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Antonio Harmes with Duby Harmes
Scanned by Dick Chenault
Edited by Harriett Holly
Date of Interview - 6-6-1979
Interviewed by Gloria Campbell
My name is Anthony…Antonio, but they call me Tony by short, you see. And well, on the German side of my family---my great grandpa---that's a German. He came from overseas. Oh that was in the early days, you see. Way back in the early days. They used to get married with Indians and Spanish women or Mexicans, what they called them. So he married a Mexican. That's how come we are half and half, you see. He met her at Farisita. There's where he was established. You know up above the schoolhouse, that was at Farisita ---that old building that was there? That was a store. My great grandpa had a store there and a post office there where one of his own boys shot him. It happened accidentally. He was cleaning a gun and the old man was reading the paper, you see. And he didn't examine the gun right and it had a shell and he was cleaning it and he shot the old man. His name was Bill Harmes and the one that shot him was named August Harmes. He had a Bill and that August. They were his two sons. And from there on they spread out on Yellowstone and all of that, you see. Part of that Sheep Mountain use to belong to my granddad---the biggest part of it.
Well, mostly what they used to be---they used to make their living by sheep, you see. They use to have sheep. It wasn't no cars, no tractors. Then, team and buggies, that's all it was!
My great grandma was a Trujillo. She was born right there at Farisita too. Then it was called Talpa. My grandma's name was Piedad, the mother of my father. My great grandma's name was Camila Trujillo. Then when she married my great grandpa she became a Harmes. Camila was her name.
In those times, you see, the people were honest and friendly with one another. There was no envy amongst the neighbors. A neighbor wouldn't shoot his neighbor's cow. Neighbors protected each other. A man would go help his neighbor put up hay. It wasn't a dollar! Today it's a dollar! Work for work was how it was paid. And more hay was put up than what is put up today. More hay was produced. But those neighbors were--- well, there were no fights for water. Nobody used to fight for water. Used to be more water than what they needed. Not now. Now people fight for a few drops of water nobody owns hardly. Not then. The rivers ran full, Padrecito! Todos esos cerros de la borrega corrian el agua hasta aqui, a Farisita. Do you see it now? No! I can show you the creeks that used to run the water up in Badito and Farisita. It won't run anymore. It's greed and the stage of being and hating your neighbor, you see. That's what happens today. It's hateful. It's nothing but jealousy and hateful. That's what happens and will in ten years or more. Your neighbor used to love you. You used to love your neighbor. That's the way they used to make their living, and better living than what you make today. Team and buggy. And not only eating from a can. Today, you won't eat if you don't go to the Safeway.
Did you ever see a cellar? To put their food in. There, they would store in their food for the winter. Beans, potatoes, bacon, a hog, or a steer. There wasn't no refrigerator like that bunch of crap there [pointing to the freezer]. And it used to be better tasting meat than what you got there. In a dark cellar, yeah. It was full to the top. Food grew in great quantities. There were lots of chokecherries, y pitito! And the ground was worked. Not today. Today they only want a tractor, to ride around…
Today, they don't even make enough to pay for the gasoline for the tractor. They labored with teams and they would plant. Oh, the harvests, Padrecito!
There's my little ranch. My father had only 40 acres, what my father had there. In 40 acres, he raised a family of five with more to eat than with what I have today. There he raised corn. He planted beans, green peas, alfalfa. He put up more hay on his little ranch than what I did on a 160. That's a shame. He used to produce more hay. And he used to own more stock than what I ever did have here. Just on 40 acres. Esequiel still remembers that---when I started on those 40 acres. Shoot, the 40 acres were better than the whole ranch put together. ¿Qué no? It was a better ranch, the 40 acres, than the 160 put together.
You know, my great grandpa that was from Germany, who came to Talpa, he even got up to be even a county commissioner--- way back in the years. I didn't see it. I only know the story. That's all I know. He even went up high as a county commissioner in the Farisita district around there. It's a big story, then. Christ Almighty! I don't even know the half of it.
I had another very good great-grandpa…Manuel Martinez from my mother's side. He's the one I was raised with more, right here in Gardner. Those men…¿ Qué caramba! Those men knew how to work. Those men would spend the winter in the mountains with the sheep there. They would come down once a month to their homes.
