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.

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