First Sons

The family waited almost 15 years for his arrival, from 1941 to 1955. During those years, the birth of four daughters were reminders of the loss of Carlitos, who was born on the ranch. The ranch was called "Las Norias" and was owned by our grandfather, Luis Gonsalez. It was located about 20 miles from Francisco Madero, a tiny, charming pueblito, a day's ride from the capital city of Durango. Mom told me that Carlitos (full name: Carlos Hector Ezequiel Gonsalez) was a very beautiful baby, chubby, fair complexion, blue eyes, with reddish-brown hair. He also had very long eyelashes. Our dad affectionately gave him the nickname, "Temujen", the baby name of the heroe-warrior Genghis Kahn. A midwife delivered him on April 9, 1941, but during his short life of 7 months, he contracted pneumonia from a cold. By November 3, with no medicine, or a hospital nearby, my mother prayed and cried for him to improve even though a doctor did see him. But, he was called to be a baby angel and he expired in her arms with a ragged little breath. She was almost 17, but broken, as Dad said he never heard her sing again like she used to. He told me he buried this first, little son in Francisco Madero's cemetary, by himself with the heaviest heart. Anytime I asked about him, a dark cloud would descend his face and sometimes I could feel the pain.

But as time went by, on August 29, 1955, very late at night around one in the morning, the long-awaited son of my father's dreams was born. And what a beautiful, angelic-looking, green-eyed baby he was! Even though the last daughter received the name of Josephine, it was not by accident that Joseph Bernardo Garcia was named after his father and maternal grandfather. This very special boy, the son of a former rancher/cowboy, was living proof of a new generation in a new country. Him being the only boy after so many years, with a more mature mother (who was 31 years old now) was doted on and everyone would listen to what he felt or said. This was because he was the boy, the one who was resurrected and could make life seem right again.

I remember being little and always watching out for him, as he was curious about everything and afraid of nothing. Joe was so very loved, but sometimes the expectations that were put upon him were too unrealistic and he would rebel. I really love and greatly miss my brother Joe as he was truly a gift. He was one of the most generous people, and he had deep feelings about what was important. The fact that he saved a stranger's life, and risked himself to step in and take a pistol away from a criminal who was hurting an old man. This is the kind of thing I knew about him and his character.

Family Origins at the Hacienda

I always knew our family had its roots in Old Mexico, but I never knew until the last two weeks before Dad passed away that our grandfather was born at Hacienda Trancoso, located in Guadalupe, Zacatecas. I found an old baptismal certificate that may be his dated 1870, but from what I gathered in other talks and doing the math, he would have been born in 1868. This place is now a museum, and later I have a story to relate about this place. Just enjoy looking at it, since it's part of the very distant past and the sight of a place where our grandfather or great-great grandfather played in.

The Marriage Arrangements

April, 1940 is the month quoted by both Dad and Grandma Garcia (aka Otilia in the US) when they took their vows at Templo Santa Ana, near one of the main streets in the colonial city of Durango, Mexico. The year he passed away, the 64th anniversary went by, not celebrated as most anniversaries went unmentioned except for the 50th, at which time a party was held at Carl and Marie's home. Templo Santa Ana, the old church in the background, was built at least a couple hundred years ago from what I recall on a plaque when I saw it with my parents in 1994.

Wondering how this unlikely marriage occurred, as my father was 10 years older and had a reserved nature compared to mom, I was able to glean this much. They met at a party in Durango which my mom attended because she had befriended one of his cousins. This person was a sister to Lucita Avalos, future wife of art professor at Escuela Normal de Durango (Rodrigo Avalos). I mentioned Rodrigo because he was a friend of my father's and his paintings and prints can be found in many local legends books sold at bookstores in Durango.

My mom was visiting for at least a week, and wrote her mom asking if she could stay longer. In short order, they fell in love and decided to get married but the marriage bans at that time could take months to set. Instead, they had a civil marriage first thinking this would be fine so they could be together. Dad did not take into account how strict and religious Mama Felipita was, so she made my mom live with her and kept them living apart until the marriage bans were complete, a dress was made, and so her family could make it to Durango for the wedding. It was a simple ceremony at Templo Santa Ana (according to my mom). They had a small celebration afterwards of family and a few neighbors.

Tio Fred Meets a Rattlesnake

Asking about Uncle Fred would sometimes bring a smile and fond look on my Dad's face. They were close brothers in their youth, being about two years apart. He was younger and certainly made up for being the youngest by getting into things that were ill-advised. Like the time he kept poking a stick into a rock pile. Dad would tell my two brothers and I about our uncle's childhood when he wanted to make a parable about some potential mischief we could get into. He told us this story many years ago when my brother Joe was found playing with sticks.