My great-grandpa had sheep, too. You know those ranches in Badito? Let me think which one was his. Hmm…He had a big ranch below the Thorn place, there somewhere along there. Oh, that was years ago. He had a place over there. Then he came to Gardner. In his days, you see, he came from New Mexico, from Rio Colorado. There's where he came from. He was a captive of the Indians. Indians grabbed him and took him away for several years. I think it was the Apaches.
I think it was in New Mexico. The place they called Rio Colorado---there came a band of Indians. He was herding a little bunch of cows and a little bunch of goats. So they took him, the cows, and the goats--- the Indians. Oh, he must've been a pretty good-sized kid, because he remembered the way the Indians took him. He might have been there 3, probably 5 years. I don't know…till he got to grow to be a pretty good-sized boy. He escaped. He escaped. He used to know the best horses the Indians had, you see. So it was an Indian lady that used to claim him as her son, you see. So they went up on the horses one day. He already had it figured out to escape, you see. So he got one of those best horses that the Indians had, you see. And they were playing--- what the hell do you call it---hiding one from the other. So finally he hid for good. He escaped. My gosh, the Indians followed for quite a few days. Until he left New Mexico. I don't remember exactly all his story. He used to tell me a lot of his stories of the Indians. And still it's been so long that I don't hardly remember 'em exactly the way it was. But he was a great man in this world. He used to kill deer with bows and arrows better than what anyone could with a gun.
His wife's name was Maria Eusebia---Mary Lucero. I think my mama has a picture of her. I didn't know my great-grandmother and my grandmothers. They were already dead when I was born. They were dead. Then my grandpa had come to stay with my mom and my Aunt Maggie.
Back over there, en el huaselero, my grandpa would take me to herd the milk cows. I would sit between his legs and he would tell me jokes and stories. He showed me how to pray and everything. I remember when I went with him to take care of the milk cows. There in this chamisal, we would take care of them. Everything was…Yeah… That man lived 105 years. My grandpa Luis Harmes died very young. He didn't live as long.
My grandfather talked about the celebrations of San Ysidro and Santiago. For El Día de Santiago, there would be horse races, and pitito eso, and foot races and cock fights and gallo races. There would be a dance out in the yard to the music of a violin and guitar.
!Qué, ay! When I had already opened my eyes, everything was past. I know all about that because someone told me. I didn't see it. The same today. You know it now because I told you, not that you see it.
Mostly what was played was a game called Chueco. That was a game like baseball or like football now, you see. They played it with a ball.
You know the Indians that lived here, they would come and kill all the family and they would take whichever one of the family they felt like taking. They stole food, pitito. That's about all they ever done is kill and steal. That's how they used to make their living….killing and stealing and fishing and hunting, you see. They wouldn't work. They used to come in here, kill some of the folks, take the grub, and that what they had, you see. Indians would come and kill the old folks and take the little kids and raise them, you see.
Oh, the Indians used to believe mostly in the moon, you see. They used to believe in the stars---certain stars in the sky, you see. Oh they used to believe in the rattlesnake. The Indians' wouldn't kill a rattlesnake. And the rattlesnakes wouldn't bite the Indians, either. It would bite you and me. But an Indian? No!
Duby: What do you know about Mexican remedies, medicines? What did your grandfather tell you about them?
Well, Indian remedies---Osha, and estaquiate--- that's that kind of brown weed that grows on the prairies. That's medicine for stomach ache. They used to boil it and drink it like tea.
Duby: El chamiso jediondo?
Another was el tamisa. That was medicine. That's an Indian medicine. Osha. Where do you see that being used now? Just go to the doctor.
Duby: Not me. You.
There's two kinds of stories on how people would choose their marriage partner, you see. Like now, if your son were to marry. Well, for a week or a month, your son would have to go to the intended's father's house and stay there. That's to see if your son could work or not. Then the girl had to go stay with the boy's parents that week, too. That's the way they used to do it in my great-grandpa's time, way back when. In my daddy's time, courting was almost like for you and me. In those times, you wouldn't go around taking your girlfriend to the show. You used to take the novia to the show the day you married her, not before. Also, the novia had to be asked for. The mother and father went along with their son. But first someone had to go with a letter asking for permission to marry the novia. A letter. There the pediror would read the letter.
