Roots of Indifferences

by Terri Ragsdale

  It was unfamiliar medical language using big words, completely unrelated to Don Federico's educational knowledge and beyond his comprehension. While going over the notes and concentrating on what to say, Dr. Adkins felt the tension mounting, never looking toward Don Federico, whose face was now flushed with anger, but kept looking at the reports, slipping pieces of paper on top of each other, and adjusting his glasses.

  "Is she violent now?" Don Federico asked.

  "Not after she had the shock treatment. She seems to be happy and calm now and seems to like it here."

  Why, of course! He thought. People are dying to come here to stay—it's so wonderful being given electric shocks! Before he had a chance to answer there was a scuffle down the hall and bells began clanging. There were loud screams, a scraping of feet on the marble floor, and people running. An assistant poked his head in the door, requesting the doctor's assistance as quickly as possible.

  "Is Henry, the big German brute, out again?" Dr. Adkins inquired of the assistant.

  "Two of us are not able to handle him. We need an injection, quickly!" The assistant, who was a big man himself, was breathing heavily, and sweat was running down his forehead. He stepped back into the hall.

  Dr. Adkins excused himself and hurried out, forgetting about the confidential papers on the table.

  Don Federico stood up and waited for several moments and looked toward the door. Everybody was busy elsewhere. Curious, he stepped toward the table and eyed the written material, occasionally sneaking a quick look toward the door. Nobody seemed to be too concerned about his presence. He stood for many minutes reading the notes. He was shocked and felt the blood drain from his body. The papers told in writing how Morris McCormach had paid a great deal of money to the insane asylum to commit his wife. In a military correspondence letter was an explanation of how he wanted her, in time, to be put away. Don Federico grabbed the letter and confidential papers and slipped them into his coat pocket, leaving the folder and other information.

  He walked to the receptionist area where a young lady was attending the desk and requested by name to see his sister. Everybody from doctors, nurses, and assistants were being distracted by the commotion down the hallway. The assistant never spoke, being preoccupied with paperwork, but she took her keys and found the one for Josie's room. She walked with Don Federico down a long corridor. The assistant opened the door, they both stepped in, and then she walked away, leaving the Don by himself with the patient.

  In a small, dark room with a tiny caged window allowing little light, the Don found his sister sitting in a rocking chair swaying back and forth in rhythm, hugging herself and staring at the empty wall.

  "Josie! Josie!" whispered Don Federico, crouching down by her side. "Get your things. You're coming with me!"

  Josie recognized Don Federico in the dim light and began speaking his nickname. "Lico, you have come to take me home?" Josie stood up and, in an emotional embrace, the two cried. They were the only two left alive from the older generation.

  Full of emotion and grief, Don Federico had to use his handkerchief. "Come! We do not have much time," he said. "You're getting out of here! You're coming home with me!"

  Josie was in a daze, her hands cupping her mouth. "And you have forgiven me! You have forgiven me, haven't you Lico?" One minute her mind made sense in what she was saying, and then, it would switch into a defiant, belligerent attitude. "If you haven't forgiven me, I will not go anywhere!"

  "Come, Josie! Be quiet! Be still! Why, yes, I love you. You are my sister, and I have forgiven you." He spoke directly to her only inches from her face. He would say anything at this moment to calm her. He had to hurry. He had to drag her out of this insane place. He figured if you weren't insane when you went in, you were when you left. She wore a long pink flannel nightgown, but that would not matter. He would buy her some clothes later, much later, after he took her out of this place.

  He found a white shawl and held it around her shoulders as the two walked down the long, dark, passageway. He warned her not to say a word. He hesitated at the end of the hall, peeked around the corner and saw that the reception desk was empty, as were the hallways. Don Federico hurried Josie out of the building and into freedom, into a waiting new, shiny, black Packard automobile he had just bought in San Antonio.

