The Brick People

by Alejandro Morales

  On a blustery summer afternoon Laura had invited two talented and important people to perform for her assembled guests. Joseph Simons was the keynote speaker whose lecture “A Few Things About Brick, Mortar, Masonry, Terra Cotta and the Bixby Hotel Disaster as Viewed by a Brick Man” addressed a recent tragedy in Long Beach. The other guest participant was Edit Marian Chalk, a classical pianist who would open the evening activities with music by Mozart, Beethoven and Chopin.

  After an hour of aperitifs and conversation, the group of seventy-five were seated. Laura sat Walter in the front row corner seat from where he could see perfectly the lovely face and body of Edit. Not one word of the introduction did he hear. Upon pronouncing the last word, Laura observed her enthralled brother-in-law staring at Edit. When Edit completed her performance, she stepped to the front of the appreciative public and bowed. Walter’s applause seemed louder than the others and he smiled, letting her know that he thought she was the greatest pianist in the world. She moved toward him and acknowledged his enthusiasm. He kept applauding and smiling. Edit walked to the back of the crowd and disappeared into the house.

  Laura came to the front and introduced Joseph, who graciously thanked the audience and took the podium.

  “Let me assure you that this will be short, for I, too, want Miss Chalk to enchant us again with her beautiful music,” Joseph said as he smiled at his audience.

  Walter loosened his tie, crossed his arms and thought about Edit. With the words “In conclusion ... ” pronounced by his brother, Walter realized he had missed Joseph’s entire speech. He walked to the white French doors leading into the living room, searching for Edit. By the time he found her, he had already decided that she would be his wife. As he came face to face with her, Laura made the introductions and helped break the awkwardness. Walter did not know exactly what he would have said to Edit if it were not for his sister-in-law who began to tell Edit about the beautiful home Walter was building in Los Angeles.

  “Ask him to tell you about it. Better yet, you should take Edit to see your new home,” Laura said and walked away.

  “I bet it’s made of Simons brick,” Edit smiled.

  “The world’s best,” Walter said comfortably.

  “Good brick and good mortar, like your brother said.” Edit built Walter’s confidence.

  “Would you like to see the house?” Walter asked and prayed.

  “Wonderful idea,” Edit answered.

  Walter followed her to the garden where she played two original compositions to the delight of the guests. By the end of the evening Walter was enchanted beyond hope. He did not admit to being in love but he knew he wanted to share the future and his fortune with Edit, the most beautiful, talented and intelligent woman he had ever met.

  By the spring of 1922, Walter had found a wife, Edit Marian Chalk, who immediately took over running the home Walter had taken her to see on their first outing. She had decorated the house to reflect her musical tastes derived from her years of study in the best schools of music in Canada and the United States, an achievement which made Walter more proud of her. Edit became involved with the Los Angeles Symphony and other musical organizations to which she contributed money and devoted time. She was sincerely excited about the many possibilities that her husband’s cute little town had to offer. She was a woman who, along with her husband, enjoyed experimenting with the social structures of the time and felt strongly that Walter, like his brother Joseph, should be a spokesman for brick.

  Edit continued her involvement with music in Los Angeles and through her affiliations introduced Walter to associations that would advance him in the area of construction. They entertained many Eastern and Midwestern brick manufacturers until finally the association members voted to have their national convention in Los Angeles. It was the first time the large national industrial body, the Common Brick Manufacturers Association, had crossed the continent to hold its annual convention in California, the place where paradise trembles.

  Walter and Edit dedicated hours to the success of the conference. They arranged two special trains which brought the delegates from the Midwest and East to Los Angeles, where the sessions were held at the Biltmore Hotel. Regardless of the long distance which most of the participants had to travel, attendance at the meetings surpassed that of any previous convention. The visitors were profuse in their praise of Western hospitality, especially the arrangements made by Walter and Edit.

  One afternoon, the delegates visited the brick plants and enjoyed a special entertainment at Simons. It was provided by Walter and Edit’s Mexicans, as the visitors referred to the men, women and children who played instruments, sang and danced to traditional Mexican music. The Simons Mexicans prepared an exceptional variety of regional dishes, the culmination of which was the barbacoa. At the plant, the workers had been ordered to build a stage covered on three sides and roofed with palms. A theatrical performance celebrating the Mexican holiday, the Day of the Dead, was presented for the guests, who were fascinated by the costumes and music. The candy skulls and skeletons were especially a big hit.

  After the food and entertainment ended, Walter extended greetings to the brick men. He said that it was an honor to welcome the association to Los Angeles and he hoped it would come back every year. But most important to the brick manufacturers were Walter’s comments on the future of brick in California.

  “Los Angeles has an impressive record of more than $200,000,000 worth of building done during 1922. While Los Angeles is a fine city, more fireproof buildings should be erected. Here lies the great opportunity and challenge for brick manufacturers: whether or not we can keep up with the growing demand for our product. Brick is the material with which great fire calamities, such as the one which befell San Francisco, can be avoided.” Walter looked at the audience, pleased that they seemed to agree with him.

