Sentimental Sunday: Family Treasures

When we moved from Mexico City to California in the spring of 1967, what I dreaded most was being far from our extended Huesca family. 

Cause for Celebration:  Our family got together for holidays but also birthdays, 
anniversaries, and other special occasions, such as this one, taken between 1956 - 57. 
 My mother wrote the names on the photo above.  My grandmother, Catalina
(Perrotin) Huesca, is in the dark dress with the lace collar, next to her mother,
Maria (Amaro) Perrotin.

Back in those days, our life in Mexico was centered on family, rather than on activities. In our family, my grandmother or Abuelita, Catalina (Perrotin) Huesca, was the matriarch, and she held court on the usual family days: Christmas, Three Kings Day, Mother's Day, and her birthday, May 31st. Aside from that, everyone was welcome to come to Sunday afternoon dinner at her home on Carpio Street, where despite the postage-stamp size of her kitchen, there was always a multi-course meal with plenty of food to go around.

My great-grandmother, Maria (Amaro) Perrotin, who was in her late 90s, could either be found at Abuelita's house or at her own home next door.  There, she would line up a row of tiny children's wooden rush chairs gaily painted in bright colors.  Once we children were seated, she would sit on a tiny chair, too, facing us right at our level. She had been shrinking for many years due to her advanced age and fit quite nicely in the miniature chairs. In fact, I was already taller than she was. Her small stature and her fragility appealed to us and made us feel rather protective of her.  We had no idea that for all her delicateness, she had outlived three husbands and four children and raised her two daughters mostly on her own through some of the most trying periods of Mexican history.

My father was the third of eleven children born in the state of Veracruz, on Mexico's eastern seaboard, to Catalina (Perrotin) and Cayetano Huesca. As all of them lived in the Federal District by the 1960s (except for my uncle Carlos, who had moved to Chicago, Illinois), that meant that most of the time we had the pleasure of being around one or more of our 18 uncles and aunts and over 40 first cousins, not to mention my grandmother, great-grandmother, and great-aunt and a number of other relatives.

As all the brothers and sisters had taken an active part in the family hotel and restaurant business in Veracruz, it was only natural that most of them would become entrepreneurs themselves.  Not long before my grandfather, Cayetano Huesca, died in 1937, the family had begun yet another business:  making linens for hotels and restaurants.  

Enrique and Eduardo were the eldest of the remaining 11. Uncle Enrique used to say that to have a successful business, you have to find a need and fill it.  This is probably what the family did - found a dearth of quality custom-made linens and decided to make them themselves.  The whole family worked together - a given for such large family.  Enrique managed the business.  My father and Eduardo traveled around the country selling and distributing the linens.The younger siblings did their part, too, often hurrying home from school to work on the sewing machines and irons or fold the finished products.  

As the children grew up and started lives and families of their own, Enrique and Eduardo each opened their own linen embroidery businesses.  My grandfather Cayetano's brother, Jesús Huesca, helped Enrique in his business. Slightly bent, he was a quiet, gentle man who dressed in light khaki shirts with bolo ties and matching slacks and wore a straw hat.  By the time we met him, he must have been in his late seventies.  He was always glad to see us and after a big hug, he would take us by the hand and lead us through the factory, pointing out the latest embroidery designs or letting us run our fingers over finished tablecloths.  

Enrique and my father were nine years apart, but they could have been twins for all their similarities.  They thought alike, dressed alike, and had the same mannerisms.  They finished each other's sentences, even years after we had moved from Mexico City.  He and my Aunt Meche had four sons, while my parents had four daughters.

Uncle Enrique and my father used to take our families together on Sunday drives into the country, where we would have picnics, go horseback riding, and go swimming.  Health conscious since his youth, Enrique walked and exercised several miles every day, did not smoke, and ate sensibly, way into his old age.  He loved books and music and was very spiritual, often discussing God and morality with us.  Sometimes during our visits he would have me read the front section of the newspaper and discuss the day's stories, to improve my Spanish language comprehension and pronunciation.  I loved being around him and my aunt and their sons, who were like big brothers to me.

Eduardo's business was on Carpio Street, just a couple of blocks from my grandmother's house and across the street from the famous Alameda Park. My great aunt Blanca Perrotin, who was my grandmother's younger maiden sister, used to help Uncle Eduardo in his business, embroidering beautiful floral designs on table linens, aprons, and sheets.  She liked to stay busy and worked with him well into her eighties.

Uncle Eduardo visited my grandmother daily and years later moved in with her.  He was either divorced or separated by then.  For this reason, I never had the pleasure of meeting his children (I think he had a son and a daughter), something I regret.  My sisters and I might have reminded him of them, because he always talked about them when he was around us.  He was a philosopher at heart and loved discussing life and politics with anyone who would listen.  Tia Blanca usually sat at my grandmother's dining room table, recalling family stories and poring over old photographs.  It was hard to get anything past her; she had excellent hearing and a mind like a steel trap, and she could be quick to correct a detail from a conversation going on in the next room and go right back to what she was doing without skipping a beat.  

