen my mommy lately?” His mother was Frances

Harris, Fernando Gallardo’s wife. That old man is still alive today. He is always at different

parties everywhere around town. “No,” I said. “It’s been a while since I left Uvalde. I left before

you did, but we were held up.” “They sent us over here right away,” he replied. “We didn’t get

much training in the States,” he said. “You found me here because we were in a battle where

they blew up my tank. I was lucky to have survived. I am still here being a pain in the neck.” “I

know,” I answered.

I introduced him to my friends and explained that we had known each other in Uvalde for many

years, since we were about ten years old. This was because I had lived about three houses

apart, so we saw each other all the time.” “Is that right?” they asked. “Yes, all that De León is

saying is true. We grew up together in the barrio.”

The old man was very happy. Now he didn’t have to worry about his daughters or that this

soldier would be upset because we were there.

“You know,” Johnny told me, “that girl is my girlfriend. I met her a short time ago. But since I

come here,” he added as he got close to my ear, “What do you think I do? I scare off any

mejicano that comes here.” “Why?” “Well, so they don’t keep coming here!” “You’re crazy,

Juan. You are crazy!” (Juan is how Willie also called him.) “Yes, I’m crazy. You know that. So,

you'll be camped out there for a while?” “Yes, we are about twenty-five miles from here. The

3rd Division is there. The 3rd Division is on this side, and we are on the other side, but we are

very close to each other.” “Well,” he said, “If I have a chance, I will try to come to visit if I can

because we are about to be shipped out; we don’t know where.”

I told him we would be going to Italy with the 3rd Ranger Battalion. “We are the ones that will

attack Sicily with the 3rd Division.” “Ok. I wish you good luck. You know it’s getting hot—it’s

pretty hot.” “It doesn’t matter. With luck, everything is possible,” I told him. “I don’t know if we

are also going there,” he said. “hope not, and if you do, may God bless you. because it’s

tough right now, but I know that if you do get there, you won't easily give up. You will make it

back,” I said. “Just like these guys with me, they are tough. They have already seen some

action.”^[91]

This moment stood out in Willie’s story because here were two young men who had known each other since they were little boys. They had the comfort of shared experiences, like the coziness of old shoes, and did not need many words to convey their feelings to each other. When Johnny cried just by realizing it was his friend from home, his tough image melted, and he let himself go. It didn’t matter that he had forged another personality for the Spaniard and his daughters. Here was someone who knew him and to whom he could not hide who he was. The moment took him home, and he longed for his mother and hoped that Willie could give him some news about her. This moment reminded us of how our young men in battle experienced the separation from loved ones. In the exchange with Juan, Willie took on the role of brother, or better yet, of a father giving his son advice. They were about the same age, but just then, Willie knew his role was to console Johnny and reassure him as best he could:

The evening was turning into night, and we realized we had to return by seven. We said our

goodbyes to Johnny and the Spaniard and rode back very happy, talking about the eventful

day. We arrived at the camp in about an hour and a half. After that, I never saw Johnny again.

This was in 1942.^[92]

PVT Johnny Flores served in the 1st Armored Division. His meeting Willie De León at a tavern in Rabat was a happy event amidst the looming dangers they were to face. Courtesy of his children Cynthia Flores Esparza and Johnny Flores Jr.

Frances Harris and her son Johnny Flores, Willie De León’s childhood friend.

Courtesy of his children, Cynthia Flores Esparza and Johnny Flores Jr.

My friend Manuel Gonzáles was lying on the floor of our tent; we didn’t have beds. He was

covered with a tarp with a rock for a pillow.

“What happened? How did it go? What did you bring?”

“Nothing!”

“What do you mean, ‘nothing’?”

“You didn’t bring something, a small bread?”

“No, man, I don’t go to stores, you know.” “What stores?”

“Well, when I go someplace, I like to go to the stores.’”

“But I don’t go. I don’t like to go; you know I go for other reasons. I don’t go looking for

something to eat.”

“¡Ay!” he said as he just shook his head.

“What happened at the tavern? Tell me all about it. Did you see that Spaniard? Who did you

meet?”

“Yes, I saw him. And who do you think that mean man was, the one we were told was so

dangerous because of the girls?”

“Well, I don’t know.”

“You are not going to believe who it was! Well it was La Víbora, Johnny Flores!”

“That's who it was? Did you see him?”

“Yes. I saw him there, and we talked for a good while. And that was the man, a Uvaldean,

imagine that!”

“No, man, that guy is dangerous; he takes advantage of people.”

“Yes, he is advantageous if you let him. Well, he was there. With me, he wasn’t like that. He

and I have been friends since we were kids.”

“Well, l am glad you saw him. What did he ask you?”

“He asked me about his mother and Fernando, his stepfather, and he cried, he cried.”

“Well, that’s for sure, he cried. We are all the same. I cry too. By myself under the covers, I also

cry. I don’t know what is going to happen if I am going to return home.”

“Oh, you are always worrying about making it back. Just say you are going to make it back,

man. Just go everywhere, go, and you will make it back home.”

Regardless of his worries, the young man made it back. He was wounded, but he survived.

“Well, what are you going to do now?” Manuel asked me.

“I am going to lay down. It’s past eight. I’m going to lie down here.”

I told him, ‘You want me to lie next to you? I can sleep anywhere.’

“Yes, maybe you will remember something else you saw.”

“I didn’t see anything else, I told you. I didn’t see anything. I was there for a while with the

Spaniard, watching the pretty girls. That’s it.”^[93]

Willie De León and his friend Manuel Gonzales. Although they were about the same age, when Willie returned from Rabat, Manuel felt depressed and fearful. Willie became his older brother and tried to comfort him and give him hope. Courtesy of Sostenes Rocha Jr.

In this exchange, Willie again became the big brother. This time, Manuel is lying there cold, lonely, and insecure. He longed for something that would give him comfort. Willie wants him to snap out of it and accept the reality that food is just not always available. He can speak to him in a harsh tone because Manuel is a long-time friend. The only comfort he can give his friend is to offer to lie next to him, to reassure him that he is not alone and that he will make it back home.

We went to sleep, and the conversation continued the next morning when we woke up. Manuel longed to know more about the trip to Rabat.

“And who else went with you?”

“You know who went with me? Ochotorena and Navarrete.”

“You took them? Chihuahua, those men are following you. They are tough sergeants. They went with you? They have pretty high command around here.”

“Well, they went with me. They wouldn’t let me go alone. I told them why I was going. I didn’t push them. They went on their own.”

“¿Y tragaron?” (And did you all drink?)

“Yes, they did, and I did too.”

“Ok.”

We stayed at that camp for two or three more weeks. We were finally ready and destined for

the planned Anzio beachhead in Italy. The 9th of September 1943 was the day set for the

invasion. The days passed, and everything was moving smoothly when we got the order to

attack Italy.^[94]

The Battle of Salerno

Before we knew it, we were aboard the USS James O’Hara. It was not a large ship, and it was

not going to be loaded with too many soldiers, only a certain number due to its size. It wasn’t

like some of the other ships we had been on. Of course, several ships were involved. The ships

had rafts along the sides, infantry landing boats that could each carry forty men, and they had a

ramp. We have seen them in war movies.

Well, they boarded us at about seven o’clock at night. We ate supper very late and were still far

from North Africa. We were happy until then, but we had to be careful even there because the

enemy could be anywhere. He didn’t have to be German; he could be from among us. I say

this because it was when we were on the ship heading out to Italy that they told us the big lie

that Italy had surrendered. Italy, in fact, had not surrendered when we landed. We were

welcomed there with bullets and heavy bombardment. They were ready for us, ready to kill us,

just like killing dogs.

Sergeant Medina came and told me, “De León, you and I are going together. You will be the

guide for our platoon. When we land, you will carry those repeaters and remove the wires up

front. You need to get five good, light-footed men from your platoon, and you will light the pipes

so they can blow out all the wiring and create a gap for the rest of the soldiers to pass through.

If we don’t open that gap, our men won't be able to cross. That wire is going to hold them back,

and the Germans can kill a lot of us. The machine guns are already waiting in that area.”

So we did that. We had been circling for a while before we landed at dawn, around one in the

morning. Many ships were landing at the same time. Our company was to cover about twelve

miles of the beach. There was to be a first wave and a second wave, several yards apart. We

will be in the first wave, and the second and third waves will follow. There we went. As we

approached the beach, we began to see the red flares of tracer bullets, one after the other.

When we closed our fingers in, we could see the red flares of the bullets, some low and some

high. Those that hit the ships caused massive killings and drownings. It was horrible!^[95]

Artillery being landed during the invasion of mainland Italy at Salerno, September 1943. Troops bringing artillery ashore at Salerno in September 1943. The military policeman (MP) in the foreground is ducking from a nearby German shell hit. The LCVP is from the USS James O'Hara (APA-90). Note the use of chicken wire to stabilize the sand on the beach. Official US Navy-National Archives 80-G54600.

Some would hit some of the infantry landing boats, but not all of them. We made it. We landed.

My soldiers rushed in. The guys were carrying the pipes that were about ten feet long. One of

them placed the first one, and I had the box of matches and would light the dynamite

immediately. I had been trained for this in North Africa and had given demonstrations on this. I

became an expert at this and was fast at it. We began to blow up the wires, each time opening

up a gap, and a large group of soldiers rushed in, past it, and then dropped to the ground,

crawling and shooting as they went. We had no tank support, air support, or rifles, and one or

two bazookas. The Germans had all the advantage with their tanks waiting for us. However, by

the time the Germans arrived with their tanks, our platoon had advanced some two hundred

yards inside the beach.

I was lying on the sand, waiting for another group to come in before I moved further up. I knew

the men who were with me pretty well. I could tell who each one was by the way they ran and

the movements they made. When I turned to look to one side, I saw Ramón Gutiérrez, also

known as El Zancudo (The Mosquito) from Del Rio, Texas. As he was running by, he dropped

to the ground about twenty feet from me and turned to me and shouted back: ‘They killed

Pancho Villa!’ The Pancho Villa he was talking about was a first sergeant of ours. His real

name was Manuel Padilla. He wasn’t the man with the same name mentioned in the book

Among the Valiant. Our Manuel Padilla was the first from our company to die.

Ramón got back up and moved further up. I got up and continued crawling and groping my

way, leading the men behind me. I would point to them, indicating which ones went forward

and which stayed behind; it was all done through hand signals. We had to be quick at it.

Ramon scampered up quickly, about fifteen feet, when a German tank was approaching. He

grabbed a grenade and threw it at the tank, breaking it down. He must have hit its rails or

tracks because it stopped there. Then, the two Germans who were inside opened the hatch,

and Ramon immediately killed one of them and injured the other one. The injured one

remained inside. Those tanks have a name, but right now, I can’t recall it. (The name of these

tanks was Panzer tanks).

When the German fell to the ground, Ramón came close to him, and the injured man asked

Ramón for water. But it was a ploy; he wanted Ramón to maneuver and use his hand another

way, like pulling out his canteen to give him water. Later, Ramón told me that as he did just

that, the German dragged himself, holding a dagger. The men struggled, and Ramón had to kill

him. It wasn't about the water; it was a two-person fight. They were both lying there because

Ramón had also been injured by then. That was one of the greatest actions in our division. He

was a very brave man, a highly respected soldier, and had great courage. We meet these

crazy, brave men, and he is one of them. For his action on that day, he was awarded the Silver

Star.

We continued a little further up that afternoon. Captain John Chapin then gave the order for us

to dig foxholes deep enough to cover our heads because we were expecting a tank attack. If

the tanks came up, they would roll over us because their view was only straight ahead and not

below. That afternoon, an event occurred among our officers. We had a colonel by the last

name of Schmidt, who was from the Fredericksburg, Texas, area. The rumor had it (and no

one can be sure, as we were too busy fighting) that he tried to surrender his battalion earlier

that very afternoon. He had instructed his soldiers to grab a white rag and raise it as a sign of

surrender. The soldiers under him did not follow his orders. They came to fight, not to

surrender. That is what this colonel did. Some incredible things happened, and some we didn’t

know about. I never knew what happened to that colonel. Captain Chapin had told us to dig

those deep foxholes, and I saw him as a good man, not like that one. He was a true, honorable

man.

Later that afternoon, Captain Chapin told us not to get into the foxholes. “Instead,” he told us,

“we are moving on to a side route and then straight ahead, moving all night until we reach a

designated mountain. No one will be left here. We’re gonna keep on moving.” A big attack was

expected, and he had asked the ships nearby to shell all that area very heavily at a certain time

that night. “Those Germans are not going to find us here,” he told us. Captain Chapin was right

on target. That night, we began to hear the Germans approaching us. We could hear their

tanks and their motorcycles, and at dawn, we heard all that area being shelled by the artillery

from our ships. Early the next day, we were on top of the mountain, and we could see all the

dead German soldiers, all their vehicles, everything in shambles. Captain Chapin had guessed

right that we were going to be attacked. They had been very well armed, and we had nothing,

not a single tank. There we were, on top of the mountain, thankful that our Captain’s actions

had saved our lives.

We arrived at the small town of Alta Villa. It was still smoldering; all its buildings had been

destroyed. There were many dead civilians because, although they had been warned, they had

refused to leave. As we walked among the debris, we saw heads, arms, and legs strewn all

over. It was a horrible sight, a full-fledged war.

We remained there a few days. Other divisions were also stalled, waiting to see where we

would be told to go, but we needed a few days of rest. We remained there for about a week,

and we were given our rations, but it was hard to eat them with the stench of the dead around

us. The smell seemed to stay in our nostrils. The stench of a dead human is really bad.

We moved from Alta Villa, searching for the Germans as they were searching for us. If they

attacked us, we would respond. We aimed to reach Germany on foot or by vehicles, but it was

all infantry, always on foot. We could walk five miles—sometimes ten, but no more—always

looking for the enemy. Other divisions from other directions—on we all went!

We weren’t always moving forward; sometimes, they pushed us back a little. We took some

real beatings! (¡Nos dieron una buena joda!) The Germans were good fighters, some of the

best. I always said, in fighting the Italians, ‘¡no más, no!’ They were sometimes a bunch of

cowards.

That was how we went on, walking, taking towns and villages, leaving behind troops that would

always follow us. After we took a town, another company that was not involved in the fighting

came in. They did carry weapons, but they also included special personnel, such as engineers

and other units, who followed us and held the line. By the time we left, there would be 800 or

900 soldiers to guard what was left behind and look out for any enemy soldiers left behind.

Later, they would move on, and another group moved in. We were ahead of them, fighting. Oh,

what hell that was!

We continued until we were on our way to attack Naples. We would call it Napolis. We would

wait on the outskirts while the artillery did some light bombing, and a few observers were sent

in. There was no initial heavy bombardment as we saw in the recent Gulf War. It was all very

different. The ones who suffered the most were the infantry soldiers, as they were tasked with

handling the heavy weapons. If the ones flying the airplanes encountered a German aircraft,

they would go after it. There were times when the Germans overtook the Americans because

they had very good airplanes and skilled aviators, but the American government was more

powerful. It was leading us well; everything was very orderly. The day we hit Naples, what was

bombed were the beaches where the boats were. However, when we entered the town, if there

had been any large buildings, they had been destroyed. There were stores, such as jewelry

stores and other large retailers, that were not significantly damaged. The Americans had not hit

those areas with a heavy hand.

Our entry into the town was calm. We left without any problem because many Americans were

traveling through that city. We did not stay there long, but we did spend about two days at the

Mussolini Stadium, and then we moved on, traveling from town to town.^[96]

At Mt. Rotondo losing friends was difficult to bear

We left Naples. About twenty miles from there was a place they called Apple Orchard. There

we stayed for about fifteen days. At least we were better off there because we ate warm meals

and could clean our feet to be ready. We had been told that the officers had the maps that

showed some tough terrain where we would have to fight. They would say to us: “Rest up

because there are three areas ahead of us with lots of Germans, and we are going to have to

fight them to get them out of there. The fighting is going to be very tough.”

We were told that the Germans were very well prepared once we left Apple Orchard. ‘It’s

gonna be rough over there!’ They were referring to San Pietro, Mount Lungo, and Mount

Rotondo, all high mountains where the Germans were well entrenched. It was at Mount

Rotondo where our company suffered a heavy loss of lives.

It was at Apple Orchard that I became sick. I had a high fever. My friend Gabriel Navarrete was

promoted to second lieutenant there. He told us: “We are going to Mount Rotondo, and things

will get rough. There are three mountains. One is being fought by the 3rd Division, and we will

take another one, or we trade with each other because we will be fighting there for a good

while.”

The Navarrete I mention here was a man who became famous in his division. He made a name

for himself during this time. We were in our trucks when he told me: “How do you feel, De

León? What is wrong with you? You don’t look very well.” I told him: “I don’t know. I feel pretty

bad. I think I have a fever, and I am shaking. I am feeling pretty bad.” He asked me, “Do you

think you can make it? Where we are going, it’s going to be pretty tough.” “Well”, I said, “I don’t

want to give in. Let’s go to that mountain, where we have to relieve the 3rd Division.”

Well, we arrived as planned, but by that time, I was hallucinating. Shortly after, Navarrete came

back to check on me where I was sitting, and told me: “You look like something is wrong with

you, like you feel pretty bad.” I told him: “I'll stay here anyway. I'll spend the night here. They

may attack us, or they might not. So be it.” “No,” he said. “They will attack us. This German

crap is going to fight for this mountain. We are not going to let them have it just like that. They

are going to have to run us off.”

The next morning, I was trembling. By then, our company had its foxholes ready in case the

worst were to happen. About two that afternoon, Navarrete told me, “De León, you are pretty

sick, right?” “Yes,” I said, “I am sick. I feel like hell, but no, l’m going to stay here.” “I am saying

this,” he said, “because there’s a jeep that is going this morning to the 36th General Hospital.

Why don’t you go so they can give you some pills?” “That’s not a bad idea,” I said. “OK, I will

tell the driver to take you, and you can come back with him. You are just going for that.” “Well,

if you want me to get some pills, I’ll go.”

I got in the jeep. The hospital was about four or five miles from our post. It was on flat land,

away from the mountains. It was a hospital for the slightly wounded, where they may patch you

up and send you back to the frontline. When I arrived, the doctor said, “You are very sick. You

look sick. What is happening? Let me give you some pills.” That was all I wanted, but the

doctor told the driver, “This sergeant can’t go today. He is very, very sick. He probably won’t

make it. He probably has pneumonia or something like that. He’s gonna die. I am going to keep

him here tonight.”

There were no barracks, only two long tents with mattresses and some heaters, for the weather

was still pretty cold.

“Well,” I told the driver. “Tell them I will have to stay and that I will be back tomorrow. As soon

as I can get a ride, I will go back to the company.”

“Ok.”

The driver went back, and I stayed there. I went into one of the tents, and a medic there guided me in and said, “Take that cot there. You can sleep there tonight. If you get worse, we'll send you to another hospital or keep you here for a couple more days.”

“Ok,” I told him.

There was a young man there, toasting a piece of bread on one of the heaters. I don’t know

from what town he came from. He said, “How is it going, brother?”

“Well, I got a little sick, and they sent me here for a day or two.”

“Where are you from?”

“From Texas.”

“Well,” he said. “I got hit on my foot.”

Then, pointing to the bed in front of him, he said:

“Look at that tag; you know why I am saying this?”

“Why?”

“The guy that just left that bed was discharged this morning, he was from Uvalde.”

“Did you say he was from Uvalde?”

I looked at the tag and saw that it said, “Alejandro ‘Role’ Castillo from Uvalde, Texas.” It also

had his rank and his serial number.

“I know him,” I said. “He’s from my neighborhood, from the very same parts I am from.”

“Really?”

“Yes. We know each other very well.”

“What a coincidence, right? That you will be on the same bed as this friend of yours.”

“Role and I have talked about this when we see each other now.”

PVT Tirso Carrillo, who entered the Army with Willie De León was killed in the battle at Mr. Rotondo, Italy.--courtesy of his family and Alex Castillo.

The next day in the afternoon, while I was still at the hospital, I would see ambulances arriving

very frequently. I was where they were unloading the injured and the deceased. I saw one

ambulance after another. Some ambulances were transferring some of these men to other

larger hospitals. Then a young man arrived with a bullet wound on his arm, and since he was

from my company. I asked him:

“What happened?”

“Oh hell, only that we took a terrible beating! They shelled the mountain where we were,” he

said, “and you know what De León? They killed a lot of our guys!”

“What platoon got the heaviest hits?”

“The 3rd Platoon,” he said, “where you were. They suffered the most casualties. They killed

Tirso Carrillo, Policorpio Pérez and El Sloppy. As far as I know, they killed those men, but there

are more. I left after I found out about them.”

“And Pedro Riojas?” (That guy was a very good friend of mine. He was from Pearsall.)

“Pedro also died,” he said.

“Golly. I lucked out of being killed. I would have died.”

When the shelling of my company started about five or six in the afternoon, I had no idea, I

could not imagine, that the ambulances I had watched arriving were bringing the wounded from

my company, that it was my company that was suffering that artillery attack from the Germans.

I was kept at the hospital for about two days, more or less. After I left the hospital, I returned to

see if the news I had received was true. I arrived at the camp about two or three in the

afternoon and ran into Sergeant Tomas Zapata from San Antonio.

He said: “De León, you were very lucky the afternoon you left for the hospital. You cannot

believe what happened to us. We took a real beating. They killed some of our men. I asked him

which ones they were.”

“Some were taken to the hospital, and there some Anglos we had, but among the mejicanos,

there were some who lost their lives.”^[97]

Here, Willie paused for several minutes in his recording and finally said sadly:

“Well, anyway. That’s the way it is.”

“Yes, be thankful to God you were not here.”

Then he moved on to tell me what would happen next. “We are going to have to go to the

Command Post and ask how long we will stay here while we contact everyone and figure out

what we will do with the remaining soldiers. We will possibly divide them among the three

infantry platoons. It looks like the Heavy Weapons Platoon did not suffer too much damage.

They didn’t get to them very much.”

“Well, and Manuel, did anything happen to him?”

“No, they didn’t get hit much. But the six platoons we have up here got a real good beating.

And it wasn’t just us; Company F and Company G also lost a lot of people. You know they

bombed about 300 yards all around. It was a heavy attack. Those screaming meemies, you

know they really hit hard.”^[98]

“Ok.”

“Yeah, it was our turn to lose.”

We stayed there for about two days when we received the order that we had to go back about

twenty-five miles. By then, a Japanese Battalion had relieved us, the 100th Japanese Battalion.

The Japanese also fought in our war.

“As soon as they arrived,” Tomás said, “We are going to go down the mountain and walk about

five miles toward the trucks. They will take us over to our position.”

I told him: “We have to gather our remaining men and make our team work out. What

happened, happened. As you know, we can’t do anything.”

“Yes, it’s true.”

We went down, and they loaded us up on the trucks. We just looked at each other. We were

not as many as we were before the attack. It wasn’t too noticeable because there were many

soldiers from other companies. Ten or fifteen wasn’t noticeable if they were killed. But twenty or

twenty-five, it was, and it was difficult to bear.^[99]

Is that river big or small?

We returned to the camp. We came close to the place where we had left to go into battle, about

five miles further up. We stayed in the big break area that had been set up there. In a few

weeks, we would be ready to continue fighting. The plans changed, and then we were told that

our company would stay there a week longer. The entire battalion would take position, and the

3rd Division would relieve the 100th Japanese Battalion.

It was better for us. “In a few weeks, after this week,” we were told, “we will be headed toward

the monastery located at Cassino. We need to reach the monastery, but before we get to it, we

have to cross a river.”

We were just taken; we had no idea about this river. We just waited, passing the time, about

five days, talking among ourselves. We didn’t talk about the war. We couldn’t because we were

in it. We had to talk about other things to pass the time and move on; there was nothing more

to do.^[100]

The men of Company E had no idea what awaited them in their next battle. With the innocence of their youth, they followed orders and accepted their fate because there was nothing they could do about it. Those who were in a position to do so tried as best they could to prevent the massacre that was about to happen, but it was all in vain. It was as if a series of events, an alignment of the stars, one could say, led to the fateful event. Several books and documentaries have been written about it. It is worth the time to learn about it because so many American soldiers lost their lives, all because of bad judgment by military leaders far removed from the battlefield. (See the Recommended Websites and World War II Films sections for links to books and films about the crossing of the Rapido River. Military archives have haunting actual films of the men in Willie’s company and other battalions as they approach the river and then begin their fateful attempt to cross the river in the flimsy rubber boats. It is worth your time to watch them as you read Willie’s account.)

Willie continued his story as he lived it:

The trucks returned, loaded us, and then dropped us off in the woods. Each battalion took a

different side. The divisions were large. The captains got together and studied their maps to

determine where we would be going. Then they began saying, “The Rapido, the Rapido.” I

asked: “And that river, is it a big one? Is it small or large? Do you have any idea?”

“No, it’s not too big,” he said, “But it is a river with very heavy water, and we have to cross it

because the Germans are on the other side, and we have to keep following them and chase

them back. We have the 3rd Division, which will cut them off on one side, and we will fight them

from one side, and the 45th from another side. We have to push them back.”^[101]

Duane Schultz relates the events that preceded and led to the day Willie and his men were destined to face:

The story of the Rapido began on Christmas Eve, 1943, in a villa near Tunis. Winston Churchill

was there, along with members of the British High Command and a very skeptical General

Dwight Eisenhower.^[102] The war in Italy—Churchill’s war, to which the Americans had agreed

only grudgingly—was at a stalemate. American and British troops were bogged down in the

cold, mud, rain, and snow, with nightmarish casualty counts as they fought their way from one

mountain ridge to the next. The American High Command, now focused on the invasion of

France only six months away, wanted to halt any further advances in Italy and dig in where

they were. The ultimate goal in this endeavor was to get to Rome, and the Rapido River stood

in the way.^[103]

The outcome of this story boiled down to human frailties, inflated egos, ambition, and territorial mentalities that block common sense. Because he was the stronger of the leaders planning the crossing of the Rapido River, Churchill bore greater responsibility because he failed to recognize the strength of the Germans there. He was advised how the enemy had constructed fortified bunkers and caves located at strategic points high in the mountains, how they had destroyed the dams, increasing the speed of the icy water in a river that was in some places fifty feet wide and eight to twelve feet deep. Foolishly, the American generals believed they could move equipment, build bridges, and transport the soldiers in flimsy rubber boats across the river where the enemy expected them. By flooding the river banks, the Germans had removed all vegetation, and the American soldiers, already exhausted from months of fighting, were expected to walk in the blistering cold through the muddy bank carrying their gear and the flimsy boats provided for them.

On paper, the plan seemed like a sure thing. The brutal reality did not sink in to Churchill. The thousands of lives at stake did not seem to enter his logic, and he would not listen to alternatives. Schultz continued, “Churchill got his way yet again, and Eisenhower, forced to agree, was not pleased, 'I think you're making a mistake,’ he told Churchill. Undeterred, Churchill moved swiftly ahead, selecting Lieutenant General Mark W. Clark to command the invasion.”^{^[104]}

Lieutenant General Mark W. Clark thus becomes a second factor in the fateful crossing of the Rapido. He was a 1917 graduate of West Point, who, through a series of lucky breaks, by 1943 had become a lieutenant general. He bragged that he had upset a lot of people, having been taught by generals who were now under his command. Famous General Patton described him as “too damn slick, more preoccupied with bettering his future than winning the war.”^{^[105]}

Opposing Clark was General Fred Walker, the commander of the troops staged at the Rapido, where the men of Company E, Willie’s company, had been chosen to be the first to cross. Walker, who had been in a similar scenario in World War I, where the Allies had the advantage of being high in the mountains, ready to strike the Germans below. ‘It appears to me that the defeat of the Germans on the Marne on July 15th, 1918, is about to be repeated in reverse on the Rapido in January 1944.’^{^[106]} He blamed his superiors, Keyes, commanding II Corps, and Clark, commanding the Fifth Army, attempting to convince them to launch the attack further north without success. “They do not understand the problems or know what I am talking about,” he wrote.^{^[107]}

This eerie scene is based on a war film of Company E soldiers attempting to cross the Rapido River at two or three in the morning. They had to walk in the mud to get to the icy river because the Germans had cleared the vegetation and flooded the river banks. The rubber boats they were in had no chance when hit by German artillery entrenched in the mountains. This photo was created by graphic artist Silvestre Ontiveros, a former Uvaldean and now the owner of Multigraphics of Houston. Search YouTube.com with the film’s title: 36th Infantry Division Rapido Crossing.

Clark was determined to be the first general to enter Rome, and accounts show he yearned to be covered by the press. The argument to choose another crossing site, a more effective attack, would not stand in the way of his personal goals.^{^[108]}

Sadly, the crossing at the Rapido was ultimately unnecessary and remains one of the greatest tragedies of the war. Willie continued:

As we got closer to Cassino, we moved through the woods and rocks. There were houses here

and there, but no people were living there. They were vacant. We arrived at one of these

houses, and our captain told us it would be our Command Post. Radios were set up to be in

contact with all the units located around there, and then they told us:

“You all have to move up a few miles and set up a camp there to figure out how we will cross

that river.”

It was about four in the afternoon when Sergeant Medina came and told me:

“De León, how have you been?” We started talking just for fun, and finally, he said:

“Look, I just returned from the CP Headquarters and have an order for Navarrete.”

“What order is that?”

“He is to send a sergeant with three or four men to place these white tapes.” Sergeant

Navarrete was under Captain John Chapin.

I told him: “Oh really? Are you saying he needs to select three men to go to this? If that’s the

case, I can do that. I will go.”

“They want some rugged soldiers, some that are not afraid,” he said.

“As far as the sergeant, don’t worry. I will go.”

“No,” he said. “Let somebody else go do that job.”

“I will go,” I said.

Later, he returned with some Anglo sergeants who may have been from Tennessee and other

states. These men were farmers back home and were part of our company. We were always

the same group, fighting together.

“Well,” I said, “If that’s how it’s going to be, let's go.”

“At what time will you be ready?”

“About ten-thirty tonight. Navarrete will come and pick you all up. He is the officer who will be

going with you. You will be placing the white tapes. Navarrete has the order.”

“Ok.”

“About ten,” Navarrete called.

“De León, are the soldiers going with us ready?”

“There are two going; with you and I, that will be four of us.”

“We will put up the tapes on the other side of the Rapido. Later, we will return here, and we will

cross it with the rest of the company. We need to take those little boats to cross the river. You

have your company ready? Let’s move on.”

“Well, if that’s it, let’s go,” I said.

Well, we completed our assigned task and returned to the company at about eleven-thirty that

night. With the four of us, we accomplished it pretty fast. The problem, we learned later, was

that the Germans were watching us from across the river. They let us finish our job; it wasn’t

that they had not seen us. They allowed us to put those tapes down. These tapes were to

guide our men on where to go. Later, the Germans came in and moved the tapes. They

planned to ambush our company.

We crossed the river around two or three in the morning. We were attacked at dawn. We had

not walked more than four hundred feet when the Germans showed up from all sides. We saw

them approaching from everywhere; there were many of them, and we were outnumbered. On

the side where Company F was located, there was nothing to stop the German attack. No one

from that company crossed the river, nor did Company G. Company H, the Heavy Equipment

Company carrying the boats with the machine guns to defend us, they too, did not cross the

river. Company D did not cross. Only our company was able to cross. We were all just sent to

die. There were some survivors, but there were more dead or injured, and some surrendered.

Our company, at full strength had 208 men, and it was decimated there. In that battle, we had a

terrible loss, a very bad outcome.^[109]

In his book Crossing the Rapido (2010), Duane Schultz gives a witness’s account of the massacre that Willie saw at the Rapido:

The scene at the Rapido River in Italy in 1944 would be forever seared in the survivor’s

memories. “There were bodies everywhere,” said Private First-Class Bill Hartung, “mostly

parts, arms, legs, some decapitated, bodies with hardly any clothes left on.... And there was

always that spine-chilling cry for ‘medic.’ But there weren’t any left.” They had all been blown

up by mines, or hit by German shells, or swept down the raging river and drowned. Hartung’s

company had begun the attack, which was to have taken them to and over the river, with more

than 200 men. When it was over, only 27 came back.^[110]

Gabriel Navarrete stood up for us

Gabriel Navarrete went and confronted the colonel of our battalion. He spoke up for us

because he lost many of his closest friends. He was very upset with what they did to us, that

we were sent to die because there was no hope of us crossing that river. In the book Among

the Valiant, author Raul Morin (1963) also has a complete detail of this battle. Navarrete was

denied the Congressional Medal of Honor for confronting the colonel. At the Rapido crossing,

Navarrete was injured with a bullet wound on one of his hands. He deserved that medal

because he was injured seven times in only the first battle in Italy at Salerno and then crossing

the Rapido. All of the injuries were slight wounds. He would recover and be sent back to the

front lines. One time, a bullet went through his nose. When he came back, we would tease him,

telling him: “They made you prettier, Navarrete. They gave you a plastic nose.” We were just

kidding with him and were not very sensitive. We did not consider whether he felt good or bad

about our teasing.

After that battle, I lost contact with him because he did not return to our company. He returned

only to argue with the colonel but didn’t stay long. He got a transfer or something like that. We

lost contact with Navarrete and the other sergeants. In the book Among the Valiant, there are

names of many of the soldiers I knew perfectly well because we were all in the same battle.

Later, they brought us together to figure out how many of us were left and how many were

injured or dead. The only thing decided was to let us stay there a few days and wait for

replacements.

The soldiers came in from different companies, which was the end of the all-Mexican-American

Company E, which fought in this war. After that, there were fewer Mexican leaders, two or

three. There were a few Anglo commanders like Captain John Chapin, who was our first

commander from the day we left Camp Bowie and who lost his life there. He and Captain Winn

were the first to lead our company; they were the originals. Like them, there were very few left.

Of those of us who had joined the service just after them, who were the first draftees, there

were just a few left, maybe eight or ten, perhaps a few more.

Our Company E, which originated in El Paso, distinguished itself for its bravery. I, Manuel

Gonzáles, Tirso Carrillo, and Charlie Recio were included in that company. These last two

were from Rocksprings, Texas. Trine Pérez also fell into our company, as did Manuel Vara and

Shine (Adolfo) Flores, a young man who later left Uvalde. He was a brother of Mencho Flores,

who once operated a small grocery store on West Main Street. Adolfo left the company

because, at the beginning of his military service, he got sick with asthma and had to come

home.

Well, we had to continue, chihuahua. The suffering continued, and we survived by the grace of

God. We didn’t know anything. The people at home didn’t know anything either. They knew

there was a war, but they were not informed as they were during the Gulf War. In that war, we

knew how the soldiers were going through maneuvers. These maneuvers were precisely

necessary. It was to get us to go through exactly what soldiers would go through in an actual

war. The way they trained us, running and falling to the ground, all that prepared us for war.

We were taught to prepare for the many situations we would face in a war, but the difference

was that you didn’t get killed in maneuvers. Fighting in the war was the real McCoy.

We continued past the Rapido River, changing the battle boundaries. In another one of my

recorded tapes, I tell you how we went to Velletri, and from there, we went down toward the

Cassino monastery. We also got a good beating on top of that mountain. That is where a

young man from Flint, Michigan, was killed in the same foxhole with me. We both got an

artillery hit. He was Walden Smith, who had become a good friend of mine and a good soldier

and was always with me, both of us fighting for our country. A bullet went through his stomach.

He would scream for me. I tried to do something for him, but there wasn’t much I could do

because the hit he got was terrible, and he had to die. He died in my arms. Later, I sent his

mother his wallet and all the money he had with him that day. I was in contact with his family,

and they later thanked me for doing that. I felt so sorry that it happened. There was no way to

explain to them how he died, only that he was killed in action. He was on the right side of the

foxhole, and I was on the left, and his side was the direction from which the artillery was

coming. Some very difficult things happened there.^[111]

Rome at last

We were tired after what the Germans had done to us, pushed us back, and the beating we

had gotten. About three days later, we received orders to move forward. The road was clear

because the Germans were now running toward Rome. It was expected that Rome would fall

to the Allies in two or three days.

It was a big push. All the divisions were working together, pushing forward to the day that

Rome would fall. I don’t remember the date it happened because it is difficult to remember that

many years ago, but all the divisions arrived in Rome at about the same time. Every division

had the intention to be the first to get to Rome. We marched all day and part of the night. The

next day, in the morning, the first troops began entering Rome. Divisions were marching in

from all directions. Whatever trail or road that led to Rome was full of American military

vehicles and soldiers on foot, tanks, you name it, and it was there, moving into the city. I

remember many divisions I saw that day: the 36th, the 45th, the 1st, the 38th, and many more I

can’t remember. There were plenty of soldiers going to Rome. Our company had to wait for

some of our soldiers who had lagged behind. I stayed back that morning to tell them where we

would stop for the night because there were soldiers everywhere. I was left behind to tell them

which way to go to meet with our division. In that advance, I told my second in command to

take charge of our men and that I was going to climb aboard a tank so I could more quickly

notify our captain that the rest of our soldiers would soon arrive. All the divisions were marching

in a line, all infantry, one soldier after the other, about four or five feet apart.^[112]

Walking along the tanks were friends from home

When I was on top of the tank, of course, I was pretty grubby, dirty with a long beard, and, like

everyone else, pretty tired. In the 88th division, there were some soldiers from Uvalde, but I did

not know it until that very moment. As I sat on top of that tank, I spotted these soldiers walking

by me, and I thought I recognized one of them. I observed for a while because we were moving

slowly. Once I recognized him, I shouted: “Hey López!”

One of them turned around and said, “Hey, De León! Is that you, De León? I am Alejos

Navéjar, and about three soldiers up is Carlitos Fernández.”

I jumped off the tank and greeted them. I told them, “Imagine this, to find ourselves here. It’s

hard to believe. I never expected to see anyone from Uvalde here.”

“Well, here we are. And the good thing is that we’ve taken Rome.”

I had the joy of seeing him and Carlitos Fernández, also from Uvalde. I told them: “I’m going

further up. I was told my company would wait for us at a church to pay close attention so I

could tell our men that we would be resting there.”

They said: “We are going past Rome tonight. The 88th will keep on walking; we are not sure

how far, maybe a few more kilometers past Rome.”

And so, it was. About two days after our meeting, I was told that on the road they were on, a

pillbox had stopped them. The Germans had been waiting for them. Carlitos Fernández died

there, and Alejos Navéjar was injured, left with one hundred percent disability.^[113]

Alejos Navéjar and his young wife, Diana. Willie was atop a tank as the 36th Division entered Rome when he spotted Alejos Navéjar and Carlitos Fernandez walking along his tank. Courtesy of daughter Carmen Navéjar Gómez.

I was so sorry to hear this because they were from my hometown. It was the first time we had

encountered each other, and that happened to them the same afternoon. It was a terrible blow

for me because they were from my town.

We lived day to day, always moving forward. I am relating here only a certain part, telling you

how we were going. This was after about nine months on the battlefront. We were in Italy for

about a year.

After we passed Rome, the advance was more rapid because, by then, the Germans were not

putting up much resistance. All that was good because things were moving fast, and we had

time for a little rest. At least we could take a shower with a helmet full of water. There wasn’t

much water available. A helmet full of water was a good bath. And on we went, always forward.

As we reached Pisa, we were pushed back.

The other divisions moved on, and our 36th Division was held back so we could make the

beachhead in Southern France. We headed for one side of Dijon and Marseilles, down below,

toward large towns. To get to Dijon, we still had to cross a large terrain, so we moved on,

facing more and more days of battle. Hours and hours would pass without a break. This was no

game; this was a real war. If it had been a game, it would have been over very soon, but the

way we were fighting was something ugly. We didn’t know if we would be alive from one day to

the next. We wondered which one of us would be next to die.

The way we were fighting was very different from the recent Gulf War. We didn’t have anyone

with us who could report our stories, how we were doing, where we were going, and where we

were coming from. There was not one reporter who would camp out with us. The only man we

would see and to whom we gave a lot of fame during the war was correspondent Ernie Pyle.

He was with several divisions; he walked with the soldiers at the front. I have not heard stories

about his time during the war, but we all gave him a lot of credit for his work during World War

II, and he deserved it. He walked around with his common backpack and talked with any

soldier.^[114]

A visit to Pinocchio’s town is thwarted by a trip to Rome.

We rested for about a week. We were told it was our turn to go past the other divisions and

move forward. We moved from town to town, destroying everything on both sides of the road. A

few kilometers out, we were told we were getting close to Pisa, Pinocchio’s town. As a boy,

when I was in school, I loved to read about Pinocchio. I would have fun looking at the long-

nosed one. I told Manuel: “We’re going to take Pinocchio’s town. We should be there by

tomorrow. They are trying to determine if there will be heavy resistance there and if the

Germans are well prepared in that town.”

Well, it wasn’t my luck to get there because when we were already receiving our orders,

already loaded in the vehicles, a runner from the company came up.

“Sergeant De León, where is Sergeant De León?”

He was told I was in the reconnaissance patrol, about to leave.

“They want you at the CP Headquarters,” he said.

I went up there and found our company’s captain there. It was a different captain, and I can’t

remember his name. The captains were constantly changed because they were being killed

often.

I said, “What's going on?”

“We just received an order for you. The division commander has named two men from each

division to receive a pass to go to Rome for the good work you all have done in combat. It is a

recommendation. It isn’t about getting a medal. It is a citation for your ability to lead your unit.”

“That’s very good,” I said. “But I don’t have any money. To go to Rome, you need money. You

know very well. Where am I going to get the money to go to Rome?”

In Rome, we would have a place to stay and eat, of course, all free since we would be going to

a recreation place, but we needed money in our pockets. I never like to go completely broke.

The captain then took my helmet and talked to all the company: “You are going to have to pitch

some money. De León is going to Rome and he doesn’t have any money. We will have to give

him franks or liras, whatever is used here.”

Liras were needed in Rome. I want you to know that the helmet was filled with ten, twenty, and

fifty liras. I was going to have some money! When the liras were spilling over the helmet, he

handed it to me and said, “Here it is. Keep this in your pocket. You and Sergeant Parker are

going over there. A jeep will be coming by to pick you up.”

We arrived in Rome, and we were taken to the camp.

They showed us our beds and the kitchen where the soldiers were fed. In the morning, we left

to tour the city.^[115]

Return from Rome

After our week in Rome, we returned to our camp, but our company was no longer there. We

didn’t know the area very well. It was just me, Parker, and the jeep driver. We were lost.

Luckily, we found a reconnaissance patrol from another company and asked them if they knew

where the 36th Division was. They told us it had been loaded in trucks two days before and

sent to Salerno.

“Salerno? We have already been to Salerno. That's where we were coming from. What is it

doing in Salerno?”

“Well, they’ve sent it over there, past Rome and up to Salerno, back where we started.”

The government does some curious things, and the government gives the orders. When it says

I am sending you there, that’s all there is to it. So, we took off for Salerno. We found part of our

division waiting there for new orders. We asked where our company was and were told it was

all loaded on ships.

“On ships! We belong to that company and need to get back to it.”

We were told where we could find the general headquarters, so we went to some ships located

there. A captain there explained, “De León, we are going to make another invasion. We don’t

want it to be known. Everything is being done secretly.”

“Another invasion?”

“Yes, we are going to Southern France. So, keep low and keep quiet. Your company is already

loaded in those small ships. Everything is ready for us to depart.”

We left that night, past the port of Salerno, and on to Southern France the following morning.

There wasn’t much resistance there because the Germans were running back. By then, France

had become an ally to the American forces. The fight would take place further up because now

we were chasing the Germans. The invasion was easy, nothing like our first one in Salerno.

There wasn’t much blood lost by then.

A few days after arriving in France, we were taken to Grenoble, which was off to one side. We

didn’t know where we were. We just knew we were in France. For our company, the fighting

had ended. Our last battles were in Italy. Once we returned to Rome, the fighting was over for

us.

All that was left was France. The Germans were still fighting there, town by town. In about

three or four weeks of fighting, we arrived at the small town of Dijon. The terrain was terrible to

fight in, with lots of trees. Every nation has its good places to fight, and others do not. Then we

arrived at Sen Ami, where the Germans were still fighting fiercely.

We arrived in France and continued. Italy was behind us. It was 1944. It may have been the

month of June or July around there. Paris would not be taken for about three or four months.

By then, I was tired. I wasn’t sleeping very well and was bothered by bad headaches, and I felt

that I was going a little crazy. I was leading the men under me, but I was not myself. I had been

in battle too long. At that time, my second in command was a young man from Kentucky whose

last name was Crain. I told him: “I think I am going to have to go to the hospital. If they tell me I

will have to go, I will.”

“If you leave, De León, will you leave me your machine gun? That’s a good weapon you have.”

“Of course I will,” I told him.

In the hospital, I ran into a colonel I had met in Brownwood. He had been a second lieutenant

when the war started. When he recognized me, he asked, “You're still here? You mean that

you’re still fighting? It’s been a long time!”

“Yes, I feel bad, and I came to tell you that I can’t take it no more. I am going to be honest with

you. I am very tired. I don’t know if I will do things right or wrong. I don’t know.”

“Okay,” he said. ‘I'm going to send you to the Dijon hospital so you can rest for a while.”

“I appreciate that. I will be able to sleep because right now, if I hear a certain sound, I am ready

to shoot somebody and do something I am not supposed to.”

I was sent to Dijon and was told I would be there for a week. After two or three days, I got the

news that my company had been attacked and that several of our soldiers had been killed.

Crain, the young man to whom I had given my weapon, was also killed. Oh, chihuahua! A

soldier there told me: “You should see your machine gun. Crain went to try to stop a tank with

that machine gun. He took a direct hit.”

“I am so sorry to hear that. He wasn’t supposed to fire on no tank with a machine gun.”

Well, they killed Crain. My company suffered great losses. Instead of getting better, the news

made me feel worse. I didn’t feel well. At that time, the man in charge of the hospital told me he

would try to send me on to another assignment.

“It’s going to be difficult,” he said, “because you are classified as a sergeant. They need more

privates and first-class soldiers, but not sergeants.”

My military occupation means a lot. I had enlisted as a construction man since I was a rock

mason, which had some value for the military. It helped me to get a good placement. At the

time, however, being a sergeant, it would be difficult for me to find a new assignment. Most of

the companies already had enough non-commissioned officers. They couldn’t knock my rank

down because it is not easily taken away if one earned a rank on the battlefield. There has to

be a very serious reason for that to happen.

He said: “I am going to find you an assignment where you will be a non-commissioned officer in

charge of something.”

“OK.”

One night, they loaded us up on a weapons carrier. There were about twenty or thirty of us on

the way to Paris. We went through St. Louis and other places where the Germans were still

fighting. They found an assignment about thirty miles from Paris in a convalescent center for

injured soldiers.

At this time, my superiors searched for a new placement for me, but many of us were to be

reclassified, and many like me were shell-shocked. We moved around like zombies; that is how

we ended up. Finally, I got lucky when I was placed in an Aid and Replacement Company.

“You will be in charge there,” I was told. “There are about fourteen sergeants, but you have

seniority, and you will be in charge. Just get along with them, and you will be fine.”

“Of course I will,” I said. “I’ll get along as long as they treat me right.”

In this assignment, I learned that one’s military record is very important when being considered

for a new assignment. The record shows what kind of person one is and what one has done. I

am sure the other sergeants probably thought, “Who is this Mexican that is going to take our

job?” The captain told them they were to do what I told them. He said, “I will tell him what you

all have to do, and he will tell you.”

It was a place where injured soldiers were placed.

Our job was to send them back to their outfits and the frontlines. Some soldiers were arriving,

and others were leaving. The kitchen was open all the time. We were always waiting for

arrivals, and then we would ship them out. We kept books on who was arriving and where they

needed to be shipped out. The hospital reminded me of an immigration office because we had

lights everywhere. We received the soldiers and made sure they were fed at whatever time

they arrived. We gave them a new shirt, pants, cigarettes, and whatever they needed. Many of

them would be shipped back to their outfits the next day. If their company did not request them,

they would not be sent back out. Their names had to be on the books to be sent out. Being

there, I was always aware of the soldiers from different places.^[116]

A friend from home jumps off the truck

One day, I saw this particular soldier jump off the truck, and he recognized me. It was Ramón

Torres. I had not seen him since our training in Louisiana. I did not recognize him at first.