  *****

  Victoria, Grandmother Gloria, and the rest of the Juelson household, along with Emma and her household, Ricardo's mother and sister, and friends and neighbors were in complete awe of Don Federico's heroic escapade. Everyone was also admiring the new shining, black car that was sitting under the breezeway next to the veranda. Victoria and Fred were especially thrilled, and both wanted to learn to drive it.

  Victoria was uneasy, but she had to respect her father's wishes. She was not sure if Mercedes was the right choice to place her aunt, with little Luis Martin still so young and another child on the way. After all, Josie did not act completely normal. How crazy was she? Victoria would have to hire a nurse or two around the clock to watch over her aunt for the protection of the family.

  Josie's appearance was also pitiful; her hair was completely snow white, tangled and unkempt. A person needed to catch her in just the right moment when asking her a question, for she did not speak in logical sentences. Most of the time, she babbled incoherently, with no comprehension of what anyone was saying to her.

  During dinner, Don Federico told the household the true story of what had happened to his sister while being married to McCormach. He had abused her for years. He would habitually beat her and yell at her, using abusive language. That, perhaps, and too many beatings about her head had caused a broken blood vessel in her brain. Josie had also suffered several broken ribs and fractures, according to the report he had read. What was really tragic was that she had delivered a black child. According to the story, because of her loneliness, she had an affair with a Negro handyman working in the Army barracks.

  As Don Federico continued with his story, his voice would often crack. What had become of the Negro baby was a mystery. Nobody knew if the child was dead or alive. Nobody would discuss it. Not even Josie knew what had happened to her baby. The doctors in the mental facility were aware of the delivery of the Negro child, but no other information was available.

  As if the beatings and abuse were not bad enough, McCormach used this indiscretion against her and began bringing prostitutes home. He suspended her by the feet, naked, in the closet and had her watch while he made love to the trollops. Then, more beatings would occur. With all of the battering and abuse and not having a family to help her, her mind snapped. She was put on tranquilizers and was shoved into the mental hospital to end her life of desperation.

  "Does McCormach know that Aunt Josie is now staying here in Mercedes?" inquired Victoria, feeling threatened and horrified after hearing about her Uncle Morris's abusiveness toward women.

  "Absolutely not, and nobody better repeat any of what I have just said," he demanded. He emphasized his words by hitting his hand on the table, rattling the china and dishes, as tears misted his eyes.

  Overwhelmed with grief, Don Federico excused himself from the table. The rest of the family glanced at one another in total shock. Without saying a word, they continued eating. The servants, after hearing the story, traded glances and continued serving. James looked down at his plate and ate in silence. The household was uncertain how to act or to speak about the strange, crazy aunt who was now hidden in the furthest back room of the house. Fred looked at Carlos. Carlos glanced at Fred. Mischievous thoughts about their nutty old aunt whirled in their heads; the boys found it amusing, and the two couldn't help giggling.

  During the following months, there were reports of several Mexicans with cattle, camped out near the Mercedes pumps. Without any explanation, Morris McCormach and several of his cavalry shot and killed five of them, two were caught and hung, and the rest escaped across the river. The dead bodies were brought to Mercedes and displayed outside at one of the grain warehouses,
so that all the citizens of the city would see the punishment and be forewarned of what would happen to Mexicans not complying with the laws and regulations of the town. McCormach, who lived by his own high expectations, was given words of praise and recognition by the newspapers for his heroism. The white citizens even threw a banquet in his honor. Everyone was singing, You're in the Army Now, and the most popular song of the war, Over There. Later, a bottle of expensive wine was delivered to Morris McCormach's headquarters with a note from an anonymous person congratulating him on his bravery.

  Don Federico read the local headlines and fumed. What was not being reported was the fact that the so-called bandits were a group of Mexican vaqueros delivering cattle from Mexico to one of the Mexican ranchers in the Valley. The Mexican vaqueros, not being familiar with their location, got lost. Most of them did not speak English; they were innocent, working Mexicans with families and several children to feed. The Mexican-American citizens were appalled at this abuse and the bigotry displayed and complained to Don Federico, legislators, senators, and higher-ups.

