Mystery Monday: The Railway Men of Orizaba, Part 2

Edward Joseph Organ (1859 - 1893)

Looking over the collection of photographs that belonged to my great-great grandmother, Catherine (O’Grady) Perrotin, I found one that was especially compelling and have been wondering about its subject for some time now. 

Though he was not my ancestor, he certainly was related to someone, and it seems only fitting to honor his memory, out of respect for the friendship he shared with Catherine and her family.

"To Dear Mrs. F. Perrotin, Mater in Mexico"

Edgar Joseph Organ dedicated this cabinet card photograph to Catherine Perrotin on February 27, 1893.   Taken at the Lucio Diaz Studio in Orizaba, Veracruz, Mexico, the photograph is addressed to her as his “Mater in Mexico.” 

Catherine, who would have been about 51 at the time, might indeed have been a mother-like figure to many of the expatriate railway men in Orizaba at the time.  Most likely, many of these young men, originally from England, Ireland, France, and the United States, had embarked on their great adventure working on the fledgling Mexican railway, Ferrocarriles Mexicanos, as bachelors, while others may have left wives and children behind for several years.  Catherine already had been living in Mexico for at least 25 years.  She would have been able to offer wisdom and counsel to these young men on the local customs, manners, and language. 

In this portrait, Edgar strikes a somewhat casual pose.  His broad hands appear strong from years of physical work.  He is dressed either as an engine driver, leaning against a half column on top of which are stacked three or four books.  Perhaps these were to indicate that he was an educated man and enjoyed reading.  This would seem to be borne out by his strikingly beautiful handwriting on the reverse of the cabinet card.  He also seems to have had some artistic talent, evidenced by the flower, leaves and feathers he incorporates gracefully into his capital letters.  

Edgar Joseph Organ

The great care that Edgar took to dedicate this to my great-great grandmother aroused my curiosity about him.  Documentation varies, but he was born in the southwest region of the United Kingdom in about 1859, in either Cheltenham, Gloucestershire, or Monmouth, Wales.  Cheltenham lies some 22 miles east of the village of Ruardean - where Timothy Bennett lived with his own family - while Monmouth is about half that distance to the west.  

According to the England and Wales FreeBMD Marriage Index: 1837 – 1915, he and Elizabeth Maria Woodward registered their marriage in Gloucester between October and December 1879.

They appear two years later in the 1881 England Census, living at 18 Salisbury Street in Cheltenham, with a six-month-old infant daughter, Elizabeth.  By this time, Edgar is identified as a 22-year-old railway fireman. Both he and his wife are noted as born in “Gloster” – the abbreviation for Gloucester.

Did Edgar and Timothy Bennett know each other before they went to Mexico?  It seems likely, especially as both had been railway firemen before they advanced to engine driver.  They probably trained together on the double Fairlie steam locomotive in Bristol, down the River Severn, where the Avonside Engine Company manufactured some 53 of these for Ferrocarriles Mexicanos to navigate the steep grade from Cordoba to Orizaba, Veracruz, until the railway converted to electric engines in 1920.  

Though it is uncertain when both men left for Mexico, we know that Timothy married Maria Dolores Perrotin at the railway station in Orizaba in September of 1885.  A year or two after Dolores’ father, Francois Perrotin, died of meningitis in 1891, she and her husband and their two children left Mexico for England to join Timothy’s mother and family in the Forest of Dean.  Catherine would join them in 1895.

Two months after dedicating his portrait to Catherine Perrotin, Edgar appears as an engine driver on the passenger manifest of the ship Aurania, arriving in Liverpool, England, from New York on April 25, 1893.   

Tragically, he died some six months later on November 28, 1893, in Cheltenham, Gloucestershire, England.  He was only 32.  The entry in the National Probate Calendar (Index of Wills and Administrations), 1861 – 1941 does not list the cause of death, but it does indicate that he left a widow, Elizabeth Maria Organ, who received his effects in the sum of £178 when the will was administered on December 23, 1893, just two days before Christmas.

Was Edgar ill before he left Mexico?  Did he become ill after arriving in England?  Or did he die accidentally?