Finally, when I thought I recognized him, I shouted with the broken English I had learned by

then, “Get the hell over here!”

Ramón looked at me up and down and shouted, “Hey, don’t you know me?” I stared back at

him, got closer, and then I was sure who he was. I embraced him, and he said, “I’m going back

to the front. I’m coming from the hospital because I was injured.” He told me where he had

been injured in Italy and that he had been sent to France. He was in the 3rd Armored Division

with the tanks and was on his way back to his outfit.

Well, it was a little chilly, and everyone who would stay was given a blanket so they could lie

down in the barracks. For the ones who already had their shipment orders, we quickly moved

them to the truck that would be taking them back. We gave them whatever they needed, and

they were on their way. It didn’t matter what time of night it was; those soldiers left.

Ramón told me: “Look where I came to find you.” “Yes,” I told him, “I am also here temporarily.

They are trying to find a placement for me. But I was lucky since I was one of the first ones, so

I was placed in charge of all the sergeants here. I don’t know how long I am going to be here.”

“Look,” I told him, “take your little blanket, and don’t go that way.”

He said, “I haven’t eaten supper and am very hungry.”

The line for food had about seventy to eighty soldiers waiting, so I told him: “Look, don’t get in

that line where they are feeding the men that just arrived.”

“Ok. I will get in line.” He took out his mess kit.

“No. Don’t get in line,” I told him. “I am going to take you directly to the kitchen. Didn't I tell you I

am in charge here?”

“Well, that’s good. I'll follow you.”

I got to the kitchen through the back, and I told the cook, “Give some food to this soldier over

here.” He just stared at me. Then I told Ramón, “Eat well. Ask for more if you want. There’s

plenty of food.” “And when I finish?”

“When you finish, you come back where I brought you from. You are going to stay with me.”

I had my desk there, and I had a large bed. It was old, but the mattress was big enough for

both of us to sleep in. I took him back with me, and he slept there. I kept him there because the

day his shipment came in, I was the first person to read the rosters for each company, and I

saw that Ramón was being requested. I marked the page with his name on it with a cross, and

I decided to keep him there a little longer. That morning, I told Ramón: “I am going to give you

a pass.”

“A pass?”

“Yes. You are going to this little town just past the gate. You will see the guards, the MPs.”

“Yes, l see them.”

“I will give you this paper that says you have to go and that you will return later today. It’s a lie.”

I gave him the pass so he could leave and told him: “Come back late; don’t come back early.

The shipment is going to be here at about three this afternoon. You come in about four.”

One day, the captain of our company came and asked me:

“Would you like to go to Paris? It’s about thirty miles from here.”

“Sure, I'll go. I have enough money since I just got paid. I’m going to get paid for these last

months, right?”

“Yes.”

When we were fighting, we often didn’t receive our pay. We didn’t have a chance to get paid

because they couldn't find us. We were moving from place to place. It had been a year and a

half since I had gotten paid. I would keep some money and send it to my father back home.

Ramón was sitting nearby and asked me, “You’re going to Paris?”

“Yes. I'm going. It will be for three or four days. It’s not a long recreation trip.”

“And I’m going to be here by myself?”

“You are going to stay here and sleep in my bed. The sergeants here already know that you

are from my hometown and that you are a friend of mine. You are going to stay here.”

“Well, this is a lucky break.” “And if a shipment comes in for me?”

“They know what to do. While I am gone, you are not going anywhere.”

“Oh well, this is very good.”

“I will tell them, and they will invent another lie.”

I held Ramón back three times. It wasn’t until the war was about to end that I sent him back so

he could return to his unit. Ramón then told me: “You have saved me from many things. Back

on the frontlines, the Germans had two of my tanks blown up, so they are not going to be able

to blow up another one. You’ve done me a very big favor.” It's possible that he would not have

survived if he had returned to his outfit.

After I sent Ramón back to his outfit, I stayed there thinking how incredible it had been to run

into my friend after such a long time. These are times that we should remember because they

show how life turns out and how people go through life. I found it amazing how it came to be

that after such a long time, we saw each other again and were able to help one another.^[117]

Willie helps a friend from Sabinal

About three days after Torres left, I went to check the bathrooms in the camp, and I found a

young man there shaving. When I entered, the soldier kept looking at me. We received so

many soldiers at the camp it was hard to keep up with all of them. I didn’t remember seeing him

before. He must have been in an area I did not see very much. As I came in, he asked me:

“Are you Italian?”

“No, I’m Mexican.”

He kept looking at me and said, “You look Italian.”

“I don’t have anything Italian.”

“You look like an Italian or Indian.”

“The sergeants around here, they call me Indian because I am dark-skinned.”

“So, what are you?”

“I told you. I am Mexican.”

“From Texas?”

“From Texas.”

“I’m from Texas too.”

“From what part of Texas?”

“I am from Uvalde.”

“From Uvalde?”

“Yes, I’m from Uvalde.

“Chihuahua. Well, what's your name?”

“Agapito Varela.”

Way back, I had known the Varelas from Knippa, Texas, so then I said:

“You are not from Uvalde.”

“Where am I from?”

“You are from Knippa.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know the Varelas from Knippa.”

“Well,” he said, “then you are from Uvalde.”

“Yes, I told you I was from Uvalde. I know your brother. His name is Cande.”

“Then you do know me. Did you come here because you were injured?”

“No. l am the one in charge of the 180th Replacement Company, sending the guys back to

their units. If they are injured, we take care of them, feed them, and provide the clothes they

may need. We try to rehabilitate them, and then we ship them back.”

He said, “Well, I am going back to the frontline. I want to return, but don’t want to go because of

my foot. I can’t use it very well.”

“I hope they don’t send you back because it’s a little dangerous.”

“Well, that sergeant, that big guy…”

“I know which one you are talking about.”

“Yes.”

“That’s Sergeant Ward.”

“Yes, that big one. He said that in the morning, we were going on a hike of about six or seven

miles, and I can’t walk. My foot still hurts.”

“Well, if it hurts, don’t go.”

“No, they’ll punish me somehow, maybe place me in KP duty.”

“We don’t have KP duty here. The one who comes here has to leave as soon as possible. He

doesn’t come here to stay. The KPs here are steady men; we don’t change them. If you don’t

want to go, don’t go.”

“Well, I don’t want to go.”

I will tell you not to go because I am in charge here. You are not going.”

“Then I am not going?”

“No, sir. You are not going. I am going to hold you here. Would you like to clean the latrine

here?”

“Yes, I would like to stay and clean and do whatever here.”

“Well, you stay here tomorrow.”

“But that sergeant has me on the list, and he’s going to come talk to me.” “

When he comes to see you, you tell him to come talk to me or that I told you that you are not

going, and that’s all.”

“So then, you are above him?”

I suppose he was thinking that the other sergeant was larger than I in size.

“As far as command, I am above him. And that is what we are going to do.”

The next morning, the sergeants called out names from their lists and lined up the soldiers.

There were about sixty or seventy, and the sergeant was going to take them on a hike and then

bring them in time for supper.

“Sergeant Ward,” I told him. “This is the young man I told you is not going on the hike today.”

“All right,” he said and took Agapito off the list.

Agapito was very happy because he had a friend from Uvalde. I told him: “Sometimes we don’t

know how or where we are. Sometimes, it feels like we are in Uvalde. We run into each other

quite often. You know, a few days ago, Ramón Torres left this place.”

He said, “Really?” He knew Ramón, too. Back home, Agapito lived near Ramón’s father’s

house. “Yes, Chihuahua. Too bad I didn’t have the luck to see and talk to him.”

“He left yesterday.”

“Oh, well.”

Agapito stayed with us for three or four days until his shipment came in, and he went back to

his outfit. A few days after he left, the invasion of Normandy took place. Several men from

Uvalde fought there. We were not near that invasion, but we heard about it. I did not get a

chance to run into anyone else from Uvalde because I was no longer fighting. I remained at this

camp for another three months. I had already been reclassified and was ready to be moved to

another outfit or another location. During this time, we didn’t even know how long we would

remain at an assignment. Time moved slowly, and I just continued there until near the end of

the month. The war continued a little longer, but there wasn't much fighting. The invasion of

Normandy, the Battle of the Bulge, and all those places where the Allies were fighting were

everything or nothing. The Germans were fighting more strongly because they were in their

own country. In that invasion, many young men did not return. They fulfilled their duty as we all

did.

All went well. The other sergeants seem to like me. They were all from around New York, New

Jersey, and other parts. I became good friends with Sergeant Ward, Petrocino, and Navanelli. I

wasn’t there very long because I didn’t like the job. I had to deal with people I didn’t understand

very well, and the truth was I did not like the job. It was good because I did not have much to

do, but at the same time, I had a lot of responsibility. I had to manage a large number of tickets

for clothing and cigarettes, and in all that, there was a black market. It was well-known that this

existed during the war. There was always someone coming up to me and saying, “De León, if

you want to make more money, you are in a position to do it.” I would tell them, “I have never

liked that. I am not going to cooperate in that manner.” For this reason, I asked the captain to

move me at the first opportunity.^[118]

Willie gets a new assignment

Please forgive me because my stories are all mixed up, but one remembers many things that

happened before. Remembering one event causes me to remember a little more from that

point. These things happened over several years, and it has been so many years since then

that it is difficult to remember everything. (Note: the author took Willie’s advice and rearranged

the order of his stories as they were recorded.)

My captain told me, “De León, there is a new assignment at the Headquarters in Reims,

France. It is a concentration camp for prisoners. How would you like to be at a prisoner's

camp?”

“Well, I fought the Germans, but I think I would like to be there.”

“Ok. If you want to go there, I will send you there so you can find out what job they will give

you.”

Navanelli and another young man fighting with me in other divisions told me, “De León, if you

go, we want to go with you.” So we told the captain that we wanted to go together.

We arrived in Reims. I have the name of the camp, but I can’t remember it now. I went to see

the colonel there, and he told me: “There are many jobs available, like police and other jobs,

and we also have that of Chief Cage Warden. We have about three thousand prisoners and

need someone to oversee them.”

“Well,” I said, “I would like that of Chief Cage Warden in the camp.”

“Ok,” he said. “You fought them, they injured you, and you want to take care of them?”

“Yes”, I said, “they are already whipped. They’re not going to do nothing.”

“Well, they’re going to try you.”

Sergeant Mueller, who had held the job, was a much older man. They had to remove him

because he had not done well there. He did not get along with the prisoners, even though he

was himself of German descent. I didn’t know where he came from or what his hometown was.

Mueller showed me around where the prisoner cages were and which Germans or Italians

helped him guard the prisoners. It was prisoners watching prisoners of their own nationality.

There was a bookkeeper there named Bruno. He was a German who spoke English and was

well-educated. Mueller told me that he was very good at keeping the books. I guess he liked

me.

“So, you keep the books here?” I asked.

“Yes, I take care of all the prisoners’ records.”

“Well, I want you to continue assisting me.”

He then introduced me to the other Germans who helped in running the camp. They also

appeared to be well-educated. Among them was a former SS trooper; I don’t remember his

name. I told him, “I want you to be my lagerführer (camp leader).^[119] You are going to stay

here and help me. You will take my place as if I were in charge. He responded, “OK.”

But then Bruno told me, “But he is a former SS trooper. He was one of Hitler's army.”

“That’s the kind of man I want.”

“Are you sure you want to pick him as your right-hand man?”

“I have always liked that kind of person,” I said.

When I had soldiers under me, I always chose the most truant, sloppy type. That's the kind of

person I want upfront. That type doesn’t fall asleep. They are always trying to do something bad. A noble person will not do that. He will easily be caught sleeping. So that man is the kind of person I want to help me.

Well, we all got along just fine; I was there for about two months. Among the prisoners, I was

able to do some things that my Anglo superiors were astonished by. In this camp, we had

Germans serving our food, and we had our separate tables. It was all so different from where I

had been on the battlefields, where we would eat here and there like fools. Here, it was only

the top brass, from sergeant on up. I told them I was there to help them in every way I could.^[120]

US POW camp Reims (France) The camp where Willie De León was Chief Warden as his last assignment during World War II. Heinz Radtke-Family Archive. Norbert Radtke (Created 1 April 1946) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Category:Prisoner-of-war_camps#/media/File:PoW_-_Reims_Blocklager_1A.jpg.

My job there consisted of making sure the prisoners were fed well and treated as best we

could. Other companies would come and take prisoners to work at different locations, and I

made sure these companies also treated them well and fed them, of course. When they

returned, I had to count them, and they were placed in their cages to sleep.

I would spend my days in the cages, watching the prisoners. One day, I found a German

soldier who was playing a trumpet. He told me he had been a director of an orchestra. I told

Bruno to ask him if I could obtain some instruments and if he would form an orchestra. Bruno

did that, and the young man said that he would. I was in my twenties, and I liked music as

entertainment. After all the fighting I had been through, I wanted to do something else.

I went to see the colonel and told him I had a prisoner who played a musical instrument and

could form an orchestra. He said, “And where are you going to get instruments?” I told him,

“Look, I was in many battles, and on one occasion, we confiscated instruments from several

orchestras, from about four or five of them.”

I also remember that one time, we took two big payrolls, money that was going to be paid to

the German soldiers. I remember that our soldiers would take the money and throw it around

like play money. I know that the military has stored those instruments in some warehouse.

The colonel investigated what I had told him and called me in one day.

“What you told me is true,” he said. “There is a warehouse that has all kinds of musical

instruments. I am going to send a detail to get them to you.”

Well, I formed an orchestra at that camp. Later, I ordered some soccer balls because those

boys were good at the sport. They would form teams, and I would enjoy watching them. Joe

Navanelli, my assistant from New Jersey, and I would go and watch them. They would take off

their shirts, and they played as best as they could. I don’t know anything about that sport. I like

it, but I have never practiced it. | I didn’t get much out of it. I never even liked watching

baseball. I will watch football and go to a game sometimes. I like to gamble, do other things,

and just take jabs here and there. Either you have luck, or you don’t. The only sport I liked was

boxing, but I quit because I got punched badly and didn’t want to return to it. That was when I

was in the CC Camps in Arizona.

The camp consisted of tents, large corrals, and prisoner cages, and I would go around

checking them. On one occasion, a captain was astonished when he walked through the camp,

and I was in one of the prisoners’ cages. My hair had gotten pretty long, and I had asked the

lagerführer to have a prisoner who was a barber give me a haircut. I acquired some knives so

the prisoners could cut each other’s hair, and they would cut their hair with these huge, ugly-

looking knives. I never imagined that while I was there, a colonel would be coming by looking

for the Chief Warden. They told him where I was, and he saw me getting my haircut. I made a

lot of points that day. I don’t know what the colonel told the rest of the officers, but when I went

to eat that day, everyone was talking about me, about how a prisoner was cutting my hair with

that huge knife. “I am not afraid of the prisoners,” I used to tell them.

“You are already whipped. Why would you try to escape? You are already locked up, and you

are better off here.”

When I counted the prisoners every afternoon, they would line up and stand at attention. They

looked so neat. I count them ten at a time. If a captain or a lieutenant came by to count them,

they would behave like flies. They would move this way and that. They would do this to give the

other officers a hard time; they were rascals. But when I went to count them, they would line up

like little doves. I found a way to treat them, so they came to trust me. It was a rare and

incredible thing.

Time passed, and eventually, my work became a routine. My job was the same, day after day.

Once in a while, we had a problem here and there. When the prisoners returned after being

sent to other companies to work, some of them would come and complain that they had been

mistreated. The prisoner would talk to the lagerführer, the one who assisted me. We would

then speak to the company sergeant and remind them of the conditions under which we ran the

camp.

One day, some prisoners broke into the kitchen. They had stolen some bread and bologna.

They were hungry. I wish you could have seen what we fed them. The food was prepared in

these huge pots about six feet wide. The meal consisted of small pieces of meat, whatever

gravy the serving spoon would pick up, and a small slice of bread twice a day. They were

always hungry.

The prisoners would be very happy when we got a request to send some of them to work for

other companies. The ones who got to work in a kitchen or wherever there were soldiers would

return with their cigarettes and bellies full because, in those kitchens, they would get three

pieces of bread and other food.

When Bruno brought the men who had broken into the kitchen to me, he asked me: “How are

you going to punish them?” I got this idea, so I told him, “Line them up on one of the sidewalks

where all the other prisoners walk by or meet. Give them each a rock, not too heavy, to hold in

their hand with their arm extended, stand at attention, and place someone to watch them.”

They were standing in front of the tent where Bruno had his office and desk, and he was

watching them.

The idea was to have the other prisoners see them and know that these men had stolen from

the kitchen. As I watched them from my desk, I wondered, how much is a loaf of bread worth?

Nevertheless, the punishment was needed so the others would not try to do the same. It was

my responsibility to keep control. If they stole a loaf of bread and were not punished, I thought,

another day, they would steal the entire kitchen.

As we were watching the two prisoners, I asked Bruno: “Why does one of those men move

more than the others? Bring him to me so I can check his hand.”

Bruno went over and took the rock from the prisoner's hand and told him that the warden

wanted to talk to him. The lagerführer, who was also there, said, “What are you going to tell

him?”

“You'll see,” I told him. When the young man stood in front of me, I realized that he had a

prosthetic hand, a hand made of rubber. I watched him for a little while, and then I told Bruno:

“Look, tell him to get rid of the rock and the others. And place the rocks somewhere out of the

way. Then go to the kitchen, get a loaf of bread and some pieces of bologna, and give it to

them. Tell them not to steal again because if they do, others will want to do the same. They

don’t have enough to eat as it is. It isn’t fair for them to come and steal the food that is meant

for everyone of them.”

Bruno translated what I had said. I sat at my desk, where I had my work papers, and I placed

my elbows on it. I guess some tears erupted from my eyes, and Bruno, noticing this, said:

“You've got tears in your eyes. What are you crying for?”

“You know why I let those boys go, why it came into my conscience not to punish them?” The

lagerführer said, “These men deserve to be punished. Otherwise, the others will do the same.”

“Yes,” I said, “but I am going to tell you something else. All this reminded me of my home,

where I am originally from. And something else, I remembered my father, my papá. That is why

I am crying. Yes, these are tears I have in my eyes.”

Bruno then asked kindly: “Do you miss your Daddy?”

“Yes, my father was in an accident back in 1932. That was when he became disabled, unable

to use his hands. And that is why I don’t want you to punish these men.”

This small event changed the mood at the camp, for as in any small town, news traveled fast,

and everybody knew everything about each other. They were all talking about what had

happened.

The next day, they would stare at me and greet me in a way I knew they were pleased. I had

fought these men; I chased them, and they had chased me. As I have said before, I saw them

as men following the orders given by their own government. Like them, I wasn’t there of my

own accord. In reality, the German prisoners and I were in the same corral, in the same

predicament. We were there because we were sent there. With my decision that day, I earned

their trust.

Those were some of the ways I managed the concentration camp. I was the second in

command there because the captain was in charge, but I was in command after him. The

captain didn’t interfere much because he noticed I managed them well and was better than

anyone else. He would tell me he didn’t know how I did that. My job was to watch over them

and also lend them out to other companies that needed them for some type of work.

Sometimes, we would get a request for some 400 to 500 prisoners to be sent to the United

States. I had to figure out who to send and get them ready for them to go. Many would ask me,

“Whenever there is a shipment request to the United States, please put me down.”

That was not my responsibility, however. I had strict instructions, even though some prisoners

would beg me to send them there. In the end, I created the list that sent the men to our country,

and my name was on it.

I was there for some time but no longer in the 36th Division. I was in another branch of the

government. Everything was going well. I was much younger then and had good knowledge.

Even though I had been in so many battles, I could still manage things well and do as I was

told.

By this time, the war was about to end. There were still a few battles going on, but I was no

longer involved. For those of us who survived it, the war had ended well after all. In Dijon, I lost

contact with many of my friends who had left Uvalde with me. I fought my last battle with my

company in the town of San Ami. I lost contact with Manuel (Gonzáles), a sergeant in the

Heavy Weapons unit, and Rafael (Gutiérrez), who was in the 1st Battalion and was a platoon

sergeant, a machine gun sergeant. I never knew more about them until we got back to

Uvalde.^[121]

Germany surrenders

The day that the Germans finally surrendered was one of the greatest joys that we had

because the war was finally ending.^[122] Our Headquarters led all the regiments in the

surrounding area in France. The officers got together to plan what would follow after the war

ended, and the first thing decided was that we had to celebrate. We were told we would have a

large parade in Reims the following week. Naturally, all the soldiers were very happy. We had

no idea what was being planned. They would just come and tell us we are going to do this and

that. Reims was a large city. They told us that in addition to the parade, there would be many

games. That week was spent planning everything.^[123]

Our headquarters would lead the parade of all the other regiments under the NBS

headquarters. There would be three soldiers leading our company. A captain asked me, “De

León, would you like to carry the American flag?” I told him: “Well, I’ve already done a lot of

walking for so long, carrying the flag would be a little difficult for me. Besides, my experience in

the service has not prepared me to do something like that. The one who carries the flag has to

have some experience marching. My role has always been in the rear. Tell me about fighting,

in the woods, wherever, and I will do it, but being up front with so many soldiers and in front of

so many people, I prefer not to do it. Besides, I am small. I would like you to have some of the

tall, strong soldiers we have around here, like Kauasake,^[124] a guy who would help me at the

camp. He has a strong body, and I think he would be good to carry the flag. I’ll ask him if he

will. About marching, no, I can walk, but I won't tell you I am going to march. I am also kind of

too clumsy to march. Our company was not trained to march. We were trained a different way;

we were trained to fight.”

“Ok,” he said. “We'll agree to that.”

It was a week of celebration. Following the parade, there was a week of all kinds of games and

sports, all sports, one regiment against another, and medals were awarded to the winners.

There was also a dance contest to see which soldier could keep dancing the longest among all

the regiments. There were so many soldiers. Reims was full of soldiers from many regiments

and different assignments. During that week, there was dancing day and night. Some soldiers

would sleep on the benches because the dancing was in the streets from block to block. There

was plenty of music, and they would change orchestras every few hours and there was

dancing everywhere. The streets were wide, so there was plenty of room for those soldiers who

did not dance to stand around and watch.^[125]

I would dance for the joy I felt

I danced for a few hours there, but I did not enter the contest. I would dance for the joy I felt. I

would dance two or three songs and, after a while, another two or three. We would dance a lot

because we would change from one sector to another, dancing all the way. All we could do

was dance because we couldn't talk to the girls. I couldn’t talk to them, so we just looked at

each other. Well, the dancing ended, and everything else that was going on. We returned to

the camp to continue working and follow the same routine. Time moved along, fifteen, maybe

twenty days, maybe more. We didn’t keep count. We were happier, of course. Our duties were

different now; our lives consisted of waiting for our leaders to decide what happened next.

About this time, the Point System was enacted. It was a plan that had been studied on how to

discharge us from military service. With this system, the soldier with certain points would be

discharged immediately. We were told we needed eighty-five points, but we didn’t know how

these would be counted. I asked an official how this was going to be determined.

He said, “The points will be determined by your time in the service from the day you joined.

Whatever you did and what recognition you earned while in the service will be counted.”

“What do you mean, what you have earned?”

“Well, for example, you probably have a lot of points because you have been in the service for

more than five years, which includes the time you served in the United States. All that counts is

when you were in North Africa with the Combat Infantry Badge, Purple Heart, and

Bronze and Silver Star. Just there, you have thirty, forty points. I don’t know how many points

will be given for each medal.”

Later, he came and told me, “They are going to award ten points for each medal, so with all the

time you have served, you will have more than you need. You will have more than 100.” He

was more aware of all that was coming down. “Oh,” I said. “I may not even get as many as 80.”

Most of the time, I would stay and eat at the prisoner camp because I would have to walk about

a mile to get to the headquarters camp. There really wasn’t much work to do in the office. I

would stay and walk around, checking the cages, and then leave early for supper. One day, I

went to eat at the headquarters camp at about noon. When I arrived at the camp, I was met by

Sergeant Petrocino, who told me:

“Hey, De León, have you seen the Bulletin Board?”

“No, I haven't seen it yet.”

“Go and look at it. In the Point System, you have more points than anybody here.”

“Why?”

“You know, in the Point System, you only need 85 points. Do you know how many you got?”

“No, I haven’t seen the Bulletin Board.”

“You are going to find out in a minute.”

I went in that direction, and what he had told me was true. The first thing I saw was my name:

Guillermo Luna De León: 126 points! I felt so good, so strong. With 126 points, they would be

letting me out, and I could even lend someone some of my points, I thought. Well, of course, I

couldn’t do that, but I was asked for some of my points. “Lend me at least five points so I can

go home, too,” one guy said.

“No,” I said, “Since they gave me these points, I'll take them and go. You all figure it out; I’ve

been here too long.”

Another soldier there told me, “Hey, De León, why don’t you give me half of your points so I

can go home, too? I only got 60, that’s all.”

I told him, “Oh, chihuahua. I’m sorry. I am glad I have that many.”

I was the first one from that Headquarters to be discharged. It was me and a Japanese who

belonged to the 100th Japanese Battalion and had fought with us in Italy. Imagine that a

Mexican and a Japanese were the first to be discharged from that Headquarters.

I went to the office, and they told me, “You can leave right away. There's no problem. We can

put you on a shipment to Paris and send you back.”^[126]

Willie’s farewell from the prisoners

I realized I had to return to the prisoner camp and get my clothes. One of the prisoners would

do my laundry and shine my shoes. I never asked him to do that, but he wanted to. I could

have done all that myself. When I got back to camp, I told him:

“I’m leaving.”

“What?”

Bruno was there and told me, “Don’t go, De León!”

“I have to go back to my hometown. I just came to pick up my clothes and shoes to return

them. I have to make sure I have everything I need to return.” In the military, you have to give

back everything. We are checked to make sure you don’t take anything with you.

Then Bruno asked me: “Before you go, De León, would you like the musicians to play

something for you? I am going to go talk to the Maestro.”

“That is not a bad idea.”

The camp fence was about a mile from the prisoner cages. Bruno said, “Well, let’s see how we

are going to do this.” He told a prisoner to tell the others that De León was leaving and that

they were all going to give him a farewell. There were about twelve musicians in the group. He

went and spoke to the orchestra leader and told them, “We need to say goodbye to De León.”

There were many prisoners, but somehow, by word of mouth, they let everyone know. The

news traveled fast! They all came to say goodbye. When I saw them all together, they were all

looking around in all directions because I was leaving, and they appeared scared. They were

sad to see me go because while they were under my watch, I treated them well, although I was

a Mexican. The one they had before was of German descent, but they didn’t treat them well. I

was asked what songs I wanted to hear, and I told them: “I want three songs. First of all, play

for me one of your songs, Lili Marlene, which at that time was a very popular song among the

Germans. Then, as I walk away and get near the gate, play Deep in the Heart of Texas. Then,

as I cross and walk past the gate, play a Mexican song, South of the Border.” “Yes, I know

them. We can play them for him.”

And they played these songs for me as I left the camp. For me, it might seem as if l am lying. I

fought them, was with them, and cared for them, and they said farewell to me with their music.

By God and my mother, who is dead, that this is the truth. It was because my father was

always praying for me, even though he had received two telegrams that caused him so much

suffering.

That was the farewell from Europe I received before coming home.^[127]

German POWs at Reims, France. Willie De León saw the young German POWs as just soldiers ordered to fight for their country as he was, and he treated them with compassion. Willie obtained instruments, and the prisoners formed an orchestra. They rewarded Willie with an unforgettable musical farewell. Heinz Radtke Heinz Radtke-Family Archive. Norbert Radtke (Created 1 April 1946) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:PoW_-_Reims_Blocklager_1A.jpg.

As we listened to the recording of this episode in Willie's life, we hear the anguish in his voice. He openly cries with emotion, recalling this beautiful event, this everlasting tribute for all his efforts as a good soldier, a proud American, a good son, and a friend to all. We must listen to the songs played for him to imagine what this scene must have been like. Imagine the young blonde rag-tag German prisoners of war bidding farewell to a twenty-six-year-old brown-skinned soldier from South Texas. If only someone had had a video camera! The best we can do to recreate this day is to play the music Willie requested by going to the Recommended Websites section and playing it on YouTube.

The Lili Marlene

I was driving home on October 14, 2002, listening to National Public Radio, when the announcer said something like this: “Today the German composer Norbert Schultze died. He was the composer of the music to the most famous song of World War II, the Lili Marlene.” As I began to hear the haunting melody of the song that Willie De León had requested as his first farewell song from the German prisoners in Reims, France, I remember the traffic light had turned red at that moment, and I cried alone in the car as I listened to the song. I was filled with sadness for not having played the song for Willie while he was still alive.

In 1991, when I was publishing my newspaper and writing the story “Willie’s Farewell from Europe,” I was so overwhelmed with family responsibilities and my job at Southwestern Bell that I did not have time to research the story behind this famous song. It did not occur to me that I should understand why the song was so significant for Willie. When Internet service became available, I was able to listen to the program I heard in 2002 numerous times. Since that day, I have listened to the song repeatedly and read as many articles as possible about it.

In a 2013 BBC podcast called Soul Music (Series 16), Liel Leibovitz beautifully narrates the song's impact across the countries involved in World War II. The program is based on his book The Soldiers’ Song of World War II. The program intertwines the voices of British and German veterans and others as they relate the song's history, their experiences in the war, and how this song affected them.^{^[128]}

The original poem, titled “The Song of a Young Sentry,” was written in 1915 by Hans Leip, a German soldier serving in World I. He lived to be 100 years, passing away in 1983 in Switzerland. The name of the young girl in the poem is a combination of the names of two women. Leip combined the names of Lili, his girlfriend, and Marlene, the young nurse who waved to him while he was on sentry duty as she was leaving work. He wrote it when he was about to be sent to the Russian frontlines in World War I. It is about a soldier who could not say goodbye to his sweetheart, who will be waiting for him under a lamp where they used to meet. It is also about the suffering soldiers endured in the bitter rain, the mud, the cold, the fear, and the loneliness of the war.^{^[129]} Willie De León and his comrades fought and suffered, as the song conveys.

The poem was eventually published in 1938. Even before this, however, it was set to music by a composer named Rudolf Zink and sung in a Munich restaurant by a Danish cabaret singer known as Liselott Wilke. She was to record the song four years later under her stage name, Lale Andersen. It was this version, The Girl under the Lantern, that was set to new music by the well-known German composer Norbert Schultze and that caught the public imagination, but not quite immediately.^{^[130]}

Although the song was immediately banned in Germany for its foreboding message about the horrors of war, this did not slow the spread of its popularity. When the Germans occupied Yugoslavia, a radio station was established in Belgrade and provided news and propaganda to the Afrika Korps. It also began playing the Lili Marlene as the last song every evening. The Allied soldiers would gather around whatever means they had to listen to the Belgrade station to hear it as well. As one of the veterans in the British podcasts describes it, “Sometimes the nights were so dark that all one could see was the dim light from the radio as the soldiers sat around it listening to the song.” An elderly German veteran says that as the soldiers listened to the song at night and looked up at the stars, “they cried like ‘childs’ (sic), and they wanted to go home, but they couldn’t.” ^{^[131]}

When some British soldiers were on leave in London and were heard singing the German song, a British songwriter and publisher named J. J. Phillips reprimanded them. One of them asked the publisher to provide an English version, and Phillips and Tommie Connor eventually developed the English version in 1944. It was the recording of the song with Anne Sheldon that started its popularity in the Allied countries. The song was sung in military hospitals and over loudspeakers.

Music played a crucial role in boosting the morale of the troops and the general population on both sides of the war, and many songs achieved this. However, Leibowitz says, “Lili Marlene transcended the pain and the bitterness of war and evoked an emotional longing for happier and simpler times.”^{^[132]}

Marlene Dietrich, the German actress, recorded Lili Marlene in both German and English, which remains the song's signature version. She had come to the US five years earlier to make American films, and in 1935, Adolf Hitler demanded that she return to Germany. Because Dietrich was vehemently anti-Nazi, she refused. She entertained Allied soldiers through the USO with her cabaret performances which featured the song Lili Marlene. The US, the French, and eventually the Israeli government awarded her medals for her valuable work in the war effort.^{^[133]}

As I mentioned, you can visit YouTube.com, enter the name of this song and others, and listen to them. Lili Marlene is available in German, English, French, Spanish, and other languages. You can listen to various versions of the song and perhaps understand my excitement in writing about it. This book's Bibliography, and Recommended Reading sections can also guide you to the numerous resources available for further learning about Lili Marlene and other topics.

We cried at the sight of the Statue of Liberty

Willie concluded his experiences in the war as he narrated his journey home:

“I wanted to leave right away, but God had other plans. Watanabe, the Japanese soldier, and I

were brought to Paris in a jeep to get processed to return to the United States. As luck would

have it, an American soldier was there; I didn’t even know his name. He had fought in another

division, the 45th or the 3rd. I didn’t pay much attention. He asked me, “You want to go drink a

beer?”

“Sure. Let’s go drink a beer.”

We left the headquarters where we were being discharged and were told we had a certain time

before the plane flying us back would arrive. Well, my friend and I drank one beer too many,

and we lost track of time. We returned later that afternoon. We were told our plane had already

left. There wasn’t another flight, and they didn’t know when the next one would be leaving.

They then showed us where we could stay until they could make other arrangements to bring

us back. Later, a captain came and told us that we would have to come home on a ship, but

that we would have to be taken from Paris to England, where the Queen Mary was being

loaded.

We arrived at the port in England, where there were two or three ships. The others were

already filled, and the Queen Mary was still boarding soldiers. They were waiting to see how

many more soldiers could fit in it. So many soldiers were being discharged that when we got in

line, it was seven hundred feet long. We were lining up in pairs. About four or five soldiers were

ahead of us when they raised the ramp to board. The ship was full. We just stared up at the

ship.

“What happened?” someone shouted.

“It’s full!”

We had no choice but to grab our bag and lie down there on the beach, waiting to see what

was going to happen. Later, they told us, “These ships are leaving. That's it.”. My friend and I,

because we drank too much, got left behind.

“Oh, chihuahua, when will they bring another ship?”

“You will have to wait two or three days,” a captain told us.

“Are you serious? Another three days?”

He also said, “And don’t move from there. You will sleep there. Use your bag as a pillow.”

We accepted our situation. I stayed there up front but would go eat where our meals were

being served and came right back. Then my friend would eat. We did that for two days. Then,

an English ship came up. I told my friend, “As if things weren’t bad enough, it’s an English ship.

Oh shucks.” The English ships were older than the American ships. “We are going to have to

sleep in hammocks!” I told him, “And there isn’t going to be any coffee. We are going to have to

drink tea, because that is the only thing the English drink. We are in for a bad ride.”

Yes, we were going to have food to eat, but not like in the ship we could have gone in. There,

we would have had a choice of what we wanted to eat. Here, we were going to have to eat

whatever they served us. There were several English ships ready to board us. I knew it would

take a long time to get to New York. New York was so far away.^[134]

The famous British liner, QUEEN MARY, arrives in New York Harbor. June 20, 1945, with thousands of US troops from European battles. Willie missed his opportunity to return on the Queen Mary and was shipped home on a British ship. 80-GK-5645.* National Archives Identifier: 521011 https://www.archives.gov/research/military/ww2/photos.

Well, after several days at sea, we made it. When we heard the ship’s horn, and everyone

came out to find out why, it was so we could see the Statue of Liberty! The guys who were on

deck began to shout to us to see it in the distance. We could barely see it. As the ship got

closer, we could see it perfectly. Many of us began to cry with joy at the sight of it. The ship

moved close to it, so we could all see it and know we had arrived in New York.

A short distance before landing, one of the soldiers jumped off the ship and started swimming

toward the Statue of Liberty. He then sat there to wait for the ship, for it was coming by him

very slowly. He beat the ship to the Statue because he was a very good swimmer. When the

ship was close to him, he jumped back on board. We asked him, “And what if the ship had left

you there? What were you going to do?”

“I live here. I was raised here. I’m from New York. This is my hometown. I’m home!”

“Oh, that changes things.”

We arrived in New York and were brought to a place I don’t even remember the name of.

There, we were processed so we could go back to wherever we were inducted into the military,

which for me and my friends was Fort Sam Houston. We knew that was the most likely place to

discharge us. Others were headed to other states, wherever they had been inducted.

We were checked out at the processing stage to make sure we weren’t carrying anything

unauthorized. If anyone did have something illegal, the items would be confiscated. Since there

was a lot of gambling aboard the ships, there was a limit to the amount of money you could

have with you. Some soldiers won large sums of money. I won some money myself, but I didn’t

play very much because I knew the government could take our money. There was a guy who

won forty thousand dollars, and when he was processed, about half of it was taken from him. I

believe he was left with $17,000 or $18,000. He said later, ‘I might as well not have played at

all. I was gambling with my life.’ He said this because when you carried that much money, you

had to have someone with you, because you could have easily been thrown overboard to get

your money.

I gambled some and was lucky, playing a little here and a little there. I would win a hundred,

two hundred dollars, about three thousand dollars altogether, but I would play in different

places, not just one, like others who would win a lot of money and then walk away. It was better

to play where others didn’t notice how much you had won. That way, no one knew how much

you had on you.

We were sent home by train, and there was no more government transport by ship or truck. We

arrived in San Antonio, where we would be discharged, and where we were pinned the little

yellow eagle on your shirt before you left. Once you had that little eagle, you were out of the

service. The commander at Fort Sam Houston gave us our discharge. We were taken to large

barracks and we were discharged in groups, one after another. Everyone had their citations

mentioned. Mine was one of the longest lists of citations. Not everyone was a decorated

veteran. Some received one medal, others two, but they didn’t have citations for other things. I

lost part of all the recognitions I had received for things I had done over there. Some of these

citations were not written down; they were not medals, but were for courage and such. Each

time a soldier was named with honors, the others would clap for him and come and

congratulate him.

I received the Bronze Star for valor, and the Purple Heart because I was injured twice. My first

Silver Star was for gallantry in action and fighting in the battle at the crossing of the Rapido

River in Italy.

One day, Captain John Chapin told me that he was going to nominate me for the Distinguished

Service Cross. He also told me I deserved the Croix de Guerre, a French medal, but he did not

have a chance to write the necessary papers because he died a few days later. So that was left

between him and me. All in all, I was happy. I left the service in good standing, and I am

thankful to God that I am here, remembering so much I previously did not want to remember.

This will be one of the first times I have talked about some of these things; for me, it wasn’t

important. They were really good things that may give one some recognition, but once at home,

I thought it was best to forget that—all that was in the past.^[135]

Alejandro “Role” Castillo, Uvalde’s living 101-year-old World War II Veteran

By his son, Alex Castillo

Someone took a picture of Alejandro “Role” Castillo of Uvalde by the railroad tracks while at Camp Pickett on his 25th birthday. It was the last picture taken of him before going off to war. In that picture is the only soldier of his company that Alejandro can remember, John E. Luttrell. Luttrell was killed in Sicily by the most feared artillery the Germans had, the 88mm. Alejandro is my father, and he related this incident as he began to share his traumatic memories of World War II with me.

We were moving forward, and we came upon a small farmhouse. My squad moved to the right of the farmhouse, where there were some woods. Luttrell’s squad moved towards the farmhouse, and another team moved to the left, where there were also some woods. As my squad entered the woods, we were told to slow down and hold on for a while. For some reason, Luttrell’s squad went inside the house, and in less than a minute, the farmhouse was destroyed by German 88mm artillery. There was nothing left but rubble; the entire squad was killed. There were probably about eight or nine young soldiers in that squad. An officer came and instructed a sergeant to check and see if anyone was alive. The sergeant took off running and came back and said to him that they were all dead. The sergeant had brought back about three or four rifles he had found. It was obvious that the Germans had zeroed in on that farmhouse, and one of their forward observers had seen those men go inside the house.

My father was drafted while working in Bakersfield, California, where he stayed with his two cousins, Tomas and Alejandro Mireles. It was during the Great Depression, and one had to take any available job. He was inducted into the Army in Los Angeles, CA, on October 14, 1941, and sent to Camp Roberts, CA. He received infantry training at Ft. Ord, California, and Ft. Lewis, Washington, and was assigned to the 3rd Infantry Division. It was the same Division that WW II hero Audie L. Murphy and TV star James Arness, of Gunsmoke (Matt Dillon), served in. During World War Il Alejandro was a combat rifleman, serving in the 15th Regiment. In May or June 1942, the 3rd Infantry Division was sent to San Diego, CA, for amphibious training. Alejandro and his fellow soldiers were trained to disembark large ships into smaller landing crafts and assault the beaches.

Alejandro Castillo was a combat rifleman with the 3rd Infantry Division, 15th Regiment.--courtesy of Alex Castillo.

After completing amphibious training, the 3rd Infantry Division returned to Ft. Ord, California, and was then sent to Camp Pickett, VA. Alejandro remembered that, as they passed through Chicago one night, they encountered a local soldier. Some of the other soldiers knew that and began to tell him, “Here’s your chance to jump off, man.” Another soldier said, “You will never get another opportunity like this.” The soldier stood up from his seat and, for a few seconds, acted like he just might jump off. Then he just smiled and sat back down.

Later in Sicily, it was my turn to be the first scout, presently known as the ‘point man.’ We could see a small town ahead, and one of my sergeants told me to scout the town for enemy activity. I knew I was the bait, but that’s how it was. I carefully entered the town, looking for anything suspicious. To my surprise, there was not a soul or sound around. Not a dog, not a cat. I think not even a bird. There was complete silence and emptiness. It's like a ghost town. I went around checking things out, but nothing. The second scout was about seventy-five yards behind me. I signaled to him: ‘Nothing, all clear.’ The company then came through, and we proceeded to our next objective. I can’t remember exactly when, but one day, I remembered that when I was about eleven or twelve years old, I was sitting in front of our house, and a strange thought came to my mind. For some reason, I wished that I could see a town that was completely deserted. I wanted to see a ghost town someday. “Wow!” Standing there, I thought, “How do things work out in life!”

On another day, as we were advancing, about fifty yards in front of me, a soldier stepped on a land mine. That soldier and another were killed instantly. These two were good friends; I remember one was significantly taller than the other. If you have seen the movie Patton, you know how badly Gen. George S. Patton wanted to reach Messina before British Army Gen. Bernard Montgomery. Patton was driving the American forces pretty hard, and the average foot soldier paid for it with their blood.

I can’t recall if it was in July or August of 1943, but we had come under attack by artillery, machine guns, mortars, etc. We were taking cover when I saw four men carrying a wounded soldier, and they were coming in my general direction. I then noticed that the injured soldier was face down. As they approached, I recognized the soldier they were carrying. When they passed right by me, I realized it was Rodolfo Rodríguez of Brackettville. Wow! One of the few fellow Texans who was in the 15th Regiment. I could see that Rodolfo was severely wounded; he had blood coming out of his throat and neck area.

It was ironic for me when, in the mid-1980s, I began working with the US Postal Service in Del Rio and met a man from Brackettville. I asked him if he knew the Antú family. He said he did, and I told him they were my cousins. I also asked him if he knew Rodolfo Rodríguez. The man from Brackett asked:

“Are you talking about ‘la garganta de oro’ (the throat of gold)?”

“I don’t know,” I said, “but was he the man who was wounded in the throat during World War II?

The man from Brackett replied” “That’s the man.”

The last time I saw Rodolfo was in 1980 or 1981. He came to our home, and my father

introduced him to me. They had a good time talking about the old days.

Judge and jury on the battlefield

Another time, while still in Sicily, our company was moving forward. I noticed a small crowd and commotion as we approached a small village. Some other units had gotten there before us. A local man had been caught cutting some communication lines. An Army Officer loudly asked some soldiers if they were sure this man was cutting the lines; they answered, “Yes, sir, we saw him cutting those lines.” Again, the officer loudly asked the soldiers if he had cut the lines; again, the soldiers replied, “Yes sir, we are sure.” The officer, who I believe was a major or of higher rank, pulled out his .45 pistol and shot the man in the head. End of discussion. That’s what happened to Nazi collaborators. I am sure that man had family and friends witnessing his death.

After thirty-eight days of combat, the Sicilian campaign ended, and the 3rd Infantry Division could finally take a break. I had made friends with other soldiers of the 15th Regiment, and one day, I went out looking for them to see what they were up to. To my surprise, I did not find many of them. There were only four of us left in my squad. The loss of so many of my friends saddened me, and I started to believe I was not going to make it out of the war without either getting killed or wounded.

Moving on to Italy, we landed in Salerno and headed toward the Volturno River. The war was about to get ugly. The Germans held the high ground. They were well-equipped, well-entrenched, and very well hidden. Many times, we could not see where the German soldiers were, but we sure felt the effect of their machine guns, mortars, and deadly 88mm artillery. They took advantage of the terrain, and they were waiting for us.

While on patrol in Italy in September 1943 with about six other soldiers, we were ordered to scout out a small town with a few houses and several barns. We were specifically looking for German tanks or other heavy equipment. Without our knowledge, the Air Corps was planning to bomb that town. As we got close to the town, an American airplane opened up on us with its machine guns, and one of our soldiers was hit right on the forehead, dying instantly. Some of the soldiers had to carry the poor fellow’s body back to the line. About an hour later, a messenger arrived and informed us not to go near that town because the Air Corps was going to bomb it. “Sorry, GI,” I thought, “but that’s old news, and we have one dead soldier.” There was a shed back in the area where our platoon was positioned. They placed his body inside the shed. Some of us got to spend the night inside that shed. A few of us used this soldier’s body as a pillow.

Divine intervention but sadness in the loss of comrades

One late afternoon, our company was settling down to take a defensive position. Two other soldiers and I began to dig a trench to create an observation post. While we were digging, a Master Sergeant told me, “Castillo, get these guys canteens and fill them up, as well as yours.” He told me where to go, and I went as ordered. It took me less than thirty minutes to return to the observation post. I saw a soldier who appeared very shaken. “What's going on?” I asked him. He pointed at a truck loaded with many dead soldiers piled up like logs. He told me, “They killed both of them.” I asked him, “The two that were digging the trench with me?.” He said, “Yep.”

If that Sergeant had not sent me to fill up our canteens, I would have been lying in the back of that truck, and I would have also been killed. I forever carry this incident in my mind. For some reason, on that day, God spared my life.

While we were still moving toward the Volturno River, a German machine gun suddenly opened up on us. We took cover, but one of our soldiers was shot in the head or face. We could hear his cries as he lay there, and we could hear his painful cries and moans. The medic came as soon as possible but could only do so much. Slowly, his moans became less and less until he finally passed away. We were all saddened by this. I have been asked if I thought a lot about my mother and family in Uvalde when I was in the war. I answered, “No, not really. We were too busy trying to stay alive and hoping to make it to the next day.”

On the night of October 13 and very early the next day, our company finally crossed the Volturno River. Our company pressed on, and as we entered this vineyard, we found two dead and bloody American soldiers. Their bodies never fully hit the ground but were clung to the vines on their backs, never touching the ground. I recognized these two young soldiers. They were not in our company but were in our battalion. These two were always together; they looked alike, and I believe they might have been twins. They must have been eighteen or nineteen but looked no more than sixteen. I still can remember how they hung on those vines and how one of them had his wrists broken, and his hand was lying on his forearm.

