Magda relies heavily on the memory of her grandfather, her Papa, and the stories he told her when she was a child. Not all of them made it into her memoir.
A Native of Three Countries
_“Miho do you want to hear a story?” I had my favorite girl. We were breaking from horse riding lessons to have luncheon. The early afternoon heat was starting to creep into my old bones making me relaxed and sleepy. I didn’t like the idea of climbing back on a horse to take the dusty trails.
“Of course Papa!” My little one glowed with enthusiasm. Her big sister had just been married and I could see the changes in her. Going from 11 to 20 in a few months. My heart ached to see her grow up so fast, but that is the way of all things precious. They cannot last. People talk of precious stones and I laugh at them. Those cold unchanging rocks are not precious for they will outlast us all. What is precious is time and all living creatures are slaves to it, therefore, in my thinking precious. And this little darling of a girl before me the most precious of us all.
“My darling girl, you know I have been a citizen of three countries without moving a foot?”
“Ah, Papa, that is because you were born here when it was Mexico,” was the laughing answer I received.
“But what is the third country that I was a citizen of?”And here I had her perplexed. Her mother had obviously not taught her as much local history as she should. Knowing I had her attention, I settled in for a relaxing afternoon.
“I was born a citizen of Spain. Yet when I was only a boy of 4, overnight I became a citizen of mexico. At the time, I did not notice so much difference. We still spoke Spanish and we still went about our daily chores. But I remember it clearly for the great festival we celebrated in honor of the event. I had not seen anything like it before, but then I was very very small.
I remember there were bonfires and roasts. Paper flyers were hung everywhere and I was given many new toys to play with. It was a wonderful time. Although for many years afterwards, I wondered that we were so festive for an event that did nothing to change our lives. And as I grew older, I wondered even more why people were so happy at that time, for things seemed to be growing worse for everyone I knew.
The landowners continued to own the land, and my family continued to work for them. So hard in fact, that mia madre worked herself into an early grave when I was only 14. And our family, especially my two older sisters, did not receive one word of condolence from the family she had served for 22 years. And it was no better for my father, he was a cattleman for the same ranching family. When I was barely a man, he was thrown from a horse and died. Although, I am not convinced he didn’t die of a broken heart.
Since I was then an orphan and had to learn to provide for myself, I took over my papa’s position as a cattle hand. I learned a lot working cattle, but I was still dissatisfied. My papa had worked so hard and had never had more than $10 together. He left nothing behind for his children, but some odds and ends.
In the year 1849, the Americans were at war with Mexico. I had heard about America with equal opportunity for all and I thought to myself, that is the country for me. So I left the ranchero and went to volunteer for the American army. My sisters were very upset, but it seemed like the right thing for me to do.
I spent 8 months working for the US Army, sometimes as a scout, but mostly as a peon. I cooked and I cleaned and heard many foul things from the mouths of the soldiers. And I was there, during the battle of Cahuenga, when the Americans took a decisive victory. You ought to have seen the battle, it was a sight to be seen.
When Mexico finally surrendered, I celebrated, once more, my change in citizenship. Unlike the first change, there were not so many festivals in Los Angeles.
Once the gringos started moving into California though, I saw that things were not going to be much different than the first time. The gringos moved in and immediately looked down on us Mexicans. I was very upset by this. Afterall, I had fought to be an American, I deserved my equal rights. But alas, I was still very young and didn’t know very much about life.
That is when I joined a merchant marine ship heading to the Orient. I believed that maybe I would find a place where people really were treated the same. But I found, in my years of travel, that the world was a sad place in the way it treated its people. But I also learned that the goodness must be practiced by everybody, and practiced daily. But a lot of people forget that when they get weighed down by their daily worries and cares. To be a better person and live among better people, everyone must rise above the worry and practice being good. Just as you have to practice the piano and practice riding your horse. You must also practice being good.
It was when I learned this lesson that I decided it was time for me to come back home, or at least my home place, for I really had no home to go to. I needed to be happy in one place and not spend my life searching for it.
