It's an Honor to Meet You...

I am a proud member of Geneabloggers, Thomas MacEntee's web-based group of family history writers and genealogists.  It includes over 3,000 members - that's 3,000 blogs -  from all over the world.  I joined only a year ago but have been fortunate enough to read hundreds of inspiring stories by some very talented people.

Thomas' website is a rich repository for genealogy news, research and tech tips, writing prompts, and links to some of the best articles about genealogy you'll read on the web.  One of the popular features on the site is called "May I Introduce to You..." written by fellow blogger Gini Webb of Ginisology.  Gini's profiles on Geneabloggers are always fun to read.  I have enjoyed reading her interviews and "meeting" new bloggers, some of whom I now follow regularly.

What a lovely surprise it was when Gini contacted me earlier this month and asked to interview me for her series.  I am grateful to her and to Thomas for including me.

If you'd like to read Gini's interview with me, you can find it here.  Stay tuned every Monday afternoon, when you'll get to meet a new blogger - and gain another perspective on genealogy and writing.

Copyright ©  2013  Linda Huesca Tully

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Amanuensis Monday: The Astor Fire, Part 7 - Epilogue: I Will Remember

Joan (Schiavon) Huesca (1928 - 1987)
Enrique Huesca (1909 - 2003)
Mercedes (Formento) Huesca (1924 - 2004)
Eduardo Huesca (1947 -  )

Introduction:  In the spring of 1978, my father, Gilbert Huesca, sent my mother, Joan Huesca, then 49, on a flight to Mexico City to visit his family while he stayed behind in California to tend to business matters. During this visit, she and three of our relatives were caught in one of the deadliest fires in Mexico City's history, known as the Astor Fire. My mother wrote a letter to thank her rescuers shortly after returning home to California. She also recounted this nightmarish tale many times to my father, my sisters, and me in the years that followed, always emphasizing that life and the people in it are gifts to be treasured.  This is Part Seven, the conclusion in a series about that night, based on my mother's recollections, those of my relatives, and my research on the event.  - L.H.T.



One month after safely escaping the Astor fire that killed eight people and wounded over 50, my mother wrote to thank the Mexico City firefighters who saved her life and the lives of my aunt Mercedes "Meche," uncle Enrique, and cousin Eduardo Huesca. She kept a photocopy of her letter, which is reproduced below. The firefighters also rescued the Estrada family, neighbors who also were trapped on the seventh floor of the La Galia Building on the fateful night of May 13, 1978.  

I do not know whether my mother ever heard back from the fire department or whether the letter even reached the department or any of the firefighters involved in the Astor fire.  In a broader sense, this letter pays homage to all firefighters, no matter where they are - for the noble and unselfish work they do, even when it ends in the ultimate sacrifice. 

There is only thing I would add here.  I hope that if someday one of those heroes - or their families - should stumble upon this story, they would know that their courage and goodness will live on in our memories and inspire us for generations to come. On behalf of my entire family, I thank you for giving us a happy ending.


                                                                                       June 14, 1978


To the Heroic Corp of Firemen
of the Federal District,
Central de Bomberos,
Mexico City 1, D.F.

Gentlemen:

I was one of the eleven survivors of the recent Astor fire on May 13th, 1978.  Several brave and heroic firemen rescued all of us from the seventh floor* of the building at V. Carranza #63.

At the time of our rescue, I had no conception of the seriousness or the extent of the fire.

I was very frightened at the thought of having to descend the telescopic ladders to the street below us.  One of your courageous firemen displayed such patience to me, and finally convinced me to escape via the firemen's ladder.  This same fireman brought down my purse, with all intact after I had left the terrace of the seventh floor.

There was another courageous fireman just in back of me while I descended the ladder.  This brave fireman, protected me from falling backward, and as I would place a foot out into space, this heroe (sic), with kind patience, would place my foot on each step of the ladder.  These two firemen shall always remain in my memory as two angels in asbestos garb.

We were all lovingly cared for by the doctor of the firemen's ambulance for more than six hours there in the street.  I shall never forget the love and concern shown to us.

I am trying to express the gratitude that I feel in my heart to you, the heroic firemen of the Federal District.  Words do not come easily, nor do they seem adequate to express my feelings.