  “We must educate the people about the safety advantages that brick offers,” he continued. “We must have publicity to enlighten the public and to secure legislative enactments that will be fair to brick. We must fight against interests who attempt to deceive or mislead the public. No lie can live. Give the public the truth about brick and we can ultimately win the market. We must do this together. This is the day of cooperation. The man who lives within himself is not a success and will never succeed.”

  The enthusiastic guests stood to acknowledge his vision of the successful future. Just beyond the circle of light in which the elite brick manufacturers sat, two hundred and seventy-five Mexican workers waited eagerly to produce the brick to build California and make Walter’s dream become reality. Among the Mexicans, Octavio neither clapped nor cheered. He watched impassively, rubbing together two twenty-dollar gold coins in each of his jacket pockets.

  Chapter 9

  By March of 1922, most of the horses and mules were gone from the brickyard. Half a dozen horses and three mules were pastured in the fields between Vail Field Airport and Simons. The horses were more a reminder of past and changing times than practical animals, except that Gonzalo had chosen the six best horses of the herd for his pleasure. He considered them a reward for his many years of dedicated service to Walter. William did not object to Gonzalo’s ownership of the animals. Nor did James Simons, who kept exact figures of equipment and animal inventory, ever question Gonzalo’s possessions. James considered it a good idea to keep a few horses available in case the delivery trucks broke down, or if his uncle wanted a careful inspection of the property.

  The transporting of material was now accomplished by trucks owned by William Melone and Sons. The fleet was housed and maintained in Simons. Although the maintenance was the responsibility of William’s company, he took advantage of the Simons brickyard equipment and mechanic. As the fleet of trucks grew, so did the number of mechanics. By the middle of 1922, four Mexicans with mechanical experience had been found and hired by Gonzalo.

  At the zenith of his power, Gonzalo put four of his best horses up for sale. Gonzalo, in charge of the Simons general
store, decided that it would be an innovative idea to convert one of the small rooms near the general store into a restaurant. In three small bachelor rooms he set up a kitchen and tables. The menu was simple, and after dark someone served homemade beer and wine from a window in the back. Success struck the restaurant and Gonzalo hired another cook.

  Early one morning, while Gonzalo and William were being served breakfast at the restaurant, both cooks announced that they would have to leave the job in one week because their husbands had returned from working in the north and required attention. And besides, they had both discovered that they were en estado and did not want to work for fear of losing the embryo.

  “We would work up to the last moment, but our husbands have returned. You understand, Don Gonzalo,” one woman said.

  “We will not abandon you. My sister Amalia will come on Friday. I will show her what she has to do. She is a good cook. You will see,” the taller of the two added. They both moved to the kitchen area.

  The day Amalia started work at the restaurant, Gonzalo sat down and faced the back of the tall slender woman who worked at the counter top chopping onions. When she turned to see the customer, Amalia noticed the large square face and recognized the man so many times described by her sister and friends. Struck by her natural beauty, Gonzalo was not able to say a word.

  From that moment on, rumors began to circulate throughout the town. Men, women, and children talked about Amalia and Gonzalo, who began to spend most of his time at the restaurant talking with Amalia when business was slow. When alone, Gonzalo would sit at his table and discuss what Amalia needed to run a more efficient restaurant. Well-organized and fast working, she easily accomplished the work that was formerly done by two women. Gonzalo’s admiration changed to a desire to possess her, and her curiosity changed to feelings of caring for the man with the ugly square face.

  One night Amalia stayed after closing hours to clean the floors and get ready for the next morning. This was not out of the ordinary, for she often stayed after hours to work, but in her zeal to finish as much as she could, she did not notice that she had worked until nine-thirty. Her job was hard, but she treated the restaurant as if it were her own home, and she would often spend time dreaming about how she would like her life to become.

  At ten in the evening when Amalia went to the door to leave, Gonzalo entered. At the moment she saw his block face, she understood that the restaurant would be her home. They kissed and embraced. He could not and would not resist the passion.

  That evening Gonzalo and Amalia shared their caring and need for each other. He took her to an empty bachelor cabin and brought her water and towels. Amalia asked Gonzalo to stay the night. She slept comfortably with a newly discovered sense of liberty. He lay at her side, eyes open, thinking of Pascuala.

  His desire to be with Amalia developed into a basic need and soon he gave orders to extend a room from the restaurant, which had already been enlarged. This was to be Amalia’s room, which she accepted without question. Here she worked and waited late in the evening for Gonzalo to walk from his first house to his second. All of Simons knew what Gonzalo and Amalia did at the restaurant, but no one dared mention it to him or Pascuala, who was filled with child again.

  Amalia lived in that room for six months, until one day she demanded a house somewhere outside of Simons where she was to give birth to their first-born. Gonzalo said nothing when he heard his love announce the results of their playfulness. She had been worried about his reaction, but she heard no roar from the large, square-faced man who tenderly embraced her. It was then that Gonzalo decided to sell four of his horses. He sent out several men, including Roberto Lacan, who was marked to be fired, to announce the animals for sale.

  Roberto was given the special task of visiting Malaquías de Leon who had expressed interest in two of the beasts. Malaquías had remained in contact with the people of Simons, and Gonzalo often sent him men to be cured of homesickness, bad colds or stomach problems caused by what most people believed were psychological forces gone awry. Malaquías was not a curandero, but he was always willing to help a person in need of rest, which was what he offered.