She was always bringing out boxes and albums of family photographs and knew the stories behind all of them. How I wish I knew what happened to those treasures! Some of those photographs were of our English cousins, the Bennetts.  They were cousins of my grandmother and Blanca's who lived in England and, according to Tia Blanca, had perished during the Second World War.  Happily, this was one of the few times my aunt was mistaken; decades later my husband and I would visit some of the Bennetts in England, where they were very much alive.

My Uncle Mario usually brought flowers or some sweet treat when he came to dinner on his breaks from his job as a trolley driver.  His blue uniform and cap complemented his handsome red hair and blue eyes, which were always twinkling.  A bachelor at that time, he used to joke to my parents that he wanted to marry a gringa -  an American - like my mother.  He was quite a people-watcher and always had a funny story to tell about his passengers.  It is hard to imagine him without a broad smile on his face.  

My father's youngest brother, now in his seventies, was a young man back then, fresh out of university, newly married, and beginning what would become a successful career in communications.  Though he had been only a baby when his father died, he inherited Cayetano's business acumen and passion for his family.  I remember my parents marveling at his energy, vision, and generosity.  He has not changed and continues to look out lovingly for both his immediate and extended family with an enormous heart of gold.

My father always said his sisters were some of the most beautiful women in Veracruz state.  Those were the words of a loving brother, to be sure, but there was no question that they were beautiful, outside and in.  They became the sisters my mother never had and showered my sisters and me with attention, hugs, and kisses.

Victoria, the oldest, had been a beauty queen in Orizaba.  Her nickname was Bella, or Beauty.  She was petite and delicate and like two of her brothers, had gorgeous natural red hair and blue eyes.  She was a widow and worked hard to support her two daughters with a small sandwich shop she ran from her home.  We often went to visit her and played a Mexican version of Ring Around the Rosy or card  games with her younger daughter.

I do not remember visiting my aunt Lucia much, probably because she lived quite far from us, though in the same city, and her children were much older than we were.  I wish I had known her better.  I seem to remember hearing that she had been ill quite a bit.  This may be why she did not come over, but everyone loved her.

Aunt Delia Domitila lived near La Villa, or the neighborhood famous for the location of the Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe.  When we were not at her apartment and playing with her youngest son, she was at our house or my grandmother's, showing us her latest crafts. She was such a creative lady, always crocheting doilies and making dolls and gifts for others. She also was a smart dresser and an excellent cook.  Always the life of the party, her nickname was La Periquita - the parakeet - partly because she loved to talk and partly because her voice was so musical. It could be hard to get a word in edgewise sometimes when she got excited about something, but she was so much fun that no one seemed to mind.  She was always showing us photos of her children and in later years was extremely proud that all had become distinguished professionals.

My two youngest aunts, who are in their eighties now, married performers who played in the Jarocho group of Andrés Huesca y Sus Costeños.  Andrés was my father's cousin, known worldwide for his traditional harp playing, coupled with the traditional music of Veracruz state.  Ricardo Díaz and Rodolfo Ruvalcaba, who played guitar and sang with him, were handsome and talented and funny.  

When we visited the Ruvalcabas, my sisters and I would disappear to the TV room with our four cousins to watch episodes (subtitled in Spanish) of The Flintstones cartoons or The Beverly Hillbillies or sing Beatles songs, or play silly games together while our parents laughed downstairs over cocktails. My aunt loved to entertain and was gifted at making everyone feel welcome and happy.  She used to set an elegant table and always played what seemed to me to be very sophisticated music in the background, and Uncle Rodolfo told jokes at the bar while he made drinks for the adults and poured Cokes for the kids. They were so kind and loving to us that I never wanted to go home.

We lived next door to my father's other sister (named for her mother) and my Uncle Ricardo.  To this day, my aunt still has the most expressively beautiful dark eyes and wavy hair. She was so youthful that when her three daughters became teenagers, people used to mistake her for their sister. She was extremely close to my grandmother and devoted herself to caring for her and her own family.  She and my mother shared many a morning cup of coffee together, talking about their daughters and their hopes and dreams for the future. She tried to teach my mother to cook Mexican food, and my mother taught her to make spaghetti and meatballs.  

Living next door to the Díazes meant we got to play with our cousins daily. We created so many memories, bonding over paper dolls and Chinese Checkers and spying on our parents together.  We became more like sisters than cousins, and I remember laughing with one of them because we looked so much alike.  We still talk frequently, and I cannot imagine what my life would be without them.

I am so grateful to my parents for giving us this marvelous opportunity to know our relatives.  Thanks to their foresight, our closeness with our Huesca relatives has grown stronger over the years as we have forged many memories together.  My children stay in touch regularly with their second cousins now and delight in being Facebook friends and talking to them on Skype. Like their parents, they cannot get over how similar they all look and sound and how much they have in common, even though they live thousands of miles away.  That is the wonderful thing about family - our love and shared history connects us through a lifetime, through generations.

When I was young, I was afraid that when we moved to California we would be too far away from our extended Huesca family in Mexico. As I write this, nearly 50 years later, I am happy to say we are closer than ever.