A few days after the fire, I saw a television program, in which an official of the Fire Department was interviewed.  This gentleman stated that the most important quality of a Fireman in the Federal District was the ability to love.  The love, patience, and concern of all of you was outstanding.

When I learned that seven brave heroes of your department had lost their lives, my heart went out to them and their families.  God must have a very special place close to Him for these seven loving, courageous men.  I will always remember them in my prayers.

I, a North American, have always loved Mexico for her beauty. art, culture, and the friendliness of her people.  Now, I have more reason to love Mexico even more deeply,  for the gift of life given to me by her firemen.

Thank you for having given me the privilege of continuing my life:

I will remember your love each time I look into the faces of my loved ones, my Husband, my Daughters and my family and friends.

I will remember your love each day as I look about me at the wonders God has wrought.

I will remember your love as I perform my days work.

I will remember your love when I admire a piece of art, listen to beautiful music, or read a literary work.

I will remember your love when I reach out to help another human being.

I will remember your love for all of my life - the life which you have given to me.

You will all be remembered in my heart and prayers with all of my love.

                                                               Gratefully and lovingly,

                                                               Joan Huesca

                                                               (Mrs. Gilbert Huesca)

[Note:  Amanuensis is an ancient word meaning one who performs the function of writing down or transcribing the words of another.  Derived from the Latin root manu-  , meaning manual or hand, the word also has been used as a synonym for secretary or scribe.]

Copyright ©  2013  Linda Huesca Tully

To read previous installments in this series, please click on the links below:

The Astor Fire, Part 1 - The Gift of Life

The Astor Fire, Part 2 - Explosions

The Astor Fire, Part 3 - In God's Hands

The Astor Fire, Part 4 - Angels in Asbestos Garb

The Astor Fire, Part 5 - A Firefighter's Ability to Love

The Astor Fire, Part 6 - Aftermath



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Did you know, or are you a member of the Huesca family, or do you remember the Astor fire of 1978?  Share your memories and comments below.

Sentimental Sunday: The Astor Fire, Part 6: Aftermath

Joan (Schiavon) Huesca (1928 - 1987)
Gilbert Cayetano Huesca (1915 - 2009)
Enrique Huesca (1909 - 2003)
Mercedes (Formento) Huesca (1924 - 2004)
Eduardo Huesca (1947 -  )

Introduction:  In the spring of 1978, my father, Gilbert Huesca, sent my mother, Joan Huesca, then 49, on a flight to Mexico City to visit his family while he stayed behind in California to tend to business matters. During this visit, she and three of our relatives were caught in one of the deadliest fires in Mexico City's history, known as the Astor Fire. My mother wrote a letter to thank her rescuers shortly after returning home to California. She also recounted this nightmarish tale many times to my father, my sisters, and me in the years that followed, always emphasizing that life and the people in it are gifts to be treasured.  This is Part Six in a seven-part series about that night, based on my mother's recollections, those of my relatives, and my research on the event.  - L.H.T.

Mexican firefighters survey the ruins of the seven-story Astor Department Store
after it collapsed during a fire,  fatally burying several firemen and injuring others.

My father left our home in California to catch a flight down to Mexico City shortly after my mother called him on Saturday morning about the Astor fire.  

That same afternoon, my cousin Eduardo Huesca returned downtown to his family's home in the La Galia Building on Venustiano Carranza Street to see for himself the final outcome of the fire.  "I needed to find out if it was okay.  This was my father's legacy - his home, his business."  

He arrived there at about 1:00 p.m.  By then, firefighters had successfully extinguished the fire in the La Galia, where only hours earlier they had rescued the Huescas and another family.  They also had been able to get the blazes under control at both the Astor and Blanco department stores, a block apart from each other.

Eduardo headed through the mezzanine of the La Galia, past a service corridor that connected the building with Astor.  The fire, which had originated at Astor, had spread through the passageway into the La Galia.

Now the passageway was wide open, its steel curtains having been forced apart by the firefighters at some point.  As he paused briefly, he spotted the charred remains of someone inside. (1) The body may have been of the store's night watchman, who was said to have burned to death in the fire. (2)

Eduardo hurried upstairs, stopping at the fifth floor to survey his father's linen embroidery business, Sábanas y Manteles (Sheets and Tablecloths).  