In Italy, on the morning of October 27, 1943, as we were taking a break, a sergeant came and told us: “You, you, and you come with me.” I was one of the ‘lucky’ ones he had pointed his finger at. We were going on a scouting mission. The four of us took off towards no man’s land. We didn’t go very far because a German machine gunner suddenly attacked us. I was hit on the left foot, and another soldier was shot in one of his legs. I remember the pain and the hot, burning sensation of my wound. It seemed like a long time before the medic came and gave us both a shot, but I guess it was only about fifteen or twenty minutes. Some soldiers came and carried us back to the line. We both lay there all afternoon, and as evening came, it began to rain slowly. As I lay there, the hours seemed like an eternity. My mind began to wander, afraid that I might bleed to death, that they might have to cut off my foot, or that our unit might forget about us and leave us behind. I thought I might have to play dead if the Germans overran our current front line. Finally, sometime around midnight, they came and got us. We lay in the cold and rain for at least twelve hours. We were taken to a field hospital and then another. Due to an inadequate amount of food and water, very little sleep, and loss of blood, I was exhausted. I slept for sixteen days and developed pneumonia.

My father’s discharge papers show he departed the European theater on May 24, 1944, and arrived in the United States on a memorable day, June 6, 1944, D-Day, the invasion of Normandy. However, even the voyage from Europe to the US was not without tragedy. One day, while crossing the Atlantic Ocean, he noticed the ship circling an area. He learned from another soldier that some guy had jumped off the ship, apparently committing suicide. The ship’s crew was trying to locate the soldier’s body, but after about an hour, they gave up and continued home.

When the ship landed in Charleston, South Carolina, he was admitted to Stark General Hospital and later sent to McCloskey General Hospital in Temple, Texas. His treatment required skin grafts on his wounded foot. While being treated there, he learned that he had malaria, and to this day, he remembers the painful shots he was given to combat it.

Sometime in October of 1944, his doctors concluded that although he was recovering, he would not be able to wear combat boots and, therefore, could not return to the frontline. He had accumulated enough points to be released from the service. On November 1, 1944, he was discharged honorably and rode a bus home. He had not seen his family in almost four years. The war was over for him.

My father survived a war that would eventually take the lives of some fifty to sixty million people. The war touched many lives in Uvalde, and so many of our relatives. My mother, Isabel Rodríguez, had a first cousin who was killed near Anzio. Joaquin Montoya of Austin, Texas, was also with the 3rd Infantry Division. Among those killed in action, I included soldiers in my father’s family and some friends. Antonio Santos had married my father’s sister, Amelia Castillo Santos, and he died of malaria during the war. Cuco Ruiz, whom Willie De León also mentions in his recordings, was one of my father’s best friends and was killed in action in Normandy, France. He was with the Second Infantry Division. Two of my father’s brothers also served in the war: Alberto (Beto) Castillo and Jose Eusebio Castillo Jr., serving in the Pacific. Beto and Eusebio Jr. participated in the New Guinea campaign and the liberation of the Philippines.

In addition to his father, Alejandro “Role” Castillo, Alex Castillo’s military family included members pictured here: PVT Cruz Rodríguez. Lydia Rodríguez Villarreal, Isabel Rodriguez (Alex’s mother) and PVT Ernesto Rodríguez. (Cruz and Ernesto were Isabel's brothers.)--courtesy of Alex Castillo.

Four of his cousins were in the war. Vicente Gonzáles Jr. served with the Marines at Iwo Jima, and Antonio Valle was killed in action in Germany. Tomás Buantello Jr. of Uvalde and Emilio Gonzáles of Menard both were killed in action in Europe. His future brothers-in-law served in the Army. Cruz Rodríguez served in the Aleutian Islands in the North Pacific west of Alaska, and was sent to the European theater. Ernest Rodríguez served in Europe with the 104th Infantry Division and was awarded three battle stars and a Purple Heart. He also witnessed the Mittelbau-Dora concentration camp at Nordhausen, Germany. There, Ernest and a fellow soldier found five thousand corpses and six thousand prisoners. The 104th Infantry Division also discovered the V-1 and V-2 Bomb factory, an underground facility about two miles northwest of Nordhausen.

Sometime in late 1945, Alejandro ran into Willie De León, who asked him if he had been at a hospital in Italy. Willie then told him he had been assigned the same hospital cot as my father. This was a small coincidence, perhaps, but a heartfelt one for two young soldiers so far away from their hometown.

Alejandro Castillo was awarded the Purple Heart, Combat Infantryman Badge, Bronze Star, European-Africa-Middle Eastern Medal with three battle stars and two arrowheads, American Defense Medal, Good Conduct Medal and the World War II Victory Medal. The three battle stars were awarded for his participation in the North African, Sicilian, and Italian campaigns. The arrowheads represent two amphibious landings on an unsecured beachhead: French Morocco, North Africa, and Sicily.

My dad never bragged about being in World War II. He felt there was nothing glorious about seeing his fellow soldiers cut in half by German 88mm artillery or seeing dead women and children lying on the ground like roadkill. My dad wanted to forget all he saw and experienced, but ignoring such memories is impossible. Although he was a combat soldier, I think he sees himself more as a survivor. My dad once said, “Nobody can tell me about war; I was there.”

Our family never knew of my father’s medals. They were at my grandmother's house, inside a closet in an old shoe box, where they remained for over thirty years until she gave them to me before her death. I feel fortunate that my dad began to share some of his experiences with us. When he did discuss his combat experiences, it would only be for about a minute or two. He would never ramble on. My dad’s attitude has always been: “Thank God I made it back alive. That is my greatest reward.”

My dad was a World War II combat infantryman and survivor, and a member of the Greatest Generation.

Sadly, Mr. Alejandro “Role” Castillo passed away on August 16, 2019, at Audie Murphy VA Hospital in San Antonio. The United States Army Honor Guard and the American Legion Post #479 provided military honors, and he was buried at Hillcrest Cemetery in Uvalde.

Alex Castillo, a historian with a heart

Alex Castillo was born and raised in Uvalde and graduated from Uvalde High School in 1974. He received an Associate of Arts from Southwest Texas Junior College and earned a Bachelor of Business Administration degree in Business Management from Southwest Texas State University in 1980. In October 1981, he enlisted in the US Army and served as an infantryman with the 82nd Airborne Division. Alex participated in the invasion of Grenada, also known as “Operation Urgent Fury,” in October and November of 1983.

After serving in the US Army for three years, Alex began a career with the US Postal Service and retired in June 2014. Four of his relatives were killed, and three were wounded in action, including his father, during World War II. Alex serves as the current Service Officer of the American Legion Post 479.

His love of history, particularly military history, keeps him busy conducting research and leading activities that honor regional military heroes.

CHAPTER THREE

Life after the war

Willie summarized the war by analyzing another aspect and remembering how they coped with their return home.

When the war started, we went to fight it and very cheaply. When I joined the service, I was

paid twenty-one dollars a month. All my friends who went to war with me were paid the same.

Up there, when we were in combat, and we moved up in rank, we were able to earn a little

more. Back then, the rank of sergeant paid no more than eighty-four dollars a month. A staff

sergeant earned ninety-two dollars. Today, these ranks earn a lot more, but we didn’t. We

placed our lives in danger for twenty-one or thirty-six dollars a month, and all that was not right.

Many died for nothing after all that suffering, and many lost their lives. We should all note that

the war was fought very cheaply for all of us who were over there.

When we returned to Uvalde, as I said before, we organized the American Legion. We left it in

good standing for all those who followed because it remains there today. The idea of giving

Christmas gifts to the children each year was something we started. When we got the Legion a

little more stable, we also gave Christmas presents to the widows. We would gather all the girls

who had become widows and have parties for their children at a little house near Emilio

Hernández’s Café. This café was located on the property where Tomás Zapata’s laundry

business, Royal Cleaners, is located. The widows at that time were Cata Rodríguez, Janie

Harris, Micaela Pérez, and Nancy Cervantes, the wife of Pat Tafolla. There were four or five

more, I can’t remember. Janie Harris was Valles’ wife, and Cata Rodríguez was the widow of

Jesus L. Riojas. Cata’s husband was my age, and we were very good friends in our childhood.

We were always together. In life, we suffer and that is as it should be. We must suffer to

deserve good things.^[136]

You will read more about the history of the American Legion Post 479 in a later chapter.

Some things are much better in Uvalde

Things are much better in Uvalde. Much has changed, and I hope it continues, as more people

are interested in improving many aspects of life here.

Those times I’ve told you about before are gone, when we were clearing land, uprooting trees.

That was the only kind of work available for us. Back in 1932, we once worked at a ranch

called “Los Pájaros” near Crystal City. We would sleep around a tree so we could burn the

limbs to build a fire because it was really cold. Sometimes, we would sleep right there where

we had been digging. The next morning, whoever felt better got up and cooked breakfast, and

it was time to go back to work. That life, only the one who has lived it knows what it is. If

someone came and asked us if we wanted to live that life again, I don’t think so!

This reminds me of when we were in the war. Sometimes I wished to die. I preferred to die

rather than keep going. I had a runner in my platoon who told me, “I’m tired. I don’t know why

they don’t go ahead and shoot me. I’m going to find a way to get shot.” He found a stick, raised

his foot, and said, “Look, Pop! They shot me. That’s good. I am going to have to go to the

hospital now.” That was what he wanted. He wanted to leave. I never saw him again. He was

from Massachusetts, and his name was Victor Anderson. He knew what to do. He said, “This

way, I will have to leave. They are never going to let me out until I am dead.”

I don’t think many youngsters know how life was here, and they may believe that what we talk

about is all a lie. But it’s the truth. They think our life was all sweetness, but it wasn't; it was a

bitter life. When I visit my brother-in-law, Sostenes Rocha, we will reminisce, and he will say,

“Remember when this or that happened during this time or that?” I'll say, “Yes, I remember.

How sad.” There was this time when he and I went to work at a ranch near Asherton with an

Americano. ¡Chihuahua! We thought it would be a good job. We were going to be paid fifty

cents a day, fifteen dollars a month. We only stayed there a week and walked home from

Crystal City with our bedrolls on our backs. I was young then. No way! These are things we

have to talk about. This story I am relating was from 1932, when Hoover was president.

¡Hoover no más, no!”^[137]

Willie understood his grandson’s dreams

During a conversation with Willie’s daughter, Delia Musquiz, she recalled the love Willie had for her son. Delia’s husband, Ramiro, was killed in a car accident when their son, Marco Antonio, was only five years old. “My father was a very reserved person,” Delia said. “I did not realize how he cared for us until my husband died. After the funeral, he told me, Marco may not have his father now, but I will make sure he has everything he needs.” When his grandson was a young man, Willie understood Marco’s eagerness to leave Uvalde and find a good job.

I have a grandson who told me very clearly:

“Grandpa, I want to go away to work, but my mother won't let me.”

“And why doesn’t she want you to go to work?”

“Well, she doesn’t want me to. She says she is working, and I don’t need to work.”

“And you want to go to work?”

“Yes, I want to go to work.”

“Well, if you want to go to work, I will give you the money to go, and I will recommend you to a

relative I have in St. Louis.”^[138]

Willie was referring to his only surviving sister, Ventura, and her family. The boy was fortunate to find a job right away. I recently visited St. Louis to see how he was doing. The month he started working, he registered for an airplane mechanic class and hoped to become a pilot.

Willie analyzed Uvalde then and now

In the end, people understand that those who behaved badly with us mejicanos were wrong.

Old man Kincaid would not let us drink a cup of coffee at his hotel. I worked for him at his

ranches in Fort Stockton. His son Alex Kincaid and I were good friends. He is the only one

who is still around, as the other, Gene, has passed away.

In the end, President Roosevelt did something good. Vice President [John Nance] Garner

disagreed about something he didn’t like, and he swore he would never cross that river in

Washington, and he never did.^[139]

This observation from Willie is discussed in an article entitled “John Nance Garner on the Vice-Presidency-In Search of the Proverbial Bucket” by Patrick Cox, PhD, where Garner is quoted as saying that the office (of the Vice-President) “is not worth a bucket of warm spit.” Cox also stated that during Roosevelt’s second term, Garner and FDR clashed over the direction of the nation during the Depression. Garner believed Roosevelt should not seek a third term and unsuccessfully challenged FDR for the 1940 Democratic presidential nomination. Roosevelt dropped Garner from the 1940 ticket, and “Cactus Jack rode off into the sunset in 1941 with a vow never to cross the Potomac again, and he never did.”

Willie continued with his interaction with some of his Anglo friends in Uvalde:

Later, I worked with Vice President Garner’s son, Tully Garner, who was a good man to me. He

was well off but also had a lot of problems. I would go to his ranches with him when he would

tell me that he needed to get rid of some of his worries. He had a ranch next to Rocksprings

and would call me: “You want to go with me to Rocksprings? I want to stay there all weekend.”

He and Jack Casey would go out there. They were good to me. They would cook and feed me.

I didn’t cook. I was there just to keep them company.

I know the lives of many mejicanos, how they lived, what they did for a living, all of that. I knew

how Uvalde functioned during those years. Many older men and others are no longer alive. I

remember lots of things because I don't forget anything! If I had had a book and had written all

the things that were happening, it would have been hard to believe. I would have written a very

long, long story.

Everyone asks me: “Willie, what happened?” Merejildo Gallardo and I start talking at his store,

and someone will ask, “Do you remember that old man? Do you remember so and so?”

Merejildo will say, “Look, whenever you want to know something, ask Willie; he knows, he will

remember. He and Figueroa know everything.”

I knew several of the people mentioned in the book I loaned you.^[140] I knew them personally.

Mrs. Gertrude (Tules) Rodríguez Bowles is mentioned there, and I knew her and her children

because our neighborhoods were very small back then. Hopefully, with what I have related to

you and what you can find in the book, you can create a story or at least write something. Who

knows how much more I could have remembered if there had been more time?^[141]

We have another war to fight here

Many of us returned, but many others had the misfortune of losing their lives in the war. Some

never came home. The first few weeks after we were home, we didn’t know how to feel or what

to do. We didn’t talk much about all that happened to us. That wasn't something we wanted to

talk about. About a month or so later, after some of us had returned, we began to remember

that our people had also suffered in this town. We began to get together and discuss

organizing a recreation center for us and others who would follow us. This is when we started

working to reorganize the American Legion, which remains in place to this day. We didn’t know

at first that an old charter already existed. It had existed since World War I, so we resurrected

and reorganized it.

Some suggested we join the other existing post, the American Legion Post 26. It is sad to say

this, but back then, we mejicanos were still very far behind. The Anglo men of that time didn’t

care very much for us. They kept us down. They acted as they had before the war, as if they

were number one.

“If they still won’t allow us in their businesses, we have another war to fight here in our own

country,” I told them. “We can’t even enjoy a cup of coffee at the Kincaid Hotel. We still have to

go to the back, to the kitchen. It’s the same for any of their restaurants and cafes. We have to

fight this war in another way. That is the way it’s going to have to be. We can fight it.”

“Yes,” they said, “but we need time because right now, they control the laws, and we have to

respect them. We are not going to rush into it.”

Some wanted to give the Legion a new name, while others wanted it to retain the original name

given to it by the old soldiers of World War I, and that is what was finally decided. I recall that

the original charter was in the names of Eusebio Castillo, Celestino Maldonado, Tomás Valle,

and others whose names I am not familiar with. There were about twelve of us who

reorganized the American Legion. Then I told them: “I, for one, am ready to gamble on us

creating our post.”

And that is what happened, with about twenty veterans. Included in the group were the same

friends who had returned from the war. At the Kincaid Hotel, we were allowed to have a

banquet, and that is how the current post was organized. There, we named our first officers.

David Ortiz, a young, educated man who spoke very well, was our first post-commander.

Rafael Gutiérrez was adjutant, and Alejos Navejar was our treasurer. Domingo Hernández was

the sergeant-at-arms, and Juan Ayala was the historian. Emilio Hernández was also one of the

officers. I was the Service Officer. I don’t remember all the members, but also included were

Frank Cruz and Chuy Moron. Of all those men, not many are alive now; they’ve gone to a

better life. The ones that are alive as I relate this are Rafael and I. He lives in San Antonio and

is retired. While he lived here, he was a member of the Legion for three years.

We eventually bought the property where the American Legion Post 479 stands today. Later, I

had to resign because I was hospitalized, but I raised money for the Legion by organizing

dances for two years. I worked pretty hard; I want you to know. I excelled as a Service Officer. I

gathered enough money to buy the property from a relative of mine, Gilberto De León. The

time came when he asked me: “De León, do you have the money to buy my property?” “We

have three thousand dollars.” That night, Rafael and I went to talk to Alejos Navejar at his

house. We asked him: “How much money do we have now?”

“There’s close to four thousand dollars. We have been very lucky.” “Ok. In the morning, take

three thousand dollars to Mr. De León because we are ready to purchase the property.” “Does

everyone agree?” “Yes. We've talked about this, and we are ready to purchase it.”

After purchasing the land, we continued working, drawing plans for how everything would be

done. The building had been the residence of the Miramontes family, who had lived here in

Uvalde for many years.

When we all returned from the war, many were ready to get married. The majority of us left

when we were in our twenties. I was already married, but many weren’t. I didn’t have children

then. Even after the five years we were in the war, we returned as young men. Rafael

(Gutiérrez) got married and had children. Manuel (Gonzáles) got married. He didn’t help us

organize the Legion because he went to live in Long Beach, California, and still lives there.

David Ortiz, our Post Commander, now lives In Oregon, and Chuy Moron lives in San Antonio.

Ramón Hernandez lives around Dallas or Fort Worth. I haven’t had much contact with them.

We remember all of them.

Some of us here get together because we were great friends and comrades in war. With God’s

grace, we returned, and we are still here. Going to war was our fate, and we made it back. That

is all I have to say. There are so many things I don’t remember very well, but what I have said

is the truth. I hope that in the present and the future, the new veterans will continue what we

started for the benefit of all the families. The men in the Korean War and the recent Gulf War,

and others are running the American Legion we helped build. The young men who went to

Vietnam, where I lost my son…”^[142]

[Here, Willie cried in anguish and stopped the tape.]

After composing himself, Willie continued:

Most of us who went to war have had children, and some of these children are now veterans

themselves. They didn’t fight in Korea but in the wars that followed. My son fought in Vietnam,

but he had bad luck and died there. He was posthumously presented with the Purple Heart and

the Bronze Star. Other young men should be proud of their fathers, who served their country.

Today, the American Legion Post 479 is run by young men who are the sons of veterans—all

of whom are veterans themselves. Those of us who were there before them had to step aside

because that Legion is for everyone. I haven’t paid my dues there, but I still belong to other

organizations. I am a member of the VFW, the Disabled American Veterans, the Purple Heart

Association, and other government organizations.^[143]

(See the chapter on the history of the American Legion written by Alex Castillo for actual charter members.)

Willie visited Burlington, Iowa

As I am recording these memories now, I am in Burlington, Iowa, visiting my sister (Ventura

Rocha). She is the only one I have left, so I come to check on her. There was a parade here

this week, and one of my nephews is very involved in veterans’ organizations. He took me, and

I was in the parade. It was a parade for the soldiers returning from the Gulf War. Veterans from

several wars who live in this area came, and my nephew said: “You were in World War II, so

I’m going to have you ride in the parade.” He made a sign to show I was a World War II

veteran. I was very happy to be still involved in those things. To be honest, I found it strange to

be in a parade in other parts of the country.

In that parade, the veterans carrying the flag were also from World War II. When it was over,

we went up to where the speeches were being made, and I had a conversation with one of the

men who had been in the Normandy invasion. That was the last invasion before liberating Paris

in 1944.^[144]

Willie remembered Everardo Maldonado

Every man who set foot on the continent, even if he did not have to fight, just having been

where there was fire, is considered a veteran in combat. The man behind the lines can be killed

just as well as the one at the front lines. You do not have to depend on not being killed. Life

and luck are what one must have, and a strong faith in returning. I don’t know how to tell you,

but that’s life, and we have to live it as best we can. Take care of it because, over time, you

never know what's ahead.

Many soldiers from Uvalde set foot on those battlefields. Some died in the landings, some

before even setting foot on the ground. I had a friend who had grown up in the mines (near

Uvalde). His name was Everardo Maldonado, and he used to write to me when I was in Italy.

When he came into town from the mines, he would send me a letter or a postcard. I

appreciated him doing that. I never thought that Everardo would go into the service because he

went in long after I did. I used to think it was good that he was still at home. (Everardo died in

Eupen, Belgium, at the German border. He was with the 1392nd Engineering Forestry Battalion

in a Medical Detachment. In his recording, Willie says he died at Normandy, but that was

incorrect.)^[145]

I remember that when we were kids, we would play war games with slingshots, battling it out

with the balls from the chapote trees. They were chapote battles, just kids playing war. In those

games, we always ‘killed’ Everardo first because he was a very big kid. He would always be

the first one to get a chapotazo. We would say: “I killed him! I killed him!” and Everardo would

fall to the ground. We were about ten or eleven years old. Sadly, he died in the war. Those are

things that happen, regardless of how they came to be, and we have to reflect thoughtfully

about these things.^[146]

Everardo had a daughter, Leticia Maldonado Medina, who now resides in Del Río with her husband, Luis, and she wrote about the sadness that she and her mother endured because they lost her father in the war:

My mother, Socorro Lerma Maldonado, and my father met in Blewett, Texas, where they lived

with their respective families. They married on October 4, 1942, at Sacred Heart Church in

Uvalde, Texas. A month later, my father received his draft notice to report for duty in December

1942. By then, my Mom was pregnant with me, and I was born in July 1943. Mom told me that

Dad came home only twice, first after basic training and before being sent overseas when I

was three months old. It was the only time he saw me and held me.

I would ask Mom to tell me all about Dad, but I could tell that it still hurt her a lot to talk about

him, having lost him only two years after they were married. I know she loved him very much

because she never remarried. She would tell me that my Dad was a wonderful, loving, and

caring husband, father, son, and a great friend to everyone. After that, she would start crying

and could not go on. I never pushed her to tell me more.^[147]

When Letty asked her mother why she did not have pictures of her father with her as a three-month-old baby, her mother’s reply comforted her. She said when he came home on leave, all he wanted to do was to sit on a rocking chair, holding Letty. He refused to go outside so her mother could take pictures of them. This was to be his last leave before he left for the war. Letty didn’t have any memories of him; she only remembered what her mother would tell her about him.

PFC Everardo R. Maldonado was a medic and was awarded the Purple Heart (posthumously), the Army Conduct Medal, and the Army Commendation Medal. He was Willie's childhood friend. Courtesy of his daughter, Letty Maldonado Medina.

Everardo died on November 19, 1944, and was first interred at the United States Military Cemetery, Henri Chapelle, in Belgium. His final interment was on May 10, 1948, at Fort Sam Houston National Cemetery in San Antonio, Texas.

Willie compared his war to the Gulf War

In this recording, Willie reverted back to his time during the war and then drew comparisons between WWII and the Gulf War.

We continued forward, trying to get to where Hitler was. Mussolini, we believed, had already

killed himself, and Hitler did the same later. We didn’t know then if he had been killed or if he

had killed himself. Those who made it to where Hitler was did know more. I believe that by

Christmas 1944, the soldiers I had joined the service with were no longer in combat, so we

didn’t make it there. We got as far as France and only the outskirts of Germany. The soldiers

who made it to Germany were all recruits.^[148]

If Willie were with us today, we would discuss the fate of these two dictators. Benito Mussolini, once Italy’s fascist dictator, had allied himself with Adolf Hitler, which eventually led to his demise. After he was deposed, he was eventually shot and killed on April 28, 1945. His body and that of his mistress, Clara Petacci, were hanged, head downward, in the Piazza Loreto in Milan. Huge crowds celebrated the fall of the dictator and the end of the war.^{^[149]} During the last days of his life, Adolf Hitler, Germany’s chancellor and Nazi leader, was in a state of extreme nervous exhaustion and finally accepted his defeat. At midnight on April 28, 1945, he married his mistress Eva Braun, and on April 30, he shot himself. His wife took poison. Following his request, their bodies were burned.^{^[150]}

During our years in the war, my friends and I would sit around and talk about the possibility of

another war, and we would wonder how it would be.

“And what will the machine guns in these wars look like?”

“Everything is going to be different.”

We didn’t have big tanks in World War II. The tanks we had in our war were small, and our

cannons were not as powerful as the ones used in the Gulf War.

The war we fought was a real war. The government has ways of stopping a war if it wants to.

But it is the families, the women, and the children who live in the war zones that sometimes

hold the government back. Wars can end quickly if those in charge don’t have a heart. Some

weapons can end a war very rapidly, like the bombs dropped in Nagasaki, Japan. That single

bomb killed thousands and made the land useless for many years. What was so sad was that

so many innocent people were killed.

The government could have dropped one of those bombs to kill Saddam Hussein. We saw how

he had created a hideout, how deep it was, and how he had everything he needed there, well

prepared to avoid capture. The depth of his hideout was about thirty feet, and he could have

easily been taken out with a bomb and killed like a rat.

When the Gulf War started, the first thing I did was to draw a plan on how Saddam was hidden

and how he was prepared to defend himself. I would spend afternoons studying my drawing,

trying to figure out the best way to reach him. People would ask me:

“What are you doing?”

“I am studying this plan. This guy Saddam, the Americans are going to find him wherever he is

hiding.”

Nevertheless, because I was living with the sorrow of losing my son, I would distract myself, by

drawing and trying to figure out how Saddam could be captured. It was done just to pass the

time while I watched television, watching the reporters there day and night, without stopping,

talking about this place and showing how the soldiers were fighting there. All that would place

their families in a difficult situation because they could see how things were over there.

Our war was fought in silence. People at home did not know the conditions under which we

were fighting. The only reports we saw were those written by (correspondent) Ernie Pyle. I

can’t mention any other reporter. In the coming years, if the ambition continues, we could have

another war, but I hope not.

This war [the Gulf War] had been predicted by older people and experts in world history. I

believe that our lives are predetermined. Some of us come to suffer all our lives, and others are

destined not to suffer.

In our war, most soldiers were twenty or twenty-one years old. In the Korean War, the soldiers

were twenty-eight and twenty-nine. They were still young when they returned because that war

did not last long. When I left for the war, I was twenty years old. When my son left for Vietnam,

he was twenty years old. If you visit a cemetery in any town, you can see on the tombstones of

Vietnam veterans that they were born in 1945, 46, or 47. I always focus on the graves of

veterans and think about what the lives of these men would have been like, and then I think

about our own lives during our war.

During World War II, they also took men born in 1904 and 1905. These men were around forty

years old. They were mature men, and besides being grown men, they had little education. We

were lucky in that we at least had a little more education. However, those born in 1904 or 1905

had a limited education. In the Gulf War, those soldiers were all new, young, more educated

men.

Now, all we have left is to pray to God that we don't have another war, that he permits us to

keep our children, and that he takes care of them. No one wants to see a son they gave life to,

to raise them, and then to lose them so young in a war.

During this last war, I spent most of my time at home. I don’t work full-time anymore. I work

here and there whenever I want to. I have lived on income from the government and my Social

Security. I work a little extra to earn some money because I’ve never liked being idle.

Sometimes, I get some good jobs, and other times I don’t, but I receive enough income to live

each month and the rest of my life. What I don’t want is this one thing: I do not want to end up

in a nursing home. If God is going to take my life, I pray that he takes it before I have to set foot

in a nursing home.^[151]

Willie’s pain of having lost his oldest son in Vietnam is ever present, and he again bravely talked about him.

I had the misfortune of having lost my son when he was so young. I have missed him so much

because he was a good and well-educated son. After he died, I also worried about my

grandson (Juan Jose De León, Armando’s son), who was serving in the Gulf War. The lady I

live with now, Marta (Chole Luna), also had her son fighting in that war (Joe Luna), so she and

I would watch the news about it on television and just look at each other. Instead of assuring

us, what we saw was killing us with all the talk about how the war was going. At the same time,

however, we paid close attention because we still wanted to know what was happening. Chole

also suffered because she had also lost her brother, Raúl Uriegas, in World War II at the Battle

of the Bulge.^[152]

For Willie and Chole, like many parents who have had sons and daughters in recent and current wars, being informed was important but also very painful. The television coverage of World War II was presented after the fact, on the radio, and in short films presented in local theaters. The families were spared the day-to-day events and the suffering their loved ones were enduring. Now, families are fully aware of what is happening and what is being planned. Willie and Chole did their best to understand but agreed it was best to be ready for what could happen, so they supported each other as they watched the news together.

Willie met with friends from the war

My son Mando (Armando) would always ask me: “Daddy, why don’t you ever talk about the

war? You were a soldier. Why don’t you talk to us about it?” I would turn to him and say:

“Later, later.”^[153]

Armando, Willie De León's second-oldest son, with his family: Jeremy G. Leon, Armando “Mando” De León, Graciela G. De León, Juan José G. De León, Denella De León España, and Adelfa De León. Although Armando always asked Willie to talk to him about the war; it was not until 1983 when he attended a meeting of old friends from the war in Del Rio, Texas, that Mando heard about his father’s experiences in the war. Courtesy of Adelfa De León.

I never shared my memories of the war with them until one day, a man named Chuy (Jesus)

Rangel came by to talk to me. When he returned from the war, Chuy became an officer in

several veteran organizations including the American Legion, the Veterans of Foreign Wars,

and Disabled American Veterans. He decided to organize a chapter of the Purple Heart in Del

Rio and invited me to join. He said several speakers and district commanders would be coming

to help organize this chapter in Del Rio. When Rangel came by and asked me about it, my son

was home, so I asked him to go with me. He said, “But Daddy, I am not a veteran.” “It doesn’t

matter. You are going with me. I have never talked to you about how I fought in the way and all

that happened to me. Some of my friends may be there, and I want you to meet them.”

“Ok,” he said. “I will take you to Del Rio.”

I found Jose De Hoyos, another veteran, and told him about the event and invited him to come

with us. We invited a Vietnam veteran working at the Post Office by the last name of Valles,

and he agreed to come with us. Others agreed to come to support us even though they were

not veterans. Chuy didn’t tell him that Gabriel Navarrete and Manuel Gonzáles would attend

the meeting. It had been many years since he had seen Navarrete. When the two friends saw

each other, Navarrete said, “¿Aquí andas otra vez Leoncito?” (So here you are again, Little

Lion?)

Mando had never met Navarrete or any of the other friends who had come with him. As each

one came in, we gave each other big hugs and were so happy to be together after so many

years. We spent the entire day there as the officers for the new chapter of the Purple Heart

were announced. At about eleven o’clock that night, we said our goodbyes.^[154]

July 1983. 2nd Lieutenant Gabriel Navarrete of El Paso and SSG Guillermo “Willie” De León share a moment during the Veterans’ Day ceremonies in Del Rio, Texas. De León was a platoon sergeant in Company E, 141st Infantry, commanded by Navarrete. After years without seeing each other, they met at their induction into the Military Order of the Purple Heart, Chapter 1969, commanded by Jesus “Chuy” Rangel. Ramón Gutiérrez of Wichita Falls, who was in De León's platoon, helped unite these friends. Navarrete confronted his superiors over the ill-conceived crossing of the Rapido River, which decimated the company of Mexican-American soldiers. Courtesy of Sostenes Rocha, Jr.

On the way back, Mando told me, “Daddy, you have never talked about all those places where

you were during the war. I saw you as a different person when you and your friends were

talking, the way they talked about you. You all seemed so happy remembering all that you all

went through.”

“No,” I said. “The war is not something we talk about because what happened should be

forgotten. What we have to consider is the present. What is the benefit of talking about it? Most

people will not believe you; they ignore you. They don’t believe what we went through.”

“Well, what you say is true,” he responded.

Later, when there was a parade in Del Rio, and I was in it, he realized I was well-known. I

would have been better known if I had continued to be active in other veterans’ organizations,

but I came home sick and often could not attend.^[155]

Willie the father

After listening to Willie’s recordings for the first time in 2018, Delia, his oldest daughter, shed a few tears as she understood her father’s suffering. “He never talked about his life during the war,” she said. “We didn’t know all he had gone through. There were times when I was a little girl when I saw my father in despair. Sometimes, when there was a thunderstorm, the sound of thunder and lightning would cause him to run and crouch under a table. Other things would trigger a sudden change in him. My mother would sense this, and if we were outside, she would tell us to go in the house, to let him be alone, and that he would be ok.”

Willie doesn’t discuss these events in his recordings. He kept his suffering with what is now recognized as post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Willie, like so many World War II veterans, suffered alone, keeping their nightmares to themselves. Willie’s family also suffered alone.

Delia also remembered Willie as a father who was conflicted between disciplining and loving them. “One day,” she recalled, “when my father came home, my mother told him that my brother Willie Jr. and I had misbehaved and that he needed to spank us. Dad took his belt off and ushered us into a back bedroom. He looked back to see if my mother was close by and then told us: ‘Whenever I hit the bed, you start crying.’ He also got a wet towel and dripped our faces so it would appear that we had been crying. In the end, my mother knew he hadn't spanked us.”

For Delia, the most difficult memory is from the day she had to let her father know Willie Jr. had been killed in Vietnam. “That day, my father was working in Rocksprings,” she remembers. “When I found him, I told him he needed to come home, but he refused. When I told him it was about Willie, he said, “He is OK. I just got two letters from him.” I told him, “Dad, those letters are from some time ago. You need to come home.” He finally agreed, and when he got into the car, he hung his head. Ramiro (who later became Delia's husband), who was driving, became concerned. We stopped the car and realized that he had passed out. We made it home alright, but it was a very difficult day for him.”

Daughter-in-law Adelfa De León, Armando’s wife, remembered him as the father she never had. “I used to soak his feet and trim his toenails. I would do anything for him. I saw him as my father. He was very generous with us and helped us in any way he could. He helped us buy a house across the street from them so that Ma, as I called my mother-in-law, could help us with the kids. One day, when a freeze was forecast, he asked us to come and sleep at their house so that we could be warmer in front of the fireplace. That night became memorable because he used some wood that made a lot of smoke, and we had to bundle up the kids and put them in the car as the adults cleaned out the fireplace.”

“He loved his grandchildren,” continues Adelfa, “and they loved him back and had a special name for him. Our kids were bilingual, so when we tried to teach the little ones to say ‘Grandpa’ or ‘Abuelito’ in Spanish, they called him Lito because they couldn’t say the full word. They then added the English name, so his name became Grandpa Lito.”

Armando’s close relationship with his father is evident in the story Willie related about the creation of a Purple Heart Chapter in Del Rio, Texas. His love for his oldest son, Willie Jr., is undeniable, as he mourned him throughout the recordings. Willie Jr.’s goal had been to attend St. Mary’s University Law School in San Antonio. Delia remembered one day when Willie came home from college and seemed very upset. He was crying. When his mother asked him what had happened, he said: “A recruiter came by the college today and asked to see everyone who was 18 years old or over. He told us we were all being drafted.” Paulita knew her son had a scholarship to continue school. Still, Willie said he had been told he didn’t have to go into the service if he was going to continue school, but since the recruiter said it in front of all his friends and he saw the look on their faces, Willie told the recruiter he would go too. He didn’t think it was fair that his friends would have gone, and he didn’t. On February 20, 1967, he enlisted in the military service. (See the story about Willie Jr. later in this book.)

A letter sets in motion a still-flowing river of suffering

One day in the summer of 1982, Willie De León stood at his wife’s grave holding a bouquet of roses. His daughter Delia happened to drive up and walk up to him in disbelief. “Why are you here with those flowers?” she asked him. Willie turned to face her and said, “Today is our anniversary.” Delia could no longer keep the promise she had made to Paulita as she was dying. Even though Willie never went to see Paulita at the hospital until the last day of her life, Paulita had begged Delia not to ever reproach her father for his cruelty toward her. But the sight of her father there, not long after Paulita’s death, was too much to bear. “So now you are going to reprimand me?” Willie asked her.

“Daddy,” she said, “You had gold in your hands and didn’t appreciate it. If I didn’t say anything to you before, it was because she asked me not to. That was the kind of person she was, and you never saw that. She still wanted me to respect you.” Willie cried and accepted her reproach.

The scene at the cemetery was just another chapter in the tragic love story of Willie and Paulita. Before Paulita’s mother married Francisco Rocha and moved to Uvalde, she lived in Mexico. She had had Paulita out of wedlock, and Paulita never knew who her father was. Paulita resembled her father, so for her mother, her daughter was a constant reminder of the man who had abandoned her after the pregnancy. Later, Francisco Rocha made a special trip to Mexico to bring Paulita to Uvalde because he felt the little girl needed to be with her mother. Mr. Rocha impressed the little girl who saw him as a very well-dressed man, and he showed kindness toward her. On the train trip to Uvalde, he would give her candy to earn her trust and tell her that she would now live in his home, where she could play and that everything would be alright if she behaved well. Delia remembered, however, that her grandmother was not very kind to her mother. When Paulita would try to get close to her mother to caress her hair or put her arms around her, her grandmother would angrily push her mother away and demean her.

Paulita carried her unhappy childhood in her heart and must have hoped that sadness would be in her past when she married Willie. She was seventeen, and Willie was nineteen, and both were looking for the love they were missing. Willie's mother had died three years before, and Paulita’s mother was cruel to her. Unfortunately, Paulita’s sadness only grows when Willie volunteers to enter the service ahead of his required enlistment. The young wife was left behind without the support of her mother, and Willie’s family nearby was her only hope during Willie’s absence.

Sometime after Willie enlisted and left Uvalde, Willie’s father saw Paulita talking to a young man at a fence near her home. A family member believed the young man was thirteen years old. The love of a father could not bear to see a possible threat to his son’s happiness, and perhaps blinded his senses. He immediately wrote a letter to Willie and told him what he had seen. Alberto De León did not consider the hurt he would be causing his son, nor what conditions his son was experiencing in the war. He had to let him know what he saw. Call it the winds of fate, a father’s imagination gone too far, but, in the end, the letter was to set in motion the tragedy of a broken marriage and the impact it would have on the couple’s children.

Unfortunately, Mexican culture had a profound impacted on Willie and Paulita’s lives, as it does in many families. A man’s pride demands fidelity from the wife, and if she is unfaithful, or even if it appears that she is unfaithful, she is rarely forgiven. Willie must have been torn between his respect for his father and the natural kindness he showed to everyone around him. He had dreams of a happy marriage with Paulita, but it was destroyed with a letter that insinuated infidelity. He chose to believe that his father, his marriage, and his children suffered the consequences.

Delia loved both of her parents and witnessed their arguments, which were often the result of their staying together only for the sake of the children. Willie Jr. was born about a year after Willie returned from the war, and Delia and Armando followed shortly after. There was a ten-year difference between Delia and the birth of the youngest daughter, Velma. Delia remembers that Willie adored his youngest daughter, and Velma remembers him telling her, “I love all my children, but you stole my heart.”

Willie and Paulita De León Sr. when Willie came home on leave before leaving for war. Courtesy of Sostenes Rocha, Jr.

Paulita accepted her loveless marriage without the family support she needed. Willie loved his children and would not abandon them, so they remained together, although very unhappy. As Delia matured, she developed compassion for her mother, coming to understand her suffering. Before her death, Paulita was to suffer one stab at her heart after another. The one good friend with whom she confided her ongoing pain later betrayed her. Willie Jr.’s death in Vietnam devastated both Willie and Paulita. Cancer then struck Paulita with a final blow. She died on July 16, 1982.

The scene at the cemetery was too much for Delia, and she ripped into her father that day. She loved him, but seeing him there after he had refused to see her at the hospital was too much for her. Father and daughter perhaps could not comprehend then what we, as we read this story, may understand— that they were both victims of circumstances beyond their control, that mere words could have devastating and lasting consequences.

I arrived at Delia’s home on the afternoon of February 26, 2019, to review a few sentences I had considered writing regarding her parents’ relationship. I wanted to assure her that I would only include in this book what she confided in me and approved. “How are you doing, Delia?” I asked cheerfully. Delia showed her usual calm and simply stated, “I’m going blind, Olga. My diabetes is making me blind. I see you as if you are in front of a windshield in a heavy rain.” I felt sad, wondering if she would be able to read the book I was hoping to finish in a few months. I was not prepared to hear the sadness she carried in her heart about her parents’ marriage, and I was to find out that afternoon why Willie never mentioned his wife throughout the recordings. Willie did state in his recordings that he knew that he had been rude, recognizing his human frailties. We learned of his suffering during the war and of his pain in losing his eldest son, but the damage inflicted on his marriage, he kept to himself.

As Delia and I sat together on that sunny day on the small deck attached to Delia’s mobile home, we were surrounded by Delia’s garden treasures. Our silent witnesses were the bright-colored roosters in the neighbor’s yard, and occasionally, we would hear the usual sounds of a Mexican barrio—music, laughter, and neighbors going by. As Delia began recalling the suffering she and her siblings experienced as children in a troubled marriage, I felt as if a little girl was opening the screen door and leading me into her home and letting me witness what her childhood was like. I admired her sincerity in sharing what she has faced in her life. The story about Paulita and Delia is another story I did not intend to write, but with their blessing, I share it so that we may understand and admire them.

In another conversation, I witnessed the same character in Adelfa, Willie’s daughter-in-law. They are two stoic, humble, and sincere women, like so many others I have met in my mejicano community, accepting fate, accepting disappointment, and finding joy in the simplicity of their lives.

Guillermo “Willie” De León Jr., a fallen soldier of the Vietnam War

Willie De León, Jr. as a student at Southwest Texas Junior College before volunteering for service in the Vietnam War. Courtesy of Sostenes Rocha, Jr.

Guillermo “Willie” De León Sr., used to wish he had a brother, but instead, he was given eight sisters. One of those sisters, Ventura, gave him the nephew who eventually became the protective big brother and guardian of Willie’s family before and after his death. Sóstenes was about three years old when Willie returned from the war. Still, his admiration for Willie was cemented when Ventura made a uniform for little Sóstenes and pinned on it all of Willie’s medals. A picture of the little soldier was taken for posterity. To remind him of the love he had at home, Willie carried in his wallet a picture of his little cousins Sóstenes, Leovigilda, and Juventina throughout his years in the war.

Willie De León Sr.’s nephew, Sóstenes Rocha, was three years old when Willie Sr. returned from the war. His mother, Ventura Rocha, made him a soldier's uniform and pinned all of Willie’s medals on him. Sóstenes loved and respected his uncle and often served as a surrogate father for Willie Sr.’s family. Courtesy of Sostenes Rocha, Jr.

Willie De León's sister, Ventura Rocha, was the only surviving sister when he returned from the war. Her family offered him constant support. Back row: Francisco, Sostenes, Jr. Sostenes, Sr. Alberto, Jesus Arturo Chiprez, godson. Front row: Leovigilda, Nabelinda, Ventura and Juventina. Courtesy of Sóstenes Rocha Jr.

Sóstenes Rocha Jr.’s love and respect for his uncle inspired him to be the historian we needed to tell Willie’s story, using photographs, military records, newspaper clippings, and personal memories. As a military veteran, he spoke proudly of his military service and that of others in the family, but he unselfishly gave his time to honor Willie. Sóstenes has assisted other authors in writing their stories about his uncle and other veterans. He was present during the dedication and the subsequent re-dedication of the Uvalde Civic Center in Willie’s name. In addition to protecting Willie's stories, Sóstenes did the same for Willie’s oldest son, Willie Jr.

Willie Jr.’s tragic death was difficult to bear because Willie had already suffered so much during his years fighting in World War II. The loss of his oldest son must have reminded him of his own horrors as a soldier, intensifying his heartbreak

On July 1, 1968, at Fort Sam Houston, the family of PFC Guillermo De León Jr. was presented with the Bronze Star, accompanied by a V device for valor, which was posthumously awarded to him. Willie Jr. died in Vietnam on January 5, 1968. Attending the ceremony were Willie De León Sr., his wife Paulita, son Armando, daughters Delia and Velma, Willie Jr.’s fiancée Dolores Arredondo, and Colonel Morris B. Montgomery, Fort Sam Houston deputy commander. The Uvalde Leader-News covered this event in its July 4, 1968, issue.

The citation for the honors bestowed on him includes the circumstances of Willie Jr.’s ultimate sacrifice:

When his company came under heavy enemy grenade and mortar fire, PFC De León left the

perimeter in an attempt to locate and destroy the enemy position. With utter disregard for his

own safety, he initiated a heavy volley of fire toward the suspected position. After he expertly

located the position of the enemy, he returned to his own perimeter for more ammunition and

returned to his dangerous position, where he again launched a heavy volume of fire on the

enemy and inflicted numerous casualties until he was fatally wounded. His outstanding heroism

inspired his comrades to a full defeat of the enemy.^[156]

PFC Guillermo “Willie” De León, Jr.--courtesy of Sostenes Rocha, Jr.

Fort Sam Houston, on July 1, 1968. Members of the Guillermo De León family of Uvalde display the medals and decorations, including a Bronze Star with V device for Valor and Purple Heart presented posthumously to PFC Guillermo De León Jr., who was killed in Vietnam January 5, 1968. Attending the solemn ceremonies were left to right, Armando De León, Velma De León, Mr. and Mrs. Guillermo De León Sr., parents of the heroic young soldier, Delia De León and Colonel Morris B. Montgomery, Fort Sam Houston, deputy commander who made the presentation, and Delores Arredondo, the deceased soldier's fiancée. (Courtesy of the Uvalde Leader-News file photo from the Virginia Wood Davis Archives at El Progreso Memorial Library) From the Thursday, July 4, 1968, edition of the Uvalde Leader-News.

Forty years after Willie Jr.’s death, on January 8, 2008, retired Master Sgt. Sóstenes Rocha Jr., continuing as the surrogate father for Willie’s children, attended a commemorative service held at the Vietnam Memorial in Washington, D. C. Sóstenes Rocha carried with him the American flag that was draped over Willie Jr.’s casket when he returned home. Peggy Reider coordinated the 40th-anniversary commemorative service to honor the memory of the 18 men from Charlie Company 2nd BN 1st INF who lost their lives in the two-day battle at Heip Duc Valley in South Vietnam on January 5 and 6, 1968. Among those killed that day were First Lt. Bromley Howard German, a very good friend of Reider, and PFC Guillermo De León Jr.

Sóstenes Rocha was grateful for Reider’s remembrance of Charlie Company and the heroism of its soldiers in the dreadful battle:

As the company left the re-supply landing zone, they were caught in an ambush and were

surrounded on all sides by a numerically superior enemy force. The first volley killed several

and wounded many more, still, the few survivors fought back. The twilight became so black it

was almost impossible to see who was standing next to you. The battle quickly became hand-

to-hand close-in fighting, mortar fire came, hand grenades were thrown, and human waves of

NVA soldiers came time after time. The men of Charlie Company fought without concern for

their personal safety. They fought, protected, and died for each other. Some took bullets, hand

grenades, and shrapnel for their buddies and for men they didn’t know in other squads. Some

exposed themselves to draw enemy fire directly to them and away from their comrades; some

crawled among the wounded, giving them aid and some measure of comfort.

Some died fighting to keep from being overrun by the overwhelming numbers charging them.

When morning finally came, the carnage was unbelievable; 18 men lay dead on the field of

battle, with another 57 known wounded. At approximately 9:30 am on January 6, 1968, Twister

Charlie, C Company, 2nd BN, 1st NF, was declared combat ineffective.

The average age of the dead was 22 years. They came from all walks of life and represented

every aspect of America. These men of unbelievable courage were ordinary young men, family

men with children, or single men in the prime of their lives, but died heroes on January 5 and 6,

1968. However, if they could speak to us today, they would probably tell us that they did

nothing special, only what had to be done.^[157]

PFC Guillermo “Willie” De León Jr. was born on May 6, 1946 in Uvalde. He graduated from Uvalde High School in 1964 and Southwest Texas Junior College in 1966. When Uvalde received word of his death, flags were flown at half-mast. He is buried at Hillcrest Cemetery in Uvalde.

Uvalde honored Willie De León Sr.

