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

**********

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

**********

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.

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

Joan (Schiavon) Huesca (1928 - 1987)

Enrique Huesca (1909 - 2003)

Mercedes (Formento) Huesca (1924 - 2004)

Eduardo Huesca (1947 -  )

Scene from the Astor Fire of May 13, 1978, before the building collapsed.
My uncle and aunt's penthouse in the neighboring La Galia Building is
visible in the upper left hand corner.

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 Three 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.

Moments after discovering a fire on the lower floors of their seven-story building shortly after midnight on Saturday, May 13, 1978, eight people gathered in the Huesca penthouse apartment at 63 Venustiano Carranza, in the heart of Mexico City's financial district.  

The group included the only two families living in the La Galia Commercial Building:  my uncle and aunt, Enrique and Mercedes "Meche" Huesca, their son Eduardo, their houseguest - my mother, Joan Huesca - and their neighbors, the Estradas, a couple with two teenage children.

Eduardo had run downstairs with a fire extinguisher to check on the source of the smoke they had seen billowing up through the interior courtyard in what was called the "cube." Meanwhile, Enrique turned off the gas, and Meche called the fire department.  At the time, no one in the house was aware of the massive extent of the blaze.  It is unknown whether they had heard the earlier explosions on the lower level of the Astor Department Store just next door.

Eduardo returned moments later, forced back upstairs by thick smoke on the fourth floor.  The only thing that was clear to the two families was that their chances of escaping to safety were narrowing quickly.

Many people talk about but fortunately never have to take seriously the question of what to take with them when their house is on fire.  There must have been a momentary pause as the Huescas and Estradas considered that question.  Their notions of domestic safety were shattered:  all exits were blocked and the air was clouding with smoke.  The dilemma was clear:  could they get out alive?  There were no guarantees. 

No one panicked, perhaps because it was so surreal. My mother later told us that my uncle Enrique reminded everyone that they had nothing to fear because they were in God's hands.  The thought gave them tremendous hope.

My cousin, Enrique Huesca, Jr., who had left a couple of hours earlier, recalls hearing that his mother, Meche, quickly went into action quickly, gathering up documents.  "She got all of our important papers:  passports, our sacramental and professional certificates, diplomas, checkbooks, financial information - everything that we would need - and she put all of it into her jewelry bag to take with her." (1) 

Meche and my mother ran for their purses, and the group proceeded together through the living room exit to the street-side rooftop terrace to await help.  As she left the room, my mother grabbed her pack of Salem cigarettes and took two out, lighting one for Meche and the other for herself.

The fire department arrived soon after Meche's call, undoubtedly one of several they had received about the fire that night.  The Huescas and the Estradas cheered wildly from the building as they watched the trucks in the street. By now they would have become aware of the inferno raging next door at Astor.

The street was a cacophony of emergency vehicles, horns, wailing sirens, and clanging equipment against the explosive sounds of the inferno below.  The group's exuberance turned to shock as they realized no one seemed to know they were on the roof.   They yelled even louder to get the firefighters' attention but their cries, even in unison, were no match for the deafening din around them.

The dilemma was compounded.  What would they do now?

(1)  Enrique Huesca, Jr., Telephone Interview.  April 6, 2013.

NEXT:  Part 4 - Angels in Asbestos Garb


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 4 - Angels in Asbestos Garb

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

**********

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.

The Astor Fire, Part 2: Explosions

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 Two 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.

The National Palace offices of the President of Mexico, Zócalo,  downtown
 Mexico City.  Courtesy Anthony Stanley, Flickr Images, Creative Commons.

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 13, 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.

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

                  to the Mexico City Heroic Corps of Firemen

  
Unbeknownst to my mother or the relatives she was visiting, the fire that had trapped them in their penthouse apartment had been caused by an act of terrorism in the neighboring Astor department store. 

It had not been an isolated incident.  In the months leading up to the fire, there had been a rash of explosions in banks and other facilities in major Mexican cities.  The federal government had been cracking down on a number of revolutionary individuals and organizations.  A conglomeration of guerilla groups known as the People's Union came together in early 1978, retaliating against what was known as the government's "dirty war," referring to the period from 1943 - 1981 during which it was alleged to have used a secret police force to round up insurgents and detain and torture them in secret prisons. (1)   

On Friday evening, May 12, only hours before the fire erupted, police had located and detonated 16 explosives in four stores and three banks in the downtown historic area (2), not far from Astor and my uncle Enrique and aunt Meche Huesca's home at 63 Venustiano Carranza Street.  