"Everything was damaged," he recalled. "Later on we were able to remove some things and wash some of the fabrics that survived in better shape. They were all we had left, and we had to use them."  His older brother, Enrique Jr., who also returned to the building two days after the fire to spare his father the anguish of seeing the damage, would remember that even then hot water was still dripping from the ceilings through to every floor. (3)

The penthouse, though smoke-damaged, did not fare as badly as the business. The family ultimately was able to salvage most of their belongings, except for their electronics and appliances, which later were stolen by looters.

At about ten minutes after three on Saturday afternoon, not long after Eduardo left the La Galia Building, the Astor Department Store collapsed. It brought down in its wake a telescopic ladder and buried a number of firefighters under its smoldering ruins.

Members of the Heroic Corps of Firefighters dig through
the debris of the Astor Department Store to find the bodies
of their comrades.

An article by Pablo Viadas in a construction magazine, Construcción y Tecnología, pointed to the building's steel structure as a factor in the collapse.  Viadas surmised that the fire created an oven in the early twentieth century building, the high temperatures softening the steel so much that it gave way under the weight of the structure. (4)


Indeed, the toll of the two fires that night was high. The Astor and Blanco fire would go down in infamy as one of the worst fires in Mexico City's history.  

More than 500 firefighters were called in that night to fight the inferno.  Conflicting newspaper articles reported that of those, some 7 to 10 lost their lives. Over 50 people were injured, and a total of 15 families, including my mother, my uncle Enrique, aunt Meche, and cousin Eduardo Huesca, were rescued from neighboring buildings.

The Heroic Corps of Firefighters official website lists the following names of seven firefighters who died in 1978.  Though the site does not mention their month and date of death, it would appear that they died in the Astor fire:


First Sargent Roberto Ríos Miranda
Fireman Alfonso Torres Martínez
Fireman Rodrigo Quezada Molina
Fireman Juan Jorge Aceves Cortina
Fireman César Valverde Cueto
Fireman Lázaro Márquez Guzmán
Lieutenant Adalberto González



True to the name of their department, these firemen served their city heroically and faced the daunting challenges of the fire of May 13, 1978, calmly and bravely.  When Astor fell and took them with it, these men made the ultimate sacrifice and gave their lives so that others could live.  Their families, too, made untold tremendous sacrifices that night when they lost fathers, sons, husbands, and brothers.  Though many of us wish there were a way we could thank them today for the gift they gave our own loved ones those 35 years ago, we will always honor them and hold them dear in our hearts.

My cousin Enrique eventually found a new apartment for his parents.  He also helped them find a new location for the business at #2 Plaza Buenavista, where the family relocated whatever they could recover from their offices in the La Galia Building.

Enrique Huesca's business card with his new address
after the Astor fire. 

Not long after the fire, Enrique Sr. and his sons visited some of their suppliers.  "We asked them to help us," Eduardo remembered, "but with no luck. After being turned down several times, we visited a Jewish businessman.  'Huesca,' he said, 'just go and buy whatever you need for the business and don't worry about the money.  I believe in you.  I know you'll come through.'  

"He gave us a second chance and saved my father's business," Eduardo said. "I don't know whatever happened to that man, but even to this day, every night when I go to bed, I pray for him and his family."  Sábanas y Manteles went on to operate successfully for another two decades, until my uncle Enrique retired in 1995. (5)

In 1982, the Mexican President, José López Portillo, ordered that a park be built on the property in honor of the recent bank nationalization.  The park lasted a few years until a new building took its place. 

My parents flew home to California just days after the Astor fire.  About a month later, my mother wrote a letter to thank the Mexico City Fire Department for saving her life.* She and my father would return to Mexico several times after that.  Both the love they shared for that country and the bond between them and our family were now stronger than ever before. 

(1) Huesca, Eduardo.  Telephone interview.  April 7, 2013.

(2) "At least 4 dead as stores burn in Mexico City," Associated Press, Eugene Register-Guard, May 14, 1978.  Web.  Accessed March 25, 2013.
(3) Huesca, Enrique.  Telephone interview.  April 6, 2013.