When Uvalde’s first mejicano city mayor, Rogelio Luévano, came into office in 1989, one of his priorities was to honor Willie De León Sr. He knew that Willie’s valor in World War II deserved recognition, and it was long overdue. His efforts were realized when, in October 1993, the American Legion Post 479 successfully persuaded the city council to name the Uvalde Civic Center in honor of SSG Guillermo “Willie” De León. On May 13, 2013, the building was rededicated following extensive renovations. Uvalde Mayor J. Allen Carnes gave the welcoming address, followed by the presentation of colors by the US Border Patrol Honor Guard. De León family members attending were Willie’s daughters, Delia Musquiz and Velma Roman, and her husband, Henry Roman, nephew Sóstenes Rocha Jr., who spoke at the ceremony, and former Mayor Rogelio Luevano. Both of Willie’s sons are deceased. Guillermo De León Jr., who was killed in the Vietnam War in 1968, and the late Armando De León died in 2008.

Judy Canales, a former Uvaldean and then acting deputy undersecretary for the US Department of Agriculture's Rural Development, was the mistress of ceremonies and read a Texas House of Representatives resolution presented on behalf of State Representative Tracy O. King. Matthew Hall, field representative for US Representative Pete Gallego, presented the family with congressional records and congressional flags flown over the halls of Congress. The guest speaker for the event was Lt. Col. Christian von Wupperfeld.

A member of the US Border Patrol Honor Guard and Matthew Hall present Guillermo “Willie” De León's daughters, Delia Musquiz (second from left) and Velma Roman (third from left), with flags during the Willie De León Civic Center rededication ceremony on Memorial Day. (Photo by Kimberly Rubio, the May 30, 2013, edition of the Uvalde Leader-News.) Note: In the background is Francisco Guevara, accompanied by his granddaughter, Alexis Marie Guevara.

The SSG Guillermo De León Civic Center in Uvalde, Texas. Photo by and courtesy of Ron Sprouse.

A summary of Willie’s military service

Guillermo “Willie” De León was inducted into the US Army in 1940. During World War II, he served in the 36th Infantry Division, 141st Infantry Regiment, and Company E in North Africa and Italy. Willie began training at Camp Bowie in Brownwood, Texas, then Camp Blanding, Florida, the Carolinas, and Camp Edwards, Massachusetts. At Camp Edwards, Massachusetts, Willie was one of the soldiers chosen from the 36th Division for “their character and athletic abilities” to participate in a Ranger Company. They were taught the use of mines, booby traps, hand-to-hand combat, bayonet, and judo. They were also trained in Florida on the Higgins Landing Craft. In April 1943, the Division left for French North Africa to train in an amphibious landing.

On September 9, 1943, the Division conducted an amphibious landing at Salerno to initiate the Italian Campaign called Operation Avalanche. Willie led 12 men in the first wave of soldiers to set foot on Italian soil. Company E fought battles in the bitter cold and rain, from one snowy mountain to another. After the deadly, disastrous battle at the Rapido River, the company was reduced from 186 men to 26. On June 4, 1944, the Division participated in the liberation of Rome and then moved on to Southern France on August 7, 1944. It is at this juncture that Willie is assigned to rear army positions. His last assignment was as Chief Warden at the POW camp at Reims, France. When the point system was enacted, he had the highest points and was sent home. He was honorably discharged at Fort Sam Houston on July 7, 1945.

When Willie arrived in Uvalde from the war, he visited Judge CR Sutton, with whom he had worked. Judge Sutton saw Willie’s discharge papers and immediately recognized the valor those medals represented. Thanks to Judge Sutton, the Uvalde Leader-News published an article about his bravery as a soldier.^{^[158]}

The first Silver Star was presented by General Mark W. Clark, and the citation that accompanies the award states that it was given “for gallantry in the vicinity of Velletri, Italy.” The detail of his bravery continues:

When the left flank of the company position was threatened by a vigorous enemy assault, Sgt.

De León moved to a sector near a friendly machine gun emplacement in an open wheat field

and opened fire on the attackers. When the furious crossfire of three enemy machine guns

rendered positions almost untenable, the crew of the friendly machine gun was forced to

withdraw. Sgt. De León, thoughtless of personal security, maintained his position and

successfully defended the sector against the onrushing enemy force. When an enemy soldier

crept near enough to strike Sgt. De León, with the butt of his rifle and demanding his surrender,

whirled and fired his submachine gun at the soldier, killing him. He continued to fire and delay

the attacking force until reinforcements arrived to assist him.^[159]

SSG De León received a Silver Star, two Purple Hearts, the Bronze Star, and the Campaign medal with four battle stars for his bravery. Willie passed away on August 22, 1993, and was buried with full military honors at the Hillcrest Cemetery in Uvalde near the grave of his son, PFC Guillermo “Willie” De León Jr.

Willie’s last message to us all

Now we wait to see what follows. We need to talk to our children of today and tell them that

they need to follow the good road, so they can earn the respect of the town and the

government wherever they are. Many live a good life, and others are hotheaded. It isn't good to

be fighting among ourselves. That is one of the worst things that can happen in any war or here

at home. We should strive to avoid conflict. We should remember that the Lord gives, and the

Lord takes away, that sometimes we win and sometimes we lose, and often we have no choice

in the matter. We need to live good lives until the Lord decides it’s our time to go. For our part,

we lived our lives. We went to war and made it back, which was one of the most sacred things

God could do. I know that at times I was rude, but all that changes, and in this world, no one is

a saint. (Willie is quiet and seems to be holding back his tears.) I hope all that I have told you

will be of service to you, Olga, because it was something I never thought of sharing with

anyone. At the same time, it was my destiny to share my story. What I remember I now hold as

a dream I have tried to forget. These memories are like birds that flew away; they happened

and will not happen again. This is very important: I have done my duty. There is no other life for

me. This one is ending. What I do hope with all my heart is that my family will never do

something that is not right.^[160]

En Memoria de Willie De León

22 de agosto 1993

Cual hoja cambia de color,

hoy has cambiado tu imagen

que no podemos olvidar.

Hispánica tus raíces y América

la nación que te vio nacer,

Sin embargo, invadiste con sano placer

los horizontes mundiales

Forjaste la imagen de júbilo y de bondad

y en verdad la transmitiste a la realidad.

Inolvidable será tu recuerdo

y de enseñanza profunda

al que pueda entender

Como dijiste aquel día,

“Sobra tiempo para llorar,

hoy hay que sonreír.”

—Norma Beltrán Hipólito

(biznieta de una hermana de Alberto De León.)

In Memory of Willie De León

In Memory of Willie De León

August 22, 1993

As a leaf changes color,

today you have transformed that image

of you, we will never forget.

Hispanic your roots and America

the nation that witnessed your birth,

You nevertheless invaded with healthy pleasure

the world’s horizons.

You forged an image of joy and kindness

and made it real.

Unforgettable will be your memory

and profound your wisdom

for those who will understand it.

As you said that day,

“There is plenty of time to cry,

today we must smile.”

—Norma Beltrán Hipólito

(great-granddaughter of Alberto De León’s sister)

PART II

Stories of area heroes who persevered and triumphed despite years of subservience

CHAPTER ONE

Carving our own stories

In Aesop’s Fables, we learn about a man and a lion arguing about which is the nobler race. The man points to a carving of a man strangling a lion to prove his point. The lion responds by saying this observation would be different if the lion had been the carver, in which case the lion would be conquering the man.

This fable applies to the written history of Uvalde and our country in general. For many years in Uvalde, the Anglo writers were “the carvers,” documenting historical accounts for our region, often ignoring the existence of the large mejicano community. The historical accounts traditionally taught in school are based on the perspective of these Anglo writers. As the late Leticia M. Garza-Falcón (1998) points out in her book Gente Decente, A Borderlands Response to the Rhetoric of Dominance, Walter Prescott Webb “created an enduring image of fearless, white, Anglo male settlers and lawmen bringing civilization to an American Southwest plagued with ‘savage’ Indians and Mexicans.”^{^[161]} In his books The Great Plains (1931), The Great Frontier (1951), and The Texas Rangers: A Century of Frontier Defense (1935), Webb created a vision of the American Southwest that influenced generations of historians, artists, and all media. His writing was so effective in its intent, but so damaging for mejicanos. Garza-Falcón believed it “effectively silenced the counter-narratives that Mexican-American writers and historians were concurrently producing to claim their standing as gente decente, people of worth. In her book, she reminds us that there were other “carvers” during the period covered by Webb. Garza-Falcón presents the writings of Jovita González, Américo Paredes, María Cristina Mena, Fermina Guerra, Beatrice De La Garza, and Helena María Viramontes. More recently, Mónica Muñoz Martínez, in her book published in 2018, The Injustice Never Leaves You, de-mystifies the false narratives about the early Texas Rangers and the brave white settlers are now seen through the prism of documented accounts of the murders of innocent mejicanos committed by Anglos.^{^[162]}

We read in the Texas Historical Association’s online publication that “conflict between Mexicans and Anglos during and after the Mexican War continued in Uvalde County, with the reported lynching of eleven Mexicans near the Nueces River in 1855. Laws passed in 1857 prohibited Mexicans from traveling through the county and were probably part of an effort to remove them from the lucrative freight business along the San Antonio-Eagle Pass road.”^{^[163]} The murder of those unknown mejicanos amounts to a massacre, yet it is something that has not previously been included in our school books. That little-known account in itself helps us understand the culture of oppression toward mejicanos that has permeated for decades. Archived issues of the Uvalde Leader-News available at the El Progreso Library and Juan O. Sánchez’s research for his Master thesis in 1992 provide ample evidence of biased accounts. Fortunately, the Spanish-language newspapers of the time provided Dr. Sánchez with valuable resources to educate us today with a different historical perspective. In the bibliography at the end of this book, you can expand your knowledge of the history of Uvalde and our region. Local libraries and the Internet offer numerous resources as well.

On March 29, 2012, at the grounds of the Texas State Capitol in Austin, a beautiful monument was unveiled to honor the contribution of the founding Spanish and Mexican settlers to the state of Texas. At last, it was a Tejano sculptor from Laredo, Armando Hinojosa, who was the “carver” who told our story, our history, and our legacy to the state of Texas. It is one of the largest monuments on the grounds of the Texas State Capitol featuring a twenty-foot granite base with ten statues and five bronze-relief plaques.

Tejano Monument at the Texas State Capitol in Austin, Texas, made possible by Tejano Monument, Inc. Photo courtesy of, and by, Rick Patrick.

A group of Mexican American leaders, members of the Tejano Monument, Inc., raised funding for the monument and pressured the Texas legislature to make their idea a reality. On May 17, 2001, the Seventy-seventh Texas Legislature adopted House Concurrent Resolution (HCR) 38 authorizing the committee to erect the monument. The Eightieth Texas Legislature approved $1.087 million in 2007 for the memorial, and Tejano Monument, Inc. raised approximately $800,000 to fund and erect the monument. The elaborate unveiling ceremony featured speeches by then-Governor Rick Perry and other officials, a parade, and a history symposium. The dedication ceremony garnered statewide media attention and was recorded on videos and web pages on the Internet. Mejicanos from all over the country now have a monument that they can take their families to visit and learn about our history. It is a lasting, living classroom.^{^[164]}

According to the Texas Archival records online, “the idea of the Tejano Monument was conceived in 2000 by Dr. Cayetano Barrera of McAllen, Texas, who noticed the absence of Tejano representation in the monuments on the Texas State Capitol grounds. Tejanos are Texans of Spanish and Mexican descent whose ancestors were among the first non-indigenous people to explore and colonize Texas. They brought their culture and traditions, which remain central to Texas heritage. Dr. Barrera and a group of Tejano community leaders formed the Tejano Monument, Inc. in 2001 to bring to life Dr. Barrera’s idea of a monument commemorating the influence of Tejanos on Texas history and culture. The Tejano Monument, Inc. Executive Board consisted of President Cayetano Barrera, M.D.; Vice President Andrés Tijerina, PhD, Professor of History at Austin Community College; Vice President Homero Vera, editor and publisher of El Mesteño Magazine; Vice President Renato Ramirez, President and CEO of the International Bank of Commerce in Zapata, Texas; and Secretary-Treasurer Richard Sánchez, Chief of Staff for State Representative Ismael “Kino” Flores. Our mejicano community must recognize them for giving us this beautiful monument. Numerous articles written about the Tejano Monument can be found on the Internet.^{^[165]}

By learning about mejicanos who contributed to the progress of their families and their communities, despite the difficulties of their lives, we gain another perspective. In old publications, when mejicanos were acknowledged, it was usually to describe them in derogatory, offensive terms. The authors of those writings did not address the fact that if many mejicanos appeared poor and uneducated, it was because of the oppressive conditions under which they were forced to live. The denial of fair and equal education kept us, as Willie De León so often said, “so far behind.” Our ancestors living in Texas did their best to preserve the beautiful and proud culture before the arrival of new settlers in our state. The formality of their lives within their communities, the respect with which they addressed each other, and their strong moral and work ethic are alive in the memories of our elders. They were, as Leticia M. Garza-Falcon cried out in her book, gente decente, people of worth.

In the book Las Tejanas: 300 Years of History, we read about the escuelitas (little schools) that many families created in their homes to educate their children. The early educators who became certified teachers taught in segregated, poorly kept schools. And yet, the human spirit of hope and determination our ancestors had has blossomed into unlimited opportunities for mejicanos today. The following stories honor a few individuals who brought about lasting, meaningful changes for mejicanos in Uvalde and the region. We honor them by writing their stories, and I invite others to join me in documenting our experiences and the legacies of our ancestors.^{^[166]}

How mejicanos forged changes in Uvalde

Changes in social structures in Uvalde came in slow, incremental steps. The same could be said about South Texas. What you will read here can be easily adapted to the history of almost every small community in Texas where mejicanos lived. Our towns were forged by the colliding forces of people from different cultures, driven initially by the ambition of European powers to lay a stake in the vast and fertile lands of the New World. The invaders of the land we now call our country sought to expand their land holdings and spread their religious beliefs. Leaders of the early days of our nation envisioned the expansion of its boundaries through the philosophy of Manifest Destiny. This was the pronouncement that it was our country’s right to take land, one way or another, right or wrong. For mejicanos of the 1960s, seeking to change a culture that took decades to create equates to a tiny ant trying to reach the top of a mountain.

And yet, change did come, one small step at a time. The older generation of mejicanos that survived those years of disdain and abuse by the Anglos were determined—however, it was possible in those days— to improve their lives. They worked hard; they strived to educate their children at home through examples of respect, honor, and compassion for one another. Their religious faith guided them through the years of servitude with little pay. They accepted the situations they could not change in their lifetime and carried on, like tiny ants climbing a mountain, steadily, stubbornly. Each generation moved our people up, one difficult step at a time. One mejicano entrepreneur after another began to break the yoke of economic oppression. Small grocery stores, bakeries, restaurants, tailors, carpenters, mechanics, painters, sheep shearing captains, musicians, singers, house builders, tortillerías, molinos, rental property owners, and many other types of businesses steadily opened their doors to independence. Business ownership gave the community a sense of pride and comfort in conducting business with fellow mejicanos.

In Uvalde, a few of the old businesses still survive and many are now shuttered, changed or demolished, but their names and their legacies live on: Cirilo Mata’s Grocery and Panadería, Paul’s Place, De Hoyos Grocery, Hernández Cafés, OK Taxi, Sunshine Taxi, Torralba’s Grocery Store, Mariscal Grocery and Molino, Vásquez Restaurant, Montana Bar, López Grocery Store, Uriegas Grocery Store, Merejildo and Ofelia Gallardo’s grocery store (later named Kuick Check), Royal Cleaners, Cardenas Boot and Shoe Shop, Santos Drug, Tejas Theatre, Mencho Flores Grocery, Canales Beauty Shop, the barber shops with the names Maistro Aguilar, Ricardo R. Gómez on West Main Street and Richard Gómez on Evans Street, Baltazar Ramirez Barber Shop, Fernando Morales Fruit Stand, Las Vegas Drive-In, Lucky 13 Drive-In, Derby Drive-In, Reyes Cafe, Paul Martínez Furniture, Gilbert Riojas Furniture, Hillcrest Ice House, Flores Painters, Braulio Hernández House Moving, Moises, Pablo, Lupe, and Lico Reyes, and Core Canales as sheep shearing captains, Contreras Grocery Store on Getty St., Conchita Vásquez Grocery store on Ft. Clark, Treviño’s Electric, Robert’s Printing, Mike Esparza Funeral Home, Ray Flores Photography, Hernández Photography. These establishments opened the way for larger enterprises like Tandem Petroleum Distributors and East Side Shell, established by Vicente Gonzáles, III, Nick Ayala’s Uvalde Concrete, and many others. This list of businesses is incomplete but provides an impressive list of accomplished business owners, obliterating the view of mejicanos depicted in the old issues of the Uvalde Leader-News and the writings of Anglo historians of Uvalde. These businesses and many others are a testament to the intelligence, creativity, and power of a determined people. Their accomplishments will forever inspire us.

As a silent witness to the changes that have taken place in Uvalde, Royal Cleaners is one of the few original businesses in the town’s west-side business community that have withstood the test of time. Established in 1946 by Tomas V. Zapata and his wife, Esther Reyes Zapata, their daughter, Nancy Zapata-Meandro, now owns it, and the family currently operates it. Royal Cleaners has been a part of weddings, quinceañeras, proms, anniversaries, and other mejicano social events through the years, offering professional dry cleaning, alterations, tuxedo rentals, formal dresses, baptismal garments, and accessories, all from the exact location on Grove Street.--The author’s photo.

CHAPTER TWO

Alfredo Mauricio Ibarra

Alfredo Ibarra was a resident of Uvalde, Texas, when I was publishing my first newspaper, El Uvalde Times between 1977 and 1980. His grandson, Robert “Bobby” López, was around eighteen years old at the time and had worked for me in the early days of my newspaper. Mr. Ibarra would arrive at my office, the beeping of his hearing aid announcing his presence before we could see him.

Don Alfredo Mauricio Ibarra, activist, representative of the Mexican Consulate, member of LULAC and writer.--The author’s photo.

He was in his late eighties when he wrote several stories on notebook paper, in shaky Spanish handwriting. I would get ready for him by getting paper and pencil because he could not hear my responses to his words. Somehow, we managed to communicate, and I agreed to publish his stories from time to time. Because transcribing his stories took time, and I was the only one who could understand his writing, I was not always able to include his stories in my newspaper.

In his stories, we see Mr. Ibarra as a dedicated public servant. He was a member of the League of United Latin American Citizens (LULAC) and the Comisión Honorífica, for which he helped organize Mexican patriotic celebrations, such as Mexico's Independence Day—the Día de la Asunción —and the Cinco de Mayo. The funds raised at these celebrations were used to support the community's most vulnerable individuals. These events have always been observed in the United States by mejicanos and offer music, food, and entertainment. In the past, small communities like Uvalde would host fiestas that included speeches by designated representatives of the Mexican Consulate and other local government officials. Hector García, a deacon at Sacred Heart Catholic Church in Uvalde, writes in Carmen Iruegas’s book that his father, Antonio García, was in the Comisión Honorífica and was entirely dedicated to serving their community.

The origins of the Cinco de Mayo, Mexico’s holiday that honors the defeat of Napoleon III’s attempt to overthrow the government of President Benito Juárez, in Puebla, and how it became an important holiday in the United States is aptly presented in a video presentation by Dr. David Hayes-Bautista of the University of California at Los Angeles.^{^[167]}

In Mr. Ibarra’s days, the celebrations provided a break from hard work and offered a few hours of entertainment and fellowship, even though there were great difficulties in bringing them about. Mr. Ibarra wrote a story in Spanish entitled “La Fiesta del Diez y Seis de Septiembre de 1930 en Hondo, Texas” in which he relates his predicaments in organizing the event that year. The story was published in my newspaper El Uvalde Times in the December 3, and December 10, 1978 issues. Today, these fiestas are not as formal as Mr. Ibarra would have made them, but they are still a time of joy, celebrated together with food booths, games, and music for evening dances.

In my old newspaper files, I recently came across a weathered folder with Mr. Ibarra’s name and several yellowed notebook pages with several other amazing stories. The following is one of these unpublished stories, “Lilliput desafía a Goliath (Lilliput Challenges Goliath)”. The unusual title of two characters from two well-known literary books, Gulliver’s Travels by Jonathan Swift and Goliath from the Holy Bible, creates interest. Mr. Ibarra, you see, was a man who loved to read, and his beautiful Spanish exemplifies the dignity with which he and the mejicano communities of his time, not only spoke, but also comported themselves. Reading this story for the first time in 2018 prompted me to revisit the literary classic Gulliver’s Travels so that I could understand how Swift came up with the title. I did not remember Mr. Ibarra’s story from my newspaper days. I surmised that he would have been impatient with me if I had asked him how he came up with the title. Even though he is gone, I respect him to this day because through those yellowed notebook pages he is giving us an invaluable glimpse of the lives he and his fellow mejicanos endured and of their yearning for a better life.

Because the story takes place in Hondo, Texas, now every time we go through Hondo on our way to Uvalde, I see the old hotel building and the railroad tracks that still run through the heart of the town and I imagine Mr. Ibarra and the people that lived there during those days.

Before you read this story, let’s point out a few things. At the end of the story, Mr. Ibarra added a saying that required some research to determine its meaning, its origin, and how it applied to the story. I perceived it as another gift from him, as I heard him insist that I look back into his past and understand how those who came before his generation also guided their lives.

As I have read so many accounts of the mistreatment of my people by the Anglos of Willie De León’s childhood and Mr. Ibarra’s lifetime, I often wondered if anyone ever found clever ways to get back at their oppressors. Mr. Ibarra, in the first story, answered my question. The role of Mexican Consulates of the time in offering support for mejicanos suffering abuses by their employers and others in their communities is essential here.

His grandson, Robert López, shared his memories of him, and the story begs us to wonder how much more Mr. Ibarra could have accomplished if others had not altered the course of his life. Robert’s recollection of his grandfather prompted me to go through old copies of the El Uvalde Times. By pure chance, I focused on an issue that had a small notice on the front page introducing Mr. Ibarra’s story, titled “La Niña Eloisita.” As a result, you can now read this story in this book. The story appears in the July 5 and July 12, 1979 issues of my newspaper. It is about the organization Mr. Ibarra founded to ward off manipulation by visiting medicine men and to help provide resources for medical care. It reflects some positive interactions with the farmers they worked for, even though they were still living in bondage through the way the farmers paid them.

In these stories, the words farmers and ranchers are used interchangeably. In my translation of his stories from Spanish to English, I hope to have conveyed his eloquence.

Lilliput challenges Goliath

By Alfredo Mauricio Ibarra

Hondo, Texas

I don’t remember the year, but it was around 1924. It was a good year for the ranchers because they had planted a lot of cotton. We had worked hard removing weeds and cleaning the fields because it had rained so much, and the weeds were plentiful. We noticed that the cotton fields had large bolls, indicating an excellent crop. For this reason, we had high hopes of having food to eat. Such hopes made us daydream since we hoped to earn enough money to buy some clothes and a beer for Saturday, and maybe another one for Sunday. As soon as the cotton was ready for harvest, however, our joy evaporated.

I always saved a little money for my favorite vice: buying La Prensa, a newspaper published in San Antonio.. I was able to buy it when the passenger train came by because the man who sold it was there. In Hondo, he didn’t sell many newspapers because some people mistreated him. I would raise my hand and say, “Por favor,” and I always asked for it that way; he was very cordial in selling me the newspaper.

On a particular day, after buying the paper, I began walking toward my home and started reading as I walked. I became dumbfounded as I read this ad: “Three hundred cotton pickers needed in Hondo, Texas. Houses, firewood, and good pay offered.” We had worked in the cotton fields planting, removing weeds, and cleaning, but now we had been out of work for three weeks. We knew that the harvest was going to be one of the best, so we didn't leave for other towns in search of work, because we were certain our food was a sure thing. Such was our hope that it made us pass some happy times joking with each other. When one of us would yawn, we would say, “Look at him, he wants to sleep after all he ate,” or when another one burped, that would provoke another good while of laughter.

As I was walking along, I began to think about what the farmers would do to us who had lived here for so many years, treating us with so much contempt and wanting to starve us to death. I decided to write a letter to the Mexican Consulate that was located in San Antonio stating: “In La Prensa today, there is an advertisement where farmers in Hondo need 300 cotton pickers. They are offering them a house, water, firewood, and they are to be paid a good price. Please get in touch with the employment office of that city and instruct them not to send anyone. I take responsibility.”

I signed my name and went to the post office, where I sent the letter, praying to God that the Consular official would grant me the favor I had asked for. This was Lilliput challenging Goliath. (The little people challenging the giant farmers.) Three days later, a man came and told me, “There is a man at the hotel who is looking for you.” To let him think that I had no idea who he was, I asked, “And what does that man want with me?”

He said, “I don’t know.”

“Well,” I responded, “he can keep on looking for me because the sun has gone down, and I am very hungry and I am going to eat supper.” He said, “Me too. I am going home.”

We left, walking together, but when he turned onto one street in the direction of his house, I made a big loop and went to talk to the man who had come looking for me. Without asking anything upon arriving where he was, I extended him my hand.

“Alfredo M. Ibarra, sir.”

I noticed that he was surprised, but he said, “I have been looking for you,” and he began to show me business cards that showed he was an employee of the Employment Office. I placed myself in God’s hands and I played a game of poker with marked cards. I told him, “Very well. I am at your service. Tell me how I can help you.”

He said, “The Consul in San Antonio advised my office where I work that you had asked him not to allow workers, and specifically cotton pickers, to come to Hondo. He stated that you made yourself responsible, so the Employment Office, in agreement with the Consul, has asked me to interview you. So I would like for you to tell me what the reason is you don’t want cotton pickers to come here.”

“The main reason is,” I told him, “that the people who live here planted the cotton fields, cleared them of weeds, and cleaned the cotton plants; no outside workers came in. Secondly, I will tell you about the ranchers offering houses, water, and firewood. Some don’t have either houses or firewood. All these ranches have water because they have cows, and they need water for the cows to produce milk. I want to make you an offer. Take out pen and paper, and I will tell you the name of each rancher, so you won’t forget what I have to say. | will then tell you how many acres of cotton each has, and you write down who has houses and firewood.”

He was very impressed with what I was telling him, and he said, “You seem to know all the people here, and by what the Consul assures us, he has great confidence in you.”

I told him, “I represent the Consul in this county.”

“Well, I don’t need any more information. If the Consul trusts you, I assure you that I, too, trust you and I thank you for having come to see me.”

God never abandons me, even when I have to lie, as I had to do this time, though I lied only to help my people, so they would not go hungry with the way the ranchers treated us. Now I was thanking God for having placed the idea in my head and my heart. Then I told the gentleman, “Well, you rest assured and I am very grateful, but let’s go for a walk so that you don’t go to sleep so early.”

We were talking alongside Highway 90. We crossed the railroad tracks and on the next street, we began to walk toward the bank. There was a bench there where every night some older men would sit to talk before going to bed. We began walking slowly, talking as we walked. As we passed by the men at the bench were, I fell silent. Once we were about ten yards away, we stopped, and I began talking again. One of the men sitting there came up to where we were and told my companion, pointing his finger at him, “I want you to leave very quickly from here, and don’t take one man because we need them,” and raising his voice he spoke strongly, “You hear that?” He turned around and left.

My companion was astounded and told me, “What kind of man is that that came to threaten me? How does he know why I am here?” Just then, the same man came and again pointing his finger at him said, “I have twenty armed men ready to throw you out of town, you hear?”

Astonished even more, I told him, “Let’s keep walking further up.” I didn’t say anything more, but the one who had more to say was my companion. I then told him, “I wish to ask you a favor and I want you to grant it for me.”

“Tell me what you need.”

“That you don’t forget what that man said and that you relate that to the Consul, exactly as he spoke to you.” He said, “Do you think I am going to forget those threatening words? I will never forget them.”

We turned around a good distance from where the men were talking, and I walked with him back to the hotel. I advised him not to forget to lock his door very well when he went to bed, and that if someone knocked on his door, to not open it for anyone, and that I was sure he was not going to sleep very well.

When we were sure that the cotton was ready for picking, we would gather where we were sure the ranchers would pass by, and as they did, we still built castles in the wind, begging God that they would ask us to pick the cotton. All the time, we were imagining how much money we could make each day. But the blessed ranchers would pass by us, looking the other way. All of us needed work, of course.

I concluded that some of the men must have been related to the ranchers, because when the ranchers passed by, some of them made comments about their mothers, sending “greetings” to them and all their generations to come. (They would cuss them out.)

But later on, “Lilliput” did hurl a rock at the talon of the giant and won, rendering him unable to walk. The situation changed for us, as the ranchers came back smiling and invited us to their fields because they had a lot of cotton. (They realized no outside laborers were coming.) As the old saying goes: Pa’ los toros del Jaral, los caballos de allí mismo. (For the bulls of the jaral (hacienda), the horses from the same place.)^{^[168]}

We were able to pick all the cotton in the fields, thanking God Almighty that we were not going to go hungry.

Buelo: A grandmother’s love changed the course of his life

By Robert Lopez

Buelo, this is what we called Alfredo Mauricio Ibarra, my grandfather. I heard stories about my grandfather from my mother and there are two that I think are the saddest ones about his life. “When your grandfather was a young man in Mexico,” she told me, “after he completed his high school education, he was offered two becas or scholarships to attend college. One was to a military school and the other one to a major university. His grandparents had raised him because his parents had passed away. His grandmother discouraged him from attending college. She told my grandfather that to attend college, he would have to take a train and that the train would have to go through a tunnel. It was this tunnel she was afraid of, because she had heard that it was not stable and could fall and trap the passengers inside, thus leading to their death. So, my grandfather decided against taking any of the scholarships and perhaps lost out on a better life. It was not long after this that he decided to come to the United States.”

Alfredo arrived in Hondo, Texas, where he soon met his wife, Anita Valenzuela. Happiness with his wife, the love of his life, did not last very long. One day, when they were both riding in a buggy with their little daughter, a drunk driver ran his car into the horse and buggy, flinging them all out, instantly killing my grandmother. My grandfather became the sole parent of Guadalupe, his only daughter (my mother).

One of my earliest recollections of my grandfather is when I must have been around six or seven years old, and we were traveling to Hondo from Uvalde, a forty-five-minute drive. Back then, traveling in a black late 1940s-something Ford took more than this, especially when you had a flat tire. So, there I stood along the side of the road while Buelo changed the flat tire. We were there long enough to see a train speeding by, blowing its horn. The tracks were located right next to the road and being frightened by it, I quickly grabbed my mother’s dress and held on tight. My grandfather, laughing, said, “Everything is going to be okay. We will soon be back on the road.”

Buelo took care of me, and he took care of his people. My mother had many stories about how my grandfather was always very involved in helping his community, especially of Hispanic families. He would head the Niña Eloisita organization, where each member would pay a quarter and then provide help to the members when they were sick and needed to see a doctor. He would also sponsor the Diez y Seis fiestas, the celebration of Mexico’s Day of Independence. He was always organizing family events. Today, it is not unusual to see me with the same organizational skills he had and serving my community. It all comes from my grandfather, Buelo!

La Niña Eloisita

By Alfredo M. Ibarra

In 1917, I would work planting in the fields around Quihi and beyond, about twenty miles from Hondo, Texas. The farmer was John Balzen, and his land was very fertile. Since I worked the soil very well, it yielded a very good harvest. That same year I got married and in 1918 my first daughter was born. I no longer wanted to go planting very far from town, so I came to work for the Graff family, who had a ranch about a mile south of Hondo Creek on Highway 90.

I worked there for about three years, and the Graffs were very good people. The father was about 83 years old, but he would plow his parcel of land on foot with a hand cultivator plow drawn by a team of horses. Frank was his partner and was the youngest in the family. Since they had a large plot of land, he bought a disk plow, and he would always sit as he plowed. The old man (his father) would criticize him and would tell me: “Look at Frank. These boys are so lazy. They need a plow with a seat so they can plow sitting down. They are just plain lazy. That is the truth. I always tell them that and they get mad at me.”

The Graffs would plant sugar cane to make molasses, and they had a sugarcane mill. When the cane was ready, Mr. Graft would call me so I could peel the sugar cane before it was turned into molasses. I would go two or three days, and when we had enough cane ready, we would pile it up near the mill, and we would hitch a mule to walk around the mill and squeeze all the juice out. This juice was placed in special pans, which were then heated over a fire, and that was how the molasses was made. In the afternoon, when I was leaving, the man would give me a two-gallon can, and he would say, “When you run out of this, you come back and get some more.”

The man would do the same with the bacon they would make. Every day in the afternoon when I was ready to go home, I would say: “I need 50 cents of bacon.” “Come on,” he would say and take me to the little hut where he kept the bacon. He would cut a good piece of about two or three pounds and he would say, “No charge. You work hard and do good work.”

What he said was true. I worked very well even when I was working alone. I would do other tasks that needed to be done at the ranch. That was how I would spend my days and my life, and that of my family, in our world we were peaceful and very happy.

During this same time, a man arrived in Hondo selling a medicine he made himself. It was an ointment that he would have in these little tin boxes about the size of the shoeshine wax box. The man who claimed to be a pharmacist would lead us to believe in the wonderful results.

The man had a little daughter about fourteen years old, and in his propaganda, he would say that his daughter, during certain days, would suffer from a type of fainting. He elaborated that she would begin to tremble, and then she would fall asleep and would begin to talk to God. (The little girl was made to perform for the crowd.) He would then take all his little boxes of medicine, and he would take his daughter’s little hand, and he would pass it over the medicine. She would ask God that those who were ill and used the ointment would be healed right away.

I don’t know why God grants so many people a gift of words and these people can convince anyone with their lies. This man would say, “Look, sir; maybe you won’t believe what I am going to say, but if you are very hungry, and you don’t have anything to eat, you can rub this ointment on your stomach and in a little while you will begin to burp and will not be hungry anymore. You don’t believe it? It's true!”

Or he would say, “Look, Señora, if your husband just wants to be lying down and doesn’t want to chop wood for the fire for your stove, and you have to remind him three or four times and he doesn’t listen to you, play it smart. When he falls asleep, rub this ointment behind his knees and you will see. He will wake up, rub his eyes, grab the ax, and chop the wood. He will not lie down but will go to the cantina to bum some beer from those drinking there. I will assure you Señor or Señora that all the illnesses in this town are going to disappear!”

This happened in 1919. I would see a lot of people very pensive, and when I would ask them what was happening to them, they would begin to tell me how good these medicines were because the man said they were good and assured them they would cure any illness.

I didn’t believe all the ballyhoo that man would say, but I got an idea to unite the people and form a fraternal society. I would give it the name of the little girl. (Mr. Ibarra was wise to use her name since they already believed in her.) I spoke with my compadre, Pedro Martínez, and I explained the situation. He stared at me for a long while and then asked me,”‘Do you think what you are proposing is a good thing?”

“Yes, sir, it is good. I don’t believe what that man promises, but look, if you want to join me, you will have to pay 25 cents per month. Since people are so excited, we could get a group of around 40 members. That would be about 10 dollars per month. If a member gets sick, we'll help them with a dollar, which is the cost of the doctor’s consultation, and we'll give them another dollar for medicine. This way, the doctor heals the patient. I don’t believe in that glorified ointment.”

We were able to secure a hall with benches, and soon we gathered about forty members, after which we named our officers. My compadre, Pedro Martínez, became the president, and I became the secretary, and another man was the treasurer. I made the rule that the treasurer had to live in town so that we would be certain to find him. The rest of us lived at the ranch.

The meetings were held on Sunday afternoons, as we were all Catholic and had to attend Mass. Our fraternity was called Hermandad Eloisita Cisneros. We were pleased that we now had money to pay for the doctor and buy medicines.

The “pharmacist,” who didn’t have lead feet, had formed many of these organizations around San Antonio and many other small towns, but all of a sudden, “a hair fell in the soup.” The Catholic cleric realized that there was a drop in the collections on Sundays, and they held a meeting in Galveston and, as a result, they prohibited everyone who belonged to one of these fraternities from attending mass.

One Sunday, I asked the president if we should go to clean up the hall and prepare everything in time for the meeting. We returned to our homes to eat and then returned to the hall.

About two in the afternoon, the members began to arrive and when we both agreed, we began. The president got everyone’s attention with the gavel and called the meeting to order. I read the minutes of the previous meeting, and they were approved. The president asked for any comments from the members. Several raised their hands, and the president asked one of them to speak. “I have a problem that I cannot resolve,” he said, “and I ask for one of you to help me resolve it. My family and I are Catholic, but the priest in the sermon today said that whoever belonged to the Hermandad de la Niña Eloisita could no longer attend mass and that if we did, he would throw us out. I want to continue to be here because if I get sick, or my family gets sick, you all will give me the money to get cured, and the priest is not going to help me. But I want to continue attending Mass because I am Catholic and that is the problem I cannot solve.”

Several others spoke about the same thing, but no one had any idea how to solve the problem. I felt sorry for them, and my heart ached for them. After six or seven members had spoken, I asked to be heard. The president stared at me and after a long while he finally said, “You may speak, Sir.”

“Brothers, with the permission of the president I want to say that if you authorize me, I will go and talk to our priest and I will take care of this matter and we are going to be able to continue attending Mass and continue to work in this organization. However, I do ask that two members accompany me. Don't talk about this while I am taking care of the matter with the priest, and when we return, these two will speak to you and not me.”

We left the meeting and arrived at the priest’s home. We knocked on the door, and when he opened it, he said, “What do you want?”

“We came to talk to you, Father.”

“Well, what do you want?”

“Let us come in so we can talk about the business we need to discuss with you.”

He stared at us for a long while and said, “Ok, speak.” I began to explain to him why I had created the organization.

“I formed it, Father, because the farmers with whom we work give us a card so we can buy food, but they do not give us any money, and for that reason, our children are dying for lack of money to see the doctor. You should understand that we are poor, that we love our children, and that those children are the gift Our Father has given us, and we have to take care of them and build our families. Therefore, I implore you not to object to our practicing our sacred Catholic faith. I am solely responsible for having created this fraternity because I feel very sorry for my people, as poor as it is.”

The priest changed and told me, “Ok, you can continue attending church. I trust your words.”

With great joy in my heart, I thanked the pastor, and we bid farewell, returning to the hall where the members waited impatiently.

I thanked the president for allowing me, with such fine willingness, what I asked him for. The members that accompanied me provided a positive report about our mission. We continued attending Mass very happily and gave thanks to God.

CHAPTER THREE

María Del Carmen Ibarra Iruegas

A historian and genealogist of mejicanos in Uvalde

María del Carmen Ibarra Iruegas graduated from Uvalde High School in 1955 and married Raúl Iruegas in 1957. They have three children: Raul Ricardo, Sergio Arturo, and Isela Iris. She currently resides in San Antonio. Carmen received a Bachelor of Arts from the Spanish Bible Institute and a Master of Theological Studies from the Oblate School of Theology. Her professional career is highlighted by her last position as executive secretary for the late Archbishop Flores. Her love of genealogy led her to join the Bexareños Genealogical and Historical Society.

In 2006, to commemorate the Sesquicentennial of Uvalde, Carmen undertook a massive project by asking families in Uvalde to send their stories and photos. These entries were compiled, unedited, into a book she titled Uvalde Families Through 150 Years. A hardcover copy is available at El Progreso Memorial Library in Uvalde, Texas. In an interview for this book, she shared her love for her family and their accomplishments, and also invited us to learn about the families of our past.

“My love for genealogy began when I was a senior in Uvalde High School,” said Carmen. “Our teacher, Ms. Sally Burkett, in her personal Living Class, asked us to work on our Family Tree, and all of us began to work on it. I interviewed my maternal and paternal grandmothers, Praxedis Mata Torres and Andrea López Ibarra, and obtained as much family information as possible from them. I could go back four generations on the Ibarra side and six generations on the Mata-Torres side.”

Browsing Carmen Ibarra Iruegas’ book is like reading Uvalde’s book of Genesis, with the genealogy of Carmen’s huge family and many other Uvalde families. It is a collection of historical data from a mejicano perspective. For many years in Uvalde, Anglo writers were the only ones (the carvers) documenting historical accounts, and they often ignored the existence of the large mejicano community.

Carmen’s book is invaluable for its compilation of Uvalde’s mejicano legacies through personal history and photographs. The late Belia Romo, a librarian assistant at the El Progreso Memorial Library, is credited with creating an index of all the individuals included in this large volume of information and creating a hard-bound copy in two books. Many families purchased copies of the original book, but the descendants of the families who may not have an original copy can visit the library and enjoy it. In the future, resources could be located to produce more hard-bound copies for the library and to sell to the general public. Historical gems are hidden in these volumes, and I encourage researchers and future writers to scour them for the beautiful traditions of our culture lovingly contributed to Carmen’s book.

A call for support of your local library is in order here, and regardless of the sad and sometimes tragic treatment of mejicanos in our region, history is protected and thus alive within the shelves of those libraries. Communities are just like families—some members turn out to be good citizens, others not so much. We all own our collective history, and libraries preserve it. Everyone who works in a library, from the administrative staff and the board of directors, to fundraisers, volunteers, and the curators of precious documents, as well as the friendly clerks—every employee there— is contributing to our enjoyment of reading about our past. We can all contribute to this endeavor in many ways.

The following stories are of Carmen’s great-grandfather, Cirilo Mata, and her grandmother, Praxedis Mata. They represent the resilience that defined the mejicanos of their generations. Despite the prevailing obstacles of discrimination in early Uvalde, Cirilo, Praxedis, and their generations were guided by a strong cultural heritage, pride, and love for their families and community. Their lives offer us a virtual journey into the old Uvalde of our mejicano side of town and how many descendants of these families are following the examples of their ancestors’ wholesome, productive lives. We admire the formality with which they conducted themselves, and we read with pride about the customs of their days, some of which still endure and fill us with nostalgia.

Cirilo Mata

July 9, 1854 — July 19, 1929

Deputy Sheriff, businessman, and activist in the 1900s

By María del Carmen Ibarra Iruegas

Cirilo Mata left his home in Mexico in the mid-1860s and settled in Eagle Pass, Texas. He herded sheep for the Fenley Family and learned to read and write English while employed there. Aniceta was born in Eagle Pass, Texas, the daughter of Ursula Salazar and Manuel Rodríguez. Cirilo met Aniceta Rodríguez in Leon Valley, Texas, at a fiesta there.

In the early 1870s, Cirilo moved to Uvalde and established Mata’s Dry Goods Store and Panadería (bakery) at the corner of Park and West Main Streets. Cirilo and Aniceta were married at Sacred Heart Catholic Church and had three children: Celso, Praxedis, and Manuel Mata. (The story of Praxedis will follow.)

Cirilo Mata, Uvalde County Deputy Sheriff. He left his children a legacy of community service, entrepreneurship, and respect for others. He strived for his children and community to have a good and equal education.--Courtesy of Maria del Carmen Ibarra Iruegas.

Cirilo Mata didn’t let anyone intimidate him. As a deputy sheriff, he maintained a good standing in the community and ensured that his children were raised to respect the law and conduct themselves respectfully. They were nurtured and educated at home so that they would succeed when they started school. The reality was, however, that mejicano children were segregated. The school board minutes of those days and news articles in the Uvalde Leader-News refer to the “Mexican” School. Cirilo knew that if his children were to receive a good education, they needed to attend the same schools as the Anglo children. He succeeded in enrolling his children in these public schools, and they became the first Mexican-American children to attend Anglo schools. For this accomplishment, however, his life was threatened by the “White Caps,” as the Ku Klux Klan was also known. He received many letters at his post office box insisting that he stop demanding equal education for mejicano children. This is one of those letters, and the transcribed copy follows:

Dear Sirildo Mata

Uvalde, Texas

Señor. We have listened to your prattle about Race Equalization. D…[illegible]. We have tired

of it. Now Señor, as Americans, the betters of your Race, we, as a committee, command you to

shut your mouth and be contented with sending your children to an unmixed school as has

been done heretofore. We know that you are the main agitator of the mixed school question

among your people. If it is not stopped in prompt compliance with this order, we will make an

example of you, Señor, which will make your ignorant followers tremble with horror.^[169]

Deputy Sheriff Cirilo Mata received this letter from White Caps (Ku Klux Klan). Courtesy of Maria del Carmen Ibarra Iruegas.

At the top of the letter, next to the heading “No Compromise,” is a drawing of a skull and bones. Opposite is a drawing of a man in a coffin with a menacing snake aiming toward the coffin, as if it were the cause of his death or still ready to attack. A hangman’s noose is at the bottom, on the left-hand side.

Cirilo never paid attention to these letters because he used to say that only cowards send anonymous letters, as they don’t dare say things face-to-face. Despite the threats he received, Cirilo’s children were successful in finishing their studies in the public schools of Uvalde.

President Lyndon Baines Johnson called the Ku Klux Klan “a society of hooded bigots.” These white-hooded gents used to meet on the little hill (where the Memorial Hospital now stands), where they would burn crosses. The Mexican-American population of Uvalde used to call them “the Coo-Coo Klanes.”

My great-grandparents built their home at the corner of West Main and Park Streets. They owned three adjoining lots, which were later given to their surviving children. Celso kept the corner house at 302 W. Main; Manuel was given the lot next to that lot. Praxedis was deeded the lot at 314 W. Main; however, Aniceta lived there until she passed away.

Cirilo and Aniceta Mata. Courtesy of Maria del Carmen Ibarra.

Cirilo served his community as a deputy sheriff under Sheriff Henry Baylor, Uvalde’s first long-term sheriff. He and Pantaleon Lara both served as deputy sheriffs under Sheriff Baylor. Pantaleon was killed in the line of duty answering a train robbery detail near Knippa. A plaque honoring Pantaleon can be found in the halls of the Uvalde County Courthouse. In a story in the book Old Timers of Southwest Texas by Florence Fenley about George Baylor, George recalls Henry Baylor and said, “He has been dead many years, but his friends still talk of him. He is given credit of cleaning up the bad little town of Uvalde without bloodshed. He wasn’t afraid, and he was kind. It has been said that when he was elected, his father remarked, ‘He’d better NOT be hurt.’ And he wasn’t.”^{^[170]}

Cirilo passed away on July 19, 1929, in Uvalde and is buried at the Mata-Torres cemetery plot within the Catholic Cemetery. He had enough foresight early in his marriage to buy the plot for his Mata-Torres family. His wife, Aniceta, is buried next to him. At present, six generations of Mata-Torres family members are buried there.

Cirilo’s son, Celso, carried on the family business at the Dry Goods and Panadería. Cirilo’s widow, Aniceta, lived in their home at 314 West Main until her death in 1945. The entire block from Park Street to the Alley on West Main once belonged to the Mata Family. The Stripes store now stands on part of this property. Ironically, Pantaleon Lara, Cirilo’s partner as deputy sheriff under Sheriff Baylor, is buried at the Sabinal Cemetery just a few steps from the grave of Valeriano Flores Torres, my other great-grandfather on the Torres side.

My parents, Francisco and Zenona Ibarra, lived with my great-grandmother, Aniceta, at the house at 314 W. Main Street, as a special request from my grandparents, Telésforo and Praxedis Torres. When Mom and Dad were married, she was up in age, and the family did not want to leave her by herself. They lived with her from 1935, the year my parents married, until Granny Aniceta passed away in 1945. All three of us older children, Telésforo (Pepelo), Valeriano “Bowie,” and I, were born while we lived at Grandma Aniceta’s home. I was born at Grandma Praxedis’ home, and Dr. Merritt, the founder of Uvalde Memorial Hospital, delivered me.

Grandma Aniceta always wore a garcolé or sunbonnet, and anytime she ventured outdoors, she always wore long-sleeved blouses. Oh, how she would fuss at my mom because, during the summer months, she dressed me in pinafores and sundresses and my brother Pepelo in pecheras (overalls) without a shirt underneath. She would say we might catch a disease called alferecía, whatever that was, if we were out in the sun without being completely covered. She was a loving and doting grandmother to us; we loved every minute of it.

She was very involved at Sacred Heart Church and was a member of the Vela Perpetua there. Gloria Ramirez García shared with me one day that during the many church festivals, her mother, Consuelo, won a homemade quilt that my Granny Aniceta had made for the annual raffle.