Where was Edgar and Elizabeth Maria’s daughter, Elizabeth?  Unless she died before her father returned to England, she would have been about twelve years old in 1893.  The other possibility is that she could have been living with relatives during this time.  In any case, I cannot find her after her initial mention in the 1881 England Census and wonder whatever became of her.

Any extra money that Edgar might have brought home from his adventurous sojourn working on the Mexican Railway would have come in handy for Elizabeth Maria, though it could have not lasted long after she became the sole breadwinner.  In a sad turn of events, she reappears in the 1901 England Census in Barnwood, Gloucestershire, working as a storeroom servant at Barnwood House, formerly an estate that was later converted to an insane asylum.   Listed as a widow, Elizabeth was 39 years old.  Had she not only lost her husband but her daughter, too?

What happened to her after that?  I only wish I knew.   

Next:  The Railway Men of Orizaba - Part Two


Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Mystery Monday: The Railway Men of Orizaba, Part 1

Who are these men?

These two cabinet card photographs are part of a larger collection of “mystery pictures” that belonged to my great-great grandmother, Catherine (O’Grady) Perrotin.  From the dates on the back, it appears she received the photographs while living in Orizaba, Veracruz, Mexico, perhaps as she was preparing to move to England in 1895 to join her daughter, and son-in-law, Maria Dolores and Timothy Bennett.  At that time, she would have been about 53 years old.  Of course, it is also possible that the pictures were sent to her after she arrived in England.   Both pictures were taken in Orizaba, at the Lucio Díaz studio. 

The photograph above, taken at the Lucio Diaz Studio in Orizaba, Veracruz,
Mexico, is identified as an "Instant Portrait."

The men appear to have been friends or co-workers of my great-great grandfather, Charles Jacques François (“François”) Perrotin, who was a mechanic for Ferrocarriles Mexicanos, the Mexican Railway System, at Orizaba Station. (François died in Orizaba on May 25, 1891, of meningitis.) Timothy Bennett, Maria Dolores's husband, also worked for Ferrocarriles Mexicanos as a train engineer.  All appear to be either American or European, perhaps British, French or Irish.  This is especially plausible, given that these groups engineered and built the Mexican Railway line from Veracruz to Mexico City.  

In the first picture, the two gentlemen appear to be dressed in conductors’ uniforms, wearing ties, pocket watches, and pinstripe suits.   The bowler hats they are wearing would suggest that these are not their official portraits, as they would be wearing conductor’s caps instead.  There is no identification or dedication on the back of the card, except for the name of the photography studio.

The second picture, below, is dedicated to Catherine: 

“Le endorso a la Señora Perrotin este retrato en prueba del cariño que le profesa su amigo, Cook.” 

 “I dedicate this portrait to Mrs. Perrotin as proof of the affection of her friend, Cook.” 

The dedication is dated June 29, but the year is illegible.  Cook appears to be wearing the uniform of a railway worker, perhaps a conductor, but we cannot be sure.  I am not good at guessing ages but would estimate that he was somewhere between his late thirties to early fifties - a wide range, to be sure.

In an intriguing coincidence, a father and son with the last name of Cook appear  in the 1860 United States Federal Census, as neighbors of the then-newly marriedPerrotins in Shreveport, Louisiana.  Thomas Cook, age 74, appears to have been a gardener (though the writing on the census form is unclear) who came to America from his native England in 1808.  His son, Robert Cook, was 18 years old and a native of Indiana.  Interestingly, he is listed as a “Gin Maker.”  

Perhaps the Cooks and Perrotins were good friends.  Could the son (and possibly the father) have gone to Orizaba with the Perrotins?  If Thomas Cook did go to Mexico, even at his advanced age, it is unlikely that he worked there.  But Robert, who was about a year older than Catherine, would have been young enough to embark on such an adventure, either working on the Mexican railway with the others, or in another profession...

If anyone reading this has any thoughts on the identity of these men or suggestions for where to look next, I’d love to hear them.

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully



Do you know these men?  Did you know, or are you a member of the Cook, Perrotin, Bennett, or O'Grady families?  Or did someone you know work on the Mexican Railway in Veracruz?  If so, share your memories and comments below.