(4) "The Thermodynamics of Fire." Construcción y Tecnología.  Mexico City, D.F., U. Medellín:  Mexican Institute of Cement and Concrete, IMCYC,.  2002, No. 166, pp. 36 - 38.  Web.  Accessed April 3, 2013.

(5) Huesca, Enrique.

* A transcript of my mother's letter will be published in Part 7 , as the conclusion of this series.

NEXT:  Part 7 - Epilogue: I Will Remember




To read the other installments in this series, please click on the links below:

The Astor Fire, Part 1 - The Gift of Life

The Astor Fire, Part 2 - Explosions

The Astor Fire, Part 3 - In God's Hands

The Astor Fire, Part 4 - Angels in Asbestos Garb

The Astor Fire, Part 5 - A Firefighter's Ability to Love

The Astor Fire, Part 7 - Epilogue: I Will Remember

**********

Copyright ©  2013  Linda Huesca Tully

Did you know, or are you a member of the Huesca family, or do you remember the Astor fire of 1978?  Share your memories and comments below.

The Astor Fire, Part 5: A Firefighter's Ability to Love

Joan (Schiavon) Huesca (1928 - 1987)
Enrique Huesca (1909 - 2003)
Mercedes (Formento) Huesca (1924 - 2004)
Eduardo Huesca (1947 -  )

Introduction:  In the spring of 1978, my father, Gilbert Huesca, sent my mother, Joan Huesca, then 49, on a flight to Mexico City to visit his family while he stayed behind in California to tend to business matters. During this visit, she and three of our relatives were caught in one of the deadliest fires in Mexico City's history, known as the Astor Fire. My mother wrote a letter to thank her rescuers shortly after returning home to California. She also recounted this nightmarish tale many times to my father, my sisters, and me in the years that followed, always emphasizing that life and the people in it are gifts to be treasured.  This is Part Five in a seven-part series about that night, based on my mother's recollections, those of my relatives, and my research on the event.  - L.H.T.

 

My mother snapped this photo of two of the firemen who rescued her from

a burning building.  She never learned their identity.  Shortly after this
 photo was taken, they were said to have perished in the fire. 

My cousin, Eduardo Huesca, had watched from the terrace of his family's apartment as members of the Mexico City Heroic Corps of Firemen escorted his parents, aunt - my mother - and neighbors down the long telescopic ladder to safety.  The street below was teeming with frenzied activity as ambulances and more fire crews arrived to battle one of the worst blazes in Mexico City's history.

Some time before, at 12:20 a.m. on Saturday, May 13, 1978, several bombs had exploded in the Astor Department Store.  Eduardo and his parents, Enrique and Meche, were one of two families who lived in the penthouse apartments in the La Galia Commercial Building next door to Astor.   The Astor fire had spread to La Galia, consuming the first couple of floors and trapping the eight people on the seventh floor.

"There were a couple of guys still up there with me," Eduardo recounted in a recent interview not long ago, "and they were ready to take me down the ladder.  One of them said, 'Listen, do you smoke?' and I nodded at him.  'Well, can I bum a cigarette off you?'   It was a strange request, but I lit a cigarette and offered it to him.  

"'Look,' the guy said, 'this is big.  There's no way we'll be able to put this fire out.  It's gonna have to go out by itself.  That'll take four, maybe five days.'  He took a drag of the cigarette.  'It's gonna be a long haul, so we'd better enjoy this while we can.'  He passed it to his buddy and his buddy passed it to me." 

They all took turns smoking the cigarette in their final minutes.  "Okay, turn off the lights in there," one of them said to Eduardo, pointing to the door.  "Let's get out of here." (1)

As one of the firemen positioned himself behind my cousin, the others harnessed them securely together, and they began making their way down.

Thankfully, the fire in the La Galia building was not visible from the façade.  "That was a good thing," Eduardo remembered. "The fire was burning from the inside.  The 'cube,' what we called the interior opening of the building - formed a kind of chimney that forced everything upward.  It mixed the fire with the air and just sucked it all upward.  Fortunately for us, it was slower to move outward."

When Eduardo reached the ground, my uncle Enrique was standing beside an ambulance.   My mother and aunt Meche were sitting inside.  A reporter from 24 Horas (24 hours), a prominent news program, was peppering them with questions:  How many dead are inside?  Tell us how many dead?