The police had not been successful, despite their best efforts. Somehow the bombs in two stores escaped detection by the authorities.  

The fact remains that at some time, presumably that Friday, there had been a flurry of activity in the Astor and Blanco department stores, and it had nothing to do with clearance sales.

Somewhere on the first and possibly second floors, one or more guerilla operatives of the People's Union made their way through Astor and Blanco, a block away.  At Astor, they concealed explosive devices in various places throughout the store and set them to go off after midnight, several hours after closing.  According to investigative journalist Laura Castellanos,  this was "to avoid having victims" - a tenet held by some, but not all of the members of the People's Union. (3)  

Whether or not the group had planned to cause human casualties, it would appear that they did intend to cause a significant amount of chaos in the downtown financial district.  This presumably would have strained the capabilities of the police and fire departments to the breaking point, possibly necessitating a national guard or military-type of support response.  Some later mused that the havoc might have made the nearby National Palace and federal government offices, just blocks away, more vulnerable to an attack. Thankfully, it was not so in the end.

Twenty minutes into Saturday, May 13 (4), several strong explosions ripped through the school supplies department at Astor, radiating quickly across the lower floors and swallowing up the mostly paper, plastic, and fabric merchandise in flames like matches in a tinderbox.  The blasts killed a night watchman at the store. (5) He would be the first of 58 casualties. 

As the fireball traveled throughout the lower floors, it shot through a large passageway that connected the department store with the mezzanine of the La Galia building next door at 63 Venustiano Carranza.  Under an agreement between Astor and the owners of La Galia, the passageway had served as a delivery corridor for and service entrance to the department store.  Now it acted as a vacuum, sucking the fire from Astor in reverse delivery to La Galia's mezzanine (6), effectively closing off any exit for its sole residents on the seventh floor and connecting the two buildings in a perilous trap.

About an hour later, another major blast would follow at the Blanco Department Store (7), barely a block away, at the corner of Venustiano Carranza Street and 5 de Febrero Avenue.  This explosion, detonated by one or more bombs in the clothing racks, also ignited a major fire in that store.  

Acts of violence take their toll ruthlessly, usually on the innocent, whether they are the intended targets or not.  

(1)   Castellanos, Laura.  México Armado 1943 - 1981.  Mexico City,  Ediciones Era, 2007. 

(2) "Grandes almacenes incendiados," El País, Madrid, Spain, May 16, 1978. Web.           Accessed April 10, 2013.

(3)   Castellanos, Laura.  México Armado 1943 - 1981.

(4) "Incendios Trágicos," Hispano-Americano, Mexico, D.F., May 22, 1978. Print.            Accessed April 10, 2013.

(5)  "At least 4 dead as stores burn in Mexico City," Associated Press, Eugene Register-Guard, May 14, 1978.  Web.  Accessed March 25, 2013.

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

(7)   "Incendios Trágicos," Hispano-Americano.

NEXT:  Part 3 - In God's Hands


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 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

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 or Estrada families, or do you remember the Astor fire of 1978?  Share your memories and comments below.

The Astor Fire, Part 1: The Gift of Life

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

I, a North American, have always loved Mexico for her beauty, art, culture, and the friendliness of her people.  I have loved Mexico, too, for she was the birthplace of my Husband, and the loving family into which I had married. Now, I have more reason to love Mexico even more deeply,  for the gift of life given to me by her firemen.

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

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 One 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, Joan Huesca, had been staying with my father's eldest brother, Enrique Huesca, 69, his wife, Mercedes "Meche," 57, and their son Eduardo Huesca, 31, in their spacious three bedroom penthouse apartment on the seventh floor of the La Galia Commercial Building in downtown Mexico City.  The building, at 63 Venustiano Carranza Street, was located next door to the large Astor discount department store.  

Astor was always bustling with customers who liked the store for its bargain basement prices on household merchandise and clothing.  The department store, also seven stories high, typically papered its windows with large colorful sale signs advertising the latest slashed prices.  

I remember Uncle Enrique and Aunt Meche's home very well, as our family visited them often whenever we traveled to Mexico City. I had even stayed with them for several weeks during Christmas break in 1973.