“Of course Papa!” My little one glowed with enthusiasm. Her big sister had just been married and I could see the changes in her. Going from 11 to 20 in a few months. My heart ached to see her grow up so fast, but that is the way of all things precious. They cannot last. People talk of precious stones and I laugh at them. Those cold unchanging rocks are not precious for they will outlast us all. What is precious is time and all living creatures are slaves to it, therefore, in my thinking precious. And this little darling of a girl before me the most precious of us all.
“My darling girl, you know I have been a citizen of three countries without moving a foot?”
“Ah, Papa, that is because you were born here when it was Mexico,” was the laughing answer I received.
“But what is the third country that I was a citizen of?”And here I had her perplexed. Her mother had obviously not taught her as much local history as she should. Knowing I had her attention, I settled in for a relaxing afternoon.
“I was born a citizen of Spain. Yet when I was only a boy of 4, overnight I became a citizen of mexico. At the time, I did not notice so much difference. We still spoke Spanish and we still went about our daily chores. But I remember it clearly for the great festival we celebrated in honor of the event. I had not seen anything like it before, but then I was very very small.
I remember there were bonfires and roasts. Paper flyers were hung everywhere and I was given many new toys to play with. It was a wonderful time. Although for many years afterwards, I wondered that we were so festive for an event that did nothing to change our lives. And as I grew older, I wondered even more why people were so happy at that time, for things seemed to be growing worse for everyone I knew.
The landowners continued to own the land, and my family continued to work for them. So hard in fact, that mia madre worked herself into an early grave when I was only 14. And our family, especially my two older sisters, did not receive one word of condolence from the family she had served for 22 years. And it was no better for my father, he was a cattleman for the same ranching family. When I was barely a man, he was thrown from a horse and died. Although, I am not convinced he didn’t die of a broken heart.
Since I was then an orphan and had to learn to provide for myself, I took over my papa’s position as a cattle hand. I learned a lot working cattle, but I was still dissatisfied. My papa had worked so hard and had never had more than $10 together. He left nothing behind for his children, but some odds and ends.
In the year 1849, the Americans were at war with Mexico. I had heard about America with equal opportunity for all and I thought to myself, that is the country for me. So I left the ranchero and went to volunteer for the American army. My sisters were very upset, but it seemed like the right thing for me to do.
I spent 8 months working for the US Army, sometimes as a scout, but mostly as a peon. I cooked and I cleaned and heard many foul things from the mouths of the soldiers. And I was there, during the battle of Cahuenga, when the Americans took a decisive victory. You ought to have seen the battle, it was a sight to be seen.
When Mexico finally surrendered, I celebrated, once more, my change in citizenship. Unlike the first change, there were not so many festivals in Los Angeles.
Once the gringos started moving into California though, I saw that things were not going to be much different than the first time. The gringos moved in and immediately looked down on us Mexicans. I was very upset by this. Afterall, I had fought to be an American, I deserved my equal rights. But alas, I was still very young and didn’t know very much about life.
That is when I joined a merchant marine ship heading to the Orient. I believed that maybe I would find a place where people really were treated the same. But I found, in my years of travel, that the world was a sad place in the way it treated its people. But I also learned that the goodness must be practiced by everybody, and practiced daily. But a lot of people forget that when they get weighed down by their daily worries and cares. To be a better person and live among better people, everyone must rise above the worry and practice being good. Just as you have to practice the piano and practice riding your horse. You must also practice being good.
It was when I learned this lesson that I decided it was time for me to come back home, or at least my home place, for I really had no home to go to. I needed to be happy in one place and not spend my life searching for it.
Papa and the Railroad
_“During the years I worked on the railroad,” the old man started out, “on one of the crews the boss was a terrible man. He was greedy and small minded, he did everything he could to treat us workers like dirt.”
Magda and her Papa were putting away their tack after an afternoon ride. Magda’s papa, Isidro, always insisted on taking the time to rub down the horses well and to polish the saddles and neatly loop the reins before finishing. Magda never minded for it was relaxing work and she liked to make her saddle shine for her next ride.
“Where was this Papa?” Magda asked.