"He didn't realize that it was an office building and that no one else lived there," Eduardo recalled.  "He just kept asking questions and wouldn't believe us when we said there was no one else inside.  It was probably too late to change their minds.  I think that was already the word in the newsrooms."

The firemen who had rescued my mother returned to the ambulance with her purse, which one of them had retrieved from the rooftop terrace.  Incredulous, she thanked them profusely and asked them to wait a minute while she took their picture "so I can remember you."  They smiled broadly for her before running off toward Astor to help their comrades.  She never learned their names.

Sometime later, word would come back to the ambulance that the firemen who had rescued my mother had died in action in the Astor building.

In her letter to the fire department a month later, my mother wrote:

When I learned that seven brave heroes of your department had lost their lives, my heart went out to them and their families.  God must have a very special place close to Him for these seven loving, courageous men.  I will always remember them in my prayers. 

. . . A few days after the fire, I saw a television program in which an official of the Fire Department...stated that the most important quality of a Fireman in the Federal District was the ability to love.  The love, patience and concern of all of you was outstanding. (2)

The family stayed in the street for several hours under the watchful care of a doctor and first responders.  At about six in the morning, Uncle Enrique turned to his son. "Eduardo, let's pray to God that this is over soon," he said.  "Let's get out of here - there's nothing more we can do." (3) 

Eduardo thought of what the firemen had said to him earlier on the roof about the fire not going out anytime soon but decided against telling his father.  He and my uncle helped my mother and my aunt out of the ambulance, and they all left the area on foot to find a public telephone.

Enrique Huesca in front of the home he and
Meche moved to after the fire.  He lived there
until his death in 2003.

Enrique telephoned his eldest son, Enrique, Jr.  In his typical understated way, he asked, "Son, have you heard any news?" 

Puzzled, Enrique responded he hadn't.  "Well, I do have some news for you. We all had to leave the building during the night because it was burning.  We'll be leaving for your house soon." (4)

He hung up the phone and led the group to the nearby parking garage to get their cars, and they drove to Enrique Jr.'s home in the Del Valle neighborhood. 

(1)   Huesca, Eduardo.  Telephone interview.  April 7, 2013.

(2)  Excerpt from letter dated June 14, 1978, from Joan Huesca to the 
Mexico City Heroic Corps of Firemen

(3)   Huesca, Eduardo.  Telephone interview.  April 7, 2013.

(4)   Huesca, Enrique.  Telephone interview.  April 6, 2013.

NEXT:  Part 6 - Aftermath

To read the other installments in this series, please click on the links below:

The Astor Fire, Part 1 - The Gift of Life

The Astor Fire, Part 2 - Explosions

The Astor Fire, Part 3 - In God's Hands

The Astor Fire, Part 4 - Angels in Asbestos Garb

The Astor Fire, Part 6 - Aftermath

The Astor Fire, Part 7 - Epilogue: I Will Remember

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Copyright ©  2013  Linda Huesca Tully

Did you know, or are you a member of the Huesca or Estrada families, or do you remember the Astor fire of 1978?  Share your memories and comments below.

Thriller Thursday: The Astor Fire, Part 4: Angels in Asbestos Garb

Joan (Schiavon) Huesca (1928 - 1987)
Enrique Huesca (1909 - 2003)
Mercedes (Formento) Huesca (1924 - 2004)
Eduardo Huesca (1947 -  )

Introduction:  In the spring of 1978, my father, Gilbert Huesca, sent my mother, Joan Huesca, then 49, on a flight to Mexico City to visit his family while he stayed behind in California to tend to business matters. During this visit, she and three of our relatives were caught in one of the deadliest fires in Mexico City's history, known as the Astor Fire. My mother wrote a letter to thank her rescuers shortly after returning home to California. She also recounted this nightmarish tale many times to my father, my sisters, and me in the years that followed, always emphasizing that life and the people in it are gifts to be treasured.  This is Part Four in a seven-part series about that night, based on my mother's recollections, those of my relatives, and my research on the event.  - L.H.T.

"My mother had called the fire department and reported the fire right away, and my father had turned off the gas.  Our neighbors, the Estradas, came to our house.  We couldn't take the stairs and definitely not the elevator, so the only way out of the building would be to climb down an escape ladder from where we were.   Smoke was beginning to come into the house.  We went onto the outer terrace facing the street and looked down."   