After I had made my first communion in May, she would walk with me to the rosaries held at Sacred Heart Church. In the evenings, in front of the Grotto, all of us who had made our first communion that year, dressed in our white communion dresses and the little boys in their white pants and shirts, would sit around the goldfish pond they had there. In between decades of the rosary, we were given small bouquets, which we had all provided and turned in to the Hijas de María (Daughters of Mary). The statue of our Blessed Mother Mary stood way up high in the topmost niche of the altar. As we processed in to present our flowers to the Virgin, we would sing: Venid y vamos todos con flores a María, con flores a María que madre nuestra es, con flores a María que nuestra madre es. (Let us all go with flowers for Mary, who is our mother, who is our mother...) These moments are forever etched in my mind as I write this, and I am sure many parishioners also remember those beautiful days.

My dear friends Josephine “Chepy” Gómez, Mariano Gómez, Tony García, and many others participated with me in these May rosaries.

(Author’s note: Carmen has many other anecdotes about her family as well as the lengthy genealogy of the many descendants of Cirilo and Aniceta Mata in her book.)

Praxedis Mata Torres

July 21, 1889 — June 29, 1973

Teacher, musician, and patriarch of a proud family

By María del Carmen Ibarra Iruegas

As World War II raged on in Europe, Praxedis Torres stood by her husband, Telésforo Torres, at the train depot in North Uvalde. They watched stoically the flag-draped casket carrying the body of their 27-year-old son, Valeriano. They followed it with their eyes as it was unloaded from the train, placed on a military caisson, and transported to an awaiting hearse. It was such a sad moment for them, their family, and all the accompanying neighbors and friends at the depot that day. Valeriano had graduated from Uvalde High School in 1939 and had married Eloisa Canales on his first furlough before he went to war. Eloisa was five months pregnant with their daughter Arcelita. He was one of twenty-one soldiers from Uvalde who lost their lives in World War Il.

During the war, all four sons of Telésforo and Praxedis served in the military, and she proudly displayed a flag on her window with four blue stars for Valeriano, Telésforo Jr., Celso, and Leocadio. There was a flag at Sacred Heart Church on one side of the altar, featuring a blue star for each parishioner in the service; some were silver stars for those wounded, and others were gold stars for those who had perished. One of the most incredible things I admired about my grandmother was her strength and endurance when she and my granddad first received the telegram delivered by military personnel informing them that their son had been killed. Her acceptance of “Thy will be done” was remarkable. After his death, my grandparents had to endure their concern for their other three sons, who were still serving in the war.

My grandmother, Praxedis, lived during a time when Mexican social customs were very formal, from celebrating a child’s birth to marriage and death. Her family and the families who shared her time in Uvalde’s history give us a glimpse into a past that set examples for others in the family to live by.

Praxedis Mata as a schoolteacher in Uvalde’s Mexican School. Courtesy of Maria del Carmen Ibarra Iruegas.

She was born in Uvalde, Texas, to Aniceta Rodríguez Mata and Cirilo Mata on July 21, 1889, at their residence at 314 W. Main Street. After completing her public school education in Uvalde, she attended a summer normal school^{^[171]} in San Antonio and obtained a teacher's certificate. In an article published in the Uvalde Leader-News, her daughter, Anita Smith, recalls that A. W. Evans helped arrange the long train ride to San Antonio. A friend of my grandfather, Hy Boales, helped her find her way to the school.

She returned to Uvalde and taught in the Uvalde public schools and Uvalde County in the early 1900s. She taught at what was then called the “Mexican” school located at 200 W. Calera, across from the HEB grocery store in Uvalde. For many years, it was a Catholic chapel. Later, she taught at the public-school building on West Garden Street.

Praxedis met her future husband, Telésforo Flores Torres, while playing her violin at a wedding. He was the son of Zenona F. Torres and Valeriano Torres from Sabinal. A few weeks later, Telésforo’s mother, Zenona Flores Torres, who by this time was a widow, was accompanied by her brother, Camilo Flores, as they arrived at the Mata residence to ask for Praxedis’ hand in marriage. It was a tradition to do this both in writing and verbally. Later, at an appointed date, they returned for a response, and it was decided the couple could become engaged, as was the custom.

Praxedis Mata with her musician classmates. Courtesy of Maria del Carmen Ibarra Iruegas.

Telésforo, following another marriage custom, sent Praxedis’ family two wagon-loads of provisions and wood, which would last until their marriage. This was how the future groom would demonstrate his ability to support his future wife.

Telésforo’s mother, Zenona, had also followed the Spanish custom of parents asking for a bride’s hand in marriage. Valeriano’s father, Leocadio Torres, had asked Zenona’s father, Pedro Flores, for Zenona’s hand in marriage.

The Flores family has a connection to Texas military history. Pedro Flores’ father, Don Pedro Flores, Sr., was part of Captain Juan Seguin’s Platoon, and he fought at the Battle of San Jacinto. His name is listed with Seguin at the new Seguin State Park at the Battlefield Memorial Park in Harris County.

Additionally, Pedro Flores Sr.’s father, Felipe Flores, and grandfather, Juan Jose Flores, both donated cattle and drove them eastward for the American Revolutionary War effort, as ordered by King Carlos III in 1778. Many of the families who established Uvalde County participated similarly, but this silent story has not been taught in our public school system.

Telésforo and Praxedis were married at Sacred Heart Catholic Church in Uvalde on November 12, 1910. By this time, Telésforo was employed by the Hornby Press, publishers of the Uvalde Leader-News. He eventually worked with the Hornby family as a linotype operator for thirty-eight years until he retired in 1955. Perhaps the greatest legacy of this marriage was the ten children they had. They were Carolina, who died in infancy; Zenona, Margarita, Valeriano, Apolonia “Polly,” Telésforo, Leocadio, Celso, Celestino, Anita, and María Del Carmen.

In the book Las Tejanas, 300 Years of History by Teresa Palomo Acosta and Ruthe Winegarten, Praxedis Torres is included among the many early educators and courageous Tejanas: “After she graduated, she took a job teaching in Uvalde County public schools in 1905, becoming the first Mexican American teacher in the county. She also taught in the “Mexican school” in Sabinal. Mata passed on her love of teaching to a number of her descendants, including her daughter, Anita Torres Smith, who holds a doctorate in education. Praxedis Mata Torres died in 1973.”^{^[172]}

In April 2015, a Public School was named after Praxedis Mata Torres, the first Mexican-American schoolteacher in Uvalde County. It is now known as the Praxedis Mata Torres Complex. Praxedis was a member of Sacred Heart Catholic Church all her life and also of the American Legion Post 479 Auxiliary.

Grandma Praxedis was a very devout catholic and had great faith in God. She had a little altar set up in one of the bedrooms on top of her chest of drawers. It was a triptych of both the Sacred Heart of Jesus and the Blessed Heart of Mary. It had blue mirrored panels on all three sides and a place for a candle in the middle, which was always lit. She belonged to the Vela Perpetua at Sacred Heart Church and made sure that all her children received all the sacraments: Baptism, First Communion, and Confirmation. Her teacher instincts not only helped teach her children to read and write but also addressed their spiritual needs.

The entire family, all of Mom’s siblings and all of us grandchildren and great-grandchildren would gather at Grandma’s house on Christmas Eve and would sing Christmas carols for a while. Then, Grandma would assign a Santa Claus to distribute the gifts we had all taken to her house. Every year, she would work at making all of her grandchildren the same gift she had made herself, which was always so neat. We would then have refreshments, and then we would all go to the Midnight Mass together. We would have Christmas dinner in our own homes and then spend a good part of the day popping firecrackers that Grandpa bought for us and even for some of the neighborhood kids.

After attending Mass on Sunday afternoons, we would gather at Grandma’s house to eat Sunday dinner. After lunch, the ladies would clean up the kitchen and lower the quilting frame with pulleys to work on the latest quilt, allowing everyone to participate in some aspect of the quilting process. She made so many quilts for us all; the last one she made was for Isela, my daughter. It was a “turtle quilt” with numerous green designs and pieces of material from our old clothes, so we would never forget this dress or that blouse when we saw it.

In my treasure box of memories of my grandmother, I have the many “dichitos” or little sayings that were always coming from her for this situation or that. If we went to her asking for my mom or another family member, she would tell us, “She went to London to visit the Queen.” If we went to her with a chisme (gossip), she would tell us, “You’re not supposed to believe everything you hear and only half of what you see.” If we went to her complaining about a situation, she would tell us, “No te apures, que más se perdió en la guerra.” (Don’t worry, much more was lost during the war.) If she wanted to make sure we understood what she was telling us about whatever subject, she would say, “Sabe the rat, come the maíz?” in half English and half Spanish, which meant, “Did you understand what I said?”

I also admired her because she always dressed up to go shopping, even if it was only to the grocery store. She always wore a hat and carried one of her purses with her. Her favorite was a “Collinsiana” purse she treasured dearly, a birthday gift from her daughters.

Other educators in the family include daughter Zenona, who taught school for a year before she got married. Grandson Valeriano “Bowie” Ibarra taught school, served as a Principal at Robb School, later at Flores Middle School, and ultimately, Co-Principal with Oscar Cruz at Uvalde High School.

Grandson Francisco X. Rodríguez also taught school after retirement from the Air Force. Granddaughters Valerie Moron Ponder, Margaret Moron Nixon, Rachel Montez, Arcelita Torres Aldeen, and Fatima Castro Cruz also became teachers.

(Author’s note: Many years have passed since Cirilo Mata and Praxedis Mata left their mark in Uvalde, but their contribution, and that of so many other pioneering families, will continue to inspire pride for their dedication to public service and the beautiful traditions that instilled respect and formality in their daily lives. Their determination to succeed, their courage during difficult times, through their descendants, continues to benefit our community.)

CHAPTER FOUR

The History of the American Legion Post 479

The history of one of Uvalde’s most revered veterans’ organizations, the American Legion Post 479, can best begin with the origins and purpose as presented on the national organization’s current website:

The American Legion was chartered by Congress in 1919 as a patriotic veterans organization. Focusing on service to veterans, service members, and communities, the Legion evolved from a group of war-weary veterans of World War I into one of the most influential nonprofit groups in the United States. Membership swiftly grew to over 1 million, and local posts sprang up across the country. Today, membership stands at over 1.6 million in more than 12,000 posts worldwide. The posts are organized into 55 departments: one each for the 50 states, along with the District of Columbia, Puerto Rico, France, Latin America, and the Philippines.

Over the years, the Legion has built its identity by achieving hundreds of benefits and services for veterans, supporting the US Armed Forces, and instilling the values of responsible citizenship among young people.^{^[173]}

The American Legion Preamble

For God and Country we associate ourselves together for the following purposes:

To uphold and defend the Constitution of the United States of America;

To maintain law and order;

To foster and perpetuate a one hundred percent Americanism;

To preserve the memories and incidents of our associations in all wars;

To inculcate a sense of individual obligation to the community, state and nation;

To combat the autocracy of both the classes and the masses;

To make right the master of might;

To promote peace and goodwill on earth;

To safeguard and transmit to posterity the principles of justice, freedom and democracy;

To consecrate and sanctify our comradeship by our devotion to mutual helpfulness.^[174]

Near the intersection of West Main and Evans Streets in Uvalde sits an old building that has provided space for many social and civic events for mejicanos in Uvalde. It is in the heart of the city’s west side, and its seventy-plus years have witnessed many joyful and sometimes sad events. The American Legion Post 479 is a venerable organization that received its charter on November 9, 1928, by Uvalde’s returning mejicano soldiers of World War I. Just like Guillermo De León and his friends after World War Il, these founding members needed a group to unite them in bringing about positive change in their beloved hometown.

Initially, the organization was only a vision for these men, but through numerous administrations over the years, it has earned a significant place in Uvalde’s history. The Legion became not only a gathering place for social events but also an organization that exists to support our community during times of need. Numerous fundraisers have been organized within its walls to help a family during times of crisis. Like so many others, I received a scholarship from the American Legion that allowed me to attend Southwest Texas Junior College. That $500 gift has immeasurable value to me because, without it, I would not have been able to attend college after high school and later acquire a Bachelor of Arts and a Master of Business Administration degree. The men and women who organized dances, cooked, and labored in so many ways to raise funds to help us through the years had no idea they were catalysts for many of us to move up economically. It would be impossible to account for the number of families and individuals that the Legion has supported in surviving financial and emotional calamities. Those of you who received their support through the years have responded to their generosity by passing on their example. Individually and through other organizations, the Legion’s legacy of community services permeates and influences our lives today. Through tenacity and dedication, the legionnaires made dreams a reality, and today, they stand as a reminder that there is strength in numbers and that our common interests can be channeled into productive social advancement.

One of the most meaningful services the Legion has provided in the past is the color guard at funerals of military veterans and numerous civic events in Uvalde. These men may not realize it, but their dedication has always inspired young people to continue their path and serve our communities wherever they live. One of the most solemn farewells for a Vietnam veteran from Uvalde was for Juan Antonio Gonzáles, who was killed after less than three weeks of military service. He died in the province of Quang Ngai in South Vietnam at the age of 22. He entered military service on May 1, 1967, and was killed in action on Friday, May 19, 1967. Esiquio Hernández, a member of the Uvalde Color Guard at the time, recalls that they had formed the color guard during the Vietnam War to honor the fallen soldiers. “For the funeral of Juan Antonio, we had the greatest participation, with veterans in uniform at every corner, from his house on Margarita Street to Sacred Heart Catholic Church and from the church to Hillcrest Cemetery. It was an unforgettable tribute from our community.”

February 2, 1978. The Volunteer Color Guard of the American Legion Post 479. (Left to right) Salvador Estrada, Antonio “Tony” Martínez, Esiquio Hernández, David Mancha, Gilbert Zamora Sr., Leo Flores, Viviano Ramos, Jesse “Lefty” Martínez, Evaristo Castellón, Ramiro Musquiz, Ruben Musquiz, Jerry Hidalgo, Jerry Ortega, Alfredo Suarez and Guadalupe Treviño. Courtesy of El Progreso Memorial Library Archives.

Their presence at the funeral services for fallen comrades gave the families comfort and pride. Tony Martínez was the trumpet player who would play taps at the end of the services. The first verse of the lyrics for Taps by Horace Lorenzo Trim is:

Day is done, gone the sun,

From the lake, from the hills, from the sky;

All is well, safely rest, God is nigh.^[175]

Through the years, I have watched the men and women of the American Legion weaken physically with age, but their pride is forever young. Now, veterans of more recent military service and their spouses serve in the Legion and the Women’s Auxiliary.

As I prepare to type the names of the signers of the original charter, I pause to think of them and offer a silent ‘thank you.’ Their lives in the 1920s in Uvalde were more difficult than ours. Angie Valle Whitestone recalls the stories her mother told of the early years of the Legion. “My mother (Santos) said she would take me to the meetings in my carriage, and I stayed there as a baby while she made hamburgers to sell for the Legion. She supported my father’s efforts to establish and expand the organization. My father, Salomé Valle, provided the original building where the meetings were held because he truly believed in the importance of the Legion. Later, when I was older, I would help him by typing the membership cards on a typewriter.”

Because the charter existed when the World War II veterans returned home in 1945, its resurrection was made easier. The goals of the first legion gave the new veterans a foundation to build their organization. Notice the relationship we were able to connect with some current and former Uvalde residents. Many descendants of these venerable men continue to serve in the current American Legion Post 479 and its Ladies Auxiliary. Their legacy lives on in more than just a building; the spirit of civic service they instilled still endures.

The signatures on the 1928 charter were:

Salomé Valle–First Commander of Post 479. Father of Angie Whitestone, first cousin of Eusebio Castillo.

Julian Valle–Brother of Salome Valle.

Eusebio Valle Castillo–Father of Alejandro “Role” Castillo, grandfather of Alex Castillo.

Julian Cuéllar–Father of Santos Cuellar, grandfather of Veronica Cuéllar Villareal.

Pablo Cuéllar

Ben B. Riojas–Uncle of Gilbert Riojas

Isidro C. Castro–Father of Anna Castro Rivera

Tomás Mireles–Granduncle of Mike Mireles, Felix Padilla

Eufracio Flores

Evaristo Ortiz–Great Grandfather of Linda Hubbard and Frank Ciprian

Juan Rodríguez

Prajedis Padilla

Alfredo Verdusco–Grandfather of Juan Enrique Arizmendi

Domingo García

Celestino Maldonado^[176]

Alex Castillo, the current service officer of the legion, provided some historical details on the following pages.

A man is not dead while his name is still spoken

-Terry Pratchett

In an article that appeared in the Uvalde Leader-News on May 31, 1946, entitled “History of Latin-American Legionnaires, reviewed by David Ortiz, Post Commander,” we find the names of the men from Uvalde who gave their lives for our country and the world in World War II. Please take a moment to reflect on these names. They have been gone for a long time, and it is easy to forget them, but we mustn't. They were called to serve and honored the call, leaving behind families that suffered the long-lasting pain of their absence. Surviving families gave the happiness that could have been for the cause of freedom. These twenty-one men were sons, husbands, and friends—some left widows and orphans deprived of their love and support. We cannot, must not, forget them and every soldier who died in battle.

Tomás Buantello

Francisco Campos

Luis Cedillo

Santiago Esparza

Augusto Estrada

Carlos Fernández

Luis Flores

Rodolfo Hill

Everardo Maldonado

Alfredo Menéndez

Melchor Nolasco

Pat Pérez (Tafolla)

Patricio Reyes

Jesús L. Riojas

Jesús Rodríguez

Refugio Ruiz

Antonio Santos

Valeriano M. Torres

Alfredo Uriegas

Raúl Uriegas

Antonio Valle^[177]

Hitler and the other dictators involved in World War II inflicted immeasurable pain on the world, as did the dictators that preceded them in World War I. Had they succeeded with their ultimate goal of world dominance, where would we be today? When we think of the lives of the people who suffer under the dictators of today, we can imagine what freedoms we could have lost if our men and women had not sacrificed their lives for us.

The Vietnam War also took the lives of many young mejicano Uvaldeans, as did some Anglo soldiers in our region. We must never forget them. Alfredo Santos, owner of La Voz newspapers and a historian in his own right, has been honoring our veterans in his newspapers and books for years. His book, Recuerdos de Uvalde, which can be found at the El Progreso Library and online bookstores, has photographs of Uvalde’s ten young men who died in Vietnam:

Juan Antu

Juan Francisco Aranda

Arnoldo Cárdenas

Guillermo De León, Jr.

Raymundo Gómez

Juan Antonio Gonzáles

James Ybarra Hidalgo

Juan Manuel Ramos

Alberto Vásquez Sánchez

Reynaldo Sandoval Torres^[178]

Anyone wishing to see the military records of soldiers killed in Vietnam can visit The Virtual Wall: Vietnam Veterans Memorial and enter the soldier's name or city to see their record.

Past American Legion Post 479 Commanders

Uvaldeans will recall many of the Legion's past commanders who led members in numerous events to help individuals or families in need, honor deceased veterans, support their widows, and provide students with yearly scholarships. Among the past commanders was the first Commander from the original charter in 1928, Salome Valle, and in 1946, when the charter was re-established, David Ortiz was the first commander. Joe Saucedo is the current commander, and other past commanders include Demencio Flores, Santos Flores, Jesus V. García, Hector García, Ricardo R. Gómez, Mike Gonzáles, Pablo Luna, Juan A. Martínez, Rodrigo Martínez, Arnold Padilla, Oscar Peña, Gilbert Riojas, Ben Riojas, Noe Saldaña, Alonzo Villarreal, Elpidio Flores, and Joe Rodríguez. There may have been others, but these are the ones we were able to confirm. These men and the members they led continued to serve their country through civic and social activities that united mejicanos in many common causes. May their legacy inspire and live in today’s legionnaires in Uvalde.

New American Legion Post 479 officers were installed on June 30, 1979, during special ceremonies followed by a banquet and dance. The new officers are (1st row, left to right) José Rodriguez, Sergeant-At-Arms; Santos Flores III, First Vice-Commander; Juan Martínez, Commander; Pablo Luna, immediate past Commander; (2nd row) Joe Avilés, Service Officer; Jesús V. García, Chaplain; Noe Saldaña, Adjutant; Jerry Hidalgo, Second Vice-Commander; and Rodolfo Uriegas, Historian. Courtesy of El Uvalde Times.

Uvalde’s Veterans Memorial Wall

In 2009, Anna Rivera visited Carrizo Springs, Texas, and saw the memorial wall the town had erected to honor its veterans. Her son-in-law, Tomás López, who was from Carrizo, had told her about it, and both of them wondered why Uvalde did not have a similar wall. Because Anna’s brother, Pat (Tafolla) Pérez, was killed in World War II, she had a special reason for honoring our war veterans. (See the story of Pat Tafolla in a later chapter.) As a member of the American Legion Post 479 Auxiliary, she believed Uvalde should also have a similar memorial wall and presented the idea to the organization. The Auxiliary members enthusiastically agreed, and Anna became the project chairman of the Memorial Wall Project. She began inviting other groups to join in, and Uvalde’s mayor, Cody Smith, and County Judge Bill Mitchell eagerly agreed to help. Judge Mitchell also suggested the eventual location of the wall at the Uvalde County Fairplex, and architect John Graves donated his services in designing the memorial. A ground-breaking ceremony was held on July 29, 2011. The project received private and business donations, and funds were raised by selling bricks engraved with the veteran's name, rank, branch of service, and date of service. The names of the donors of the flagpoles are inscribed on plaques, and some of the benches feature a varied group of supporters.

At least 2,000 veterans are estimated to reside in Uvalde County, and the wall can provide bricks for all of them. The funds raised were used to cover the cost of the wall and to purchase bricks for veterans who no longer have families to buy a brick for them. Anna Rivera and the American Legion Post 479 Auxiliary, with their spirit of patriotism, love, and respect for our veterans, may not have realized that they, too, are and have been catalysts for change. The wall is a testament to the unity that is possible in Uvalde and our country. Uvalde is a better community because of the legacy of all the dedicated men and women of the American Legion. It is worth our time to reread the Legion’s preamble and support its members in all their patriotic and civic activities.

For this author, the wall is a reminder of another similar effort. Back in 1979, Genoveva Morales, Anita Cano, Jerry Carrasco, and I, along with others, were members of the Fiestas Patrias Committee of the day. We collaborated with the members of LULAC and the American Legion Post 479 to install the monument at Jardín de los Héroes Park. Its inscription reads: “Dedicated in memory of those who lost their lives for our country.” Back then, Mayor Charles Cain and city manager Jack Caffall supported us in that effort. The city council donated $500 for that monument.

July 31, 2011. Participating in the groundbreaking ceremony Friday for the Veterans Memorial Wall at the Uvalde County Fairplex are (left to right) Anna Rivera, John Graves, Kathy Hernandez, Bill Mitchell, Cody Smith, Caden Smith, Juli Alvarado, Paul Rivera, Darrell Zimmerman, Bill Dillard and Grace Rodrígues. Photograph by Margaret Palermo, Uvalde Leader-News.

Memorial Day 2015. Flags representing the United States of America, the State of Texas, the County of Uvalde, POW/MIA and branches of the armed forces surround the veteran's memorial wall at the Uvalde County Fairplex. Photograph by Pete Luna, Uvalde Leader-News.

A united community made this beautiful monument possible.

Anna Rivera points to the brick for her brother, Pat Tafolla Perez, who died in World War II after flying in 50 bombing missions. Courtesy of the author.

On September 14, 1979, members of the American Legion Post 479, officials from the City of Uvalde and Uvalde County, LULAC, and the Fiesta Committee participated in a ceremony to officially name Jardin de los Heroes Park and dedicate a granite monument in honor of Uvalde's War heroes. (Left to right) Noe Saldaña, Post Adjutant, City Manager Jack Caffall, County Commissioner Gilbert Torres, Post Commander Juan A. Martinez, Mayor Charles M. Cain, Jr; Santos Flores, Nick Rodríguez, Councilman Bill Mitchell; Gilbert Zamora, Sr., Councilman Paul Martinez, Richard Gomez and Pablo Luna, immediate post commander. The Uvalde City Council donated $500 for the monument. Courtesy of El Uvalde Times.

A legacy of civic service

By Alex Castillo, Service Officer of American Legion Post 479 in 2018

The Legion held its monthly meetings on the second floor of a building owned by Salome Valle at the corner of West Main Street and Cobb Street. This building would decades later be known as “The Montana Bar.” It is unclear how many years the Legion Post was active, but eventually, it became inactive and ceased to exist. One can only speculate that the Great Depression hurt its members, causing some of them to seek employment outside the Uvalde area.

After the great victory of World War II, the service members returning to Uvalde became interested in reorganizing Post 479. Some wanted to change the name of the Post, while others preferred to leave it as it was, in respect for the World War I veterans who had established the Post in 1928. There was also a suggestion not to reorganize the Post but to join in with Post 26, which was comprised of Anglo veterans only. Uvalde was still a segregated city, and there were certain businesses where Mexican-Americans were not welcome, in particular the eating establishments. Many Mexican-American veterans, even though they fought and bled for our country, reluctantly knew their place in society. The prospective members decided to stay with the same name, the Tomas Valle American Legion Post 479.

Perhaps it was these sections of the Legion’s preamble that, during the fall of 1945, inspired the 21st District Commander, a Mr. Lane, and the American Legion Post 26 to hold a reception at the Kincaid Hotel to honor the Mexican-American veterans:

TO COMBAT THE AUTOCRACY OF CLASSES AND MASSES...This clause places the

Legionnaire on the side of right in opposing autocracy by either class or mass when this

threatens. In a democracy such as ours, composed as it is of all nationalities, races, creeds,

and economic groups, there are bound to both classes and masses. Indeed, the masses are

composed of classes–but all groups within the mass must feel assured that in this nation,

reason and fairness will prevail in all human activities and relations. There must be no

hyphenated Americans-just Americans all.

TO MAKE RIGHT THE MASTER OF MIGHT...All wars from the veterans of which The

American Legion draws its membership were started by dictators who wanted their might to be

the right. If human freedom is not to perish from the earth, right must always be master of

might. The rights of small nations must be protected against the tyranny that powerful

neighbors may seek to impose on them-just as the rights of minorities in our society must be

protected and respected. Our belief in enthroning right over might is the main essence of our

ideological conflict with Communism today. Legionnaires are pledged by this clause always to

stand with the right, protect the weak and preserve the liberties of the individual. This concept

is the basis of The American Legion’s continued advocacy of a strong national preparedness

so as to achieve the ideal situation that right will be backed by adequate might.

TO PROMOTE PEACE AND GOOD WILL ON EARTH...Until all the world becomes a good

neighborhood, Legionnaires must continue the effort to promote peace and good will on earth.

It is in pursuance of this founding ideal that The American Legion has supported from the

beginning and seek to strengthen the United Nations organization. Obliquely, The American

Legion also contributes to this ideal by firmly supporting a strong national defense to

discourage breaking of the peace by aggressor.^[179]

While the reception encouraged mejicano veterans of World War II, some members of Post 26 were not ready to include them in their post. To do so would have been contrary to the prevailing concept of a segregated town. The preamble may not have been convincing enough to live up to it in 1945, but the banquet was a significant turning point. Ultimately, by establishing their post, our veterans developed leadership skills and served our community in their unique ways.

On October 24, 1945, the following officers of the reactivated Post 479 were elected: David M. Ortiz, Post Commander; Evaristo G. Ortiz, Vice commander; Rafael Gutiérrez, Adjutant; Alejos Navejar, Finance Officer; Juan G. Ayala Jr., Historian; Willie De León, Service Officer, Leocadio Torres, Chaplain; and Domingo Hernández, Sergeant-At-Arms. When the Post was reactivated, it had a total of 84 members.

More recently, on September 21, 2018, the American Legion Post 479 and its Ladies Auxiliary, led by Alex Castillo, celebrated its POW MIA Recognition Day Observance at the SSG Willie De León Civic Center in Uvalde.

The Repatriated Prisoners of War from Uvalde and nearby communities who were remembered were Thomas Bates, Lynn Beaumont, Francisco Cuéllar, Carlos Diaz, Frank Franklin, Enriquez Gómez, Robert Gremmel, Edward Jones, Ernesto Luna, H. G. Maldonado, Telésforo Martínez, John Oliver, Julian Quiroba, and John F. Tom.

Missing in Action/Lost at Sea: Robert Russell Racer.

Prisoners of War who died in captivity: David Martin, William Millikin, Rufus Patterson, and Louis Patlan Torres.

The program reminded us all to honor our veterans with these words: “...a man is not dead while his name is still spoken.”^{^[180]}

CHAPTER FIVE

Genoveva Morales: A nemesis of the Uvalde School Board of the 1970s

In 1970, Genoveva Morales was busy raising eleven children: Danny, Sulema, Cynthia, Sonia, Michelle, Bobby, Annette, Lucy, Yvonne, Eduardo, and Junice. She was busy cooking, cleaning for her children, and managing their everyday needs. During her school days, Genoveva accepted the segregation and the disparaging treatment of mejicanos she and her classmates experienced, but when it came to her children, it was a different matter.

Genoveva Morales with her husband, Juan. Their lives were dedicated to the success of their children and all the students of Uvalde. Courtesy of Lucy Morales.

She became deeply involved in the school walkout that began on April 14 that year. Uvalde’s mejicanos became keenly aware of the civil rights movement spreading throughout the country and, more vividly, in surrounding communities. Tolerance and passiveness were no longer acceptable for many parents and students in Uvalde.

Genoveva and the other parents of the walkout faced a battle against a culture of discrimination against mejicanos that had existed after decades of Anglo dominance. Anglos ran all government entities, and they were not ready to allow changes. The local school board would spend millions to fend off this new audacity of protest from mejicanos. They responded with an attitude, "How dare they question our dominance of their future?”

Genoveva and the association she led, the Mexican-American Parents Association, had something the school board underestimated: the love parents had for their children and the reality that unequal education would no longer be acceptable. She and the other parents of the walkout may not have had political strength, but they dared to put jobs and reputations on the line for their children. A lack of formal leadership training did not stop them because their role as parents was all they needed to defend the rights of all the children of Uvalde, even those who did not walk out. Many highly qualified residents in Uvalde could have taken up the banner of the local civil rights movement. Still, the security of their jobs and peaceful coexistence were more vital to them. Perhaps they were willing to wait for change to come around eventually, or they selfishly thought their success was all that mattered. Genoveva accepted her limitations but was undeterred by them when she said, “My English is perfect when I’m mad.” For her, the future of all of Uvalde’s children was her priority, and she fought for them she did.

Rev. Eduardo Morales is one of Genoveva’s sons who participated in the school walkout and is now the pastor of Sacred Heart Catholic Church. When, on September 11, 2011, the Mexican American Legal Defense Fund honored Genoveva Morales for her community activism, Rev. Morales was interviewed by Elaine Ayala of the San Antonio Express-News:^{^[181]} “You have to come from a small town to understand how hard it is to take on the whole town,” he said. “It was a different time, yet she didn’t stop.”

Genoveva and Juan Morales and their eleven children. (Back row, left to right) Annette, Junice, Danny, Sonia, Sulema, Yvonne, Bobby. (Front row left to right) Lucy, Michelle, Genoveva, Eddie, Juan, and Cynthia. Genoveva and Juan's legacy lives on through their children. Courtesy of Lucy Morales.

Genoveva was an activist during a time when protesters were immediately labeled as communists and trouble-makers. Some were even accused of having been trained in Cuba. The irony of Genoveva’s story is that this humble and dedicated servant of the people of Uvalde, this nemesis of the Uvalde School Board of 1970, will forever be honored because a Uvalde school was named after her. I was invited to speak at the Genoveva Morales Junior High dedication on March 31, 2014. My comments on that day summarize her story, the story of the walkout, and its causes. It is also a testament to the positive change that came to Uvalde through the efforts of many others.

Dedication of Morales Junior High

March 31, 2014

Uvalde, Texas

Good Morning! I am so happy to be here and to be a part of this beautiful event honoring my good friend, our hero, our supermom, Genoveva Morales. What I feel in my heart is like a celebration of the Fourth of July and the Diez y Seis de Septiembre combined. I hear and see fireworks. I hear the high school band playing our national anthem and America the Beautiful. I hear a Mariachi singing Las Mañanitas to Genoveva, that beautiful song of love we sing to someone we love on birthdays, anniversaries, and special days. Today, I am singing this song for Genoveva in my heart.

Who is Genoveva Morales? She is a native Uvaldean who started school in 1939 at 11, attending the newly built West Garden School. She also attended Sacred Heart School, West Main School, and Uvalde High School. She married Juan Morales on September 5, 1949, and they had eleven children. Three of her children are now educators and support staff employed by the school district; others are successful in their fields. Destiny made Mrs. Morales a community activist and a leader during a difficult time in Uvalde. In the process of fulfilling this leadership role, we came to witness her integrity, her courage, and her dedication to improving our school system. She never wavered in her conviction to bring about positive change.

This is a beautiful spring day, and spring is all about rebirth and renewal. What a wonderful way to write a new history for Uvalde. The vision and the wisdom of the current members of the Uvalde school board, Superintendent Dr. Jeanette Ball, and everyone responsible for this event is amazing, and we are so grateful to them. This is a lasting, meaningful, and worthy event. For those of us who have been deeply hurt by events in the past, this is a most welcomed day.

The naming of this school for Genoveva Morales and the other buildings for other worthy individuals in our community is a gesture that will generate lasting goodwill, harmony, and cooperation.

I graduated from the old Uvalde High School in 1963 and have many beautiful memories of my school years there. These memories are thanks to those dedicated teachers who inspired us, taught and nurtured us. Teachers like Mr. McAfee Daniels, who taught English literature with so much passion, we could not help but learn. He introduced us to a bigger world by taking us to see plays at the University of the Incarnate Word in San Antonio to see great works like Macbeth, Othello, Once Upon a Mattress, and others. Through Mrs. Lillian Moore, our English teacher, I developed my love for writing and will always be grateful.

Unfortunately, some events demoralized me and some of my classmates. The disparity in serving the Mexican-American population by the school officials enabled some teachers to show us indifference and humiliating treatment. The parents of Mexican-American students back then, by majority, had low-paying jobs. One of my Mexican-American friends had a father who was a salesman and wore a suit every day to work. Sometimes, he would come to school to visit my friend, and I was so impressed with him. But one of our teachers, having just seen him in the hallway, decided to tell my friend, in front of the class, the following: (I will call her María.) “María,” she said. “I think I know what your father does for a living. Your father must be a shoemaker. You have the face of the daughter of a shoemaker.”

Why on earth would a teacher tell a child something like that? A shoemaker is an honorable profession, but he does not wear a suit to work every day. We understood she was trying to humiliate her.

We tolerated such things and still managed to excel because, thanks to God, some great people were around us. In school, we had other teachers like Mr. Daniels and Mrs. Moore, but most importantly, we had support at home. And that is what this dedication is all about. Mrs. Morales was not just a mother but a loving and caring mother who would protect her children. She had the courage to defend all our children and speak up for them.

By honoring Mrs. Morales, you honor our community and all the parents and students who bravely demanded change. To understand how difficult this was, we must recall life in Uvalde in the spring of 1970. It would be easier, in these remarks, to overlook the events that led to the school walkout and the lawsuit against the school district. It happened 44 years ago. Some of you may not know the story. The students attending Morales Junior High should understand why their school bears her name.

In 1970, students walked out of school as a last resort. Walking out was the only recourse for students and parents to address the discrimination. It was not an exaggerated cause! The way educational resources were allocated at the time can be summarized this way: We all paid school taxes, but when it came time to distribute the resources, the allocation was done disproportionately.

Robb Elementary and Dalton Elementary were built at the same time and were identical in architecture. However, their maintenance was not equal. Parents complained about the deplorable conditions at Robb but were never heard. The jobs needed to teach our children were given to mostly Anglos. Opportunities for advancement were few and far between. If, by chance, someone did become a principal or was given an administrative position, they had very little control, and demotions were always a threat.

The school board of 2014 must be commended for its progressive spirit. Honoring and recognizing the sacrifice of Genoveva Morales is a far more rewarding decision than the one made by the school board in April 1970. That school board decided to treat the parents’ and the students’ concerns with antagonism and aggression. They ignored the pleas from the parents to hold the meeting on April 13 in a larger, more adequate location to hear their concerns. Instead, this board asked the police to stand on top of the school administration building with rifles pointed at the parents and students who wanted to defend a teacher they loved and appreciated. After the walkout began, they called in the Texas Rangers and the helicopter from the Department of Public Safety to intimidate the protestors.

Yes, Uvalde has a heavy history of discrimination. Uvalde had a system of segregated schools that was the foundation for disparity, and we have suffered its effects for many years. Those school board members of the ’60s and '70s were bound to the culture that Anglos should have privileges and opportunities and others should not. It was a culture that believed that Mexican-American students did not have a right to an equal education.

We must acknowledge Genoveva Morales’s courage in leading the parents, and we must also recognize the courage of those students who remained defiant and lost a year of school in the process. These students, who had been raised to always respect teachers and authority, realized that it was only through defiance that the system would change.

In fairness to those board members of the time, they may have agonized about their decision, but I never heard any of them attempt to treat us with respect. They had tremendous pressure to hold on to the way things were. They believed it was the right thing to do. During one of the hearings on the lawsuit against the Uvalde school district, I was in the Federal District Court in San Antonio with the late Judge John Wood presiding. One ironic scene I remember was when one of the Uvalde board members walked in clutching a bible. He was confident, I am sure, that our Lord was on his side. I thought sadly of the verse in that Bible that says: “Whatsoever you do to the least of my brothers, that you do unto me.”

Genoveva became the president of the Mexican-American Parents Association, which was formed during the walkout. This placed her at the front lines of our cause, and she agreed to be the lead plaintiff in the case of Genoveva Morales vs. Shannon, which was filed in August 1970.

Religious leaders from San Antonio supported the cause and attempted to resolve our situation, to no avail. Many other noble individuals stood by us and helped us file the case against the school district, like the late attorneys Pat Maloney, Sr., and Jesse Gámez, and the attorney Mario Obledo from the Mexican American Legal Defense and Education Fund.

We acknowledge that we have seen great strides in the Uvalde educational system. Through new programs enacted later to serve Mexican-American students specifically, many teacher aides could attend college and become teachers. More Mexican-American principals were promoted or hired. However, the case is not settled because, on this day, the district is still not fully compliant. Much more could have been done for our students in these past 44 years with the millions of tax dollars spent on legal fees rather than using this money to meet compliance for the students' benefit.

In closing, I am very proud to say that many students have reaped the rewards of Genoveva’s generation's can-do spirit. My parents would be proud because their grandchildren have graduated from Yale, Carnegie Mellon, UT Austin, the University of the Incarnate Word, Brown University, Stanford, and other elite universities. Many other families in Uvalde, including Genoveva’s, have similar accomplishments. The sky is the limit for them and generations to come. Genoveva was the catalyst that made it possible.

Genoveva thought she could improve educational opportunities for our children, and she did that! Morales Junior High will always remind us of that. Thank you, Genoveva, and may God continue to bless you and your beautiful family!

To the current board of the Uvalde school district, Dr. Jeannette Ball, and all the administrative staff, I congratulate you and thank you again for giving the Mexican-American community this truly meaningful and lasting gift. ^{^[182]}

Genoveva Morales was born on November 11, 1928, in Uvalde, Texas to Crispin and Tomasa (Valle) De Hoyos. Genoveva was one of six children, growing up with four brothers and a sister. Today, she is the only surviving sibling.

CHAPTER SIX

Rachel A. Gonzáles-Hanson, from child activist to Executive Director of Uvalde Health Clinic

Rachel Gonzáles-Hanson was twelve years old during the 1970 Uvalde school walkout. Her mother, Kela Arredondo, believed the walkout was necessary to bring about change. The parents who supported the walkout, like Kela Arredondo, should be called the “School Walkout Bronze Parents,” for they belong to a unique group that will forever be remembered for their courage. To understand their place in Uvalde’s history, one must have some insight into how things were before the civil rights movement. The parents and their children stood up to the Uvalde School Board of 1970, which refused to hear their grievances. They faced an angry and abusive Captain Alfred E. Allee of the Texas Rangers, the men he commanded in Uvalde during the walkout, the local law enforcement, and other officials who intimidated, insulted, and imprisoned some of the students and other activists. Even the Texas Department of Public Safety helicopter was brought in to fly over the areas where the students were marching to intimidate them. They were treated as if they were dangerous criminals.

On July 22, 1970, Kela sat down with her daughter, and they wrote a letter to the editor that they felt was necessary. It was in response to what she believed was a misconceived opinion in an article written in the Uvalde Leader-News and to address the inequality in the allocation of resources and the cruelty of those responsible for it. Kela was teaching her daughter the importance of defending her community and speaking up for those who couldn't. She did not speak English, so young Rachel pulled out her dictionaries and translated her mother’s words.

In the June 29, 1970 issue of Newsweek magazine, an article written by Kent Biffle titled “Side by Side— And A World Apart—in Uvalde, Texas” was published. The article was brutally honest, noting of the two worlds that existed in Uvalde. Biffle contrasted the Anglo side of Uvalde with its “fadingly elegant homes,” its Lions Club, Rotarians, and the country club with what he saw in the poorest sections of the city, where life, he stated, is “a perpetual struggle.” “Their barrios,” he wrote, are “clusters of shacks assembled piece by salvaged piece amid unpaved, potholed roads that raise dust clouds during dry spells and turn to mud after the first rain.” He described the “barrio of the thirsty ones,” located just off Highway 90 on the city’s west side, outside the city limits. It was given its name because neither the city nor the county supplied water to it. Biffle focuses on a resident of this barrio, Mrs. Juanita Gonzáles. There is a picture of her with her ten-gallon can atop a rickety wheelbarrow, which she would maneuver down Laredo Street three times a week to the Uvalde city cemetery. Mrs. Gonzáles tells him that she drags the can through an opening in the bushes and fills it, as Biffle says, “with water from the dead.” She told the reporter that one day, an Anglo lady saw her and told her not to get water from the cemetery anymore. This statement told us that Mrs. Gonzáles was in the Anglo cemetery because in Uvalde, as in most South Texas towns, even the cemeteries were segregated. Because water was essential to her family, Mrs. Gonzáles said that after that encounter, she was careful to go when no one was around. Mrs. Gonzáles's husband, Daniel, worked at building fences, but work was hard to come by. The couple had five children.

Biffle also pointed out that the cemetery water was at least pure because a short distance from the “barrio of the thirsty ones,” there was the Burns Addition. The story was written a few months after the Texas Department of Health tested the wells supplying water to the Burns Addition and found coliform organisms, indicating man or animal fecal matter. The addition was developed by John Burns, who sold the water to the mejicano residents living there for three dollars a month. Burns claimed at that time that he would place chlorine in the water “sometimes” and that he was ordering two chlorinators for the system. This was only after Gilbert Torres steadfastly fought for clean water for the Burns Addition, organizing a protest march to call attention to the problem and calling for a state inspection of the water there.

The article also covered the insensitivity of Uvalde County officials, specifically then-County Judge Leo Darley, who, like other Anglos, did not believe in federal money to help the poor in the county. Biffle points out that the local government refused federal programs like VISTA and food stamps and forcing Jack “Bubba” Hays, the director of the Head Start Neighborhood Youth, to move its headquarters out of Uvalde. In contrast, the writer said the Anglo officials made no qualms about the $1,183,000 received by landowners in Uvalde in agricultural subsidies. They were either in denial that there were poor, hungry, and malnourished residents, or if they admitted that there were such needs in Uvalde, they believed these people did not deserve even the federal aid offered to the county to help them. Biffel’s article was so damaging to the city’s image that its leaders wanted to project that there were rumors that the magazine had somehow been kept from the public in Uvalde. ^{^[183]}

In the July 12, 1970, issue of the Uvalde Leader-News, Alex Cuéllar, a staff writer for the newspaper, wrote the following article entitled “Writer Disputes— Article.” He attempted to contradict the Newsweek article:

Writer Disputes (Article)

By Alex Cuéllar, Leader-News Staff Writer

Uvalde, a town which has been the “hot spot” in the news, finally became one of interest to the

entire nation. Newsweek’s June 29 issue talked about this fair city.

A city growing with the time for its beautiful shade trees and honey that greets all newcomers

and local citizens with warm hospitality. True, that half the population is of Mexican descent,

the standard of living for these people is not half as bad as intentioned in the national magazine

by reporter Kent Biffle.

Biffle seems to have gotten some of his comments out of the “clear blue sky.” The article

mentioned several areas of trouble which the Mexican-American faces in everyday life while

living in Uvalde. As for the water facilities in the Burns Addition being below the necessary

standards, this is incorrect. John Burns, who developed this tract, installed a water purification

system in this subdivision, which completely reversed in the article.

There is still a lack of water pressure in some areas, but this situation will be resolved in due

time. The article went on to state that the Mexican-Americans in the community suffer from

hunger, malnutrition, and sub-standard housing. The writer forgets to bring out that the city

has set up a food commodities distribution center to help those needing assistance.

The Department of Public Welfare, in cooperation with the US Department of Agriculture, has

urged all the needy to enroll in this program.

Another area touched on in the article was that of the end-of-school boycott by Mexican-

American students. The boycott resulted from the failure to renew the contract with Uvalde

schoolteacher Josue G. Garza. The group presented the school board with a list of grievances

for them to consider, but were never considered because the students would not return to

class.

Yes, it is true that in one corner of the town, there are the thirsty. The article centers around

Mrs. Juanita Gonzáles, her husband, Daniel, and their five children. Gonzáles and his family

live outside the city limits and are not supplied water from the municipal authorities. Thus, the

article forgets to mention the expense to the taxpayers for having these facilities.

The water situation has been cleared, a food commodity distribution center has been opened

and several more improvements are to be set up shortly to serve the needs of the Mexican-

American community.

Side by side— and a world apart— in Uvalde, Texas, simply is not in existence in our fair city.

Yes, Uvalde has received a bad name due to the article, but national magazines always seem

to print the bad side of the story and never the good.^[184]

Kela and Rachel's letter, responding to Mr. Cuéllar's article, appeared in the August 23, 1970, issue of the Uvalde Leader-News:

July 22, 1970

This letter is a reply to the article that appeared in the July 12 issue entitled “Writer Disputes

Article.” We wholeheartedly disagree with Alex Cuéllar about the standard of living for the

Mexican-Americans. We don’t think Kent Biffle could have described it better. Mr. Biffle came

from over a thousand miles away and talked with Mrs. Gonzáles. Alex Cuéllar, who doesn't live

over a five-minute drive from Mrs. Gonzales, did not even speak to her.

Concerning the lack of water pressure that is supposedly to be cleared up in due time, this

should have been cleared up years ago since water is one of the primary sources of life.

Concerning the part of the food commodity programs, in the first place, Uvalde County Judge

Leo Darley didn't accept the program to come into Uvalde until a mandatory court order was

given. The city of Uvalde did nothing to bring it in.

In speaking about the school boycott, Alex Cuéllar made it sound as if it was the students’ fault

for the school board refusing to consider the demands. Because of the lack of faith and trust in

the school board the students were not about to go back to school.

We agree that it would cost taxpayers more money to have modern facilities such as sewage

and gas in the John Burns Addition, but isn’t the modernization of the traffic lights on the Anglo

side of town costing about $46,800.00? That is a lot, don’t you think? Uvalde isn’t a fair city as

Mr. Cuéllar calls it. It’s a city with much discrimination toward us.

Uvalde might have received a bad name. Not because of the magazine, because of the truth,

the truth that lingers in Uvalde, the truth that is gradually being brought up to light and with

God's help, will make us all proud of Uvalde.

Kela Arredondo

Rachel Arredondo^[185]

Rachel's experience during the school walkout molded her commitment to serving the less fortunate in Uvalde and working with many others who brought about significant changes in Uvalde. Many of us involved in the school walkout extended our concern about other hardships our mejicano community had endured for so long. We wanted to bring about meaningful change. Genoveva Morales, Anita Cano, Gilbert Torres I, and others often discussed the need for medical professionals who could be more understanding and responsive to our needs. Several doctors of that time had become intricately involved in the walkout discussion and some, like Dr. Dean P. Dimmitt, were on the school board that refused to hear the grievances and fought us to the bitter end.