“Let’s see,” Isidro said. The old man looked up thoughtfully from his work, staring off into a dark corner of the stable, the corner of his eyes crinkling. “I believe it was when we were going through Kansas.”
He went back to work and to telling his story. “This bad man, his name was Jean Paul Austere. To his face we only called him Mr. Austere, but behind his back he was ol’ JayPee. I worked on a crew that had every color of person alive working in it. There were the freed black folk, the chinese, every country of the Americas in the south were represented as well as some of the poorer Europeans. It was hard work, building railroads, and not many men could stick to it. Ol’ JayPee was an educated frenchman who’d been sent out to overseer the work crews through the midwest. He hated every minute of it and he hated everyone of us. Upon first stepping out of the carriage he arrived in, we could see he had nothing but contempt in his heart.
“And you know, my little Magda, that I don’t like to come to conclusions about people too soon. I don’t want to influence how they turn out, so I thought that this man must have had a hard journey and just needed some rest.”
“Well, rest only gave him a fiercer look. Every day he got worse. He carried a short whip stuck in his belt, the kind for horse racing, that he’d use on anyone who stood still nearby him long enough for him to get it out of its loop. Came a time when no one would stand near to him at all, so he started to come after us, working or not.”
“I mentioned that he was a greedy man. Well, as he was our foreman, he was in charge of distributing wages. He’d come up with all sorts of reasons to dock our wages. He’d take a penny off for loitering or a nickle for drinking too much water. Every one of us, to the last man, knew that he was pocketing the money. It wouldn’t be a terrible amount, just a few dollars a week, but it was money that should have gone to us.”
“Now I imagine you wonder why we didn’t complain. There was no one to complain to. And each of us, in his own way had his pride. There were many times I thought about going to one of the engineers, they were kindly men in their own right, but none of them had a say over ol’ Jay Pee. One of them could have told Jay Pee’s bosses, but probably wouldn’t have risked their own jobs. So we were stuck.”
“Sometimes, no matter how unfair things are, you just can’t do anything to fix them. That’s the way it is.”
“After a few months, one day a sheriff and his deputy came to our camp and asked to see ol’ Jay Pee. Jay Pee turned cowardly and hid in his tent, telling us to say he wasn’t there. The Sheriff was too clever for that ploy and entered Jay Pee’s tent himself. The Deputy stood guard outside, keeping us all far enough away so as we couldn’t hear a thing. Then, the next thing you know, the Sheriff and Deputy were escorting ol’ Jay Pee into town and threw him into jail.
“It was a sight to see. The old frenchman tied by the hands and made to walk behind the deputy’s horse. I think it was an especially fine site for the Chinamen. He had been very cruel to their group. Once ol’ Jay Pee was out of our view, the Chinamen let up a wallop like you’ve never heard. The rest of us couldn’t help but shout in unison. We had a bit of a celebration that night. Enjoying the respite we received from ol’ Jay Pee’s arrest. Young Lee even got out his country’s version of the guitar and played us a tune. It was a fine night indeed.”
“But Papa,” said the little girl, not missing a detail. “Why was that JayPee fellow arrested?”
“I never did find out the whole truth. What we heard was that he had refused to pay his bill at the grocer’s in town. He said that he’d been cheated and struck the poor grocer for insisting that he pay up.”
“We never saw poor ol’ Jay Pee again. I don’t even know if he was sentenced to prison or not. One of the young engineers saw his opportunity when that bad man was hauled off and telegraphed to his bosses that the supervisor was no good and had got himself arrested.
“Those were good boys, all in all, just scared for their jobs like the rest of us.”
“Papa, am I to learn something from your story?” asked the little girl. Both grandfather and granddaughter had long finished with their work and stood looking at the horses happily munching oats in their stable pens.
“No sweetheart, sometimes a story is just meant to be a story,” answered her grandfather giving her a rub on the head. “Sometimes you just want to hear a good yarn.”
Magda and her Papa were putting away their tack after an afternoon ride. Magda’s papa, Isidro, always insisted on taking the time to rub down the horses well and to polish the saddles and neatly loop the reins before finishing. Magda never minded for it was relaxing work and she liked to make her saddle shine for her next ride.