       

                                                                          - Eduardo Huesca, Telephone interview, April 7, 2013.

My mother, Joan Huesca, used this purse-sized
penlight to attract firefighters' attention in the
1978 Astor fire.  The tiny light saved her life.

It must have seemed an eternity to the residents trapped on the roof of my uncle and aunt's burning seven story building in Mexico City's Financial District in the early morning hours of Saturday, May 13, 1978.  They had tried in vain to attract the attention of the firefighters in the street.  

Despite the hundreds of firefighters who were arriving from all parts of the city, not one of them seemed to notice the people on the roof of the La Galia Commercial Building at 63 Venustiano Carranza Street. 

Maybe this was because it was primarily an office building and the responders did not expect anyone to be living there.  Maybe they had been unaware of the extent of the fire in that building, because they seemed to be directing their resources at battling the blaze at the neighboring Astor Department Store. It became clear to the group that no one in the chaotic street below could hear their cries. 

My mother had an idea.  She pulled a penlight from her purse and started waving it back and forth,  flashing it off and on in Morse code bursts for the universal S-O-S signal.  My uncle Enrique and cousin Eduardo Huesca ran back into the apartment and returned with flashlights for the others, and everyone began waving the lights in all directions.
  


It worked.  Someone in the street pointed to the flashing lights. Soon there was a new flurry below as firefighters began gesturing excitedly toward the roof. The Huesca and the Estrada families, people of deep faith, thanked God for His mercy. They breathed a collective sigh of relief and awaited their rescuers.

Only after everyone was evacuated would they learn that the ladder down which they had descended was the tallest one available that night.  It had a range of 11 stories yet barely reached the top of my uncle and aunt's building.  My mother and my uncle later estimated that the high ceilings the seven-story building made its actual height of the building comparable to a taller one with standard size floors.  (Today, the downtown station has a ladder that extends as high as 20 stories.)

"We heard later that there had been talk of sending rescuers up via the neighboring rooftops that were lower than ours, harnessing each of us to a firefighter, and climbing down the roofs until we could get out safely," Eduardo Huesca recalled.  "It was questionable whether that would have worked.


"When they finally got that ladder up, it barely reached us.  If we had been just a little higher, we never would have made it. " (1)

Reality sank in for the second time that night. My mother, my relatives, and their neighbors realized they would have to go down that long ladder to get to the street.  

Two firefighters quickly searched the top floor of the building to make sure it was otherwise clear.  Others reassured the anxious group that they would all get down safely.  The plan was to evacuate the young family first and then came back for Meche and my mother.  Enrique and Eduardo would go last.

The first four were rescued, and it was soon Meche's turn.  She nervously kissed my mother and cousin goodbye, telling them she would be all right.  Then she and Enrique embraced each other tightly, as if it might be the last time they would see each other.  "I love you, Meche," my uncle said tenderly as he kissed her goodbye.  "May God go with you."  Pursing his lips, he stood back as the firefighters helped her over the parapet.  He waved and watched as she descended slowly, the firemen gently guiding and talking to her all the way down.

My mother was supposed to go down next.




I was very frightened at the thought of having to descend the telescopic ladders to the street below us.  One of your courageous firemen displayed such patience to me, and finally convinced me to escape via the firemen's ladder.  This same fireman brought down my purse, with all intact after I had left the terrace of the seventh floor.

There was another courageous fireman just in back of me while I descended the ladder.  This brave fireman, protected me from falling backward, and as I would place a foot out into space, this heroe (sic), with kind patience, would place my foot on each step of the ladder.  These two firemen shall always remain in my memory as two angels in asbestos garb. (2)

         - Excerpt from letter dated June 14, 1978, from Joan Huesca 

                  to the Mexico City Heroic Corps of Firemen

My mother was paralyzed with fear at the thought of going down the ladder.  She protested vehemently, insisting that her nephew and brother-in-law should go first. My uncle sensed her anxiety but tried to persuade her that everything would be all right. She stood firm, insisting that she wanted to go last.  

"I'm Italian," she declared in Spanish, turning to one of the firemen with a nervous laugh as she puffed on her cigarette.  "So you see, I'm a coward.   I think I'll just stay up here until everybody else gets down. Go ahead.  I'll be fine. No rush."  