  “If an ill individual rests in the house of Malaquías de Leon, that person will be cured,” the people would say after a few days’ stay at the de Leon ranch. Malaquías, although stern and outwardly unloving with his family, had a reputation of being a generous, kind and helpful man with neighbors.

  Malaquías thanked Roberto for the message and rode back to Simons with him. When Roberto and Malaquías entered the store, they found Gonzalo and William with what seemed to be a new employee. Roberto noticed the three men trade glances in the sudden solitude of bad tidings. Roberto, aware that Gonzalo wanted to replace him, understood that this was the last time he would see the inside of the general store. No introductions were needed. Roberto knew the tall man was his replacement.

  Gonzalo reached into his inside coat pocket and pulled out a cloth bag of gold coins.

  “You are fired, Lacan,” Gonzalo said with a slight smile.

  “It makes you laugh? Don’t feel so sure of yourself, you cockled prick, because at times things are not the way one perceives them,” Roberto laughed.

  Gonzalo moved toward the young man. “Watch your mouth because someone can break it!”

  “That might be” Roberto yelled, “but you won’t be the one; you can’t even break through the pussy hair of your concubine.”

  Gonzalo placed his right hand on his gun. “Get out of here because you are in danger!”

  “Leave, Roberto! I can’t assure you your life!” William shouted and cocked a rifle.

  “Now you have a reason to fire me!” Roberto shouted outside. “Mr. Gonzalo Pedroza is no one’s father! I swear it with what hangs between my legs,” Roberto repeated as he walked on Vail Street out of Simons.

  That afternoon William prevented Gonzalo from committing a murder. Nonetheless, the damage had been initiated in Gonzalo’s mind. From that moment, on he began to doubt Amalia’s faithfulness. He did not intend to abandon her, but each time he thought of Amalia’s growing womb he heard the cursing insinuations of Roberto Lacan.

  Malaquías looked at Jacobo Ramos, the tall stranger in the store with Gonzalo and William. Jacobo was from New Mexico and could read, write and do mathematics exceptionally well. He was hired as a regular worker in the brickyard, but asked to be placed in a higher position of responsibility. He was capable of managing the general store better than or at least as well as Roberto. That was all that Gonzalo needed. He had often observed Roberto talking intimately with Amalia and several times had interrupted their conversation at the restaurant, conversations that Amalia seemed to enjoy. It did not matter to Gonzalo that Roberto was from the same town as Amalia. He disliked the relaxed manner of her conversation with this man, and the confidence that evolved between them threatened Amalia’s dependence on Gonzalo.

  “Good afternoon, Gonzalo,” Malaquías said, emerging from the corner where he had witnessed Roberto being fired.

  Gonzalo instructed Jacobo to restock the shelves, looked at Malaquías, and motioned to the exit. As they rode to where the horses were pastured, Malaquías asked about the condition of the animals and Gonzalo inquired about the farm. He assumed Malaquías’ efforts had been profitable since he was interested in purchasing two horses. Suddenly Malaquías stopped abruptly.

  “I intend to buy some properties on Maple. I hope you don’t oppose my living near Simons,” Malaquías said, surprising his fellow horse-lover.

  “There is no need. You don’t represent any danger. You can do what the hell you want. Look, there are the animals. Which ones do you like?” Gonzalo replied.

  This gesture of choice was understood by both as an opportunity for friendship beneath the surface of the warring facades. That afternoon Malaquías arrived home guiding two horses. Gonzalo counted the money from the sale. He would sell the other animals and soon accumulate enough to rent a home outside of Simons for his
Amalia.

  It was not surprising that in January of 1923 the Walter Robey Simons dream factory was recognized by the Common Brick Manufacturers Association of America as the largest brickyard in the world. The Association took it upon itself to take a series of photographs for publicity and distributed them to the membership, workers and public. Two photographs became popular with the Simons workers. The first one showed all the buildings of the brickyard. The workers liked the photograph because they could see the powerful producing brick factory they helped to build.

  The second photograph held with special regard by the workers was a photo of the entire Simons work crew. The men received free copies of the photograph and some bought extra copies to send back to Mexico. In the opinion of the men, the photograph captured the sense of living in Simons and the sense that they were part of a great working family. Two women, however, interpreted the photo differently.

  Milagros Revueltas, dressed in black, expressed her opinion to her family and husband during dinner at a time they were together and outwardly happy. When Damian handed the photograph to Milagros, she first studied it. The family waited anxiously to hear Milagros’ reaction to the image. She handed the black-and-white back to Damian.

  “Do you like it, Damian?” Milagros asked calmly.

  “Don’t you?” Damian retorted, somewhat surprised.

  “Well, no,” Milagros began. “It is a photograph filled with repression. The men are stiff, tense, as if they were dead, all with hats on. The serious faces are faces of fear or hate. Very few of the men are smiling. It is a photograph of sad prisoners, of tired slaves. Of men angered for being where they are at. As if they are forced to do what they do, not want to do.”