Fred (aka Humberto) was around 9 years old, and like any boy who lived when there were no plastic toys or video games, he was very curious about things, such as nature. My dad, being older, would often check to see if Fred was up to some mischief because he worried about Fred's fearlessness and ability to find trouble. Dad told us many times that our uncle was outgoing, fun to be around, a loyal brother, but not cautious enough.

This was one of those occasions.

Picture this. Our grandfather, Luis Gonzales (b. 1868, Zacatecas) was standing by one of the outdoor, round adobe ovens, near the entrance to his limestone business, talking to some men, when he told my dad to go get Fred. He came back to tell him that Fred was poking a long stick at something. Papa Luis walked over and told him to get away and stop poking under the rubble as snakes lived under the rocky ledges. Mama Felipita was not too far away with the property being long, about the length of a block, but she was busy in the house. Fred obeyed, threw the stick down and joined them to turn his attention.

After a while of busy work helping Papa Luis, a couple hours had passed and Fred returned to poking the rocks. My dad heard a scream, and guessed exactly what was happening so he bolted to help Fred. He found his little brother, crouched down holding his forearm, surprised tears in his eyes, and the "culebra" several feet away, tightly coiled. Dad pulled his gun and shot it in half. The gun and his yells, "Papa, papa, le pico la vibora" brought his father's long and fast legs into motion. The pocket knife in hand made two small cuts and Papa Luis quickly sucked at the wound, spitting several times.

My grandfather was a soft-hearted and sentimental man, who gently picked up his son with tears streaming down his cheeks, and laid him on his lap as he rode back to the ranch house. The other men there accompanied them back to the ranch, while one offered to ride into Durango to find a doctor. My dad rode behind them, with a heavy heart and feelings of guilt. Then, there were no doctors to be found near the ranches, only in the closest town, or if by luck a doctor was attending someone at a nearby ranch. By evening, Fred's arm was turning black, very swollen and felt hard, as he laid on bed with a hot fever. Mama Felipita stayed and prayed at his bed most of the evening. My dad asked if Fred would live. She replied, "Si Dios quiere", which means "If God wishes". There were no theatrics, Mama Felipita did not shed a tear or fall on her knees. She said they should pray and that was all they could do.

Rustlers Part 2

As they sat on their horses, my three relatives came upon three young men hanging from their necks, tongues out and purple, with bluish, bloated faces. They smelled of death and appeared to have been there at least a couple days. Buzzards were flying high above the mesa which probably flagged other animals in the area that something was edible. My dad told me that he was sickened by the sight, as he knew what most likely happened. His father tried to shelter them and told them not to look, but it was too late as they had turned their horses in the path and saw them about 12 feet away. My dad said he could scarcely sleep from the impression it left on his mind, as two of the young men were almost his age, maybe 16 or 15 years old. He said it was even possible that the older one was an uncle or relative who had the younger males involved in rustling cattle. The problem was this, according to Papa Luis, to rustle livestock was considered complete and total treachery to a family or ranch, as their livelihood depended on the animals. He said it really wasn't the monetary value of the stolen goods, but more that anyone who engaged in rustling would have to be made an example.

The Rustlers

This event may have happened around 1928, when my father was barely thirteen. His father, brother Fred and he were on horseback winding through an area full of pines, with some mules taking loads of quarried stone to another site where rock was heated in ovens to break up into limestone gravel. This was in a heavily forested part of Durango that is now barren of  trees since protective environmental laws didn't exist in the late 1960's to keep the area from becoming denuded. They were asked by men on horseback if they had seen anyone taking cattle from a nearby ranch. My dad told me he was pretty scared, as he and his brother received looks not to speak and he saw his father (whom I refer to as Papa Luis) discreetly touch his rifle to be ready if necessary. Papa Luis explained they had been getting stone and had not seen anyone. As they travelled down the mountainside, which took another day or so, what they came upon was incredibly gruesome. (Cont'd on Rustlers 2)

Life on the ranch in Durango

My 90 yr. old dad passed away in 2004, but all of his life he told me the neatest stories of his life while living on several ranches in Durango, Mexico. I visited the area and saw rustic sites that were scenes of his life. In many of his stories, some which are true legends of this area in Mexico, there was a constant element of danger. Losing your life could easily happen through a misunderstanding or simply, from a lack of justice. Being able to survive depended upon your ability to think on your feet and willingness to push forward against the odds. He grew up on the outskirts of Durango, roping horses and cows, approximately 50 years behind the end of the cowboy era in the U.S. Hopefully, through a recollection of old stories about Durango and other parts of Mexico, certain legends may not be forgotten.