There one had to go like…hmmm… like one you see when somebody dies and introduces like what's his name? Montez. Somebody like that you see. The novio's family would pick a neighbor to be the pediror. Someone they liked and trusted. If eight days would pass, that was a good sign. You would get your woman. But if before the eight days were up… Then squashes! Calabasas! That's was the way, you know. In those days they were pretty strict, oye. Pretty strict. In her (Duby) time, it was almost like yours. About the same as your time. But in them days, heck, you couldn't look at a girl.
Duby: Sometimes the woman was chosen for you, wasn't she?
That would happen many times, too. If you didn't like the daughter-in-law-to-be, your son couldn't marry her.
Duby: The father of the bride could say the same thing about the novio.
I never see that, now. That's what they used to say.
Duby: Sometimes they would have to get married whether they wanted to or not. If the parents of the novia and the parents of the novio were in agreement, then they would have to marry, no love. Nothing. That's what my mama used to say.
You know… my family has always been Catholics. ……….
Duby: Well, that's the religion they all had, no?
Especially Manuel Martinez. He was a Catholic. And the Harmes also were Catholics. But not like the Martinez's. Now those were Catholics. They were all Catholics…
You know, my great-grandpa would get his supplies from a man named Moose. They used to run the supplies with team and wagons from Walsenburg from Pueblo. They would even go as far as Pueblo with a team of horses to bring flour and such stuff like that, you see.
Duby: Did they get their potatoes from here?
Huh, your (Duby's) dad was a freight hauler (fletero). Sure. Don't you remember when he'd talk about it? Even your dad. He used to bring groceries from town with a team of horses.
Duby: I remember I used to ride the wagons and buggies. We used to come here from Farisita. On a horse.
In 1930, there was a heavy depression. Sure. But it didn't affect these parts as bad as the cities. Because here we had crops to depend on… You had a hog, you could kill it. A calf. That's a big difference. A chicken, or something like that. One thing, certainly, that we didn't feel the depression like the people in the cities. They certainly do know what a depression is. Us? Heck, we didn't went through no depression at all. It was tough to get the stamps. To get sugar you had to get it with stamps.
Duby: Yeah, then we had something like food stamps. They gave us stamps for the sugar. Cans, cans of fruit.
Meat? We had about as much as we have today. Probably more.
Duby: Trucks would come from Walsenburg with flour, grapefruit, oranges, pears to give to the poor. But you couldn't tell that we were in a depression. They would give to everybody. Everybody was poor. At the time of the depression, we weren't married yet. We got married in 1935. I don't remember how we met.
We met in school. That's how we met.
Duby: I forgot all about it. I don't remember.
Our marriage wasn't arranged for us. It was still kind of a little strict.
Duby: Mama had the custom that we couldn't go out with a guy, you know. Even when somebody would ask to take us to the dance or someplace, she wouldn't let us go.
I used to go over there. Well they never challenged me. Never. They never did run me off.
Duby: Because they liked you, that's why.
They never did run me off. I'd go over there and then I'd go home---until we decided to get married. I asked for you by letter, didn't I?
Duby: I don't remember.
Dijunto (deceased) Trinidad Quintana went to ask for you. Don't you remember?
Duby: Yes, but he asked me by tongue not by letter.
Oh, yeah, by tongue.
Duby: He didn't take a letter. He went in a little buggy.
Yeah it was the Dijunto Trinidad Quintana that asked for you for me.
He was our neighbor.
Duby: He used to live where Julian Cerda lives now.
We got marred here in Gardner.
Duby: Padre Pablo.
Father Paul Belloni. That was the best priest there ever was in the whole community here.
Duby: Shhh. Because he liked him. He liked Padre Pablo. He's the priest who married us. He used to live where Juan lives now. But after then, we used to live on a ranch on the other side of the river.
People really used to like each other when we got married. The people were friendly. Now, brothers don't care for each other like neighbors used to care for one another back then. Once in a while you hear of brothers living as neighbors. They fought. Then, there weren't any fights among the neighbors, Oh, if you were being bad with your neighbor, he could break your mouth.
Dijunto Lupe Archuleta. He was a commissioner in those days. Sabino's father. Dijunto Tomas Martinez was a Republician. He was a commissioner --- A Republician.