We decided to work on bringing Mexican doctors to Uvalde. The medical community made a mild attempt to support our efforts, but in the end, they set up obstacles for any doctors interested in coming to Uvalde. One of the doctors who considered moving to Uvalde was told that he would not be granted hospital privileges if he practiced there. Another local doctor commented that one doctor, in the end, decided not to come because his wife would miss the social life of the big city, and that we were going to encounter that problem with others. In other words, they were, in reality, working against us. We were like “little ladies in tennis shoes,” challenging that immense mountain of prejudice and racism that protected the Anglos’ stronghold on our lives. We failed back then because the Anglo community would not support us, but we tried.

Today, Rachel A. Gonzáles-Hanson is the Chief Executive Officer of Community Health Development, Inc. (CHDI), and many of us see the clinic and Rachel, all supporters, board members, and staff as the answer to our prayers from way back in the 1970s. Rachel first served as a board member of the original CHDI Board of Directors in 1983. In 1984, she accepted the position of Executive Secretary, and in 1986, she was appointed the CEO.

Overseeing CHDI, Rachel has focused on improving access to affordable, quality health care for people from all walks of life, including those from rural areas, agricultural workers, and veterans. Throughout the past 35 years, she has served as a board member for the Texas Association of Community Health Centers, holding the officer positions of Secretary, Treasurer, Vice-President, and President. She is also an engaged member of the National Association of Community Health Centers (NACHC), having served as chair of various committees. In 1996, she was elected Chair of the Board of Directors, an honor that came with the distinction of being the first Hispanic female to hold in that position.

Rachel has served on national advisory committees after being appointed by the Secretary of Health & Human Services in 1999 and the Secretary of Veterans’ Affairs in 2008. In 2011, she was named the Geiger Gibson Distinguished Visitor in Community Health Policy at the George Washington University School of Public Health.

One of Rachel’s greatest accomplishments is her ability to bring together individuals from many walks of life with varied knowledge and skills. The long list of offices she has held enriches her ability to bring about much-needed services for Uvalde’s residents, those in surrounding areas, and across the country. She has been recognized for excellence in her field locally and nationwide. Above all, Rachel has taught us the importance of putting behind our grievances, moving forward, and working with those who, in the past, may have obstructed our quest for progress. Rachel brings our community together, and we must all work to continue her example.

Rachel's contribution to this book honors another venerable hero of our mejicano community, the late Uvalde County Commissioner Gilbert Torres. He was a very stubborn man when it came to demanding changes in Uvalde and must be credited for placing his life on the line for the community he loved.

Kela Arredondo, one of the parents who took their children out of the Uvalde Schools in 1970. Courtesy of Rachel A. Gonzales-Hanson.

Rachel A. Gonzáles-Hanson, Chief Executive Officer of the Uvalde Community Health Clinic. Courtesy of Rachel A. Gonzales-Hanson.

Rachel and her husband, Jimmy Hanson, a united couple working to unite Uvalde. Courtesy of Rachel A. Gonzales-Hanson.

CHAPTER SEVEN

El Comisionado Gilberto Z. Torres

By Rachel A. Gonzáles-Hanson

El Comisionado Gilberto Torres. Courtesy of the family of Gilbert Torres.

The first time I truly noticed Gilberto Z. Torres is forever embedded in my mind - it was right before the Uvalde school walkout on April 13, 1970. He was walking out of a school board meeting in the small offices of the Uvalde Consolidated Independent School District’s administration office. A large crowd of Hispanics was packed into the lobby and poured onto the sidewalk. As he walked, the crowd parted, forming a pathway for him to exit the building; some patted his back, while others offered to shake his hand. While he took a fleeting moment to acknowledge everyone who reached out to him, what struck me was the look on his face. It was apparent he was focused on the meeting he had just left. The expression on his face seemed to change every few seconds, from disbelief to frustration, to anger, to determination, and finally to appreciation and relief at the support from the crowd and the friendly faces. As he left the building, the people turned to follow him. Outside, the crowd was even larger and seemed anxious to hear what had happened in the meeting. He continued to walk hurriedly until he reached the edge of the crowd; he turned to face them and told them to meet him at his house. And just like that, everyone hurried to their cars and followed him to the Torres home. I was in seventh grade at the time, and looking back, I believe that moment defined the level of respect and admiration I would always feel toward “el Comisionado Torres.”

Gilberto Zavala Torres was born on April 24, 1936, to Eutimio and Antonia Torres in Uvalde, Texas. Born into a humble family, he realized early in life that he needed to help the familia make ends meet. At the tender age of eight, he was shining shoes, developing his work ethic, and contributing to the household income. And even then, he experienced the harsh realities of being Hispanic and poor in his hometown - the derogatory name-calling and abusive treatment — all due to the color of his skin. Throughout his school years, he noticed how students of his same color were treated. Hispanic students sat in the back of the classrooms, where they were routinely ignored and belittled in front of their classmates. The environment was discriminatory and excessively abusive. More often than not, Hispanics were discouraged from completing their education. Yet, through all this, Gilberto graduated from Uvalde High School and attended South West Texas Junior College. All this served to begin instilling his sense of purpose. He felt he was one of the Lord’s soldiers who would help bring about the much-needed change in his hometown.

Out of financial necessity, Gilberto joined the Texas National Guard when he was seventeen. He served for forty-two years, five months, and twenty-two days. He received not one but two Army Commendation Medals, a Meritorious Service Medal, and the Lone Star Distinguished Service Medal. Ironically, during his military career, it was not uncommon for him to address countless false and outrageous allegations from individuals in Uvalde who wrote letters to his commanders. They claimed he was conducting subversive activities and that he was a communist since he had been trained in Cuba. The fact was that Gilberto was trained by the U. S. Army at Fort McClellan, Alabama, and Fort Benning, Georgia. As for his subversive behavior, he did not allow the injustices he experienced or observed to go unanswered or unchallenged.

Many stories from Comisionado Torres’s life will never be told, but some of us were fortunate to live the stories with him or hear him share his experiences. His life was a book waiting to be written. Unfortunately, it was not, and that is our great loss. It would have been filled with historical events, heartbreaking stories, celebrations of changes within our community, and, most importantly, life lessons for all of us to heed.

One of the stories Comisionado Torres shared was especially revealing of the situation in Uvalde. It seemed that during one of his leaves from the military, he wanted to take his familia to a nice dinner. With his familia dressed in their Sunday best and him in his military uniform, he drove toward downtown Uvalde to dine at the “finest” cafe in town - the Kincaid Restaurant. It was located on the first floor of the Kincaid Hotel. As they neared the cafe, he ignored the prominent sign over the front door: “No Dogs or Mexicans Allowed.” He entered the hotel lobby, thinking his uniform would surely grant him a dispensation. Immediately upon entering the building, they were met by a worker who told them in a very direct and stern voice that they were not welcome and should leave the premises. So, he was good enough to serve our country, but not good enough to be served at the Kincaid Restaurant.

In 1974, Gilberto Torres first ran for Uvalde County Commissioner of Precinct 2; his grassroots campaign included walking door-to-door and making personal contact with as many people as possible. He listened to their needs and complaints about the lack of basic infrastructure, including unpaved streets that flooded during rain, and the absence of sewer systems and indoor plumbing. While his campaign was very limited in resources, he won the trust of the people in his precinct because they came out to vote and elected him as the first Hispanic Uvalde County Commissioner. His victory shocked the establishment, and they were unsure how to deal with it or with him.

During the school walkout, others stood with Comisionado Torres as we marched around the schoolyards, the county jail, and the courthouse, or attended our parents’ meetings at the Catholic Church and the American Legion. Two of those were Amaro Cardona and Ricardo Nevarez. All three were dedicated to la causa and would use their leadership skills and influence, hoping to effect change. Comisionado Torres was known as “radical,” not only by the Anglos but also by some Hispanics. His experiences cut deep into his soul, and his “way” was to react in a way that might have seemed rebellious. But he usually made sense if you would stop and truly listen to his message, setting aside how he delivered it. Amaro learned how to “do it better than they did.” He knew from the Anglos and beat them at their own game. He worked with those whom he found to be like-minded to move the community forward. Ricardo era de la gente (of the people). He understood when he needed to “rise up” and when it would be best to play the game. All three remained grounded in their cultural roots, working to bring the rest of us along and encouraging us to step up as leaders. They inspired us to aim high, challenge the system, and remember to help others. Amaro would later be the second Hispanic County Commissioner elected in Uvalde’s history.

Amaro’s first bid for County Commissioner was the first time I was completely involved in a full-blown campaign. Every member of Amaro’s familia was front and center, as were his life-long friends and those of us from the days of the walkout. The campaign could be described as lengthy, comprehensive, and exhausting: collecting and organizing household data for the entire precinct, fundraising, extensive voter registration efforts, organizing block parties and rallies at neighborhood parks, holding weekly strategy meetings, setting up phone banks, preparing food for volunteers, and of course designing and executing “get out the vote” plans. The hard work paid off, and Amaro won by an unexpected landslide. Election night was memorable and historic. We celebrated at Amaro’s house, but only for a short time. Comisionado Torres was running for re-election that day, and his campaign resulted in a run-off. Looking back, we should have expected this, given all the behind-the-scenes efforts by the Anglos to get him out of office. When Amaro announced Comisionado Torres’ election results to us, he quickly followed it with a rallying cry, “Vamos con Torres.” And off we all went to the Torres home to lend support and help his campaign. As we arrived, Comisionado Torres walked toward us with his head hung low.

I don't know if he felt embarrassed or if he felt he had disappointed his supporters. But Amaro was the first to reach him and let him know we were there for him and ready to work. The Comisionado’s face lit up y dió gracias a Dios y a nosotros (and thanked God and all of us). He would be re-elected overwhelmingly. Two of the four County Commissioners were now Hispanic, another ground-breaking event in Uvalde politics. The Anglos labeled us “the Westside Machine.” This nickname stuck for several years. To this day, both positions have been held by Hispanics.

Comisionado Torres would serve on the Commissioners Court for a total of twenty-two years. But in every election, he experienced new challenges from the Anglo establishment, some Hispanics, and yes, even his relatives. Challenges ranged from law enforcement attempts to plant illegal drugs in his vehicles during election season, threatening phone calls made to his campaign workers, his children being threatened and ridiculed, and even his uncle running for commissioner against him.

During his first term in office, he was notable for bringing new resources to his precinct simply because he was the lone voice for helping those less fortunate, and others on the Commissioners Court would not work with him or support the motions he put forth. Paved roads were his top priority, and he kept hitting a brick wall when he asked the court to address this. Feeling almost helpless, he shifted his focus to social service programs. He successfully implemented the Nutrition Center for the Elderly and the Community/Migrant Health Center. His constituents were appreciative of these programs and kept re-electing him. Both successful programs remain operational and continue to serve those in need. As if that was not enough, he also was elected to serve as a board member of the Uvalde Consolidated Independent School District from 2004 to 2007. Siempre dedicado a la comunidad (Always dedicated to serve the community).

Ricardo Nevarez was one of Comisionado Torres’ faithful supporters. It was common for Ricardo and El Comisionado to travel to Austin regularly, hoping to bring back much-needed resources for the people of Uvalde. They were known to travel in El Comisionado’s truck to San Antonio and stop at a hamburger joint where they bought twelve burgers for ten dollars, which would hold them over for the trip. From there, they traveled to Austin for several days, meeting with elected officials and bureaucrats who would listen and perhaps offer guidance. Of course, they had very little money, certainly none to spare. Hotel rooms were not affordable. So, in the evenings, they would find a park where they would spend the night sleeping in the truck. Meanwhile, back home, the families of both of these courageous individuals also sacrificed and prayed for the safe return of their husbands and fathers.

As a man who served his country, Gilberto believed in the American Dream and civil liberties, as guaranteed by the US Constitution. While his life-long experiences of discrimination and retribution could have given him ample reasons to put down his sword at any time, he continued la lucha (the fight) to the very end. He was proud of his service in the military, proud to have been un soldado (a soldier) for the Lord on earth, and even prouder of his heritage and familia. La familia sacrificed more than anyone realizes—not knowing if there would be food for the next meal, money to pay the bills, or money for the children’s doctor visits. More often than not, la familia would not know when Gilberto would be home because he was spending so much time and effort wherever he was needed, fighting for the rights and well-being of la gente (of the people).

Gilberto impressed many things. He believed that we have a responsibility to share our stories with future generations para que nuestra historia no muera (so that our stories never die). He insisted that we must never forget where we come from, which keeps us humble and grounded. “We must give back to our community,” he reminded us, “and we owe it to those who have made the ultimate sacrifice to vote for trustworthy candidates whose beliefs reflect our own.”

So many Hispanics and disenfranchised, regardless of color, stand on the shoulders of El Comisionado Torres. Some of us are aware of this; most of us are not. The results of his life's battles and sacrifices are that today, more people have better opportunities and experience improved lifestyles. These painstaking gains should never be taken for granted. It is up to the next generation to continue the vigilance needed to ensure the civil rights of ALL PEOPLE are not only maintained but forever secured in the day-to-day life of our America. If we want the best for us and our children, if we want our freedoms to be passed on to future generations, if we want an America that provides equal opportunities for all and respectfully appreciates its diversity, then we must care enough to act and make a difference.

On August 4, 1978, Uvalde County Commissioner Gilbert Torres, as the chairman of the Mexican-American Rural Coalition, visited Austin with State Representative James E. Nugent (on the left) to voice his concern about the lack of employment opportunities in the rural areas of west and south Texas. The two are pictured here with then-Governor Dolph Briscoe, Uvalde’s native son. Courtesy of El Uvalde Times, August 13, 1978.

At the Uvalde school board meeting in December 1978, Commissioner Gilbert Torres attempted to comment on the board's failure to hire Mexican-Americans. He asked if the school district had an Affirmative Action Plan. Rather than hear him, Dr. Cecil Arnim, a local veterinarian, is seen here making his abrupt departure from the meeting when Commissioner Torres attempted to comment. Arnim had made a motion that the board continue with the agenda without hearing Commissioner Torres. Charles Griffin, seated in front of Arnim, seconded the motion. Left without a quorum, the board meeting was quickly adjourned. Courtesy of El Uvalde Times, December 10, 1978, front page.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Gabriel Tafolla: A school teacher and an activist

In the early 1960s, Friday night lights at the Uvalde Honey Bowl were special to one of the most good-looking school teenage couples in Uvalde. He was a popular football player, and she was his sweetheart.

Life was beautiful for them. They were young, popular, and in love. Focus on that scene for a moment because life has a fast-forward button, and that moment of youthful bliss will fade away and change into very different scenes.

Little did Gabriel and Rachel know that in a few years, their lives would be challenged by events beyond their imagination and their control. The civil rights movement they would embrace came to Uvalde at first as a slight, ominous breeze and then became a full-blown hurricane of change. Gabriel and Rachel could have chosen a calm, conforming life in Uvalde, away from the insecurity that being politically active could bring in those days. They chose the path that offered hope for their community despite the uncertainty of their future. Their story gives us a glance of life as mejicanos began asserting themselves and demanding equality in education, employment, and in the allocation of public services.

Gabriel and Rachel Tafolla's wedding. Their young lives were dedicated to the cause of desegregation and equality in education and employment in the Uvalde schools. Gabriel's life was threatened, but that did not diminish his efforts to help the students of Uvalde and migrant workers of his time. Courtesy of Rachel Tafolla.

Gabriel Tafolla graduated from Uvalde High School in 1961. He married Rachel Espadas on April 2, 1966. He graduated from Texas A & I at Kingsville (now Texas A&M Kingsville). Their oldest son, Gabriel Jr., was born in 1968, and their second son, Mariano (Nano), was born in 1978. Today, Rachel and Nano still reside in Uvalde. Gabriel Jr. resides in San Antonio. He and his sister Gladue were the children of Ernesto Anastacio and Ofelia Tafolla. Ernesto was a mechanic who worked at the shop owned by his brother, Santana “Tana” Tafolla. These men were entrepreneurs of their time, working for themselves and setting an example of independence from the predominant Anglo employers. Ofelia also paved the way for other women-owned businesses in Uvalde. She purchased a ladies’ clothing shop, The Marvel Shop, from her former employer and was in business until her retirement.

Following his graduation from college in 1965, Gabriel went to work in Eagle Pass, Texas, for the school district’s Migrant Program. The Colorado Migrant Council later hired him for the summer in a program called Emergency Food and Medical Services. Its purpose was to aid migrants displaced by new harvesting equipment. The program was designed to assist them with financial support for food and medical care.

“Gabe applied to work in the Uvalde Independent School District for the 1967-68 school year,” Rachel recalled. “When he interviewed with Superintendent R. E. Byrom, he was told they would hire him, but the only position available was teaching Spanish at the high school. His degree was in history, government, and political science, so that summer, he went back to Texas A & I University in Kingsville to obtain the required certification to teach Spanish.”

Gabriel Tafolla. Courtesy of Rachel Tafolla.

For mejicanos, being hired as a teacher in Uvalde was always difficult before the school walkout of 1970. As the largest employer in Uvalde, a job in Uvalde signified a good-paying job with benefits that few other jobs offered at the time. The mejicano student population in 1970 was 2,179 compared to 1,377 Anglo students. The faculty allocation was in direct contrast, with 91% Anglo and 9% mejicano. That year, 80% of the administrators were Anglo, while only 20% were Hispanic.^{^[186]} It can be truthfully stated that mejicanos assured Anglos of stable and beneficial employment while depriving jobs to returning college mejicano graduates and denying their families a better life.

Oppression of our people by denying them jobs and promotions was just a continuation of the subjugation that was ingrained in the cultural heritage of Anglos throughout our country, wherever mejicanos resided. For years, school superintendents like R. E. Byrom held our destinies in their hands. When jobs were offered, they were often in subjects outside their chosen fields or the poorest kept schools. It was a “take-it-or-leave-it” attitude.

Beatrice Moreno Garcia remembered the difficulties she and her husband, Gilbert had getting hired by Mr. Byrom. “After submitting my application and not getting called late in the summer of 1967, I went to see Mr. Byrom. He pulled out a list from his desk drawer, clearly labeled ‘Mexican List.’ He told me that no positions were available in teaching business, which was my major. He offered me a job teaching Special Education, and because we wanted to stay in Uvalde, I accepted it. Gilbert had done his student teaching at Anthon Elementary and hoped to get a job there. He ran into Mr. Byrom at the school one day and told him he would like to teach there. Mr. Byrom told him females were better suited to teach in elementary schools, knocking down Gilbert’s hopes of teaching at Anthon Elementary. Gilbert later called Mr. Byrom and told him that he would be hearing from his lawyer. Sometime later, Byrom called and offered Gilbert a position at Anthon, where Gilbert taught until his retirement.”

I recall that I would be deeply angered when I would see out the window of our home on West Main Street in Uvalde, Anglo teachers drive from “their side of town” to the west side, on their way to Anthon School, a segregated mejicanos-only school. Their jobs teaching our children at Anthon assured them of a good livelihood, while many of our qualified teachers had to find jobs outside of Uvalde. While many of these Anglo teachers were good to our students, some brought their prejudices along, and it affected our children negatively. By denying mejicano teachers positions in the Uvalde schools, we were deprived of our role models and the hope that they, too, could have good livelihoods in Uvalde. Economic oppression was a powerful force that thrived during the lives of Gabriel and Rachel Tafolla in those years.

For those of us who were deeply involved in improving education for mejicanos in Uvalde in the late 1960s, Gabriel Tafolla stands out as a hero because he sacrificed his job as a teacher at Uvalde High School to speak on behalf of our students. He was dedicated, loved his students, and wanted them to succeed. The Uvalde School District and Uvalde Anglos of the time saw him as just another threat to the status quo. The old establishment had used economic oppression as a means to keep mejicanos in their place, to be abused for the benefit of Anglos. Gabriel didn’t do anything wrong as a teacher; he simply supported the cause to improve the lives of his people. It takes many of us a long and thoughtful process to jeopardize a good-paying job for the sake of a cause, but for heroes like Gabriel, decisions are made from the heart in the blink of an eye.

Even during the most difficult days of the school walkout, Gabriel Tafolla was always calm, thoughtful, and hopeful. He embraced the difficulty the parents and the students were facing with the patience of Job. I never knew him to raise his voice in anger or to speak offensively of those who disappointed him, even to those who later denied him his teaching contract, as well as with the students he taught. “A credit in a foreign language was required to graduate,” Rachel continued. “And the students in high school had a choice of Spanish, French, or Latin. Gabriel would tell me that the senior Anglo boys would tell him almost daily, ‘Mr. Tafolla, we are not coming to your class anymore. We don't want to learn how to speak ‘Mezkin'. He would answer, ‘Promises, promises.”

“Gabriel,” Rachel recalled, “became a mentor to the Hispanic students. They trusted him and would ask him for his advice on a wide range of things. He encouraged them in many ways, telling them to be proud of their heritage and culture, and to appreciate who they were as individuals, because they were unique. He always reminded them of the importance of education. As a sign of pride and unity, once a week, the students brought tacos from home for lunch and sat together in the cafeteria to eat.”

The 1960s were a period when the civil rights movement reached its most defining moment in the United States. Gabriel and Rachel became a part of the efforts of the Southwest Council of La Raza. This organization was formed and headquartered in Denver, Colorado, to assist Hispanics in their civil rights issues in the states of California, Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, and Texas, where there was a large population of Hispanics, most of whom were migrants. The Colorado Council was an affiliated group sponsored by the Southwest Council of La Raza with funding from the Ford Foundation and other groups. “The year 1968 was the beginning of farmers using harvesting machines to pick their crops,” continued Rachel. “The migrant families that were leaving their hometowns to work in the distant farms where they had worked for years, arriving in places like Minnesota, Wisconsin, North Dakota, South Dakota, and others, only to find that they didn’t have a job, no money, or a place to live. They always stayed in the camps or in housing on the farms where they worked. One of the goals of the Southwest Council of La Raza was to assist in the phasing out and transitioning of migrant workers.”

Rachel remembered that around June or July of 1968, Gabe hired two young men from Uvalde, Chema Hernández and Amaro Cardona, to be on his team as liaisons to the young people. Chema and Amaro had just graduated from high school that May. In August, all the team heads were sent to the Saul Alinsky Institute in Chicago to attend a seminar on organizing taught by Saul Alinsky himself.

Gabe returned to Uvalde late that summer and discovered that his contract with the Uvalde Consolidated Independent School District had not been renewed. The Colorado Migrant Council was dismantled at the end of August. It was during this time that Dolph Briscoe, a rancher and wealthy businessman, was running for governor of Texas. Over the high school intercom, during the school year, students were being asked to help him in his election, however they could. Political discussion was being encouraged. At the same time, the Uvalde School Board had been premeditating on punishing Gabriel Tafolla for daring to discuss current events with his students.

In his 1992 master’s thesis, Sánchez detailed the events that led to Gabriel’s denial of the renewal of his teaching contract. School board minutes from 1968 concerning the behavior of teacher Gabriel Tafolla indicated that Uvalde was affected by what was happening nationwide:

...several persons have notified board members that they felt Mr. Tafolla was spending more

time discussing politics than teaching Spanish.^[187]

Since his interest in politics was cause for consultation between the superintendent and his last year, the board felt that a letter should be written outlining the complaints and notifying him that this was the second of three steps to dismissal.

In a subsequent school board meeting, it was noted that when Byrom met with Gabriel, he admitted to discussing political topics, but insisted that they were of interest to the students and were in response to their questions. ^{^[188]}

At the Uvalde School Board meeting on April 13, 1970, the contract of Josue George Garza was denied, and this was the last straw for the parents and the students who had been protesting the inequality of education for mejicanos. In the following weeks, Gabriel and Rachel held meetings in their home for the students and their parents as they began organizing the school walkout. This open participation in the walkout resulted in direct threats at their home by Anglos in various ways. The telephone company and the police investigated one documented telephone threat. It was determined that the call came from the husband of a school counselor at the high school.^{^[189]}

Later, when Gabriel attempted to run for a seat on the Uvalde City Council, the school board advised him that it would not be correct to “gain monetarily from two sources of public funds” when the city council seat would have paid $2.50 monthly. Although he filed as a candidate, the city attorney arbitrarily kept his name off the ballots. Gabriel filed a lawsuit against the city, and the city was found guilty of violating his civil rights.^{^[190]}

Gabriel then ran for state representative of the 49th district in 1969. Nine other individuals ran for an unexpired term, and Gabriel was the only mejicano. He ended in a runoff election with John Poerner of Hondo and lost by approximately 4,000 votes. Unfortunately, the Democratic Party in Uvalde was dominated by Anglos at the time, who offered no support to mejicano candidates, as evident in other elections. ^{^[191]}

Gabriel’s employment with a consulting company allowed him to spend considerable time in Uvalde, and he became deeply involved in the school walkout. This job was also jeopardized, this time by the intervention of local political forces that put pressure on his employer through the state and federal agencies that his company served. Eventually, he chose to resign because he felt a strong need to support the students and parents who participated in the walkout.

“The Southwest Council of La Raza,” explained Rachel, “was formed to assist in the phasing out and transitioning of the migrant workers, but its main objective was to aid and assist in their civil rights, to organize them politically, and register them to vote. The rising Latino population of the time was called the ‘sleeping giant.’ The Southwest Council of La Raza has evolved into the National Council of La Raza because Hispanics now live all over the nation.”^{^[192]}

Recalling Gabriel’s dedication to the cause for a better life for his people, Rachel said, “I know that if Gabe were here today, his advice about what's going on locally and nationally would still be Su voto es su voz. (Your vote is your voice.) In an article published in Newsweek magazine on June 29, 1970, by Kent Biffle, Gabriel expressed his optimism for Uvalde. While his hopes may not have completely materialized, he left an unforgettable story of his love for his community. In the article entitled “Side by Side—and a World Apart—in Uvalde, Texas,” the writer depicts the poverty that existed then and how little was done by the powers that could have. Newsweek’s story was prompted by state and national coverage of the school walkout, and the writer relates to his national audience that the Chicano movement had begun in Uvalde, that the six-week school walkout ended without a single concession from the all-white school board, and that the protesting students were held back.^{^[193]}

Gabriel was only 27 years old at the time, but he was wise beyond his years, and his hope for the mejicano community was contagious. Many young students who looked up to Gabriel during the school walkout continued their activism as they grew and matured into conscientious students. Many of them later registered people to vote, worked on political campaigns, and pursued higher education. The students of the walkout did not let the loss of a school year stop their dreams. They became teachers, school administrators, doctors, lawyers, company executives, and whatever they dreamed of.

Gabriel’s oldest son, Gabriel Jr., remembered his father:

Gabriel Tafolla was larger than life, someone people respected. I never met anyone who had a

bad thing to say about him. I saw him assist people with matters that required their attention,

such as legal issues. He always knew someone or a program that could help someone out.

Often, all it took was one phone call, sometimes to someone in another state, to get things

done within a few days or even a matter of hours.

I recall a particular time when someone in Pearsall, Texas, who worked for the State Highway

Department, had been fired for some bogus reason. I’m not sure what the exact circumstances

were for the man’s dismissal, but he later told me that he had called my dad to tell him what

had happened and to see if there was anything he could do. He said my dad told him, “Let me

see what I can do. I will make a few calls, and I’ll get back to you.” Placing his hope in Gabriel's

hands, the man said he went about his business. The next day, I later learned, some federal

agents came by in an unmarked black sedan with white dress shirts and skinny black ties and

talked to him, and he got his job back!

Every time I think about that, I am amazed at how easy he made things look. He was the

coolest dad anyone could ever have. My friends would come over to hang out with me, and

every time they would leave, they would say, “Man, your dad is so cool!”

Alfredo Santos told me that one summer he and some friends were going to California to work

in the fields and that their car broke down somewhere in Fresno or Bakersfield and that they

didn't know anyone over there. Alfredo called my dad, and again, Dad said, “Hang tight. Let me

make a few calls.” Within thirty minutes, a car drives up. The individuals told them, “Gabriel

Tafolla said you guys needed help.” He said my dad’s friends picked them up, fed them, and let

Alfredo and his friends stay with them. They got the car fixed the next day, and they were back

on the road on their way to the job.

I know my dad has helped many people over the years, but to me, he was my hero, and

everything I am is because of him. He taught me so much, and I’m very grateful that he was my

father. He had a tremendous will to fight for what was right, and he had the biggest heart

anyone could have. I am proud to call him my dad.

My mother and my father were an unbelievable team. My mother could handle everything at

home and was extremely organized. Dad knew that everything was handled at home, allowing

him to concentrate on the many different tasks, programs, and causes he was involved in. I feel

extremely fortunate and blessed to have had the parents I had to show me the ropes of life.^[194]

Gabriel’s younger son, Mariano (Nano), remembered his father:

Growing up, we would visit Uvalde for Thanksgiving and Christmas and during the summers. I

only realized that my dad had been influential in Uvalde when my parents moved us back to

Uvalde in the late 80s. I started going to school and playing Little League baseball soon after

the move. I noticed people seemed to light up when they saw my dad. It seemed my teachers,

coaches, and other parents wanted to talk to him. Either they were people he had gone to

school with or former students of his at Uvalde High School.

He was charismatic, and it didn’t matter who it was; he would engage whoever wanted to talk

to him about whatever subject they wanted to discuss. Even if he disagreed or poked holes in

the other person's opinions, he did it in a way that made the person think about their thought

process in a non-combative way, and sometimes it was laugh-out-loud funny. I think that, as he

got a little older, he developed a way to punch others with kid gloves when making points that

were contrary to conventional thinking. Even on subjects that he agreed with, he would bring

up points that can only be seen if you read between the lines. Grabbing low-hanging fruit

wasn't the banter he liked to engage in. He had respect for everybody, even if they didn’t agree

with him; I think people always walked away from a conversation with him thinking about at

least one thing differently. Some conversations were like he was playing chess while the other

was playing checkers.

People came to him for help with their financial matters or for advice. Even people he didn’t

know would come, being referred by someone else. I could imagine someone asking a friend

or relative for help or advice. That friend or relative might have said, “I don’t know, but I know

who does.” I am often told that I possess many of my Dad’s qualities. For some, that may be a

burden, but I don’t feel it that way. I’m extremely lucky. The last thing my dad told me was, ‘not

to worry,’ and you know what? I don't.”^[195]

In 1998, a charter school was established in Uvalde and named Gabriel Tafolla Charter School. Rachel remembers that Alfredo Santos called to notify her of the school’s naming in honor of Gabriel on the same day her grandson, Gabriel Tafolla III, was born, so the day became a special day in her life.

At its peak, the school had 150 students enrolled in grades from pre-kindergarten to the 12th grade. It was created to protest the unequal education that mejicano students received in the Uvalde public school system. The school operated for ten years, achieving some success, but several issues ultimately led to its closure in 2011.

Gabriel passed away on March 16, 1996, at the age of 54, in Piedras Negras, Coahuila, Mexico, where he was being treated for an autoimmune disease. He will forever be remembered for his unselfish dedication to improving the lives of mejicanos in Uvalde and inspiring our youth that change is possible through stubborn determination, as Gabriel and his fellow activists would always say: ¡Sí, se puede! (It can be done!)

CHAPTER NINE

Our own Niños Héroes

The Mexican-American Youth Organization, MAYO

In the 1960s, Uvalde was undoubtedly affected by the winds of the civil rights movement in our country. The brutality of changing the culture of slave ownership, which stained and permeated our society and gave Anglos license to abuse not only Blacks but all minorities for generations, was now watched on black and white television screens. Young adolescent boys in Uvalde and other communities watched the racial riots in city after city. Cesar Chavez, that soft-spoken and humble man, was standing up to powerful farmers in California. Jose Angel Gutiérrez was leading his community in Crystal City, Texas, a neighboring town, to revolt against their own Anglo-dominated government. Parents and students in various parts of the country were organizing school walkouts to protest the very same inequality we faced in the Uvalde public school system. The Change was inevitable, and the quiet anger against abuse turned into shouts of “Brown Power” and ¡Sí, se puede! (It can be done!).

Among those who took small but dangerous steps in Uvalde were adolescents like Rogelio Muñoz, Alfredo Santos, Amaro Cardona, Jose “Chema” Hernández, Ricardo Nevarez, Robert Flores, Joe Aguilera, Sergio Porras, Arturo Alonzo, Joaquin Rodríguez, Gilbert Cuéllar, Robert Losoya, and many more who helped create the Mexican American Youth Organization (MAYO). In another chapter, you will read more about Rogelio Muñoz and his experience from a young activist to a respected lawyer.

The children of the school walkout

During the walkout, the protesting students in Uvalde started a newspaper. It was named the Chicano Times, and it was created with a mimeograph machine in legal-size sheets. Its flagstaff was the artwork of one of the students. I read the issues dated April 24, 1970, and April 28, 1970, which were archived at El Progreso Library. The staff of the newspaper consisted of: Editor: Elvia Pérez; Artists: Sammy Costilla and Sylvester Ontiveros; Reporters: Dolores Arredondo, Viola García, Oscar Caballero, Roy Barrera, Tony Pineda, Raul Salinas, Robert Flores and Rosalinda Ibarra. Alicia Castillo, James Tafolla, Raquel Rodríguez, Elia Arredondo, Joe Martínez, Oscar Fuentes; Translators: Raquel Rodríguez, Oscar Caballero, Elia Arredondo and Elvia Pérez. The Chicano Times was the student’s platform to express the cause of the school walkout and their awareness of other prevalent forms of oppression that mejicanos had experienced all their lives. As primitive as its pages may appear by today’s technology standards, it was the best way to disseminate news to the walkout community and the rest of the town. The students were trying to fulfill the need to provide the students' point of view which neither the Uvalde Leader-News nor radio station KVOU fully allowed. The following editorial and commentary appeared in the two issues of the Chicano Times mentioned above. (The author has slightly edited both articles.)

We are not certain who wrote the editorial, but it may have been written by Oscar Castro, the late high school senior who led the students at the start of the walkout. He walked the halls of the high school, calling the students to leave their classrooms, and then went to the junior high school to lead the students there to begin the protest. He was also the student who presented the demands from the students to the Uvalde School Board on April 16, 1970, two days after the walkout began. Keep in mind these were students 18 years old and younger and a few college students who were former students of the Uvalde schools, speaking up for the cause they believed in. It is an emotional plea to the students who did not walk out, reflecting both the level of maturity in understanding the importance of the cause and the passion of teenagers confronted with the enormity of the challenges they were facing.

Appeal to the students who did not walkout

April 28, 1970

Classmates y hermanos,

In case you missed the letter we published on Sunday, with your names on this list and since

the letter was in Spanish, we are appealing to you in the tongue that you seem to find more

acceptable and proper.

We will give you the benefit of the doubt. Maybe after 14 days, you are still unclear on the

issues. You are all familiar with the list of demands. They are asking for things that are not frills,

but necessities for the educational process to be effective, relevant, and free of the racism that

makes true growth and learning impossible.

Perhaps there have been many rumors that make you fearful of what we are doing, and we

grant you that our sacrifices are many. We have not taken an easy step. Some of us, those

who were scheduled to graduate in May, are perhaps sacrificing our diplomas, that diploma

which most of our parents never got, that diploma which to most Chicanos is the only ticket out

of our life of misery and poverty. We are tired of seeing our brothers see the draft as the only

alternative, and proud as we are of heroes who have returned in flag-draped caskets, we would

like to see the burden more equally distributed. Our actions have disrupted the order of the

community. And it is only because the situation is critical that such steps have been quiet for

too many generations. And it isn’t easy. We are trying to change an order that has existed ever

since the state came under Anglo domination.

And so, Chicano brothers, we ask you again, for you to have the courage and the guts it takes

to join us. It is your burden as well as ours. And it is your attendance at school that delays our

return. We know who you are. And we will never forget your decision and position. We are not,

now or ever, threatening you with any physical harm. We are just disowning you from our

people. That is why we had a symbolic funeral for you last Sunday. That is, if you continue to

attend school.

We were hurt and saddened, to see you on Monday with your beautiful Mexican costumes, for

they were a phony put-on. Ustedes han traicionado al pueblo mexicano y sus ideales, así que

ya han perdido el derecho de vestirse como mexicanos. (You have betrayed the Mexican

community and its ideals, so you have now lost the right to dress as Mexicans.) Si no están

con nosotros, entonces están en contra. (If you are not with us, then you are against us.) This

walkout is too critical for anyone to remain neutral.^[196]

During the school walkout, Arturo Alonzo, a college student at the time, was arrested by Texas Ranger Captain Alfred E. Allee. Arturo said his arrest occurred because when the children were marching at Robb Elementary School, they had been instructed to stay on the sidewalk. “A little girl, about 6 or 7 years old,” recalled Arturo, “stepped off the sidewalk. Captain Allee came up to her, yelling at her to say on the sidewalk. I went over to him and told him he didn't have to do that to the little girl. He then came at me, yelling that he had had enough of us Mexicans. He then arrested me, and I was driven in a Uvalde police vehicle to the station. On the way there, the cops were trying to figure out what they were going to charge me. They talked about possibly “inciting a riot,” but there was no riot. Eventually, I was released, and no charges were filed.”

Arturo wrote an article in the Chicano Times on April 24, 1970 to educate a divided mejicano community. He hoped to create understanding and instill pride in being Chicanos, a word that is simply short for mejicano, but in the context of the civil rights movement and during the Uvalde school walkout, it was much more than that.

What is a Chicano?

By Arturo Alonzo

April 24, 1970

This is an attempt to answer the question that seems to pop into a lot of minds these days. There seems to be some doubt as to what a Chicano is, what he is seeking, what is the movement, etc.

Chicano Power, Brown Power, La Raza Unida— these are all terms commonly heard in connection with the movement of the emerging Mexican-American. Why, after over a century of being exploited, is the Mexican-American opening his eyes and demanding his rights?

As is evident, the last four or five years have seen the gradual emergence of a class of people who have been dormant too long. Significant events have taken place that are symbolic of things to come. We have seen the passing of vital legislation, the enactment of key committees, and other progressive steps that have advanced the cause of Mexican-Americans.

The question now at hand is: “Why is the Chicano suddenly demanding his right, not only as an individual but also as a part of a noble race?” To understand this, we must first understand the background, heritage, and culture of the Chicano; that is what the Chicano claims.

We, the Chicanos, have a unique heritage. We are descendants of one of the most noble races in history. Through our veins runs a mixture of Spanish and Indian blood—Indian because of the Aztecs of Mexico and Spanish because of the white conquerors of that noble race. Thus, we are known as the Brown Race, or in some instances, the Bronze Race.

It is hard for people to understand why the Chicano wants to identify himself as such. The Chicano is an individual who realizes the nobility from which he is descended and the unique features that set him apart as a member of La Raza. At this point, I deem it necessary to make one thing clear. Not all Mexican-Americans are Chicanos, but all Chicanos are Mexican-Americans. There are many in our midst who are ashamed to say that their descendants are of Mexican background. These are the ones who say they are Americans first, then Chicanos. Some even go as far to say that they are not Chicanos at all. Others try to shake off their Mexican background to get accepted into the Anglo society. People of such nature do not deserve to be classified as Chicanos.

We, the Mexican-Americans, can be proud to claim two cultures. We are Mexicans by birth and Americans by destiny and allegiance. In other words, we are bicultural, something few ethnic groups can claim. We are “bilingual” in the true sense of the word, for we have mastered the English language.

For years, Mexican Americans have lagged far behind in education, employment, housing, and other fields. Therefore, it is high time that the Chicano raises his voice and demands what is equally and justly his. To do this, the Chicano realizes that this will only come with a united effort. This is why the Chicano is beginning to identify himself as a member of La Raza. He realizes that the movement has started, and it will not be stopped now.

In conclusion, I would like to share a short poem that I think best describes the Mexican

American. It is taken from a mural in Mexico City:

Christians by the grace of God:

Gentlemen, thanks to our Spanish descent.

Noble lords from our Indian ancestry;

Mexicans by pride and tradition;

And Americans by destiny.

Thus, we are Mexican-Americans…

¡Y NO LE PEDIMOS NADA A NADIE!

(and we don’t ask anything from anyone!)^[197]

We should consider the students of the walkout our Niños Héroes (Child Heroes). ^{^[198]} Forty-nine years later, we stand in awe of their courage. Facing the loss of a school year, the angry, abusive Texas Rangers that were called to Uvalde, the betrayal of fellow students who were too afraid to walk out, and friends and neighbors who didn’t want them stirring up trouble, the parents and the students of the walkout persisted with audacity, with passion, and with pride. If only in our appreciative hearts, these brave young men and the students of the Uvalde school walkout should be carved on our version of a Mount Rushmore. Some parents of the students were not able to protest against police brutality in front of the Uvalde Police Department, the courthouse, city hall, and the schools for fear of reprisal, but the students did.

Inspired by older but still young dreamers of change, such as Jose Uriegas and Gilbert Torres, these young students demonstrated what raw courage could accomplish. They accepted the name-calling and threats from astonished Anglos because they were fully aware of the consequences, but still, they forged ahead. They were adolescents who became soldiers of an army they created themselves. Jose Uriegas, who by then had graduated from St. Mary’s University and returned to Uvalde, introduced them to the Mexican-American Youth Organization (MAYO), which was already active in San Antonio and other cities. They didn’t wear military gear and didn’t earn medals, but they were warriors against an insurmountable mountain of tradition. They took small steps, but these steps led to change, nevertheless. Their courage inspired the parents to eventually demand significant changes. They laid the ground for the eventual school walkout that, in turn, dynamited the mountain that oppressed us with the resilience of the soldiers who endured hardships in a real war. MAYO was active in other Texas towns and states, and its members in college demanded changes that triggered positive, lasting improvements.

The protesters and “troublemakers” evolved into positions of public service in Uvalde. Rogelio Muñoz became an attorney, established his law firm, and was District Attorney for nine years. Joaquin Rodríguez became an attorney and later mayor of neighboring Eagle Pass, Texas. Gilbert Torres and Amaro Cardona became Uvalde County Commissioners, Joe Uriegas became a teacher and later worked for government agencies that enacted meaningful change for mejicanos, Alfredo Santos established his regional La Voz newspapers in many cities and to this day promotes political endeavors of our mejicano candidates and our professionals in numerous fields. Numerous students of the walkout went on to succeed academically and acquire professional careers.

Everyone involved in MAYO continued to influence change in one way or another. They became role models for the generation of youth that followed them. More mejicanos began running for public office. Unsuccessful as many were initially, each political campaign emboldened others that eventually succeeded. (See some of these victories in the Chronology provided in this book.) Now, the sky is the limit for anyone who dreams of becoming a lawyer, doctor, educator, astronaut, or inventor— whatever field is out there for the taking.

In other chapters, you will read about local heroes who took small but firm steps for change in Uvalde, such as the founders of the American Legion Post 479. Before them were the men of the Comisión Honorífica of Uvalde, who worked for the well-being and social activities of our community. Catholic organizations such as the Holy Name Society worked to provide financial support for our beloved Sacred Heart Church. Many women in Uvalde also led the way as business entrepreneurs, ladies’ auxiliaries, and members of church organizations. They worked to elect our candidates and in other organizations that nurtured and united us. In past years, leaders of mejicano Protestant congregations in Uvalde also contributed to the fellowship and support of their members. Entrepreneurs like Conchita Vásquez, who promoted local musical artists, singers, and songwriters and provided entertainment through the many dances she organized, will forever be remembered with love and appreciation.

The bodies of the heroes of past generations are now resting in peace, and those who are still alive are quietened by age and illness, but their legacies live on. When visiting your hometown’s cemeteries, I encourage you to focus on the space of time, “the dash,”^{^[199]} between a person's date of birth and the person’s date of death. Reflect on the lives of those who now rest there and spend a few minutes imagining what their lives were like in their lifetime and what they accomplished for us within that “dash.” By surviving their perhaps difficult past, they paved the way for us to have a better existence today. By remembering them, we honor them.

The Uvalde Draft Board had no mercy on the students of the walkout

Miss Ruth Webb is deeply ingrained in the parents' minds of ten students who walked out of the Uvalde schools protesting discrimination. She was the executive secretary of the draft board in Uvalde. In an article that appeared in the Uvalde Leader-News on August 23, 1970, she is quoted as saying that the students who were already 18 years of age had no grounds for appealing the Uvalde Selective Service Board’s decision to draft them because “Students are given deferments to go to school, and when a student is not in school he does not have a 1-F high school deferment.”^{^[200]} State headquarters reviewed the matter. It was only a matter of going by what the law says..” Since Miss Webb was Anglo and had no compassion for the students as she had for many Anglo young men who did not get drafted, the drafting of the protesting 18-year-olds was easy for her. Had she and the other board members considered the reasons for the walkout, that the students had years of bigotry they were trying to change, they could have been given time for the next school term to begin.

Miss Webb has long passed away, as probably most of the board members she served with, but the bitterness and sadness of lives lost in Vietnam and other wars remain and rests on them. They were part of the establishment that believed in punishing anyone who protested how things were. As it turned out, ten young mejicano soldiers died in Vietnam, and not one Anglo soldier from the city of Uvalde lost their life in that war. The odds were stacked against them because the prevailing disdain for mejicanos was standard practice in such government agencies. Miss Webb justified her decision before reporters and Uvaldeans. I wonder if she and the other board members ever considered how the Lord would judge them one day.

Uvalde was included in national news in the summer of 1970 with testimony given before the Senate Subcommittee on Equal Educational Opportunities, headed by US Senator Walter Mondale, then a Democrat from Minnesota in Washington. Joe Uriegas, a former resident of Uvalde (see his story in another chapter), was a member of the Texas State Advisory Committee on Civil Rights. Jesus J. Rubio, a research director of the Mexican-American Development Corporation, testified on the aftermath of the school boycott in Uvalde in the spring of 1970, and the actions of the Uvalde draft board were included in their testimony. ^{^[201]}

CHAPTER TEN

Joe Uriegas: The loss of a brother and then the loss of a dream

Raúl Uriegas was the son of Celso and Elvira Uriegas. He fought in World War II and died on December 25, 1944, at the Battle of the Bulge. His brother Joe Uriegas vividly remembers the saddest day of his life this way:

“One day, when I was a little boy, about four years old, I was sitting on the front porch of our house, playing with my toy soldiers and eating a green gumdrop. My mother stood near me, ironing. She used to work at the hospital, come home around three in the afternoon, and then take in ironing for some Anglo women. Nato (Fortunato) Hinojosa, who lived near our house, worked for Western Union delivering telegrams. He rode a bike with a broken chain guard, which made a certain clanking sound so people could hear him coming down the street. They would look out to see at what house he would stop, and often, they would know who had been killed in the war. That day, we heard the clank and saw Nato (Fortunato) Hinojosa come up to the door. He delivered the message that my brother Raúl had been killed in the war. I can still remember my mother’s screams of pain that afternoon.”

Fortunato Hinojosa was a messenger for Western Union and delivered telegrams to the families of deceased soldiers during World War II. He was a talented musician and later became a deacon at Sacred Heart Catholic Church, supporting families during their challenging moments. Courtesy of Alex Castillo.

Carrying the sad memory of his brother’s death was one of several events that shaped the course of Joe's life. His story is yet another account of how Anglos have impacted our lives. For Joe, it left a sadness that later turned into a determination to change Uvalde.

He grew up and attended Sacred Heart Catholic School until the fourth grade. At that young age, he decided he needed to go to a public school “to understand what was going on” outside his small world. He walked to West Main Elementary and registered himself there. It was a culture shock because he had never been taught by Anglo teachers and had never been among Anglo students. He would soon discover the hostility and meanness of Anglo students. He lacked the confidence to fight them with words, so he went after them physically. His frequent fights, however, turned out to be a blessing in disguise. The principal, Sam Houston Foster, saw him in his office so much he offered to set up a desk for him in his office. Joe remembers that when he started school, he felt lost because he didn’t have the background that most of the kids there had. He had never heard fairy tales; he didn’t know who Little Red Riding Hood was. It was Mr. Foster who took him under his wing and taught him how to play chess, introduced him to classical music, and so much more. The physical education teacher, Walter Leverman, was another mentor who introduced him to football and guided him in school. Joe expressed deep gratitude to these two men who saw him through the difficulties that lay ahead.