  The day following his celebration party, Morris McCormach was found dead.

  *****

  In November, Victoria gave birth to a nine-pound baby girl that she named Maria Theresa Del Calderóne. The baby was too large, and she was in hard labor for over twenty-six hours, which completely exhausted her. She spent several weeks in her bedroom, while two wet nurses were brought in to help feed the baby.

  In his Brownsville office, Don Federico was able to talk to his attorney friend Tomas Canalo, now a State Representative, who was receiving threats from several of the Texas Rangers. One of the threats came from a Ranger named Frank Horner, a friend, and buddy of ex-Ranger Hanson, who was considered a renegade and was still running from the law. Horner was a reincarnated roughneck from the last century of the Austin-Taylor regime, a tall brute of a man with a mean, cold eyes. He hated Mexicans and anyone that was involved with them. Stories were told that he had shot a Mexican prisoner in his jail cell because he snored. It was no wonder that Hanson still ran loose in Mexico with the aid of fearless Frank Horner and other corrupt Rangers. It was rumored that guns and rifles were being transported across the border by the Texas Rangers during the night for favors of Mexican tequila, mescal, and women.

  Canalo had put a campaign together and had won the Democratic State Representative for his district in Brownsville. One of Canalo's last cases had been a run-in with Frank Horner, who tried to finagle twenty acres away from a simple-minded Mexican-American rancher. Canalo won, and the jubilant farmer rewarded Canalo with money and also with several milk cows. Frank Horner's hatred fomented an outburst of wrath and the desire to get rid of Canalo. The Rangers had immunity and power of pardon from the governor and the freedom to terrorize and kill the Mexican people, but Canalo had the power to file charges on the Texas Rangers for their unfit conduct and the disregarding of civil rights. With Don Federico and his secretary James agreeing that it was time, Canalo had enough confidence and plenty of evidence. He wrote up all of the horror stories, filed charges against the Texas Rangers, and presented the list to the joint House-Senate Committee.

  Returning home to Mercedes, Don Federico was confronted by Clovis Anderson, who had returned to Spanish Acres from Arkansas, wanting to know if the Don wanted to adopt his baby son, Aaron. Anderson conceded that he was not capable of taking care of his son, as he was unable to work and needed money. Don Federico made it clear to Anderson that if he were going to raise his boy, it had to be legal. Anderson agreed, and within a week, papers were drawn up that designated Aaron was legally a Juelson child. Before Anderson left, Don Federico handed him a thick white envelope of money.

  Within a period of a week, Victoria had more than her hands full. She had now inherited Aaron, who was two months old, had her own baby girl, and little Luis, who would be four years old in December.

  The Posadas and Christmas came and went, and before long, the new year of 1918. The Ale's twins were going to graduate in the spring and, as customary, leave home to take up studies in college. Jamie was going to Austin to study law, and John engineering. It would be Fred's last year in the local school, as it only went to the eleventh grade. The following year, Fred would be heading for Houston Medical School.

  The violence on the border grew worse; the newly elected Governor William Hobby continued the policy initiated by Governor Ferguson, giving, even more, authority to the Texas Rangers, called "Loyalty Rangers," to continue policing the border. It was once again business as usual. Stories began to intensify regarding the heavy-handed bullying of the local Mexican population: the confiscating of their firearms; the entering of private homes without warrants; making improper arrests without explanation.

  In one instance, the sheriff of a small town close to Brownsville refused to hand over his Mexican prisoners to the Loyalty Rangers. One of the Rangers was Frank Horner. The Rangers ransacked the jail, took the prisoners, and hanged all of them, most of whom were American citizens. Relatives in mourning complained. The Cameron County Sheriff filed charges against the Rangers and threatened to jail the next law enforcement officer who threatened him. Within two weeks, the sheriff was found shot to death execution style, riddled with bullets in his back. Reports heard later were that all charges had been dismissed. Within the year, new legislation required immigrants to pass literacy tests and severely restricted immigration into the United States.