Sentimental Sunday: "Do Not Give In": Part 2

Full Circle

Second in a two-part series - Continued

My great-grandfather, Enrique Huesca (about 1850 - 1920)

Jose Enrique Florentino Huesca, known as "Enrique," lost his wife, Maria de la Luz Merlo, whom he called “mi Lucecita,” or “my little light,” some time before 1912, about three years before the death of his young grandson, Gilberto Huesca.  My father, Gilbert Cayetano Huesca, and his brothers and sisters recalled hearing stories of their grandparents’ unwavering devotion to one another, so it would not be unlikely that Enrique was still grieving for his beloved wife even as he was consoling his daughter-in-law.  Upon reading these tender and feeling words, however, one wonders whether he ever really recovered from the burdens of his own crosses.  He was about 70 years old when he died in Cañada Morelos, Puebla, on August 20, 1920.

Enrique’s son and daughter-in-law, Jose Alberto Gil Cayetano “Cayetano” and Catalina Huesca welcomed a baby son on November 1, 1915, in Tierra Blanca, Veracruz, seven months after the death of their beloved toddler Gilberto.  It is possible that the new baby reminded them of the child they had recently lost, and that may be why they gave him the same first name:  Gilberto. 

Gilberto Cayetano (his middle name was given for his father) Huesca – my father – was called by his middle name, “Cayetano” (or “Tano” for short) by all.  Perhaps his parents decided not to call him by his first name because it might remind them of the tragic loss of the first Gilberto.  This may be the reason my father never learned of his first name until he was in his 40s, when, living in Chicago, Illinois, he obtained his baptismal record for his naturalization application to become an American citizen.  Upon seeing his full name for the first time, he asked his family and friends to call him Gilbert from that day forward.

Enrique Huesca’s words to my grandmother came full circle some 82 years later.  It was 1997, and my father, by then 82 years old, was still mourning the loss of my mother, Joan (Schiavon) Huesca, a decade earlier.  Like his grandparents, he and my mother had been deeply in love, and her absence now permeated every aspect of his being.  He used to tell my sisters and me that he thought of her “every fraction of a second,” and we never doubted this. 

My father was visiting us for dinner one Saturday evening when we called my grandmother Catalina at her apartment in Mexico City.  She was 104 years old but was as sharp as ever and would continue to reign as the respected matriarch of her large family until her death in 1998. 

I turned the speakerphone on so we could hear each other, and after the usual greetings, she asked my father how he was.  My father, in an emotional voice, told her of the profound sadness he still felt without my mother. 

Catalina and her son, Gilbert Cayetano Huesca
Mexico City, about 1948

My grandmother initially expressed her sympathy but then stopped abruptly.  “Hijo mío – my son,” she admonished him in Spanish, “ya basta – that is enough.  Of course you love her and of course you miss her.  But what has happened is done.  You had a beautiful life with my daughter Joan, and she left you four beautiful daughters.  The time of mourning is over.  If I had done that when your father died at such a young age, I would have dishonored his memory and done a disservice to our family.  I still had so much to do, and so do you, my son.  You must not give in to the pain, but live for the living.  You must not forget Joan, but it is time for you to live for your children now.”

It would be inaccurate and unfair to say that my father turned his sadness around right after that.  Yet his mother’s heartfelt wisdom reverberated within him in the coming years as he began to live more fully for his children and grandchildren until his own death in 2009 at age 93. 

His brother Gilberto had, in a strange way, given my father his name.  Maybe in another roundabout and mysterious way, the memory of the first Gilberto also gave his younger brother and namesake a renewed lease on life, even in his final years.

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully 

Did you know any of the people in this story, or are you a member of the Perrotin, Huesca, or Schiavon/Schiavone families?  If so, share your memories and comments below.

Sympathy Saturday: "Do Not Give In": Part 1

Condolences

Cañada Morelos, April 25, 1915

                       

Mrs. Catalina Perroton.