Joe’s awareness of discrimination came early in his life. He still has the scars on his legs from when he was burned as a little boy. In the wintertime, when the temperature dropped significantly, it was a common practice for the city to reduce the pressure on the gas lines that supplied the Mexican side of town, ensuring that the Anglo side had sufficient pressure. “That forced families to build fires outside and then bring the embers in to warm our homes. I got too close to the embers and burned my legs,” remembered Joe. The older he grew, the more resentment he felt at the many other ways Anglos made life difficult for mejicanos.

When Joe moved on to high school, Walter Leverman, a football coach, taught Joe how to become a very good quarterback. He remembered they would win every game when he was the starting quarterback. Life was good for a while. There were, however, dreadful forces working against him. Leverman was fired as an assistant coach when Joe was a sophomore (Joe was certain he was fired because he liked to help mejicano students.) Later, after Joe had a winning game, he was badly hurt but continued to play. Then assistant coach Jimmy Harrell told him that there were some ranchers in town who didn’t want a Mexican boy to be the starting quarterback. “They’ve hurt you,” he told Joe, “and they will continue to hurt you.” Coach Harrell and Dr. Dimmitt suggested that Joe leave Uvalde and play football in Del Rio. The two men offered to help him move and attend high school there. Joe was fifteen years old and went to live at the San Jose Housing Project in Del Rio on his own. He was given a job at the cafeteria and took every other job offered to him. He made good friends with the football players and would be invited to eat at their homes. His parents would visit whenever they could. Sam Houston Foster and Walter Leverman would also come to Del Rio to visit him, and he holds fond memories of their support.

Somehow, he survived those years away from his family and continued playing football. When the head coach in Del Rio replaced Joe as the starting quarterback in favor of an Anglo player, and the team was losing games, the parents of the other Anglo players gave the coach an ultimatum: “Let Joe be the quarterback, or we leave the team.” Although living away from home was difficult, Joe came to see it as the best thing that happened to him. He discovered that not all Anglos were like the ones in Uvalde. His team would go and play against the Uvalde team and beat them.

After graduation from high school in Del Rio, Joe had the audacity, as he said, to register at St. Mary’s University in San Antonio. “I didn’t know anything about going to college. I had no money, was not a very good student, and had no one to guide me, but I had a dream and followed it. An uncle in San Antonio had an abandoned house without utilities and allowed me to live there. It was close to the university. There was a place that sold seven hamburgers for a dollar, so I ate a hamburger every day of the week. I didn’t have good sense, so I registered for twenty-one hours while working different jobs to support myself. It wasn’t easy to study and work, but I was happy to make a “C” grade.”

Surprisingly, he graduated and found a job with the Harlandale School District, teaching at Stonewall Elementary and Southcross Junior High. “I lived in the neighborhood,” he recalled, “so I could be close to the school and come to know the kids involved in gangs. I could walk down the street without fear because they knew me. I organized ball games with teams from different gangs to help them overcome rivalries.”

One day, when playing football with the kids, the ball rolled into the street, and he went to retrieve it. A car slowed down for him to get the ball, and driving it was the girl he had always loved. Her name was Leticia Muraira, and they knew each other in Del Rio. He called it a predestined encounter because, not long after that, they were married.

While he was teaching at Southcross Junior High, a man on crutches came up to him. He was wearing a suit, and Joe remembered how articulate he was. After introducing himself as Diego Gallegos, he offered Joe a job teaching special education students. Joe took the job and realized how neglected the students in this class were. The room they were in was located behind the auditorium and was about the size of a closet. Joe took courses to become certified to teach special education and eventually retested his students. It turned out that most of the students should not have been classified for special education. “Diego and I were left pretty much alone,” remembered Joe. “We created our program for those kids. We located an empty barracks that the school district wasn’t using and got approval to move our students there. Diego was an amazing negotiator and a likable person who could make things happen. He would go to Lackland Air Force Base and obtain furniture, sports equipment, and other things for our kids. We took them on field trips and to the movies at the Majestic Theatre. We found out we could sit in the balcony where the Blacks were forced to sit, so we would take the kids and pay fifty cents to watch a movie there.” Joe is proud that some of these students went on to attend college, and some of them even became lawyers.

A longing to return to Uvalde and serve his community as he had in San Antonio brought Joe home. He applied to teach in Uvalde for several years, and after being rejected several times, he was hired to teach special education. At the same time, he began to explore other ways to earn additional money since teaching didn’t pay very well. He saw an opportunity with the López Grocery Store, a well-known business on West Main Street, when Salome López, the owner, was willing to sell it. He was turned down at the First State Bank, but a new bank had just opened in town, and with another stroke of luck, the bank officer there loaned him the money with interest only due each month until his business got off the ground. “My store became a hub for local political activists in the community,” Joe recalled,

and there is where I began to plan my campaign to run for the city council in 1966. Some

mejicano business owners were not my supporters. They did not want anyone stirring things

up. I found out, however, how powerful women can be in politics. I had an amazing group

helping me. One step at a time, I began organizing and building a strong following. Father

Antonio Gonzáles was also very involved in the community and taught me so much I didn’t

know about organizing and the dynamics of local politics. Our work paid off, and I won the

election in 1966.”^[202]

Alonzo Villarreal was the first Mexican-American elected to the city council in 1964, but he did not run an independent campaign as Joe did. Anglos invited him to be on the traditional “slate of officers,” the established way of electing a pre-selected group to run for office.

On the eve of the election, at the former John Nance Garner home in North Park, where the election results were tabulated, Joe remembers Dolph Briscoe coming up and congratulating him. Joe knew that he was the man behind the scenes, picking or approving the slate of officers for every election before this one. Even though Briscoe represented the establishment of those days, Joe spoke fondly of him and said Briscoe eventually helped him in some of the economic development programs Joe would later be involved in. When Briscoe later became Governor of Texas and Joe had created the Mexican American Council for Economic Progress Inc., Briscoe continued supporting Joe at the state level. During the time Joe served as a city councilman in Uvalde, he was elected to serve on the founding board of directors of the Southwest Council of La Raza and served for several years.

While Joe was a city councilman, he decided to run for state representative but lost to D. C. Howard. After losing this election, Joe was offered a job working with the newly formed VISTA program, an anti-poverty program created by Lyndon Johnson’s Economic Opportunity Act of 1964, a domestic version of the Peace Corps. The program increased employment opportunities for dedicated individuals who wanted to help the poor. VISTA volunteers worked on enriching educational programs and vocational training for the country’s disadvantaged communities. Joe was chosen to head the Minority Mobilization Program, a statewide project to help mejicanos organize statewide. Joe was the perfect leader for this program, and many leaders and volunteers he trained became well-known for their work. During this time, Joe and some other activists got together to help Willie Velásquez of San Antonio, the founder of the Southwest Voter Registration Project. This organization promotes the participation of Latinos in the voting process by empowering and educating citizens and leaders with the necessary resources to make a difference in our country.

Joe became friends with well-known civil rights movement figures and government officials. He met and became friends with Walter Mondale, Senator from Minnesota, President Jimmy Carter, and Freddie Ray Marshall, who became Secretary of Labor under President Carter. He served on the board of the Commission for Civil Rights and other organizations. Joe was with Senator Mondale when he visited Uvalde during the school walkout period.

Joe said that throughout his life, he dedicated his work to the memory of his brother Raúl. He carried the sadness of losing a big brother and his awareness at a very young age of the racism that made life so difficult for him, his family, and his fellow mejicanos. When he reached high school, his potential as a great quarterback was seen as a threat to Anglo ranchers who did not want any mejicano to hold a position of power. And yet, he defied all the odds and overcame every obstacle he faced. He was able to bring about significant changes because others recognized the sincerity of his efforts and his ability to motivate others. He became a successful businessman and now enjoys a good life. He is proud of his children, who are equally proud of him. He has resided in Austin for many years but still longs for economic improvement for mejicanos in Uvalde. Now, at age 81, his mind is still full of ideas about how he can make a difference in the town he still holds dear.

PVT Raúl Uriegas died at the invasion of Normandy. His short life left unfinished dreams and lasting sadness for his family. Courtesy of Reanna Rodriguez Martinez.

Raúl Uriegas with his mother Elvira Vara Uriegas. A photo of pride, happiness, and anxiety about Raúl’s impending departure for war. Courtesy of Reanna Rodriguez Martinez.

Raúl Uriegas with his two grandmothers, Rosita Vara (on the left) and Marte Uriegas. The love of a son lives in this photo. Families of all fallen soldiers of every war cherish similar photos. Courtesy of Reanna Rodriguez Martinez.

Joe Uriegas on his yacht, the Miriama. He enjoys partial retirement, living between Puerto Vallarta and his home in Austin, Texas. He manages various businesses and is still involved in several humanitarian causes with undiminished pride in his mejicano community. Courtesy of Joe Uriegas.

Joe Uriegas (center) participating at the 5th Annual Austin HDSA Texas Hope Walk on May 11, 2019. The mission of the Huntington’s Disease Society of America is to improve the lives of everyone with Huntington's disease. Courtesy St. Laurent Photography, Austin, Texas.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Joe René Martínez: A story of old Uvalde’s grip on our dreams

The story of Joe René Martínez is an incredible saga that would have been difficult to predict if you lived in Uvalde in the 1970s. After several conversations with him about his uncle, Gabriel Tafolla, I realized that Joe’s experiences belonged in this book because they reveal the challenges of South Texas communities, where kindness or compassion from Anglos toward mejicanos often masked an underlying racism that proved challenging to overcome. Joe René also teaches how his faith in humanity and in himself was not diminished by the cruelty he endured.

“People would always be looking for my father, day and night,” said Joe. He was a charming man with many talents who wore many hats. He bought and sold cars and houses and was also a bail bondsman. He had rented properties for as long as I can remember, and continued to do so even when he went blind. He was a man who would take off his shirt to help the unfortunate. He also supported people running for office. He had a cement dance floor and party house constructed in our backyard so he could entertain his friends and elected officials. One of his favorite memories was playing the drums in a band with Félix Barragán and Deacon Fortunato Hinojosa. “My mother was sweet and gentle, and she loved hosting friends. She would advise the young people of Uvalde. She had worked for many years at the Bell Investment Company and later for the school district and Southwest Texas Junior College as a social worker. Later, she had her wedding and quinceañera store and offered catering for these events.”^{^[203]}

Joe’s memories of his life in Uvalde during his childhood and later in life are flashbacks of the interactions between Anglos and mejicanos in Uvalde. This is the story of a little boy whose life took him from a sheltered existence into the dramatic days of the Uvalde school walkout, when he walked out and became active in that struggle. That led to the opportunity of a lifetime to attend and graduate from UNAM, the National Autonomous University of Mexico, as a dentist. What happened between his childhood and his completion of his medical studies and the challenges that followed his return to Uvalde need to be shared because they are testaments to the human spirit’s ability to accept challenges with dignity. What happened to Joe is shameful and rests at the feet of greedy individuals in Uvalde who denied him the opportunity to practice as a dentist.

Joe’s experiences are typical in a community bound by historical chains that trap individuals to established norms. Even if some Anglos in Uvalde were kind-hearted and fair individuals, few dared to show support for mejicanos. Most often, “good” Anglos stayed silent or participated in discriminatory practices to remain in Anglo social circles. Business people sometimes had to walk a fine line to keep their mejicano customers and employees and yet appear racist to the rest of their friends. Sometimes, however, the established pattern of discriminating against mejicanos was weakened, allowing the kindness and fairness of some individuals to break free in but a few instances here and there. Joe was to experience the good and the bad from Anglos in Uvalde.

Tinte’s (Joe’s father) light complexion and perfect English, combined with Texas slang, helped his interactions with the Anglos, but only to a point. When he was closing a deal to buy a home on the east side of town, which was predominantly Anglo, the family faced the reality of those days. “When the seller saw my mother and me getting out of the car to inspect the house my parents wanted to buy,” Joe said, “the price almost doubled. We didn’t buy the house.”^{^[204]}

He was an only child whose parents doted on him and made every effort to prepare him for a prosperous future. Tinte always encouraged his only son to go to college, “to be someone’ as he would say, and he extended this advice to Joe’s friends. At that time, in Uvalde, sending a child to Dalton Elementary, where the Anglo children attended, required connections and maneuvering. It required some social standing to achieve that. “I attended elementary school at Dalton instead of Robb, where all my fellow Mexicans went,” said Joe. “My Mom and Dad were very happy, along with George and Florence Horner, who pushed for it.”^{^[205]} While seen as a success for the Martínez family, this accomplishment highlights the inequality in school policies of that time. The unspoken rule was to keep mejicano children separated from Anglo children, and the Martínez’s efforts to place Joe at Dalton were because they knew that their child would receive a better education at that school. There were a few other mejicano parents who were able to send their children to the Anglo schools, but there weren’t many.

Unfortunately, Joe remembered how his young heart was broken at Dalton Elementary. “After my first week there, I had an Anglo girlfriend for a few days. One day during the rest period, our first-grade teacher called her and told her, ‘We do not have Mexican boyfriends.’ The next day, she hugged and kissed me, returned a few gifts, and told me she was so sorry.”^{^[206]}

“l remember,” continued Joe, “that I would spend some afternoons at the Horners’ store and sit on Florence Horner’s lap while she read to me or showed me her stamp collections. Thank God, not all Anglos were mean. My uncle René Espadas, a talented high school football player, broke his leg during a game. It was 1941, the year the team won the semi-final championship. The Horners picked up the week-long hospital bill. I will always remember that Fred Horner continued to hire my dad as a car salesman at his dealership, even after my father went blind.”

Joe remembered Mr. Horner was a Boy Scout Master, and when Joe was on a campout, two Anglo Scouts refused to let him help put up their tent. Mr. Horner reprimanded the boys and made sure Joe was treated well. This happened many years ago, but left a lasting impression that still warms Joe’s heart.

Joe was fortunate to have as an uncle Gabriel Tafolla, the Uvalde teacher and activist who supported the students of the walkout. During the walkout, Gabriel and others worked to locate scholarships for the students. He and Jose Angel Gutiérrez, another well-known political activist from Crystal City, along with other educators, met with then-Mexico's President, Luis Echeverría Alvarez (1970-1976) and helped launch the program Becas de Aztlán (Aztlan Scholarships)^{^[207]}. This Mexican government-funded program provided scholarships for mejicano students to pursue graduate studies in Mexican Universities.

The program was administered through the University of Houston, and recipients were chosen nationwide. The support ranged in its coverage from summer studies to doctoral degrees. It granted mejicanos money to study medicine, including post-graduate studies and intensive summer programs. More than 100 students became medical doctors, and many others obtained doctoral degrees in other fields.

“After being accepted for the scholarship program offered by President Echeverria,” wrote Joe, “I was given a list of potential medical and dental schools in Mexico and was told to pick out a school and that the Mexican government would contact me through the Consejo Nacional de Ciencia y Tecnología (CONACYT, The National Council of Science and Technology.) I was given a phone number to call at Los Pinos (the Mexican White House) if I encountered any problems in Mexico. Because succeeding at the university required my ability to speak Spanish better than I knew then, I first attended classes to learn Spanish, which I would need to study at Mexico’s premier university. I attended school with people my age and felt I was not limited. For the first time, I felt I could be anything I wanted to be. In Mexico, there was no more ‘keep your place, Mexican.’ After four years, a thesis, and a one-year field volunteer work for the Mexican government, I was awarded a Doctor of Dental Surgery diploma from the University of Mexico. I then went to Chicago and took my dental exam from the American Board of Dental Examiners, and I passed it. I continued my studies by returning to Mexico City and completed my training at an orthodontics school for two years.”^{^[208]}

“My return to Uvalde brought me back to the same world I had left; it was like waking up from a beautiful dream. After my name was published in the Uvalde Leader-News and La Voz newspapers announcing my graduation from UNAM, I was invited out to eat by Dr. Mike Dishman, a local dentist. The invitation became more of a fishing expedition by Dr. Dishman and an opportunity to discourage me. He told me over lunch that just because my family had a lot of friends didn’t mean that I would make it in Uvalde as a dentist. I just looked at him and laughed. It was obvious he was not going to support me.”^{^[209]}

Joe didn’t realize that his decision to become a dentist in Uvalde threatened the local medical community’s livelihood. Yes, racism was what kept mejicanos from advancing in social acceptance. Still, it was obvious that the local dentists knew that the mejicano community would prefer to be Joe’s patients than theirs. They saw him as a threat. One mejicano dentist could lead to another. Who knows what changes that would bring about? The cards were all stacked against Joe.

“Earlier, another dentist, Dr. James Howard Carr,” said Joe, “had told me he wanted me as his partner and would be more than happy to build an extra operatory just for me. He invited me to observe him as he cared for his patients, even allowing me to place the mirror in the patient's mouth to assist him.” Before Joe could begin his practice, however, he still had to pass the state exam. Later, he asked Dr. Carr for a letter of recommendation for the Texas State Dental Board, but the doctor refused, saying, “I don’t know you,” and walked away.^{^[210]}

Undeterred, Joe enrolled in the general practice residency at the University of Texas Dental School in San Antonio. His father was paying 500 dollars a month for this school. When he completed his studies, he took the three-day exam and passed the first- and second-day exams with no problem. When it came to the third and final day, which he felt he had passed, the examiner came up to him and, with a big smile on his face, told him: “You didn’t pass.” To this day, Joe believes the Uvalde doctors had something to do with his not passing the exam, and he said that was the last year the state offered the exam to foreign candidates. He remembers how mean the examiners were, especially to the Chinese students taking the test, even mimicking their Chinese accent. I remember the examiners yelling at them to run from one location to another, shouting: “Come on, boy, I said run!”^{^[211]} They had to run, not walk, to an assignment. Unfortunately, the illness of racism permeated all professions throughout our state and beyond.

In Uvalde, Joe was willing to take any job he could find. He found support from Mike Esparza Jr., then owner of Esparza Funeral Home, in obtaining a job. He began working with the Community Council of Southwest Texas, initially performing custodial work, and later as a social worker, assisting people with paying their utility bills. He worked long enough to save enough money to open his dental practice in Piedras Negras, Coahuila, Mexico. He had great success with many patients from surrounding Texas communities near the border and some as far as Dallas, Houston, and San Antonio. He became president of the Piedras Negras Dental Association. He reconnected and became friends with the Presidente Municipal (mayor) of Piedras Negras, Claudio Brez, who owned the popular radio station La Rancherita del Aire. Mr. Brez had attended Southwest Texas Junior College in Uvalde, and Tinte met him and helped him. As a gift, Brez gave Joe the land to build a two-story home in Piedras Negras, and life was good.^{^[212]}

Suddenly, Piedras Negras became infiltrated by the drug cartel, and the city was under siege. The house across the street from Joe’s house was bought by a drug dealer who had guards armed with machine guns. For a while, the street felt safe because of these armed guards, allowing Joe’s son to ride his bike all day long. Then, one day, just as Joe walked out of his house, the federal police showed up. A soldier shouted out at him to get back in the house because there were going to be balazos (bullets flying). Joe said everyone went as far back in the home as they could and waited until the shooting was over. The situation became worse when drug dealers demanded that Joe hide drugs at his dental office. Joe then decided it was best to return to Uvalde.^{^[213]}

Joe’s son and daughter had been attending school in Piedras Negras and were doing very well there. Sadly, they soon began to experience the same old biased treatment in Uvalde. His son began attending high school and excelled in his studies. One day, when his son took an algebra exam and was the first in his class to turn it in, the teacher believed he had cheated. He was required to retake the test to demonstrate his ability to solve the problems. When he passed the test again, he was required to retake it a third time, sitting alone.^{^[214]} The Anglo teachers could not accept his intelligence and believed he had cheated.

Joe devoted two years to caring for his parents in Houston. Tinte Martínez passed away there after having a stroke. Eva, his mother, passed away just three months after her husband's death, after a long battle with cancer. Joe was at her side as he read the Bible to her, holding her hand.

Joe attended the John Wesley Methodist Seminary in Monterrey and is currently a pastor at the La Divina Trinidad Methodist Church, the same church where he grew up. He has traveled internationally to establish a church in Cambodia, one in El Salvador, and eight in Mexico. He was the District Mission Director for the Mexican Methodist Church, providing medical care for the poor in Panama, Costa Rica, and El Salvador. He and his wife, Nora, their daughter Eva, and her two daughters live in Uvalde. His son, Joe Rene, lives in Devine, and his stepdaughters, Veronica and Kelly, live in Castroville. Kelly and her husband, David Tumbarello, live in Castroville and own a Christian Furniture Store in Hondo, Texas.^{^[215]}

Joe is proud to have been part of the movement that brought about significant change at a very young age. He is thankful to have experienced life in Mexico as a medical professional, for the friendships he found there, and for the country’s generosity in supporting mejicanos during a very difficult time in our country. He is at peace and cherishes all the happy moments that were also part of his life, especially when his parents were alive and when he was not fully aware of the hostility that would affect his life so profoundly.^{^[216]}

Today, there are some Spanish-speaking doctors in Uvalde. The Community Health Clinic now offers medical assistance to Uvalde’s low-income families, including dental care. It took the War on Poverty, enacted by President Lyndon Baines Johnson, and the devotion of all those local individuals, mejicanos and Anglos alike, who worked to enact programs that now make Uvalde a more compassionate community.

Joe Rene Martínez, a Uvaldean educated and licensed as a dentist in Mexico, was denied his medical license in Texas. Local dentists in Uvalde discouraged him, but Joe’s faith and determination helped him overcome disappointment and live a successful life in dental-related businesses and religious mission services in the Methodist Church. Courtesy of Joe Rene Martínez.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Rogelio Muñoz, from teen activist to District Attorney in Uvalde

Like many universities, Texas Christian University (TCU) has an ongoing oral history project, Civil Rights in Black and Brown. Its students conduct interviews with individuals active in minority communities in Texas, promoting social change. In 2016, TCU students interviewed Rogelio (Roy) Muñoz. As a former member of the Mexican-American Youth Organization (MAYO), he was a political activist at a very young age and is now a respected attorney in private practice in Uvalde.^{^[217]}

Rogelio represents the crossover of a mejicano from the west side of town, of a low-income upbringing, into the mainstream of Uvalde’s legal community. Other mejicanos crossed the barriers of discrimination through business entrepreneurship and other professional careers. These transitions occurred through sheer determination and, of course, due to the normal growth in population and gradual yet certain educational advancements. The path to the dignity of a legal or any other profession for Rogelio’s generation was not easy. Almost every successful individual in any South Texas town has a story of the sacrifices and the obstacles they endured. Above all, individuals like Rogelio, who happens to be the author’s brother, succeeded because our parents insisted that it was only through a good education that we could succeed, in or outside Uvalde. Like many other parents, ours did not want their children to work for meager wages or accept menial jobs. They sacrificed their own lives for our future.

Rogelio related his experiences growing up in Uvalde, remembering that our side of town, the west side, was divided by the typical railroad tracks. This track ran along North and South Grove streets and has since been removed, but I venture to say a large majority of mejicanos still live west of Grove. If there were restaurants that didn’t allow mejicanos, growing up in Uvalde, Roy didn’t remember because, he said, “at that time, nobody really ate in restaurants…you just didn’t do it, because nobody had any money to eat in restaurants, and maybe there would be a place in the barrio where you could get a taco or something.”^{^[218]} He remembered that venturing on foot to the Stardust Drive-In theatre on the town’s north side could mean an encounter with Anglo youth that would jump on mejicano kids and tell them: “Hey, you’re not supposed to be over here!”^{^[219]}

Uvalde schools were segregated during Rogelio’s elementary years. Nearly all mejicano kids attended either Robb or West Garden schools and later Anthon School, located on the far west side. When mejicano children advanced to Junior High, unless they were lucky to have been admitted to Dalton or Benson Elementary, they saw Anglo students for the first time. Rogelio said it was a culture shock and remembers thinking: “Who are these guys?” laughing as he said this. “There were fights and stuff,” he recalls, “but eventually, you know, people would get along.”^{^[220]}

Speaking Spanish was not allowed, and when children were caught speaking it, they were spanked. Rogelio and his friends grew up speaking Spanish, and for most mejicanos there was no television or other ways to learn and speak more English in their barrios. Being punished for speaking their native language was cruel and damaging to their self-confidence. Rogelio stated that later in life when he has had a chance to speak to educators, he has told them: “We could not speak Spanish, we would get whipped if we did. You would get caught speaking Spanish, and you would get a licking. You had to be very careful. They wanted to force you to do something that they wanted you to do. And now of course I think I guess they all recognized it was a terrible, terrible mistake, and I’ve told educators that I’ve run into, you guys really screwed up, because if you had just let us speak Spanish we would have taught the Anglo kids to speak Spanish, and they would have, on the playground, they would have taught us, and you prevented us from doing that. And they realized that it was a huge mistake. That was their idea: ‘No, you will not speak Spanish, and if you do you’re going to get punished.”^{^[221]} Such interaction as children could have made Uvalde a much more productive, united community. Educational neglect in any community was unfortunate and destructive then as it is now.

One of the most painful parts of the interview came when Rogelio was asked about his high school years. He played football, acknowledging that because he didn’t weigh very much back then, he wasn’t a good player. His friend, Gilbert Cuéllar, was tall and strong and played lineman. He was a very good player. On a trip to play a game in Eagle Pass, Gilbert was very excited because he was going to start that night. He had family that lived in Eagle Pass (a border town across Piedras Negras, Coahuila), and they would be there to watch him play. Sitting on the bus together, Roy and Gilbert were speaking Spanish when their coach came up and told Gilbert: “‘Cuéllar! Just ‘cause you think you're going to Eagle Pass, you can speak Spanish? You’re not going to start!’”^{^[222]} Rogelio breaks down as he tells this story because his friend was deeply hurt, and there was nothing either of them could do about it. “I still remember it, it was forty years ago, that’s kind of a memory I have about that time,”^{^[223]} said Roy. If such unfair humiliation were to happen today, it is very likely that the parents would not stand for it and would probably make the news on TV. In those days, as students, we suffered alone. Even if we shared such a hurtful experience with our parents, they could not defend us. Many students in those days suffered similar incidents, and these shared experiences created a bond that held these friends together and made them determined to change things.

Roy attended Southwest Texas Junior College after high school and received his Associate's degree in 1969. As a freshman at Southwest Texas Junior College, Roy and his friends were inspired by Joe Uriegas to form the Mexican American Youth Organization (MAYO). By then, Joe had been an activist most of his life and had recently returned to Uvalde. His story is related to another chapter in this book. He motivated the mejicano youth of Uvalde to become active in the civil rights movement. As the older member of the group, Roy became the leader of the new MAYO chapter. They organized protests, especially against police brutality, which was prevalent in those days. These niños héroes (child heroes)^{^[224]} would no longer accept the Uvalde past generations of Anglos had created, subjugating mejicanos and treating them as they pleased.

In 1969, Roy transferred to the University of Texas, where he was successful, through MAYO, in demanding the creation of the first Chicano Studies Program, which still exists today. After graduation, he enrolled at the University of Houston School of Law. Our family’s greatest joy was when he received the letter notifying him that he had passed the bar exam. He worked for the Texas Rural Legal Aid in Crystal City before establishing his law firm, where he continues to practice today.

By 1984, Roy had established himself as a very good lawyer, and Judge Leo Darley had evolved from a staunch conservative and often anti-Mexican county judge. To the surprise of many in Uvalde, Judge Darley nominated Roy to become County Attorney to fill the unexpired term of the late David White, Sr. Commissioner Gilbert Torres, and Faye Dismukes joined him for a majority vote in Roy’s favor. Roy held the post until the end of the year because the local Democratic Party, dominated by Anglo members at that time, chose not to support him and instead selected David White, Jr. to run in the next election. As a result, Roy chose not to run against him. Later, in 1985, Judge Darley again worked to get Roy appointed District Attorney for Uvalde, Real, and Medina counties to fill the unexpired term of Earl Caddel. Roy held that post until 1994, running unopposed during each election.

Rogelio represents the perseverance of the youth of Uvalde in bringing about change and the willingness to put the past behind them and move forward. Uvalde is still not a perfect community, but there are many signs of change for those who experienced a different and more divided town. The years of hostility and negligence toward the mejicano side of Uvalde are still affecting the community today. Progress in education remains slow, and the dropout rate remains a serious concern. Many of us have left Uvalde for better schools and jobs and less discrimination. Sadly, the town continues to lose mejicano professionals who could help guide more students to stay in school, focus on a foundation of good values and good grades, and save them from the perils of today’s environment. The lack of jobs in Uvalde is a serious problem, and new ideas are needed to improve the town’s economy.

Many positive changes have been made possible due to the civil rights movement and local individuals who put their well-being on the line for the cause of social equality. The progressive administrations, led by presidents Lyndon B. Johnson, Jimmy Carter, and Bill Clinton, had a profoundly positive impact on the country and Uvalde in many lasting ways. President Donald Trump is causing a resurgence of anti-immigrant, anti-minority, and it seems anti-everything that has been good for our country rhetoric. He has given license to his followers to make blatant racial comments and incite more division. One of the saddest outcomes is watching the white youth who is now absorbing his example and acting as racist as President Trump.

Rogelio is married to the former Anna Luna. Today, he continues to practice law and enjoys being a grandfather to eight grandchildren. His eldest son, Rogelio Martin Muñoz, is also an attorney at the law firm and a member of the Uvalde City Council. His daughter, Patty Diaz, has been his office manager and all-around guardian for most of the firm’s existence. Their oldest daughter, Elena, serves as a special assistant to the Under-Secretary-General for Internal Oversight at the United Nations. His youngest son, Armando, resides in Melbourne, Australia, and serves as the Head of Strategy and Impact for the Melbourne City Mission, a leading non-profit organization.

Sadly, Rogelio Muñoz lost his battle with leukemia and passed away on September 30, 2019. He was given a beautiful farewell by his family, Uvaldeans, who knew him as a friend, and by Uvalde's legal and law enforcement communities on October 3, 2019.

Uvalde County Judge Leo Darley swore Rogelio Muñoz as Uvalde County Judge in 1978 to fulfill the unexpired term of the late David White Sr. Judge Darley was once a staunch conservative who opposed single-member districts for the election of county commissioners and the Food Stamp Program. Through the years, he softened into a supporter of progressive causes. Courtesy of El Uvalde Times.

Rogelio Muñoz in 1985 with his parents, Fructuoso and Armandina Muñoz, and his brother Oscar Muñoz after being sworn in as District Attorney for Uvalde, Real and Medina counties. Rogelio’s success in life is repeated in the lives of numerous mejicanos across South Texas. Courtesy of the author.

Rogelio F. Muñoz and his wife Ana Luna Muñoz. Courtesy of the author.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Pat Tafolla Pérez: A short life full of promise

In 1935, Enrique “Pat” Tafolla Pérez, also known as Henry, was a high school senior who played on the offensive line for the Uvalde Coyotes football team. That year, the team won the regional championship. His story reminds us, once again, that it is often the young who dare to stand up to injustice, come what may. Pat was a conscientious young man who could not accept that his mother and little sister, Anna Castro (now Rivera), were not allowed to sit in the center section of The Strand Theatre. The owner of the theatre reacted to Pat’s courteous but firm argument and allowed Pat to remove the rope that once segregated whites from mejicanos and blacks in the theatre.

In Carmen Iruegas’ book, Uvalde Families Through 150 Years (2006), Pat’s younger brother, Louis Tafolla Castro, recounts a detailed account of Pat’s heroic service during World War II. We learn that the Castro family’s history of military service dates back to 1855:

After high school, Pat attended the University of Texas in Austin. On November 8, 1942, he left

the university to enlist as an aviation cadet in the Army Air Corps in San Antonio, Texas. He

came home on leave and married his sweetheart, Nancy Cervantes. After a brief honeymoon,

he returned to his next military assignment, never to return home.

He was sent to California for pilot training, where he completed pre-flight schooling on

schedule, but since he suffered from air sickness, his training was switched, and he was sent

to aerial gunnery school. He was eventually assigned to the 390th Bomb Group, 8th Air Force,

and was sent to Parham, Suffolk, England, where he was a member of Crew 13, 569th Bomb

Squadron as a Ball Turret Gunner. This position is the least desirable on a B-17 Flying Fortress

because the gunner operates his twin 50-caliber machine guns in a fetal position, and there

needs to be more room for movement. The gunner remains in this position from entering an

area where the enemy might be present until they reach their target and return. To reach the

target may take hours of flying. The gunner could be trapped in the turret when the hydraulic-

operated turret becomes jammed if it is damaged by flak or gunfire. If the gunner is not rescued

by other crew members and the ship explodes or crashes, survival is not likely. The turret is

located on the underside of the plane.

Pat flew his first two 25 combat missions with the 569th Bomb Squadron, 390th Bomb Group.

While assigned to this unit, he was Ball Turret Gunner on Crew 13. This was one of the original

35 crews deployed to Framlingham, England, in August 1943. He flew 20 of the required 25

missions with Lt. William A. Royal as Aircraft Commander on the “Royal Flush” and the other

five in various aircraft. Their targets were primarily in Germany and France.^[225]

Louis detailed all the fifty missions Pat completed in World War II. We move now to read Louis’ account of the last and fatal mission:

On August 16, 1944, Pat was on his 50th mission, which would complete his second

consecutive combat tour and possibly return to the United States. The mission was to Haile,

Germany, targeting oil refineries and aircraft factories. The 91st BG flew a successful but costly

mission on this day. Again, Pat was flying with the new crew on “Texas Chubby-The J’ville

Jolter.” Pat and Sergeant Joseph R. Morrison were filling in for two sergeants wounded on a

mission that day.

Pat's squadron, the 324th Bomb Squadron, had dropped about one minute behind the Group

formation. The German fighters then disappeared behind the Group formation. Shortly after

that, the squadron's tail gunners saw what they thought was the overdue American fighter

escort approaching from out of the sun at 0600 o’clock level. It was immediately obvious,

however, that it was the German fighters coming back!

While out of range of the B-17s’ machine guns, the fighters began lobbing 20- and 30-mm

cannon shells with timed fuses into the 324th Bomb Squad formation. “Texas Chubby--The

J’Ville Jolter” was immediately hit in several places. The instrument panel was shot to pieces,

the engines started running away, and the controls were out. Lt. Halstead Sherrill flipped on the

automatic pilot, and nothing happened. Cannon shells exploded in the Top Turret, killing the

gunner, Staff Sgt. Vernon E. Bauerline. Both legs of the Waist Gunner, Sgt. Joseph R.

Morrison were blown off. The radio Operator, Sgt. Richard J. Munkwitz went back to help Sgt.

Morrison put on an emergency chute and bailed out. Morrison didn’t make it out of the plane.

Then, the Ball Turret took a direct hit, killing Pat instantly. “Texas Chubby” pitched up and then

dropped off on her right wing. As it went down, she just missed another B-17 going down with

fire streaming from the engines.^[226]

It was the 25th and last flight, and the completion of Pat's final mission and his second consecutive tour, when their plane was shot down. The Army Air Corps notified the family that he was missing in action. A year later, they changed his status to killed in action, but the family was provided with few specifics about his death. It was not until the early 1990s that the family learned of World War II documents and released the information to the general public. Among this information were the missing air crew reports, which aircrew survivors prepared. Through research provided by Martin H. Havelaar in his book, The Ragged Irregulars of Bassingbourn, 91st Bombardment Group in World War H, and Lowell Getz’s book, Mary Ruth Memories of Mobile— We Still Remember, Louis Tafolla Castro was able to reconstruct the military record of his brother Pat. He also credits Gary Price, nephew of Sergeant Joseph E. Radecki, a wounded ball turret gunner Pat replaced when he went down, and Joe Tafolla, his cousin, who started the research on the family’s history.

Pat was buried in the US Military Cemetery, Neuville-en-Condroz, Belgium, and subsequently returned to the U. S. at the request of his widow, Nancy Cervantes Pérez. His final resting place is the National Cemetery, Fort Sam Houston, in San Antonio. He was 26 years old when he died.

The Castro family history of military service begins with James (Santiago) Tafolla, Pat and Louis’ great-grandfather, who was born July 23, 1837, in Santa Fe, New Mexico. He enlisted in the Union Army on April 1, 1855, at Fort McHenry, Maryland. He was sent to Texas and crossed the Red River from Indian Territory on December 25, 1855. He arrived at Fort Mason on January 14, 1346, allowing him to claim that he was the first Tafolla in Texas. He joined the Confederate Army as a bugler in a cavalry outfit. In his autobiography, he relates stories of the army using camels instead of horses because they were better suited to perform in extremely dry environments. He also describes a skirmish with Indians in which he was wounded. Gabriel Tafolla, son of James, was born in 1866. At 16, Gabriel became a schoolteacher in Uvalde, Texas.^{^[227]}

Ysidro Castañeda Castro was born in Eagle Pass, Texas, in 1889. He was in the infantry during World War I. He was on his way to France when a pandemic hit, killing thousands all over the country. His unit was quarantined while waiting for transportation at Camp Upton, New York. The entire unit was in the hospital when the war came to an end. He returned to Uvalde and, with thirteen or fourteen other veterans, became a charter member of American Legion 479.

In addition to Pat, two of his brothers also served in the military. Ernest Tafolla Castro retired from the Air Force as a Master Sergeant after twenty-five years of service. He served in the Office of Special Investigations (OSI) and Strategic Air Command (SAC).

Louis Castro also served in the Air Force, was deployed overseas with the US Air Force in Europe, and was a member of the Occupation Forces at the Rhein Air Base in Frankfurt, Germany. He participated in the Berlin Airlift, controlling the flow of aircraft that supplied the 2,000,000 citizens of Berlin who had been shut off from the rest of the world by the German blockade. Back in the US, Louis re-enlisted at Randolph AFB, Texas. He was appointed Non-Commissioned Officer-In-Charge of the Air Force Academy and Air Crew Examining Center. He continued to serve in various assignments until his retirement at the Greater Pittsburgh International Airport, Pennsylvania.

Robert Louis Castro, Louis’s son, followed in his parents’ footsteps when he joined the Air Force. He served during the Vietnam War and is entitled to the National Defense Service and Good Conduct Medal.

This account is a brief and edited version of the complete story written by Louis Tafolla Castro. We are grateful he responded to Carmen’s call to submit family stories for her book, Uvalde Families Through 150 Years (2006). Before the invitation, he had already researched his brother Pat Tafolla because he felt it was important to honor him by sharing his story. It is another one of those stories that mejicanos have “carved” and that must be written. These stories augment the intelligence, dedication, and love for our country in our communities of mejicanos that have not been fully taught in our schools. Just like the escuelitas (little schools)^{^[228]} that parents in the past created to “home-school” their children because Anglos were neglecting them, today, we too can enhance the education of our children by introducing them to the many resources now available to them. Carmen Ibarra lruegas was way ahead of many of us in her quest to document our stories and invite others, like Louis Tafolla Castro, to do the same. There are other stories in her book that should be fully published.

Pat Tafolla and Nancy Cervantes on their wedding day. Their story in Uvalde resembles the stories of so many young couples during World War II, and in every war across the world. Courtesy of Anna Castro Rivera.

Sgt. Enrique “Pat” Tafolla Pérez gave his short life for the freedom we now enjoy locally and nationally. Uvalde’s pride in him and all veterans is everlasting. Courtesy of Anna Castro Rivera.

Among the bravest soldiers in World War II were the members of the Bomb Groups. We must never forget their heroism for the cause of freedom. 91st Bomb Group (H) “Just Plain Lonesome”. (Back row, left to right) S/Sgt. Fred R. Honey, Waist Gunner, Detroit, Mich.; T/Sgt. Gerard J. Bradley, Top Turret Gunner/Engineer, Shamokin, PA.; Sgt. Enrique (Pat) Tafolla Perez, Ball Turret Gunner, Uvalde, TX, London Iowa; S/Sgt. Edward J. Cook, Radioman, Newark, N.J.; (S/Sgt. Tommy Cogdill, Waist Gunner, not in photo). (Front row, left to right) Lt. Richard M. Carlson, Co-Pilot, Glendale, CA., Lt. Ronald J. Nichols, Pilot; Lt. Stanley Sweitzer, Navigator, Louisville, KY; Lt. Fredric T. Neel Jr. Bombardier. (Courtesy of Anna Castro Rivera and the National Archives, from the Army Air Corps., Air Force Holdings, 342-FH-3A10628-A62764).

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Javier Flores, from a challenging childhood to Uvalde school board president

One day in 1970, in a classroom in Batesville, Texas, a scene unfolded that left a lasting memory for one of the little boys in that class. Batesville is a small town about 20 miles from Uvalde, under the jurisdiction of the Uvalde Independent School District. The teacher was spanking the students because they did not understand their lessons. One little boy had already gotten spanked in front of the class and was crying, and Javier Flores knew he would be next. He told himself he would not let the teacher and the class see him cry. He doesn’t remember how many times she spanked him, but he remembers she was out of breath and gave up when he, too, began to cry.

As an eight-year-old immigrant child in Batesville, Javier could not understand why mejicanos were segregated and why most of his teachers had little patience with him and his classmates. Although his father spoke English, Javier was frustrated because his father didn’t speak it or teach it to him at home. Coming into school without knowing English, being poor, and his parents not even aware of how he was being treated at school, he somehow managed to survive. He fondly remembers two of his teachers, Mrs. Betty Bell Brown and Mrs. Virginia Davidson, who tried so diligently to teach him English. At first, it did not make sense to Javier because he could tell that she struggled to translate the material to Spanish and that teaching it was an additional challenge. “I could not understand why she was teaching me and not somebody else,” he said, “someone more qualified. I am glad she and I had the patience to work together.” Later, Mrs. Davidson recognized his potential and consistently encouraged him to improve his grades. She gave him encouragement and support at a pivotal point in his life when he was on the verge of giving up. After he retired from the military and saw her again, she told him she was proud of him and his accomplishments. “I am glad I didn’t disappoint her,” said Javier.

Javier continued:

The segregation within the school was really obvious. On one side, you had the Anglos, and on

the other side, the Hispanics. I found out that both did not want to associate with a new

immigrant like me, and it took me about half a school year to finally get somebody to talk to me.

Being poor didn’t help either; having a limited number of clothes to wear was another reason

for others to make fun of you. Being bullied from all sides taught me that staying silent and not

reacting to their words made it more frustrating for them. Ignoring them made them stop.

I don’t think my father was well prepared when he moved us to Batesville, into a small house

that lacked furniture. I remember feeling helpless with no one to turn to with school matters. I

could not ask my parents for assistance because they couldn’t help me, and grown-ups often

worked together, so the child was always wrong.

Feeling helpless and having no rights didn’t stop me from continuing my education. Starting

school at a late age in the United States, and not knowing English, prevented me from being

placed in a grade according to my age. If I had stayed and finished high school, I would have

graduated at the age of 20. This wasn't very comfortable for me, and it was one of the reasons

why I joined the Marine Corps. I not only completed my education but also served my country

honorably.

It was in that classroom in 1970, when I was being punished for not knowing the English

language, that I had less than a year to learn that. I learned to control pain. Later, it came in

handy in the Marine Corps, and I still use the mantra—put mind over matter; if you don’t mind,

it won't matter.

I never imagined that one day I would be leading an entity outside the military world. The

Marines taught me that everybody is the same and that there is no difference in skin color. We

got yelled at the same way, and only when we did wrong. It was all about learning from our

mistakes and moving on. My military experience as a supervisor has proven helpful in my

current role. To lead effectively, one must consider the entire picture, complete the mission,

and adhere to all established rules and policies. Our decisions will affect others, and it is

essential to accept the mistakes that we make. People will respect you more when you admit

your mistakes, showing you are human. Taking advice can make you a better person because

others may see aspects of yourself that you don’t.

My role models growing up were my parents and one of my teachers. Even if we didn't have all

the luxuries we wanted, our parents still provided for us and ensured we had food. We always

had a roof over our heads and went from renting to buying property and building a house. One

of my greatest satisfactions was that while I was in the service, I could return the love and

support my parents gave me by helping them financially.

My memorable experiences in the Marine Corps were numerous, and I want to pass them on to

my children and all the students I talk to. My advice for our youth as future leaders is to respect

everybody, young and old, and respect works both ways. It’s important to lead from the front

and not be afraid to get your hands dirty. Your followers will follow you when you show them

you will work with them. It’s always a team effort, and treating everybody how you want to be

treated is important. To be a great leader, you must first be a great follower. Learn how they

lead with authority, passively, or a combination of both. Study the situation and read to educate

yourself.

My decision to run for the school board stemmed from the school district’s changes that would

impact Batesville students without being transparent with their parents. The first of these

decisions was to move the high school students from Batesville in 1973 and, soon after, the

junior high students to Uvalde schools. I knew there were reasons for doing this, but these

were kept from the public.

I addressed the school board and pointed out that they were making decisions based on the

superintendent's recommendations but that they were the ones running the district and not him.

I also emphasized that they violated the federal lawsuit (the Genoveva Morales case), which

required them to obtain permission from the court to relocate students. I suspected the district

was going broke because a board member had asked why the fund balance^[229] was that low at

an earlier board meeting. He wanted to know how the money had been spent, and the

superintendent was unable to provide an explanation.

In Batesville, we organized a committee with the rest of the town to prevent the movement of

children. When I was unable to get answers by addressing the board, I realized we had to seek

a higher authority. Texas State Representative Tracy O. King set up a meeting between us and

the State Commissioner of Education. The commissioner could not believe what was

happening but told us that since elected officials made the decisions, he had no authority over

how the district was being run. He advised me to run for the school board, stating that I would

have a better chance of making a difference by being part of the decision-making process.

During my campaign, I highlighted numerous discrepancies within the district, which taxpayers

agreed with and voted for me on.

As a school board member, I went in trying to figure out what to expect. The first training I

attended was on the Open Meetings Act and the Freedom of Information Act offered by the

Attorney General. Since I had worked and testified against the district alongside MALDEF^[230]

in the Morales case, David Hinojosa, one of the MALDEF attorneys, offered us training on the

rights of parents. I also read and asked questions to help me better advocate for the children.

Only orientation or training was provided to new board members if requested by the board. It

was a process of learning as you go and asking a lot of questions.

Interaction with other board members needed more trust. It was understandable because I had

testified against them in federal court and revived a case that had been dormant for quite some

time. My testimony in that case was vital because I spoke as a concerned parent from

Batesville. As parents, we saw ourselves as the stepchildren of the school district, being left out

of programs offered in Uvalde and needing more concern with how our students were being

educated.

I also caused problems with the district by pointing out discrepancies that needed to be

corrected. I knew my responsibility as a board member was to protect the child first and then

the teacher. I wanted to advocate for them and ensure that our tax dollars were spent wisely.

When I became a board member, we scrutinized purchases more closely. For example, we

asked why we were buying from the middleman when we could go straight to the source and

save money. We also requested that department heads attend board meetings, primarily when

they have submitted bills for approval. This way, the people directly involved with the expenses

we must approve can answer any questions they may have.

Numerous changes have been implemented since I joined the board of trustees. Settling the

Morales federal case was one of the most important ones. This case took 47 years to resolve,

and I was unable to determine the total amount spent on legal fees. I have asked, but it has

been challenging to obtain a comprehensive figure. All that money should have been

spent on the children instead. MALDEF attorney David Hinojosa stated that the case made

history by being the first case lost by a school district.

I am proud to have been on the board when we finally settled the case on January 31,

2017.^[231] The board hired a consultant in 2014 to bring the school district into compliance with

the consent decree. We realized that we now shared the same goals and vision of Mrs.