Dijunto Tomas Martinez lived at Rito. The Dijunta Eutima was his wife. He didn't have a family. He raised some children. That one who was stabbed--- Isaias, by Johnny Martinez at a dance in Rito was raised by Dijunto Tomas Martinez. Dijunto Tomas Martinez left to California when Isaias was stabbed. There at a dance was where it happened. Where Sam Thompson lives now. I think it was Yucino Ortivez and this Johnny--- They stabbed him. This Isainas was from Redwing, you know. And the other two were from Turkey Creek, you see. The ones from Redwing didn't like the ones from Rito. And that's how it happened that Isaias got stabbed. They didn't kill him. You see him walking around Walsenburg, drunk, everyday. He can barely see and walk. You see him there--- a little, short guy. That's Isaias Atencio. That happened at Sam Thompson's. That was a dance hall.
Duby: Then, I used to go the dance with my daddy.
They'd go to the dance on a wagon pulled by horses. They'd go to Maes Creek. There where Tony Pando lives--- close to the hill--- That was what they called Birmingham. There was a post office there and also a dance hall. You used to go to dance there in a horse and wagon. Hmmm….Today if anyone goes out riding a horse---he'll die. I used to go to dances on a horse.
Duby: Even when it was snowing, my daddy would take us to the dance.
Sure, even when it was snowing.
Duby: We'd cover ourselves with quilts. 'You're crazy,” my mama would say.
Now, when we get one of those little snows, we can't even get out in a little truck to get to the post office. It's too much for you to go out in.
I used to come to school from over there---a mile---with a foot of snow. Rain or shine.
Duby: We used to go to school where Gilbert Perrino lives now.
The Sister Luke, Sister Marie, Sister Genevieve taught me where
Gilbert Perrino lives now. That's where I went to school. I got in up to the seventh grade. Then I quit to go to work. I went to work for Joe Dietz. I went to work for Johnny Meyer. That's how I started to work for him. I went to Westcliffe. I stayed there a long time working. Only one of them is alive. The Father and the old ones are now dead. I milked cows and plowed with a team of horses. I worked cows. I worked as a vaquero for Mr. Joe Dietz for a long time. Years and years, I worked for him there.
Duby: Even when we got married you were still working for him.
And I still worked for him. When I got married with her, I was still working for him
Duby: How much did you earn?
Un peso al día. A dollar a day. Of course they'd give me board.
Duby: ¿ Qué cheap, no?
A dollar a day.
Duby: But in those days, a person could buy a lot with a dollar. And now you can't stretch to buy anything with one dollar. For Joe Meyer, I worked cows too. Riding, that's all I used to do. Riding. I worked for him a while. But I worked for quite a few years for Joe Dietz. Before I got married I worked quite a long time for him. I don't know how Joe Dietz got all his property. I'll tell you. It seems to me that the one who had ambition got property. There was opportunity to get land then. That you ain't got today. He bought a lot of it.
It depended, oye, on several things or how they treated us. They'd say, “Mexican Greasers” to some. And like that. But… I never did have any trouble getting along with the Americanos.
Duby: He looked like an Americano.
I got along with them fine. Just like the Rodriquezes there. They got along fine with those Dutchmen, the Schmidt's. Very few…
Oh, yeah, people lived better than today. There wasn't so much red tape like there is today. It's nothing but collections and a bunch of crap like that---that's not worth five cents. Just to take your money. Children were raised with discipline.
Duby: Children respected people older than themselves.
Uh-huh, yeah. You didn't see children running up and down the road. The days passed for them by keeping watch on a milk cow, hoeing the garden or irrigating. There were little jobs. Not today. If you make kids work, they'll report you because you got them kids working, you see. They are looking for a game to play you see.