The dark sky had turned ominous with thick black smoke.  Mindful of the dangers of waiting any longer, Eduardo and the firemen convinced my uncle to go down and promised they would help my mother. My uncle gave my mother one last hug and kissed her on the forehead.  "You have to go down, you know, Joan," he said gravely, blinking back tears.  "You have to do it for Gil and the girls."

Gil and the girls.  My mother thought of her phone call to my father earlier that night.   What would happen to him if she did not make it?  And what about us - her daughters?  There were so many milestones she wanted to be around for to celebrate with her family, so much she still needed to say and do.  She knew we needed her - and she needed us. She  wished my father were with her at that moment, but she also knew what he would say.  She struggled to stay calm.

She hugged Enrique back emotionally, her own eyes wet. "I know, hermano," she said.  "Go with God."  She watched as he followed one of the firefighters over the parapet and they slowly disappeared down the ladder. 

She turned toward my cousin and the two firemen left on the terrace.  "I'm sorry," she stammered.  "I just don't think I can do this.  It's too high..."  She shook uncontrollably, the tears now streaming down her face.

One of the firefighters, a confident young man who could not have been more than 30 years old, took her hand and held it tightly.  "Señora," he said in a solemn voice, looking straight into her eyes, "I just want you to forget all of this right now.  Instead, I want you to think about Chapultepec Park."

The thought of the grand and enchanting forest-like park in Mexico City took my mother by surprise, here in the midst of a raging inferno all around her.  "Chapultepec Park?" she asked, bewildered.

"Sí, Señora.  Chapultepec.  It's a beautiful day.  You and I are going for a stroll through Chapultepec Park - right now.   When you get on that ladder, I don't want you to look down.  Instead, just look straight ahead at the rungs and try to picture all the trees in Chapultepec.  We'll be there with you, guiding you every step of the way through the park. "

My mother loved Chapultepec Park.  With its acres of forest and wildlife, its museums and the hilltop historic castle that looked out over the city, it was an oasis for many Mexican families on the weekends and the host of a number of must-see tourist attractions.  The thought of the tranquil and breathtakingly beautiful park made her forget her apprehensions.


Maybe it was the surrealness of the moment, but the imagery and the fireman's confident voice had almost a hypnotic effect on my mother, and she nodded back at him.  "Okay," she said, "but wait just a minute while I go back inside and put out my cigarette. I don't want to start a fire."  She laughed to herself she realized the dark irony of her words.

When she returned to the parapet, she decided it would be too much to carry her purse down the ladder with her.  She set it down on the floor reluctantly, knowing she was also leaving her passport, wallet, and pocket camera behind. "Well," she said, hugging Eduardo, "I guess it's time, isn't it?"  Still shaking, she looked around one last time at the apartment and took a deep breath.  

The first firefighter swung onto the ladder and waited while the second fireman helped her with her harness as she climbed gingerly over the parapet.  "Don't worry about your purse, Señora.  I'll bring it down to you," he reassured her.  She thanked him with a quick smile, then nearly panicked again as her foot dangled precariously in the air for a moment. "Remember, Señora - we're in Chapultepec!" a voice behind her said.  The first firefighter reached for her foot and guided it steadfastly onto the rung.  He did this all the way down, encouraging her calmly as they descended through the perilous smoke-filled air to the ground below.  




(1)  Huesca, Eduardo.  Personal interview.  April 7, 2013.

(2)  Excerpt from letter dated June 14, 1978, from my mother, Joan Huesca, to the   

                     Mexico City Heroic Corps of Firemen

NEXT:  Part 5 - A Firefighter's Ability to Love

To read the other installments in this series, please click on the links below:

The Astor Fire, Part 1 - The Gift of Life

The Astor Fire, Part 2 - Explosions

The Astor Fire, Part 3 - In God's Hands

The Astor Fire, Part 5 - A Firefighter's Ability to Love

The Astor Fire, Part 6 - Aftermath

The Astor Fire, Part 7 - Epilogue: I Will Remember

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Copyright ©  2013  Linda Huesca Tully

Did you know, or are you a member of the Huesca or Estrada families, or do you remember the Astor fire of 1978?  Share your memories and comments below.