Genoveva Morales in her lawsuit: to provide equal education to all children.

In our school district, we now offer several programs that enhance educational opportunities for

our students. The dual credit program allows students to attend college classes while still

enrolled in high school. These credits could earn them an associate degree, or the students

can use them when they attend college after graduation. Dual language allows everybody to

learn to read and write in Spanish at an early age. Once the students get a higher grade, they

can choose whether to continue in this program. The district offers free lunch to everyone,

ensuring that our students receive the nutrition they need.

We have improved the dialogue between the students we serve and our staff in several ways.

With our Student Voices initiative, we meet with students to get their input on how our

decisions are affecting them and about the education they are receiving. The students share

their honest opinions and offer recommendations. We should not continue a program that is not

helping them.

We now conduct an annual survey of all staff, where they answer questions anonymously

without fear of retaliation from the central office. We base our adjustments to how we run the

district on their answers. We conducted a pay study to ensure that everyone was being paid

fairly and competitively compared to the surrounding districts. We offer higher educational

opportunities for our staff. Teachers wishing to acquire a master’s degree, for example, are

assisted financially with the requirement to serve in our district for two years after they obtain

their degree.

The board now carefully reviews all bills paid by the district to ensure taxpayers' money is

being spent wisely. Nine years ago, when I got elected, the fund balance was $500,000, and

now it is close to $8 million. This is important in unexpected situations such as the recent

government shutdown. We worked with those on our staff who were affected by it and helped

them with their financial needs.

I am on the board of trustees because I sincerely care about our children. I believe that parents

are often not involved in their children’s education or well-being. In many cases, the child is not

being protected by all the grown-ups. We fail to realize that the children are the reason the

district exists. Sometimes, I have to be politically correct and not comment publicly, but the

reality is that parents have children for the benefits and not the responsibilities.

The district is an educational facility designed to educate, not raise children. Teachers teach

science, math, social studies, and so on, but when it comes to discipline and how they treat

others and the elderly, respect is often taught at home. What is taught at school is practiced at

home through homework, and what is taught at home should be practiced at school or in

public. Their actions reflect how the parents raised them. If parents are involved in everything

the child does all the time, they are also preparing them for their future. One day, they will be

running their communities and the world and making the decisions that will affect us when we

are old.

Parents and children have rights; know them and practice them. My advice is to speak up when

you see something done wrong and correct it. Failure to do so will result in you being held

accountable, just like the one responsible for the wrongdoing. Our citizens should be part of the

solution and not part of the problem.

I am very concerned about the move to privatize our schools because we will lose

representation from the public board of trustees, which currently serves as the advocate for

parents and children. Private schools cherry-pick their students and will not accept special

needs students. This is unfair to the child because these private entities can choose which

student can attend their educational institution. Private schools reduce state funding for public

schools, thereby hurting the students of parents who cannot afford private school tuition.

I am fortunate that my colleagues on the board of trustees share my goals and vision. Thus, we

can continue to work on improving the quality of education for our students and addressing

existing problems. It takes all seven members to move forward.^[232]

Javier Flores served honorably in the United States Marine Corps for 22 years. He received his high school diploma from Central Texas College of Killeen, Texas, and an associate degree from the National University in San Diego, California. He and his wife, Juanita, have three daughters, Stephanie, Angel, and Amber, and they are the grandparents of Leeroy Javier and Sophia. He is a member of the Knights of Columbus.

The 2019 Uvalde School Board comprises Javier Flores, President; Luis Fernandez, Vice President; Robert Fowler, Secretary; and trustees Elissa Gonzalez, Laura Perez, Roland Sanchez, and Anabel White. Dr. Hal Harrell is the Superintendent.

MSgt. Javier Flores had an impressive career in the US Marine Corps. He served in Operation Desert Shield, Desert Storm, Sea Fire Campaign, and Sea Angel. He is the current president of the Uvalde School Board. Courtesy of Javier Flores.

EPILOGUE

The scope of this book began with the story of a World War Il veteran who was a great storyteller and was willing to record his memories while sitting all alone. He allowed us to hear his overwhelming sadness for the friends he lost in the war and, later, his cries of pain for his father and his son. We became aware of the misery of war, of the young men who longed to see their parents and sweethearts and found comfort in the songs they sang or heard. Through Willie, we learned that we can find friendship even among our enemies during war. We saw young men come home wiser and more determined to improve the lives of those they left behind. Willie’s love for his hometown was evident in his sadness for the difficult lives they had endured for so long. He opened his heart to us and gave us his story as a gift for generations to come. He documented stories we would not have known without his recordings. By telling us about his friends, he has brought them to life and given them their rightful place in the story of our side of Uvalde.

For years, Willie De León longed for more compassion from the Anglos. His sadness and helplessness also led me to write about others in Uvalde who, like Willie, wanted to bring about positive change. This book is incomplete because so many other stories must be written. Time and health constraints limited the stories I have included. Still, I dream that more writers from Uvalde and surrounding communities will emerge, as many accounts about our region remain to be written.

As a first-time author, I will undoubtedly face criticism for my writing, but my fear of a negative response has never held me back from writing what needs to be said. The title of my editorial column in El Uvalde Times was “This I Have To Say,” so consider the expressed opinions in this book as a very long This I Have To Say column.

One of my greatest joys in writing this book was reconnecting with friends from my past and reminiscing about the many experiences we shared. If we hadn’t looked in the mirror and just talked on the telephone, we would have felt as young as we were when we were either friends in school or activists during the civil rights movement era. We reflected in awe at what we dared to dream, and how we had not realized the enormity of the oppression we were trying to change.

One of the most recurring phrases I kept saying as I wrote was, “And yet we survived.” My generation faced discrimination, and many of us became angry about it; we did what we could to demand change. Our experiences, however, pale in comparison to what those who lived here years before us had experienced. They lived in this region when the Ku Klux Klan was committing its atrocities, marching down their streets to intimidate them. Men who owned businesses here, government officials, educators, and Protestant ministers— were Klan members. They manipulated their religious faith to justify their actions.

Mejicanos of that time did back-breaking work clearing land or traveled far from home where work was available. They faced poverty and humiliation each day and persisted. They must be remembered and honored. Oppression was a strategy to keep mejicanos as cheap labor. By denying past generations their education, generations of children lost their education, the basis for a better life, because their parents were poor and the Anglos in power wanted to keep them that way. They were insistent that we stay dependent on them for our livelihood. When we did manage to obtain college degrees or experience at our jobs, we were denied jobs and promotions, especially in the education field. However, our population provided Anglos with their livelihoods.

When it came time to fight distant wars, our soldiers were good enough to die for our country but not good enough to have a meal in their restaurants, have a beer, a cup of coffee, or watch a movie with the dignity we deserved. Twenty-one mejicanos died in World War II, and ten of our own died in Vietnam, and still, that was not enough to break the iron-clad tradition of disdain, abuse, and educational neglect. In Uvalde, there are still two chapters of the American Legion to this day because the old white guard wanted it that way. How can individuals who read the Bible, attend church regularly, and pray to God reconcile their actions, even today?

During the walkout, Al Dishman, the school president, was given ample space in the Uvalde Leader-News to express his idea of being righteous in defending the board’s actions. He was lecturing us for refusing to end the walkout. I interpret his writings as saying: “In this country, the majority rules. We are the majority, and you people have to abide by it. So, if the majority doesn’t want to provide equal education, not hire your people to teach in our schools, etc., etc., that’s how it is. How dare you protest our power over you?” It was as if the letter written to Cirilo Mata from the White Caps back in the 1920s (see Mr. Mata’s story) was floating in Mr. Dishman’s head as he wrote his comments. The damage of past Anglo generations is everlasting.

The school walkout shook Uvalde to its core; the animosity and daring insults were felt in many aspects of our lives. In the end, every step those children of the school walkout took in protest, every tear of desperation their parents wept, every passionate word written in the students’ Chicano Times, every shout of Viva La Raza by the activists—all of that was worth the price, for they won the lawsuits that forced the changes we were to witness.

Although some Anglos began sending their children to nearby school districts or private schools here to avoid having their children mix with mejicano children, others have extended their friendship and supported us. In some letters to the editor of the Uvalde Leader-News, primarily from former Uvaldeans like John Gorman and Bill Kimble, we hear them understanding us and criticizing the obstinate school board. Fearing reprisal from their community, few Anglos would not openly support us, but following the walkout, there were some attempts at fairness. When the lawsuits were settled and the desegregation of the schools was gradually implemented, we began to see Mexican Americans being promoted to supervisory positions. Change did come, and we saw more interaction with Anglos. The spirit of the old white establishment still hovers over Uvalde, but with each new generation comes a refreshing spirit and a more united community. Hope springs eternal.

Someone told me recently that people don’t read books anymore, that perhaps my writing was a futile attempt. As I type in the quiet of the morning, sitting on my comfortable couch with my feet propped up, surrounded by good lighting and a cup of coffee, I am transported to a world that has always been there, waiting to be revisited and discovered. I am moved by the stories I have found. As I read a copy of the article, written on a day in May 1946, about the history of American Legion Post 479, I had a vision of David M. Ortiz, Legion Commander, handwriting the information about the Legion and then walking into the Uvalde Leader-News. I imagined the long-forgotten typist whose name I do not see and the linotype setter who took each letter of every word in that paper and created the story. By doing that, I traveled on time. I thanked all of them for helping me, as well as the families of the soldiers and other heroes I am writing about, for bringing our loved ones back to life. Simply by talking to friends who remember the men and women in this book, I am happy, and it does not matter that many people may not read these lines because I know some will.

Alfredo Santos must have had the same experience when he carefully found the pictures of each young man who died in Vietnam and placed them on his memorial wall for his book, Recuerdos de Uvalde. Writing a book can be lonely, but it is also sheer joy! My book may sit on a shelf and be forgotten, but just as I have found the writings of people from long ago, all of us who helped create this book will tell you now that it is our gift to you reading it now. It is from our today that we say hello to you, alive now or in the future. We hope to inspire you to write and answer the call others made to me: “Write my story.”

How this book came about

The circumstances surrounding the creation of this book will explain the length of time it took to complete. I published some memories of Staff Sergeant Guillermo “Willie” De León in Spanish in the June 8, 1991, issue of my then monthly bilingual newspaper, El Uvalde Times. On July 13, 1991, I published that story in English. The title of that account was “Willie’s Farewell from Europe,” based on Willie’s recordings. It is now 2019, and I find myself, at the age 74, wishing I could listen to all ten tapes Willie recorded when he was still alive. He died on August 22, 1993.

The El Uvalde Times was started in Uvalde and ran from November 1977 to March 1980. I was forced to close the newspaper due to rising printing costs. As the newspaper gained popularity, it created more work for my small staff. Caring for my family and running my fledgling business became impossible. At that time, Southwestern Bell Telephone Company was centralizing its operations and needed help closing down the local business office in Uvalde, where I had previously worked for seven years. I was given my job back and was to work only until the office was moved to San Antonio. My husband, Richard, loved San Antonio and wanted us to move there. Since jobs with good benefits were scarce in Uvalde, when the company agreed to rehire me full-time, we had to sadly give up our dream of running a bilingual newspaper and begin a new life in San Antonio.

Tragedy struck my family when my eighteen-year-old son Ricky died on February 15, 1987. After several years of mourning this terrible loss, a mourning that never really ends, I decided to revive my newspaper for Uvalde as a monthly publication. Sometime in 1991, my friend Alfredo Santos from Austin, Texas, and publisher of La Voz newspapers, told me about a new software program called PageMaker, which reduced publishing work immensely. The original newspaper was created by columnizing the text, waxing, cutting the columns, and doing manual paste-up. PageMaker did all that and so much more! Although this component of the business was easier, commuting to Uvalde was challenging. I would travel to Uvalde once or twice a month for important meetings such as those of the school board or the city council. I would return home late and then go to work the next day. On weekends, I would often go back to sell advertising. Some friends who believed in the newspaper sold advertising, helped with deliveries, and submitted stories. I would write articles and create ads. Somehow, Richard and I managed to keep up this pace while holding full-time jobs. By this time, our daughter Masiel was away at college, and when she came home, she and her future husband Ray Vars would assist in editing our newspaper.

It was under these circumstances that I received the request to interview Willie. The idea of having him record his stories was a matter of pure necessity due to the lack of time to conduct an in-person interview. Inadvertently, however, the idea of the recordings resulted in this invaluable recorded oral history Willie has left for us.

Because I asked Willie to talk to the recorder as if I were there with him, occasionally, in this book, he says, “I tell you, Olga,” or “as I explained to you before.” I wasn't there as he anguished with some of his memories, as when he lost his comrades in battle, or when he remembered his father, or when he cried for his oldest son, Willie Jr., who was killed in Vietnam. I admire his willingness to relate his stories, sitting alone in his bedroom. Later, I heard from the recordings that when he went to visit his sister in Iowa, Ventura Rocha, he continued recording there.

Most of my writing occurred while recovering from a series of illnesses typical of old age. My eyesight and my memory are not what they used to be, but my promise to Willie to write his stories is the force that drove me to finish this book.

The author, Olga Muñoz Rodríquez. Courtesy of the author.

Acknowledgments

This book is a long-delayed promise to my friend Willie De León. I owe him the inspiration and the commitment to write his story. That commitment then evolved into a reflection on so many unsung heroes in our community to whom we owe the better lives we all live today.

At home, I had my greatest supporter, my husband Richard. The dream of writing this book is not the only “way-out” dream he has encouraged me to pursue. First, it was my newspaper, El Uvalde Times; then, my return to college to obtain my Bachelor of Arts degree; and finally, my master’s degree in business. Writing this book at least kept me at home, but absent, as I concentrated on researching in long telephone conversations, and writing. His patience and support were unwavering, and his increasing cooking skills kept me well-nourished.

To Alfredo Santos, appreciation is due to his constant support, advice, and knowledge. Sóstenes Rocha Jr., Willie De León’s nephew and family historian, was immensely helpful by sharing a huge volume of Willie’s documents and family history. Others in Sóstenes’ family shared photos, documents, and recorded oral histories. Juan O. Sánchez generously shared his writing expertise and extensive research on the history of Uvalde, providing me with helpful advice and assisting in the editing process. He was there to answer my questions about preparing the manuscript, as well as the rules and guidelines to follow.

I thank Rogelio Luévano for suggesting I interview Willie; without his idea, this book may not have been written. Willie’s daughters, Delia Musquiz, Velma Roman, and Adelfa De León, his daughter-in-law, for sharing their love for Willie and their memories of him. Alex Castillo, who knows many people and is related to almost everyone in Uvalde, was willing to locate individuals I needed to interview and find photographs and other documents. Thank you, my sister Gracie Romo, for your patience in reviewing the manuscript, pointing out errors, and offering suggestions.

Because I felt it was important that other voices were heard in this book, I invited others to write and contribute their stories. I am grateful to those who willingly accepted and trusted me: Alex Castillo, Carmen Ibarra Iruegas, Rachel Gonzáles-Hanson, Robert López, Rachel, Gabriel Jr., and Nano Tafolla. Thank you, Joe Uriegas, Joe René Martínez, and my brother Rogelio Muñoz, for sharing your life experiences and allowing me to share them with our readers. I thank Javier Flores for sharing his life’s challenges and successes and giving us a hopeful view of the Uvalde school district. l am grateful to Genoveva Morales and her beautiful family for their support and friendship. Mr. Alfredo Ibarra, who departed our world so long ago, still inspires me and has left a lasting, vivid memory through his handwritten stories for my newspaper and now this book. We will never forget you. Thank you all for helping me write the stories that needed to be written. So many more should be written, and I encourage you to join me in writing them.

Since I began to plan this book seriously, I have had long and beautiful conversations with all the people I have mentioned. Some of these talks resulted in stories I did not know I would write. Sometimes, I was in awe of the stories waiting to be discovered and written. Oh, how I wish I were younger to write so much more!

Mendell Morgan, Jr., director; Virginia Davis, archivist; and Eloisa Valenzuela, a talented researcher at El Progreso Memorial Library in Uvalde, were delightful in sharing their knowledge and assisting me during several visits. Every employee there is courteous and attentive to their patrons. What an amazing gift those citizens of long ago have left for the people of Uvalde! The library is now supported by equally dedicated individuals who provide a venue for our history and the world outside of Uvalde. What joy it was to see everyone who frequented the library benefiting from its treasures.

I thank Craig Garnett, editor and publisher, and Meghann García, managing editor of the Uvalde Leader-News, for graciously allowing the use of articles and locating the pictures I needed for this book, as wells as for their lasting, loyal, and essential service of informing us about everyday news and documenting Uvalde’s history.

I thank Ryan Schumacher at the Texas State Historical Association for his prompt and courteous response to my inquiries and requests. TSHA’s website was a trove of historical information for this book and is there for all of us to enjoy and gain historical knowledge.

For a first-time author, this journey was less daunting with the support of the late Dr. Roberto Cabello-Argandoña and Leyla Namazie at Floricanto Press. I trusted them, and they trusted me. I am deeply grateful for their patience.

I thank Silvestre Ontiveros, a former Uvalde school walkout student and now the owner of Multigraphics of Houston, Texas, for being my eighteen-year-old illustrator in the early days of my newspaper, and now for patiently creating the photo for the crossing of the Rapido story.

To Dave Gutierrez, author of Patriots of the Barrio, Duane Schultz, author of Crossing the Rapido, and the publishers of the late Raul Morín’s historic book Among the Valiant, for their advice to this novice author and for allowing unlimited quotes from their books.

Last but most sincerely, I thank my high school English teacher, Mrs. Lillian Moore. Her praise for my writing in her class filled me with confidence, especially when she asked me to read aloud a short story about a cockroach I named Trubenclotches. He lived in the trunk of the revolutionary fictional character Johnny Tremain. Trubenclotches was able to tell “other stories” about Johnny Tremain that Mrs. Moore's assignment required us to create. In my story, one day, when Johnny Tremain came home from a long trip, as he rushed in to greet his wife, Trubenclotches dashed out of the trunk, and Jonny Tremain squashed him and ended his life.

I also hold dear the memory of another English teacher, McAfee Daniel, for inspiring us to fall in love with English literature and theatrical plays. He organized field trips to Incarnate Word University in San Antonio, allowing us to experience Shakespearean plays. I can still recite a few lines of his required assignment to memorize from Geoffrey Chaucer's Canterbury Tales:

Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote,

The droghte of March hath perced to the roote

And bathed every veyne in switch licour...

I still feel sad about the discouragement we often received from some teachers and administrators in the past; their disdain also inspired us to excel despite their ways.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Each one of these books is recommended reading.

Acosta, Teresa Palomo, and Ruthe Winegarten. 2003. Las Tejanas: 300 Years of History. Jack and Doris Smothers Series in Texas History, Life, and Culture. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press.

El Progreso Club. 1975. A Proud Heritage, Uvalde. Uvalde, TX: El Progreso Club.

Fenley, Florence. 1939. Oldtimers: Their Own Stories. Uvalde, TX: Hornby Press.

Fenley, Florence. 1957. Oldtimers of the Southwest. Uvalde, TX: Hornby Press.

García-Falcón, Leticia. 1998. Gente Decente: Borderlands Response to the Rhetoric of Dominance. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press.

Gutiérrez, Dave. 2014. Patriots of the Barrio: The True WWII Story of the Men Who Served in the US Army's All-Mexican-American Combat Unit, the 36th Division 141st Regiment 2nd Battalion Company E. [n.p.]: Xlibris LLC.

Ibarra, Alfredo. 1979. "Lilliput Challenges Goliath." [n.p.]: Unpublished stories submitted to El Uvalde Times.

Iruegas, Ibarra Carmen. 2006. Uvalde Families Through 150 Years. Uvalde: [n.p.].

Leibovitz, Liel, and Matthew Hiller. 2009. The Soldiers' Song of World War II. New York, NY: WW Norton & Company, Inc.

Lewis, Norman. 2016. Naples ‘44: A World War II Diary of Occupied Italy. New York: Open Road Media.

Martinez, Muñoz, Monica. 2018. The Injustice Never Leaves You. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Morin, Raúll. 2016. Among the Valiant: Mexican-Americans in WWII and Korea. Originally published in 1961. [n.p.]: Pickle Partners Publishing. eBook.

Ortega, Samuel S., & Hernández, Arnulfo Jr. 2015. The Men of Company E Toughest Chicano Soldiers of World War II, 2nd Battalion, 141 Infantry Regiment, 36th Texas Infantry Division. [n.p.]: Samuel Ortega and Arnulfo Hernández Jr.

Sánchez, Juan Omega. Encina: The Uvalde School Walkout. PhD diss., Sul Ross State University, 1992.

Sánchez, Juan Omega. 2016. Religion and the Ku Klux Klan: Biblical Appropriation in Their Literature and Songs. Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland.

Sánchez, Juan Omega. 2018. The Ku Klux Klan's Campaign Against Hispanics, 1921-1925: Rhetoric, Violence and Response in the American Southwest. McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers. Kindle Edition.

Santos, Alfredo. 2004. Recuerdos de Uvalde, Texas, a Collection of Short Stories, Interviews and Photos of the People of Uvalde, Texas. Nopalitos Press.

Schultz, Duane. 2010. Crossing the Rapido, A Tragedy of World War II. Yardley, PA: Westholme Publishing. LLC.

Swift, Johnathan. 2014. Gulliver's Travels. Toronto, ON: Joe Books, Inc.

Walker, Fred L., and Texas Military Forces Historical Foundation. 2014. From Texas To Rome with General Fred L. Walker. Originally published 1969. Digital First Edition, From Texas to Rome, Taylor Publishing Company.

RECOMMENDED WEBSITES

National Archives:

Veterans Service Records

Educator Resources

https://www.archives.gov/veterans

The Virtual Wall

Vietnam Veterans Memorial

An online version of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in

Washington, D.C., with a personal memorial for each American

military casualty of the Vietnam War. The memorial pages have

photographs and personal tributes sent to this website by relatives

and friends.

https://www.virtualwall.org/

Bullock Texas State Historical Museum

1800 Congress Ave

Austin, TX 78701

https://www.thestoryoftexas.com/

Refusing to Forget

An educational non-profit dedicated to bringing public awareness

to the often-forgotten period between 1910 and 1920 to raise the

profile of a struggle for justice and civil rights that continues to influence social relationships today

https://refusingtoforget.org/

Texas History

Texas State Historical Association

https://tshaonline.org/handbook

Mexican Culture

Why is Cinco de Mayo so popular in the United States?

https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=1378772915483196&t=9

World War II films

36" Division Crossing the Rapido

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CCMUdxIkN9E

FRONTLINE WW2: The Battle of Salerno

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IsED1Lb6-Pw

The Deadliest Decision. 1944 Italy - 36th Infantry Division

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0oOpUFYidtM

36th Division T-Patchers at San Pietro December 1943

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e50xZqhbfh0

The Battle at Salerno

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8UaFgJWjrGo

US Soldiers Rapido River Campaign WWII, 1940s - Film 37349 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GuJZRzW1x0s

That Should Be A Movie: Crossing the Rapido

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eqc0dKoMyf8

C. W. Johnson Jr

WW II Massacre at Monte Cassino

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AkS5cMmhX1w

Songs Willie De León requested for his farewell from the German POW’s orchestra:

Lili Marlene (English version)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gBi5j7yPwd0

South of the Border

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9HFdJlFPFsw

Deep in the Heart of Texas

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5FZZna_3f_0

Songs mentioned in Willie’s story

Caminos de Tierra

Written by Joe Solís

(The singer is not identified)

Appears in the album Ya me Cansé by David Lee Garza

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EpdWzYJOCn0

EI Sol Que Tu Eres

Álbum name: Canciones de mi Padre, by Linda Ronstadt

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GsHwny1GYGQ&list=RDGsHwny1GYGQ&start_radio=

Lyrics are in the public domain.

Charlie Robinson, Uvalde-Leader News, July 31, 2017. ↑
Eugene C. Barker, “Mexican Colonization Laws,” Handbook of Texas Online, Texas State Historical Association, accessed July 3, 2025, www.tshaonline.org/handbook/entries/mexican-colonization-laws.
↑
Texas Historical Commission. “How Did Empresarios Attract Colonists?” San Felipe de Austin State Historic Site Learning Guide, Grades 4 & 7. Accessed June 10, 2024. https://www.thc.texas.gov/public/upload/publications/Education/VFTd_SFDA_Attracting%20Colonists_3.pdf. ↑
“Despite popular assumptions that vigilantism in the nineteenth century occurred primarily in regions where law enforcement institutions lacked structure and social influence, vigilantism was in fact practiced in places where criminal justice systems were well-established. Violence that superseded judicial procedures regularly articulated popular distrust of the justice system or local frustration with the bureaucracy of criminal prosecution. Lynch mobs commonly took prisoners from jail even though courts would likely have sentenced them to execution. These vigilante actions, however, were tacitly sanctioned by the judicial system whenever local grand juries failed to indict or prosecute assailants who participated in mob violence.” Monica Muñoz Martinez, The Injustice Never Leaves You: Anti-Mexican Violence in Texas (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2018), 6. ↑
Office of the Historian, United States Department of State. “The Annexation of Texas, the Mexican-American War, and the Treaty of Guadalupe-Hidalgo, 1845–1848,” Milestones in the History of the US Foreign Relations, accessed July 3, 2025, https://history.state.gov/milestones/1830-1860/texas-annexation. ↑
History.com, A&E Television Networks, “This Day in History: 05/13/1846 – President Polk Declares War on Mexico,” video, accessed July 3, 2025, https://www.history.com/videos?watch=this-day-in-history-05131846-president-polk-declares-war-on-mexico. ↑
Freida R. Rogers, “History and Growth of Uvalde, Texas,” Handbook of Texas Online, accessed December 29, 2018, https://tshaonline.org/handbook/online/articles/heu03. ↑
Ralph A. Wooster, “The Impact of the Civil War on Texas: Social, Economic, and Political Changes,” Handbook of Texas Online, accessed March 20, 2025, https://www.tshaonline.org/handbook/entries/civil-war. ↑
“World War I.” History, accessed December 29, 2018, https://www.history.com/topics/world-war-i/world-war-i-history. ↑
Ben Procter, “History and Evolution of the Texas Rangers,” Handbook of Texas Online, accessed July 3, 2025, https://www.tshaonline.org/handbook/entries/texas-rangers#:~:text=The%20regular%20Rangers%2C%20along%20with,insistence%20of%20Representative%20Jos%C3%A9%20T. ↑
“Herbert Hoover,” History, accessed October 9, 2018, https://www.history.com/topics/us-presidents/herbert-hoover. ↑
Cecil Harper, Jr. and E. Dale Odom, “Farm Tenancy,” Handbook of Texas Online, accessed October 9, 2018, https://tshaonline.org/handbook/online/articles/aefmu. ↑
Cynthia E. Orozco, “The League of United Latin American Citizens: A Historical Overview,” Handbook of Texas Online, accessed December 31, 2018, https://tshaonline.org/handbook/online/articles/wel01. ↑
“Great Depression Facts,” Franklin D. Roosevelt Presidential Library and Museum, accessed December 31, 2018, https://www.fdrlibrary.org/great-depression-facts. ↑
“Selective Training and Service Act of 1940,” Wikipedia, accessed December 30, 2018, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Selective_Training_and_Service_Act_of_1940. ↑
Thomas A. Hughes and John Graham Royde-Smith, “World War II,” Britannica, accessed December 30, 2018, https://www.britannica.com/event/World-War-II. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Jim Worsham, “Victory! Americans Everywhere Celebrated the End of World War II in 1945,” *Prologue Blog*, National Archives and Records Administration, September 2, 2015, accessed December 30, 2018, https://prologue.blogs.archives.gov/2015/09/02/victory-americans-everywhere-celebrated-the-end-of-world-war-ii-in-1945/. ↑
National Archives, “Brown v. Board of Education (1954),” US National Archives and Records Administration, accessed April 27, 2019, https://www.archives.gov/education/lessons/brown-v-board. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Uvalde Leader-News, November 5, 1964. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Uvalde Leader-News, December 15, 1966; author interview with Joe Uriegas on September 5, 2018. ↑
Uvalde Leader-News, 16 April 1970; Juan O. Sánchez, “Encina: The Uvalde School Walkout” (master’s thesis, Sul Ross University), 1992, 62. ↑
MALDEF, “Morales v. Shannon,” accessed August 28, 2025, https://www.maldef.org/?s=morales+v+shannon;
Sánchez, 101. ↑
Uvalde Leader-News, October 22, 2018. ↑
Sanchez, Juan Omega. Encina: The Uvalde school walkout. Sul Ross State University, 1992, 116. ↑
Uvalde Leader-News, November 25, 1973, reprint of the Associated Press article dated November 23, 1973. ↑
Gilberto Torres was elected the first Mexican-American County Commissioner, Sánchez, 146. ↑
Uvalde Leader News, July 27, 1975; Sánchez, 101, 108. ↑
Sanchez, Encina: The Uvalde school walkout, 116. ↑
The author was the host. ↑
El Uvalde Times; the author was the publisher. ↑
El Uvalde Times, September 3, 1978. ↑
El Uvalde Times, October 15, 1978. ↑
El Uvalde Times; the author was the publisher. ↑
Sánchez, Encina: The Uvalde school walkout, 132-137. ↑
Uvalde Leader-News, November 7, 1982. ↑
Uvalde Leader-News, September 12, 1985. ↑
Election results, Uvalde Leader-News, November 10, 1988. ↑
The author was the publisher. ↑
Willie De León, recordings of his memories, cassette tapes (later converted to CDs), in the possession of Olga Rodriques. ↑
Uvalde Leader-News, November 5, 1992. ↑
Uvalde Leader-News, August 26, 1993. ↑
Uvalde Leader-News, October 14, 1993. ↑
Southwest Texas Junior College, “Former SWTJC President Passes Away,” accessed September 25, 2024, https://www.swtjc.edu/about/news/stories/former-swtjc-president-passes-away.html. ↑
Charlie Robinson, “Decades-Old UCISD Suit Resolved,” Uvalde Leader-News, accessed July 3, 2025, https://www.uvaldeleadernews.com/articles/decades-old-ucisd-suit-resolved/. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Uvalde Leader-News, September 30, 2013. ↑
Uvalde Leader-News, August 4, 2013. ↑
Robinson, “Decades-Old UCISD Suit Resolved.” ↑
Uvalde CISD, “January 2017 is School Board Recognition Month as Citizen Leaders — Individual BOA,” Facebook post, accessed March 23, 2019, https://www.facebook.com/UvaldeCISD/posts/january-2017-is-school-board-recognition-month-as-citizen-leaders-individual-boa/1409362882430104/. ↑
“Lagerführer.” Wikipedia, accessed January 14, 2019, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lagerführer. ↑
Heinz Radtke, German POW camp at Reims, France, photograph, Wikimedia Commons, accessed May 6, 2025,
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:PoW_-_Reims_Blocklager_2A.jpg. ↑
The lyrics are in the public domain. The English translation is by the author. Linda Rondstadt, Canciones de mi Padre, 1987, YouTube video, 3:47, posted by LindaRonstadt, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dHTmCrGdNzM&ab_channel=LindaRonstadt. ↑
“Chapote Tree,” Wikipedia, accessed January 3, 2019, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diospyros_texana. ↑
Sanchez, The Uvalde school walkout, 14-15. ↑
De León, recordings of his memories. ↑
Ibid. ↑
“Palo Pinto County,” Handbook of Texas Online, accessed May 1, 2018, https://tshaonline.org/handbook/online/articles/png02. ↑
Ibid. ↑
CBS News, “Texas Board Rejects Mexican-American Textbook,” accessed April 27, 2024, https://www.cbsnews.com/texas/news/texas-board-rejects-mexican-american-textbook/#. ↑
Sánchez, notes from research provided to the author. ↑
Sánchez, Encina: The Uvalde school walkout, 45. ↑
Schwartz was a general store on North Getty St. in Uvalde, Texas. ↑
De León, recordings of his memories. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Sánchez, Encina: The Uvalde school walkout, 41-42. ↑
De León, recordings of his memories. ↑
Sánchez, Encina: The Uvalde school walkout, 40-41. ↑
De León, recordings of his memories. ↑
Ibid. ↑
De León, recordings of his memories. ↑
Author interview with Joe Solis, songwriter, November 6, 2018. ↑
De León, recordings of his memories. ↑
Ibid. ↑
“Finding Aid for the Texas Office of the Governor Records, 1845-1955,” Texas State Archives, accessed February 15, 2015, https://txarchives.org/tslac/finding_aids/10134.xml. ↑
Raul Morin, Among the Valiant: Mexican-Americans in WW II and Korea (Los Angeles: Borden Pub. Co., 1963), 154-156. ↑
De León, recordings of his memories. ↑
De León, recordings of his memories. ↑
Morin, Among the Valiant, 159-162. ↑
De León, recordings of his memories. ↑
Dave Gutierrez, Patriots of the Barrio: The true WWII story of the men who served in the US Army’s all-Mexican-American combat unit, the 36th Division 141st Regiment 2nd Battalion Company E., Xlibris LLC, 2014, 184. ↑
De León, recordings of his memories. ↑
De León, recordings of his memories. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
De León, recordings of his memories. ↑
Ibid. ↑
De León, recordings of his memories. ↑
Ibid. ↑
“Nebelwerfer,” Wikipedia, accessed March 8, 2019, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nebelwerfer; “Men Referred to Them as ‘Screaming Meemies’ Because of the Sound They Made as They Blasted Through the Tortured Air,” Texas Military Forces Museum, accessed March 8, 2019, http://www.texasmilitaryforcesmuseum.org/36division/archives/443/44363.htm. ↑
De León, recordings of his memories. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Duane Schultz, “Rage Over the Rapido,” HistoryNet, accessed February 3, 2019, https://www.historynet.com/rage-over-the-Rapido.htm. ↑
Schultz, “Rage Over the Rapido.” ↑
Schultz, “Rage Over the Rapido.” ↑
Duane Schultz, Crossing the Rapido, A Tragedy of World War II (Yardley, PA: Westholme Publishing., 2010), 30. ↑
Schultz, Crossing the Rapido, 129. ↑
Fred L. Walker and Texas Military Forces Historical Foundation, From Texas to Rome (Taylor Publishing Company, 1969; Digital First Edition 2014), 5535. ↑
Schultz, Crossing the Rapido, 31. ↑
De León, recordings of his memories. ↑
Schultz, Crossing the Rapido, 197. ↑
De León, recordings of his memories. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
“Lagerführer,” Wikipedia, accessed January 14, 2019, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lagerführer.
“Schutzstaffel (SS),” Wikipedia, accessed February 27, 2025, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schutzstaffel. ↑
De León, recordings of his memories. ↑
Ibid. ↑
“V-E Day Around the World,” History, accessed January 14, 2019, https://www.history.com/news/v-e-day-around-the-world. ↑
“Germany Surrenders Unconditionally to the Allies at Reims,” History, accessed January 14, 2019, https://www.history.com/this-day-in-history/germany-surrenders-unconditionally-to-the-allies-at-reims. ↑
Spelling follows Willie De León’s pronunciation in the recording and has not been otherwise verified. ↑
De León, recordings of his memories. ↑
De León, recordings of his memories. ↑
Ibid. ↑
BBC Program, accessed March 20, 2025, https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b0367sl2. ↑
“The Song that Ruled the Airwaves during the Second World War,” Imperial War Museums, accessed March 20, 2025, https://www.iwm.org.uk/history/the-song-that-ruled-the-airwaves-during-the-second-world-war. ↑
His poem was later published in a collection of his poetry in 1938; Ibid. ↑
“Lili Marleen,” Wikipedia, accessed March 20, 2025, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lili_Marleen. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Petr Radziwill, “Marlene Dietrich and 'Lili Marleen',” YouTube, accessed March 20, 2025, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7heXZPl2hik&ab_channel=PetrRadziwill. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
De León, recordings of his memories. ↑
Ibid. ↑
De León, recordings of his memories. ↑
Cactus Jack: John Nance Garner of Texas,” Knox Focus, accessed March 20, 2025, https://www.knoxfocus.com/archives/cactus-jack-john-nance-garner-texas/. ↑
The book Willie loaned the author was A Proud Heritage: A History of Uvalde County, Texas (El Progreso Club, 1975). ↑
De León, recordings of his memories. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Everardo Maldonado’s daughter, Leticia Maldonado Medina, provided his military records, which allowed the author to correct his place of death ↑
De León, recordings of his memories. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
“Benito Mussolini,” Britannica, accessed January 15, 2019, https://www.britannica.com/biography/Benito-Mussolini. ↑
“Adolf Hitler,” Britannica, accessed January 4, 2019, https://www.britannica.com/biography/Adolf-Hitler/World-War-II. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Citation provided by the US Army, Ft. Sam Houston, in a news release that appeared in the July 4, 1968, issue of the Uvalde Leader-News. ↑
Guillermo De León Jr., “Vietnam War Gold Star Veteran from Texas,” The Wall of Honor – HonorStates.org, accessed November 20, 2025, https://www.honorstates.org/index.php?id=269392; information in quoted paragraph from program of the commemorative service for the 40th anniversary of the battle where Guillermo “Willie” De León Jr. was killed, provided by Sostenes Rocha in interview with the author. ↑
“Our Boys in Service,” Uvalde Leader-News, July 27, 1945. ↑
Olga Muñoz Rodríquez, “Willie De Leon’s…,” El Uvalde Times, July 13, 1991; related entry in the Congressional Record, vol. 159, no. 67 (Tuesday, May 14, 2013), by Hon. Pete P. Gallego of Texas, https://www.govinfo.gov/content/pkg/CREC-2013-05-14/html/CREC-2013-05-14-pt1-PgE660-3.htm. ↑
De León, recordings of his memories. ↑
Leticia M. Garza-Falcón, Gente Decente, A Borderlands Response to the Rhetoric of Dominance (Austin, TX: University of Texas Press, 1998). ↑
Monica Muñoz Martinez, The Injustice Never Leaves You (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2018). ↑
“Huckabay, Texas,” Handbook of Texas Online, accessed January 4, 2019, https://tshaonline.org/handbook/online/articles/hcu03. ↑
“Gonzales, Texas.” Handbook of Texas Online, accessed August 16, 2019, https://www.tshaonline.org/handbook/online/articles/ggt02. ↑
“Finding Aid for the University of Texas at Austin Records, 1883–present,” Texas Archival Resources, accessed August 16, 2019, https://txarchives.org/utlac/finding_aids/00352.xml. ↑
Teresa Palomo Acosta and Ruthe Winegarten, Las Tejanas: 300 Years of History (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2003), 149. ↑
Radio Bilingüe, “Why is Cinco de Mayo So Popular in the United States?” Facebook video, accessed March 20, 2025, https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=1378772915483196&t=9. ↑
Ángeles González Gamio, “Hacienda de San Diego del Jaral de Berrio,” Jornada, accessed January 13, 2019, https://www.jornada.com.mx/2010/12/05/opinion/034a1cap. ↑
Letter from White Caps to Ciriclio Mata, courtesy of Maria del Carmen Ibarra Iruegas, personal archive. ↑
Florence Fenley, Oldtimers of Southwest Texas (Hornby Press, 1939), 17. ↑
Public Broadcasting Service, “Only a Teacher. Teaching Timeline, ” PBS, accessed October 11, 2018, https://www.pbs.org/onlyateacher/timeline.html. ↑
Teresa Palomo Acosta and Ruthe Winegarten, Las Tejanas, 151. ↑
“History of The American Legion,” The American Legion, accessed March 11, 2025, https://www.legion.org/about/organization/history. ↑
“Preamble,” The American Legion, accessed March 11, 2025. https://www.legion.org/about/organization/preamble. ↑
Horace Lorenzo Trim, lyrics to Taps (public domain). ↑
Courtesy of Alex Cuellar, Service Officer in 2019 for the American Legion Post 479, from the organization’s archives. ↑
Uvalde Leader-News, May 31, 1946. ↑
Alfredo Santos, Recuerdos de Uvalde, Texas, a Collection of Short Stories, Interviews and Photos of the People of Uvalde, Texas (Nopalitos Press, 2004). ↑
The American Legion, "Preamble Interpretation," accessed September 30, 2025, https://www.legion.org/getmedia/2df55990-2687-4f20-ba00-d3fc9ca3ce42/preambleinterpretation.pdf. ↑
Terry Pratchett, Going Postal (London: Corgi, 2004), 213. ↑
Elaine Ayala, “Uvalde Activist Who Led 40-Year Fight Honored.” MySanAntonio, accessed February 5, 2019, https://www.mysanantonio.com/news/local_news/article/Uvalde-activist-who-led-40-year-fight-honored-2163847.php. ↑
Author’s speech. ↑
Biffle, Kent, “Side by Side and a World Apart-in Uvalde, Texas,”
Newsweek, June 29, 1970. ↑
Uvalde Leader-News, July 12, 1970. ↑
Uvalde Leader-News, August 23, 1970. ↑
That year, Anglo administrators accounted for 80%, while Hispanic administrators were 20%,
Sánchez, Encina: The Uvalde school walkout,140. ↑
Uvalde School Board Minutes, October 14, 1968, quoted in Sánchez, 51. ↑
It was noted in a subsequent school board meeting that when Byrom met with Gabriel, he admitted that he did discuss political topics but insisted that they were of interest to the students and were in response to their questions, Sánchez, 51. ↑
One documented telephone threat was investigated by the telephone company and the police. They determined that the call came from the husband of a school counselor at the high school, Sánchez, 86. ↑
Although he filed as a candidate, the city attorney arbitrarily kept his name off the ballots. Gabriel filed a lawsuit against the city, and the city was found guilty of violating his civil rights, Sánchez, 52. ↑
Ibid, 52. ↑
Author’s interview with Rachel Tafolla. ↑
Biffle, Kent, “Side by Side and a World Apart-in Uvalde, Texas,” Newsweek, June 29, 1970. ↑
Author’s interview with Gabriel Tafolla. ↑
Author’s interview with Mariano Tafolla. ↑
Chicano Times, (student school walkout newspaper), April 28, 1970. ↑
Chicano Times, April 24, 1970. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Linda Ellis, “The Dash,” TheDashPoem, accessed November 10, 2018, https://thedashpoem.com. ↑
Uvalde Leader-News, August 23, 1970. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Author’s interview with Joe Uriegas. ↑
Author’s interview with Joe René Martínez. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Tia Tenopia, “Llatinopia Moment in Time ‘Becas de Aztlán’,” Latinopia, accessed August 16, 2019, http://latinopia.com/latino-history/latinopia-moment-in-time-becas-de-aztlan/. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
"Biographical Information," Rogelio Muñoz oral history interview, July 8, 2016, Uvalde, TX, Civil Rights in Black and Brown Interview Database, https://crbb.tcu.edu/clips/4387/biographical-information-43 (accessed November 13, 2025). ↑
"Memories of Discrimination or Segregation Growing up in Uvalde," Rogelio Munoz oral history interview, July 08, 2016, Uvalde , Civil Rights in Black and Brown Interview Database, https://crbb.tcu.edu/clips/4389/memories-of-discrimination-or-segregation-growing-up-in-uvalde (accessed November 18, 2025) ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
Ibid. ↑
"Munoz / High School and Immediately After," Rogelio Munoz oral history interview, July 08, 2016, Uvalde, Civil Rights in Black and Brown Interview Database, https://crbb.tcu.edu/clips/4389/memories-of-discrimination-or-segregation-growing-up-in-uvalde (accessed November 18, 2025) ↑
Ibid. ↑
“Niños Héroes,” Encyclopedia.com, accessed March 25, 2025, https://www.encyclopedia.com/humanities/encyclopedias-almanacs-transcripts-and-maps/ninos-heroes. ↑
Carmen Ibarra Iruegas, Uvalde Families Through 150 Years (Uvalde, TX: n.p., 2006). ↑
Iruegas, Uvalde Families Through 150 Years. ↑
Iruegas, Uvalde Families Through 150 Years, 220. ↑
Teresa Palomo Acosta and Ruthe Winegartenm, 152; “Escuelitas and the Emergence of a Mexican-American Identity in South Texas: A Conversation with Dr. Philis Barragan-Goetz.” Esperanza Center, accessed February 5, 2019, http://esperanzacenter.org/event/escuelitas-and-the-emergence-of-a-mexican-american-identity-in-south-texas-a-conversation-with-dr-philis-barragan-goetz/. ↑
What are fund balances? Most school districts use “fund accounting” to track the sources and uses of funds. Texas school districts typically have up to four types of fund accounts, each of which consists of three components: assets—the fund’s economic resources; liabilities—the district’s financial obligations associated with a particular fund; and the value of the assets that remain after accounting for liabilities, or the fund balance. Texas Association of School Business Officials (TASBO), “Understanding the Intersection of Cash Flow and Fund Balance,” TASBO, accessed April 22, 2025, https://www.tasbo.org/news/understanding-the-intersection-of-cash-flow-and-fund-balance. ↑
“About MALDEF—Mission,” MALDEF, accessed March 20, 2025, https://www.maldef.org/about/mission/. ↑
Charlie Robinson, “Decades-Old UCISD Suit Resolved,” Uvalde Leader-News, accessed March 23, 2019. http://uvaldeleadernews.com/news/decades-old-ucisd-suit-resolved/. ↑
All quotations for Javier Flores are based on interviews and the written narrative he provided to the author. ↑

​​TEXAS TOWN LEGENDS

PART I

Prologue

Chronology of events

CHAPTER ONE

A moment frozen in time

El Gato Negro knew who the Klansmen of Uvalde were

How Uvalde was governed

Roosevelt's vision: The dignity of work

The CC boys have a new awareness

A ridiculous scene

That sign must come down!

Look at that building. I did that!

A song for Willie and South Texas towns

CHAPTER TWO

My service in World War II

We sailed from New York

An unexpected encounter

The Battle of Salerno

At Mt. Rotondo losing friends was difficult to bear

Is that river big or small?

Gabriel Navarrete stood up for us

Rome at last

Walking along the tanks were friends from home

A visit to Pinocchio’s town is thwarted by a trip to Rome.

Return from Rome

A friend from home jumps off the truck

Willie helps a friend from Sabinal

Willie gets a new assignment

Germany surrenders

I would dance for the joy I felt

Willie’s farewell from the prisoners

The Lili Marlene

We cried at the sight of the Statue of Liberty

Alejandro “Role” Castillo, Uvalde’s living 101-year-old World War II Veteran

Judge and jury on the battlefield

Divine intervention but sadness in the loss of comrades

Alex Castillo, a historian with a heart

CHAPTER THREE

Life after the war

Some things are much better in Uvalde

Willie understood his grandson’s dreams

Willie analyzed Uvalde then and now

We have another war to fight here

Willie visited Burlington, Iowa

Willie remembered Everardo Maldonado

Willie compared his war to the Gulf War

Willie met with friends from the war

Willie the father

A letter sets in motion a still-flowing river of suffering

Guillermo “Willie” De León Jr., a fallen soldier of the Vietnam War

Uvalde honored Willie De León Sr.

A summary of Willie’s military service

Willie’s last message to us all

PART II

CHAPTER ONE

Carving our own stories

How mejicanos forged changes in Uvalde

CHAPTER TWO

Alfredo Mauricio Ibarra

Lilliput challenges Goliath

Buelo: A grandmother’s love changed the course of his life

La Niña Eloisita

CHAPTER THREE

María Del Carmen Ibarra Iruegas

Cirilo Mata

Praxedis Mata Torres

CHAPTER FOUR

The History of the American Legion Post 479

Past American Legion Post 479 Commanders

Uvalde’s Veterans Memorial Wall

A legacy of civic service

CHAPTER FIVE

Genoveva Morales: A nemesis of the Uvalde School Board of the 1970s

Dedication of Morales Junior High

CHAPTER SIX

Rachel A. Gonzáles-Hanson, from child activist to Executive Director of Uvalde Health Clinic

CHAPTER SEVEN

El Comisionado Gilberto Z. Torres

CHAPTER EIGHT

TEXAS TOWN LEGENDS