The Dijunto Candido Castillo was an outlaw, they say. He used to be an outlaw. All the people were afraid of him. He was always hiding from the law. The law was always after him. He was so bad, sometimes even the law was afraid of him. There where they killed him was in that little valley in a cabin. As you go up over Pass Creek, over there. That's where they killed him. He was in a cabin. Some signs of the cabin may still be there, you see. A Posse was gathered to capture him. I think he killed two or three of the posse there that day. He shot the sheriff in the stomach, but he lived. Some say that the sheriff killed Candido Castillo. Others say that my grandpa, Manuel Martinez killed him. They shot him in the stomach, too. But he dropped two or three of that posse. So finally they had to blast that shack. Blast him up. He was a robber and he would make trouble for gringos. Robbing, and he'd shoot gringos. He wouldn't hurt people who wouldn't turn him in. He would go to Pass Creek and he would eat at the home of Manuel Martinez. There he would come sometimes. My mama used to say that he would tie up his horse where he could keep a watch on him. As he'd be eating, he'd be looking out the door. The law was always after him, you see. He shot lots of sheriffs.
Then there were the Espinozas. Those where outlaws too. I think they killed them and cut their heads and sent them to the governor.
Duby: Did they rob and kill, too?
They were robbers and killers. They killed and robbed the rich. That's what they wanted. I never did meet any outlaws or any women outlaws, either. I heard there were some, but I don't know. It's no use to mention them, because I didn't see it. It's nothing official, that I could say there were women outlaws, either.
They say there were witches, though. They claim that. I don't believe it. But I heard there were some. And where I came to believe that there were some…I believe there were some.
There where I lived in that canada, I would see many lights every night. Would walk around there at night and I never encountered anything that would make the lights shine, until one time, when she and I were just married. I was going from the house to the cabricia to feed my team of horses to go…It was Monday morning. I was going to the sawmill over there at Black Mountain, that side of Black Forest. There wasn't a direct road. There, past that ditch in that 40 that I had over there against the hill. Well, there lived her uncle Manuel Castro. He was very sick, that man. He was very sick then. They said he was bewitched. I don't know. Well, when I was coming from feeding my horses at the cabricia, I saw in front of the gate there where I'd go into the porfirio---in front of that gate, I saw what seemed like very bright car lights. In those days there were only Model T's. I thought to myself that old man must be very sick or that he had died and that his boys were going to see about him. I thought it might be my Compadre Jose or Catedra, or one of them. It seemed like they stopped to open the gate and instead of coming straight, they took off up Ditch #36. After a while, the lights were following one another. They weren't going side by side like the lights of a car anymore. I kept watching them until they went over the top of Little Rush Hill. That's over there. I didn't tell her (Duby) about it because she had to stay and sleep alone. I didn't tell her about it until the following Saturday. Then I told her what I had seen. I'd believed these were witches. That's the only time I ever saw of witches.
I worked 22 years at the Ordinance Depot. Twenty-two years I was there. We spray painted. There at the last, I was a body and fender mechanic helper. That's when I quit. I was 5 years in that job. I worked 22-23 years in that job. I started that Ordinance Depot. I worked there since the first foundation they put on the floor like the one I've got outside there…All of them buildings.
Let me tell you about my mother-in-law.
Duby: I know nothing.
That woman was a worker. como un carrajo! She made that house over there, herself. She was a good carpenter. Her name was Sarah Padilla. Her family was Aguirre from Farisita and Yellowstone. I guess they came from New Mexico. All the Mejicanos eventually came from there. My mother used to tell me lots of stories. They used to talk about the witches. She used to tell me stories about Pass Creek. She lived right between the two Sheep Mountains. They had a little homestead there. They planted trigo and herded goats and milked the goats. She met my father at those little dances at Farisita. Right there at the dances is where they met. They would take her to the dances in Farisita. She would go from Pass Creek to the dances in Farisita. There is where she met my father.
The same thing happened to mi Compadre Maximiliano y mi Campadre Sarah (his in-laws). He (father-in-law, Maximiliano) was raised in Yellowstone in the Encinal. That's where her (Duby) dad was raised.
Duby: Yes, that's where I was raised.
And her mother was raised in Farisita. They would go to the dances at Farisita. That's where they got together.
One time…. Let me tell you a story. My mom used to tell me this story.
One time…Who were the ones that could catch the witches?
Duby: Los Juanes, ¿Qué no?
Well, there the Juanes were. There was Dijunto San Juan Ribalí and Dijunto Roman. They were coming by Badito from a dance around there or those flats there. From there, they were coming from Rouse, from a dance---on horseback. Then, people had fast horses. They were very fast---good runners. Yes, they were coming from a dance all of a sudden, they saw a ball of fire. And here, those Hijos del Demonio, they started running on horseback after the ball of fire. until they came upon a little Montecito. They were almost catching up to it---about running over it. And there at the little montecito, the ball of fire turned into a girl---a girl so beautiful. She begged them not to kill her. Yes, there were witches, you see.