“Where was this Papa?” Magda asked.
“Let’s see,” Isidro said. The old man looked up thoughtfully from his work, staring off into a dark corner of the stable, the corner of his eyes crinkling. “I believe it was when we were going through Kansas.”
He went back to work and to telling his story. “This bad man, his name was Jean Paul Austere. To his face we only called him Mr. Austere, but behind his back he was ol’ JayPee. I worked on a crew that had every color of person alive working in it. There were the freed black folk, the chinese, every country of the Americas in the south were represented as well as some of the poorer Europeans. It was hard work, building railroads, and not many men could stick to it. Ol’ JayPee was an educated frenchman who’d been sent out to overseer the work crews through the midwest. He hated every minute of it and he hated everyone of us. Upon first stepping out of the carriage he arrived in, we could see he had nothing but contempt in his heart.
“And you know, my little Magda, that I don’t like to come to conclusions about people too soon. I don’t want to influence how they turn out, so I thought that this man must have had a hard journey and just needed some rest.”
“Well, rest only gave him a fiercer look. Every day he got worse. He carried a short whip stuck in his belt, the kind for horse racing, that he’d use on anyone who stood still nearby him long enough for him to get it out of its loop. Came a time when no one would stand near to him at all, so he started to come after us, working or not.”
“I mentioned that he was a greedy man. Well, as he was our foreman, he was in charge of distributing wages. He’d come up with all sorts of reasons to dock our wages. He’d take a penny off for loitering or a nickle for drinking too much water. Every one of us, to the last man, knew that he was pocketing the money. It wouldn’t be a terrible amount, just a few dollars a week, but it was money that should have gone to us.”
“Now I imagine you wonder why we didn’t complain. There was no one to complain to. And each of us, in his own way had his pride. There were many times I thought about going to one of the engineers, they were kindly men in their own right, but none of them had a say over ol’ Jay Pee. One of them could have told Jay Pee’s bosses, but probably wouldn’t have risked their own jobs. So we were stuck.”
“Sometimes, no matter how unfair things are, you just can’t do anything to fix them. That’s the way it is.”
“After a few months, one day a sheriff and his deputy came to our camp and asked to see ol’ Jay Pee. Jay Pee turned cowardly and hid in his tent, telling us to say he wasn’t there. The Sheriff was too clever for that ploy and entered Jay Pee’s tent himself. The Deputy stood guard outside, keeping us all far enough away so as we couldn’t hear a thing. Then, the next thing you know, the Sheriff and Deputy were escorting ol’ Jay Pee into town and threw him into jail.
“It was a sight to see. The old frenchman tied by the hands and made to walk behind the deputy’s horse. I think it was an especially fine site for the Chinamen. He had been very cruel to their group. Once ol’ Jay Pee was out of our view, the Chinamen let up a wallop like you’ve never heard. The rest of us couldn’t help but shout in unison. We had a bit of a celebration that night. Enjoying the respite we received from ol’ Jay Pee’s arrest. Young Lee even got out his country’s version of the guitar and played us a tune. It was a fine night indeed.”
“But Papa,” said the little girl, not missing a detail. “Why was that JayPee fellow arrested?”
“I never did find out the whole truth. What we heard was that he had refused to pay his bill at the grocer’s in town. He said that he’d been cheated and struck the poor grocer for insisting that he pay up.”
“We never saw poor ol’ Jay Pee again. I don’t even know if he was sentenced to prison or not. One of the young engineers saw his opportunity when that bad man was hauled off and telegraphed to his bosses that the supervisor was no good and had got himself arrested.
“Those were good boys, all in all, just scared for their jobs like the rest of us.”
“Papa, am I to learn something from your story?” asked the little girl. Both grandfather and granddaughter had long finished with their work and stood looking at the horses happily munching oats in their stable pens.
“No sweetheart, sometimes a story is just meant to be a story,” answered her grandfather giving her a rub on the head. “Sometimes you just want to hear a good yarn.”