Enrique's linen embroidery business, Sábanas y Manteles Huesca, was on the fifth floor in the same building, making his commute an enviable one in the crowded metropolis.

In 1978, the office building housed only two families on the uppermost floor: the Huescas and the Estradas.  Eduardo Huesca, about to be married soon, still lived at home with his parents, his three brothers already having left to start families of their own.

Enrique and Meche Huesca's apartment had two rooftop terraces.  A central terrace looked down into a square interior courtyard, called the "cube," and outer terrace overlooked Venustiano Carranza  Street and the busy financial district.

To reach the outer terrace, you had to exit through either the living room or one of the bedrooms.  The building was by no means the tallest in the area, but it offered a spectacular view of the financial district.  Being so high up also provided a feeling of safety and serenity.  It lifted you from the noise and chaos of people and traffic, allowing you to take it all in on your own terms and affording an enviable anonymity that was hard to find in a city of some 8 million people.  It was like being on top of the world.

On Friday evening, May 12, 1978, Enrique Huesca and his two eldest sons, Enrique Jr. and Eduardo, arrived home from making a late night delivery of merchandise to the National Teachers' Union, some five miles away. Although Enrique, Jr., wanted to get home to his wife and young daughters, he stopped upstairs for a short visit.  Meche set the dining room table with coffee and platters of pan dulce, or Mexican sweet bread, for a late night snack, and the family sat down to plan the weekend's activities.  

When the family finished eating, my mother called my father, Gilbert Huesca, at their home in California.  She excitedly told him that Enrique, Meche, and the family were taking her for the weekend to Valle de Bravo, a picturesque lake resort situated in a valley about a two hour drive southwest of the capital. Everyone took turns on the phone, including my uncle.  "Hermano - brother," he said, "we miss you here, but you can rest assured we're taking good care of our sister Joan."

It was almost 11 p.m.  Enrique Jr. kissed everyone goodbye for the night,  promising to return with his family at seven the next morning to pick all of them up for the drive to the country. (1)  As he left, Meche and my mother went to the kitchen to clean up while Enrique Sr. and Eduardo headed off to bed.

My mother and Meche loved to sit up late and talk way into the night, and tonight was no different.  Undeterred by the early wake-up time only seven hours away, they  moved their coffee and cigarettes to the living room, turned on the TV, and curled up on the couch to continue the conversation they had started earlier.  

My parents had much in common with Enrique and Meche.  Both couples had married in the month of August, exactly 10 years apart.  The brothers were 12 years older than their respective wives.  Each couple were the parents of four children.  Meche and Enrique had four sons, while my parents had four daughters. Both couples enjoyed successful businesses. Enrique and my father thought and acted alike. They were deliberate and precise in word and action. They shared the same tastes and mannerisms and often completed each other's sentences.  Even their wives often were surprised to find themselves interacting with them similarly.

Sometime around 12:30 a.m., deep into one of those conversations that gives words wings in the stillness of the night, they seemed so oblivious to anything else that it was a surprise when one of them smelled smoke.  At first they thought they had forgotten to extinguish a cigarette in the kitchen, where they had been a short time earlier. Meche got up to investigate.  

Reaching the kitchen, she noticed nothing out of the ordinary except for the odor, which was becoming stronger. She followed it out to the center terrace and saw black smoke rising through the cube.

The La Galia building was burning.

"She started yelling, 'Fire! Fire!', " Eduardo would later recall.  "Her cries woke us up - the neighbors, my father, and me." (2)

Still half asleep, Eduardo grabbed the fire extinguisher and rushed downstairs to try to find the source of the fire.  There was so much smoke by the time he reached the third or fourth floor that he could hardly see, much less breathe.  Perhaps in shock - he did not know why -  he dropped the fire extinguisher on the ground and raced swiftly back to the seventh floor to warn his family of his findings.  There seemed to be no way out.

The Huescas in more serene days:  left to right:  Brothers Enrique and  Gilbert
Huesca, Dr. Jose Felipe Franco (a longtime family friend), Joan (Schiavon)
Huesca, Mercedes (Formento) Huesca, and Mrs. Jose Franco.  July 7, 1975,
La Fonda del Recuerdo Restaurant, Mexico City.

(1)  Huesca, Enrique.  Telephone interview.  April 6, 2013.
(2)  Huesca, Eduardo.  Telephone interview.  April 7, 2013.

NEXT:  Part 2 - Explosions


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

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

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.