Duby: My unce Ramon used to talk about that. They say that in that little schoolhouse there used to be dances of the witches. He told us---my unce Ramon told us---that they could see lots of light in the escuelita. Being boys, well, they went to see if there was a dance going on. They went in there. There were lots of people inside dancing. When they stepped in the door, all of a sudden the lights went out. He said that it smelled like sulphur. Then, there was a loud crack and everywhere around the school there were dogs and coyotes running here and there.
Here's another: Once upon a time there was a man who wanted to learn to be a brujo. You know what it takes to be a brujo? Well, if you have a picture of the Santo Niño or a rosary, or pitito eso, you have to leave them at home. You can't take anything where you're going to be shown how to be a brujo. The first test, as I understand, is a goat--- a big, white goat, like this. You have to kiss him.
Duby: Where do you kiss him? I heard you kiss him on the cola.
Still, I could do that. Anyone could do that. Later on, there's the Diablo, you see. The Diablo with a cow's feet or in different ways. Well, then there's the sure thing---a great, big, rattlesnake ---a big snake. You have to kiss that snake. That's where the man who wanted to be a brujo backed out. He didn't dare kiss that snake. So that ended that.
Well, let me tell you about the miners. Some were the Unionistas and others were the Scabs. Several were killed in the strike of 1913. But seemed like the unionistas always won. I've heard several accounts of this. I was very young when that happened. I was going to school like your sons. But I heard about that when the people couldn't go in to town to take the lumber nor buy anything at the mine. If you insisted, well, you were shot. Oh, it's a big story, I don't even know the half of it.
You know, the people from Turkey Creek were very good people. Good Catholics, all of them, just like the people of Yellowstone. There was even a Catholic Church there. Probably you knew that church in Yellowstone. Behind that church, there was a comercio, there, like about as far as from here to the road. You see, a few old buildings there---real old buildings. That used to be a store that belonged to Santiago Castro.
Duby: They would have school at the other side, too. Juan Ysidro lived there.
Juan Ysidro Sanchez lived on the other side of the church, there.
Duby: I was very young when I went to school there. I don't remember what the teachers were. I was very young when I lived in Yellowstone.
I do remember who the teachers were here in Gardner. There was one by the name of Mrs. Scruncher. She wasn't here for many years. She taught there where Mrs. Wright lives. Then, a sister of Glen England was a teacher, also. She was my teacher. About that time, I went to Catholic School. In that convento where Gilbert Perrino lives now. That's where I went to school. The nuns were the very best teachers, still remember them. I couldn't have been treated any better. De lo mejor. The Sister Luke, Sister Genevieve…
Mrs. Myers was a teacher there where you are teaching. They were good teachers.
Well, I'll tell you about World War II. Some people it affected badly. Others profited by it. The sheepmen lost out, you see. They went broke when the war was over. During wartime, they would buy their sheep at $30.00 a head. When the war was over, sheep were $1.00 a head. So they lost out. I didn't go to war. Neither did my dad. I knew some who did. Dijunto Willie did. Even though my family was German---these Germans from here, fought with the Germans from over there. The Germans from here were Americans. That's an important difference.
My uncle came home wounded. He came home only with one hand. He left the other over there. Not even my Uncle Willie was hurt. He fought, too. That war killed people. It also made some people millionaires. Just like today. This thing about war. It's just money speculation. That's all it is. Some go broke and some get to be millionaires.
Let me tell you. The Mexicanos used to say: De muchacho no se moriria, ye de Viejo, no se iba escapar.
Duby: it's still the same today, guy.
I could give young people advice today. They should watch that they don't become drunks and they shouldn't smoke marijuana and they shouldn't steal. Instead of stealing, they should ask for whatever they need. They will be given, if only they ask…And work. Work. Work. That's the best advice. Work.
That's my story…
Oh, I remember Dijunto Fidelio Rodriguez. I met Atanacio Garcia--- Esequiel's grandpa. They were a lot older than my father. I knew Dijunto Garcia. Dijunto Candido Garcia. Juan Andres Velarde, Guillermo Velarde, of the old ones.
I knew your (Duby's) grandpa, Dijunto Asadiar Aguirres. I knew your other grandpa, Padilla. His name was Jesus.
Ah, Luis. I remember him.
Duby: I don't remember him.
Yes, I do remember him. I knew Dijunto Severino Aguirres… el Dijunto Procopio Aguirres. They were rancheros, borregueritos, vaqueritos--- some were mineros. I remember Dijunto Luis Harmes, who was my grandfather. Charlie Harmes, my uncle. Of the old, old ones: el Dijunto Benino Velarde, el Dijunto Antonio Domingo Lopez, el Dijunto Juan Moya. They all lived here. El Dijunto Pedro Vigil. He lived here. El Dijunto David Barela. When I remember these men, they were the viejos. They were from 70 to 80 years old when I knew them. Dijunto Ramos Rael. Some had beards. But most of them had mustaches. Dijunto Julian Quintana, had a beard that came to here. El Dijunto Nicos. He limped. He was a blacksmith. He was a good blacksmith. He had a blacksmith shop out in front of here. Then, Antonio Gomez had one, too, there where the County Shop is now. Where the store was…
Duby: My Uncle Moises had a fragua.
The fragua. After that is when your Uncle Moises becomes a blacksmith. Your Uncle Moises was not one of the old ones. Your Uncle Moises was of the days of my father. Those I won't mention. Primo Roques and all of them…
Dijunto Frank Vigil, Dijunto Juan Chavez. Dijunto Santiago Salazar. They were ranchers, sembradores, sheepshearers. These people came from el Valle de San Luis and Nuevo Mexico. These viejitos also had vietjitas. El Dijunto Benino---his wife was Chon.
Duby: Mano Carmel.
Duby: Mana Josefa.
Mana Josefa. Mano Carmelito was a man who liked his drinks. I heard tell that he would get in fights with Mana Josefita. She would run away and hide from him at my mother's house, and at my Aunt Maggie's. They, they used to live where Rosa Balles lived, around there. There was a cantina down the riverbank from the Seran's store. There was a cantina there. Well, that's where Mano Carmel and Dijunto Mariano Medina would pass their time. Well, it goes that Mano Carmel would come drunk and Mana Josefita would hide at my mothers and at Aunt Maggies. Mano Carmel would stand out in my mother's yard and holler to the women. “Margarita! Margarita! Is she there? Send out the S.O.B. Vagamunda!
“No, no, Mano Carmelito. She is not here. I don't know where she's at.”
“Send her out. I know she is in there with you, Margarita.”
He was an old drunk, this Mano Carmelito.
There was an old man, Castello. He had a hotel where Mrs. Knight lives. And there was a Mr. Quinlan. He was one of the old, old ones. He made that house where Richard lived. He made that house.
Duby: I remember that.
Hummm…Dijunto Antonio Cisneros from Redwing. All these men were rancheros. But Dijunto Fidel Aguirre was the aguacil. He was killed over here in a dance hall that was there. He was beaten to death with varías at a dance one night. You (Duby) were there. Tomás Trujillo was an aguacil, also. I don't remember any Mexicanos that were doctors or lawyers. You know, Rombley Foote was a lawyer. There was another lawyer. A tall one. I don't remember his name.
There were cantinas, though.
Duby: They wouldn't let women enter the cantinas, would they?
Very few. Very few.
Duby: They weren't free to do so. Then, women weren't seen in the cantinas.
I guess they just didn't want to go because they couldn't be kept from going in then, anymore than now. They were honest, scrupulous----timid women. The people were very timid.
Duby: They were afraid of the drunks, back then.
Duby: I remember my mother would only let us read our Sunday missal and say the rosary on Sunday's.
Some people didn't believe in working on Sunday's. My Mother still has that belief. Sunday's are not for working. Today it is not that way. Just the short while, one in church, one is in peace. But right after church, it's work.
Duby: There are times when one doesn't even go to church.
Did you know that when one starts thinking about it, we are really behind in our salvation. We are too far behind. In my lifetime we are too far behind. And you are WAY behind! Comparing my generation to yours, yours is further behind.
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