  In January of 1918, newspapers all over the Rio Grande Valley were filled with the shocking news from the tiny community of Porvenir, Texas, where fifteen Mexican-American boys and old men ranging from sixteen to seventy years of age were shot to death by heavily armed Texas Rangers, ranchmen, and several members of U.S. Cavalry, who descended on the village during the night, lined up the fifteen prisoners, and shot them to death, execution-style. Newsmen and reporters from all parts of the country swarmed into the area wanting to get a better picture of the scandalous news of what would soon become known as the Porvenir Massacre, especially when it included the involvement of the U. S. Cavalry.

  The few Mexican lawyers in the Rio Grande Valley protested, including Tomas Canalo, all wanting justice for these cruel actions. Governors, Senators, and State Representatives from other states questioned the government of Texas, and how it was being run—by hoodlums? Many of the white citizens who learned of the horror were completely appalled, declaring that perhaps they were as safe living in Mexico as living in Texas. With this war going on, what else could happen?

  Don Federico and James were ordered to help out with the investigation since many of the people spoke only Spanish. It took a long grueling day and a half by train getting to the town of Presidio, Texas. The hotel accommodations were slim to none, so they stayed with friendly families who knew what had happened and offered them living quarters until the investigation was done.

  In the rural community of Porvenir, several of the older, sickly Mexican men had been spared and the Don and El Guapo were able to talk to them and get their version of what took place. Many of the Mexican-American women were left widows, and over fifty children were orphaned, not counting those women who were pregnant. The widow ladies were anxious to give their accounts as well. Dozens of newspaper reporters were on the scene, making it convenient for the Don and James to use their skills as interpreters to clarify the facts.

  Many told the same story: the Texas Rangers and several other masked gringos searched their little huts. Already the accused were "white-washing" the story and blaming each other for the killing. There were conflicting stories, saying that they were killing bandits. The story did not fly, for it contained too many contradictions. The newspapers referred to it as the worst Texas Ranger misconduct in history; however, the United States Cavalry supposedly had nothing to do with the killings. Several of the Mexican-American widows filed claims with the Mexican authorities and with the Mexican Ambassador, Ygnacio Bonilla, newly appointed by Carranza. The city of Presidio, Texas, took no action an
d claimed no responsibility for any of the killings.

  Don Federico and James returned exhausted and troubled after a week of notes and sending letters to their Congressmen and State Senators. They filed the reports and filed charges blaming the Texas Rangers for the shocking atrocities. A special separate letter was mailed to Representative Tomas Canalo in Brownville with a clear statement describing the crimes perpetrated against the Mexican-American people.

  Shortly after the reports, Don Federico and James were ordered to travel to the city of Ciudad Victoria and visit with General Nafarrate. He had proclaimed himself provisional governor of the state of Tamaulipas, and they needed to get his statement. The United States did not want any more trouble with Mexico. The two men were met with a friendly embrace and introduced to Nafarrate's newlywed wife, Maria. The couple sent them home with dozens of gifts, including sweet chocolate and cases of Mexican liquors.

  After their return, Don Federico had messages from Canalo telling him that they had made good progress. Governor Hobby had been under so much pressure that he ordered the disbandment of Company B of the Texas Rangers and had dismissed five of the accused killers as if that were any consolation for the innocent deaths. It became front page news in all of the big newspapers.

  In early April, newspapers confirmed the death of General Nafarrate, who was murdered near the city of Tampico, Mexico. James was terrified. Don Federico was heartbroken over the death, and it took several weeks before his nerves settled. General Nafarrate had been his friend. In confidence, General Nafarrate had confirmed that Carranza was playing the strategy game regarding the United States and using the German money for his own use. Making a threat against the President of Mexico in public was risky, and it had cost Nafarrate his life.