Copyright ©  2013  Linda Huesca Tully

Did you know, or are you a member of the Huesca, Perrotin, Díaz, or Ruvalcaba families?  If so, share your memories and comments below.

Amanuensis Monday: It Came Back to Me in a Dream

Gilbert Cayetano Huesca 
  (1915 - 2009)



[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.]

My father, Gilbert Huesca, August 2008

My father's earliest memory - of the period from 1917 to 1919, when he was between two and four years old - came to him weeks before he died in June 2009, at the age of 93.

"It came back to me in a dream," he told me that Sunday morning in May.  He had been thinking about it for a few days by then.

"For so many years I couldn't remember how I spent my earliest years, and it came back to me in a dream, but it was reality."

He went on to recall that his father, Cayetano Huesca, and a group of other people, including several British and American citizens, were hired on a contract basis in about 1917 to perform maintenance on the machines at a lumber mill in Coapan, a town in the state of Chiapas.  Cayetano brought my grandmother, Catalina (Perrotin) Huesca, his sister-in-law, Blanca Perrotin, his mother-in-law, Maria (Amaro) Perrotin, and their children, Enrique, Eduardo, Victoria, Gilbert (my father), and Delia Domitila.

"There were two classes (on the train) in Mexico:  first class and second class.  We traveled in first class, and we were sent with the very best things.  I remember we arrived in Coapan, close to Tonala.  I was about two or three years old.

"I believe the name of the company at the time was Coapan Lumber Company, belonging to Chiapas state, and the new railroad city was Tonala. (The company) provided a compound of very nice homes for the employees from Orizaba.  We had a large English style home, built of lumber, a very good home."

The homes were built across the street from the lumber mill.  The area was surrounded by a lush forest and fields, where the Huesca family often went on picnics.  Livestock and wildlife were plentiful, so much so that the children were never left unattended while playing outside.

There were a lot of people with English surnames, but my father remembered the names of two men in particular:  a Mr. Wilson and a Mr. McDaniels.   He did not know what they did for the lumber mill, but he did recall that Mr. McDaniels was a close friend of Tia Blanca's.

"And everyone spoke in English, including my mother, my grandmother, my aunt, and us kids. Even my father.  Everyone.  No Spanish at all. . . . Everything was American or English.  My mother was always well-dressed, in a skirt and a little tie."

The most vivid memory he had of the place was the day a massive fire destroyed the mill.  "It was the first fire in my life. We saw the flames. Victoria was there and Enrique was there and Eduardo was there, too.  And I remember the fire came right up to our house, but the house never caught on fire.

"I don’t know -  I guess I was scared, but I was very little, and to me, it was still fascinating.  There were animals like cows and oxen that were pulling little wagons to move things out of the lumberyard, but it was too late.  Big, big flames came and engulfed the lumber company.  It disappeared. It just disappeared."

And so, too, did the contract.  "After that, we weresent back to Orizaba.  But thosetwo years were part of our lives.  Maybe even the best time of our lives.

"It came back to me in a dream after all these years, but it was part of my life."

   * * * * *

My father died of prostate cancer barely a month after he told me this story.  It was the first time and only time I heard it, and the more I think about it, the more questions I have, though none of these have to do with the integrity of the story.  I have every reason to believe my father, especially given his sharp memory for detail, even during his final months.  I recall that he was even quick to remind me that he was not taking any medication that would have affected his recollection.

I cannot find information now about the Coapan Lumber Company, but there is a small village of Coapa in the southern state of Chiapas, with a population of about 100.  

Chiapas, with its dense forests and jungles, definitely has a history of deforestation, particularly since the early 19th century, when foreign interests brought in a number of cattle ranchers and lumber companies, the latter attracted by the Lacandon mahogany, also called "Tabasco Wood." These foreign-run companies began to decline in 1917, and they disappeared altogether in 1949, when the Mexican government prohibited the exportation of log lumber.

With that said, however, remember that my father references the Coapan Lumber Company as owned by the state of Chiapas.  Had it originally been foreign-owned and perhaps nationalized by 1917?  And what of the fire that destroyed the lumber company?  Was it accidental, or could it have been caused by arson, as part of the brewing unrest over foreign exploitation of the land and its people?

My grandfather, Cayetano Huesca, was trained by his father as a carpenter but expanded his skills and abilities to become a mechanic, an invaluable job in the Industrial Age, and one that would serve him well later upon his return to Orizaba, when he became a mechanic on the Mexican Railroad..  It would be easy to see that his skills would have been in demand at a lumber mill.  The fact that he may have also been able to speak English (his wife and her family did, having spoken English and French at home) would have made him more useful to British or American lumbermen.  At the time, Orizaba continued to have an expatriate colony of British, French, and American citizens, most of whom had come to work on the railroad many years before.  Hence, it would make sense that the city would be a good source of skilled workers to augment the (often forced) labor of the Lacandon Indians who worked in the lumber camps and cut down the trees.

I believe this is a valid recollection of an early part of my father's life. Though sadly there is no one left today who can fill in the blanks of this story, I hope we will find those answers some day.

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Did you know, or are you a member of the Huesca or Perrotin families?   If so, share your stories and comments below.