Tierra Blanca

My Dear Friend,

As I send you my greetings together with all the well-deserved attentions to you and your kind family, I want to send you my deepest sympathies on the death of the Child Gilberto, and you must not believe that it was caused by a Cold, but by the bump he had on his head, which sooner or later would have a sad ending.  It happened…there is nothing you can do but have patience.  Now do not give in to the Pain; but Look at this news with some calm, understanding that it is better to grieve over the dead rather than wish  them alive again; as I did, for I have spent my life in tears wishing they were alive.  The conjugal bond offers us flowers and pleasures…but the cross of marriage, offers us a world of woes.  No matter how much a family may possess, all must go through that world of woes…but all you can do is have a big soul, a Heart that neither denies the truth nor gives in to tears but Sees that this is part of life.  Calm, my friend, calm, do not give in and do not carry this burden around with you.  Give my kisses to all the children.  Your friend who esteems you,

Enrique Huesca

At left, the original letter (in Spanish) from Enrique Huesca to 
Catalina (Perrotin) Huesca, 1915

The above is my English translation of a letter that my paternal great-grandfather, Jose Enrique Florentino Huesca, of Cañada Morelos, Puebla, Mexico, wrote to his daughter-in-law – my grandmother, Angela Catalina (nee Perrotin) Huesca, in Tierra Blanca, Veracruz, Mexico, shortly after the death of her young son, Gilberto Huesca. 

Gilberto was about two years old when he died.  The exact cause of death is unclear; many of the civil records of the village of Tierra Blanca from 1915 were burned in a fire, and most of those who might have known the details have gone on to their heavenly reward. 

Maybe he fell or suffered a blow to the head while playing or pulling down some heavy object from above.  Maybe he had a tumor of some sort.  We may never know, but we can only imagine the grief Catalina felt at losing her sweet little boy.  Enrique, as he was known, gently tells his daughter-in-law that she must not believe that her toddler died of a cold and adds that “sooner or later” the lump would have a sad ending.  In what must have been nearly unbearable for Catalina to conceive, he goes on to reassure her that the child’s fate might have been worse had he lived. 

His words today might sound terribly fatalistic, but they came during a trying period in Mexico.  The country was in the throes of a revolution, and Tierra Blanca and surrounding areas not only experienced the heavy casualties of that conflict but also lost many people, young and old, to outbreaks of measles, diptheria, and smallpox. 

It would have been easy for a young 21-year-old mother to “give in to the pain” of losing her child when she was scarcely an adult herself.  But her father-in-law’s words must have given her the strength she needed to go on and care for her husband Cayetano and their three children, Enrique, Eduardo, and Victoria, even as she was in the first trimester of yet another pregnancy.  Like many of the women of her time, Catalina would prove to be strong and resilient.  She and Cayetano would have 17 children in all, 11 of whom survived into adulthood. 

Catalina and Cayetano Huesca and sons (left to right) Gilberto, Eduardo, and Enrique,
in front of their home, Orizaba, 1913.

Enrique’s letter hints at his own trials and tribulations.  We know little about him except that he was born between 1847 and 1850 in Puebla, Mexico, to Jose Calletano de la Trinidad Huesca and Josefa Rodriguez.  A devout Catholic, he followed in the family trade as a carpenter, crafting interior furnishings for the cathedral and churches of Puebla, a city known for having as many churches as there are days in a year.  He taught his children to do good for others but to keep their acts to themselves, often reminding them to “never let the right hand know what the left hand is doing.”  This was a refrain that his children and their children would carry with them all their lives.

Born at the end of Mexico’s civil reform war, Enrique lived through some of the most turbulent eras of his country’s history.  Before he had even reached his teen years, he undoubtedly witnessed the Battle of Puebla between the French and Mexican armies.  He would have rejoiced wildly with his family at the Mexican victory on May 5, 1862, only to be devastated barely a year later when the French regrouped and defeated the Mexicans in a second battle at Puebla and went on to topple and replace the Mexican government with what Napoleon III referred to as his “Mexican Empire.”  He and his parents would have discussed the resurgence of the deposed Mexican president, Benito Juarez, who with the backing of President Abraham Lincoln, reclaimed his government and had the puppet Emperor Maximilian Hapsburg executed by firing squad in 1867. 

The uncertainty of the times and their severe impact on the nation would continue for many years as subsequent regimes rose and fell one after the other, culminating in the Revolution of 1910 and indelibly scarring the psyche of the Mexican people with the ironic realization that the only constancy in their lives was that  - save their faith in God and their love for one another - nothing, including happiness, could either be certain or last forever. 

Next:  Sentimental Sunday - "Do Not Give In" Part Two

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully