PREFACE...

Welcome to my life as told through the Chronicles of Undercover Mexican Girl. My parents are from Mexico, so I have strong roots there, but I don't completely identify with traditional Mexican culture. Yet, I don't always connect with mainstream American culture either (usually what you see on TV). You could say my life is a collage of many cultures.

I take delight in discovering other undercover people, places, and things. These are who and what have played a big part in influencing who I am. I like meeting folks who aren't famous and taking roads less (or never) traveled. Perhaps we'll meet one day, where you least expect to find me.



15 November 2009

War on Display


Every year on November 11, Americans observe Veterans Day to honor military veterans, particularly those who have served in the United States forces. I had always felt detached from this holiday because none of my relatives or close friends had ever served in the American military. In fact, my great-grandfather on my paternal grandmother’s side, Luis Aguilar, served just prior to the United States entering World War I – he fought for Mexico and against the Americans.

According to his journal, in April of 1914, the American Marines landed in the Port of Veracruz to intercept several German ships transporting weapons to the Mexican federal government, which had been taken through a coup by Victoriano Huerta. It was then that my great-grandfather realized that the American government wanted Venustiano Carranza and his revolutionaries to win. Luis Aguilar and his young friends eagerly joined the army because that’s what they were taught as children – same as American children – to love their country first. So off they went to fight for their government under Huerta’s presidency, thus fighting off the invading Americans.

He wrote in his journal, “How lovely it would have been to hear the shout ‘the soldier Luis Aguilar died for his country!’” In Veracruz, as he described it, he could have easily died from the many plagues and diseases brought on by the thick vegetation in the intensely hot, tropical climate. But he never made it to the actual port, and his troops only got as far as the surrounding areas. As he claimed in his journal, had the American troops been ordered to advance further inland from the Port of Veracruz, my great-grandfather would have been one of the first casualties and wouldn’t have been alive to write his stories.

Twelve years later, during the Cristero War (1926-1929), my great-grandfather on my maternal grandmother’s side, Tirso Gurrola, fought as a counter-revolutionary to overthrow President Plutarco Elías Calles who had strategically aligned himself with the winners of the Mexican Revolution. Calles was deeply atheist, and as a devout Catholic, my great-grandfather fought not for his country – but for his Church. Two years before my grandmother died, I was fortunate to record her memories of her father’s stories.

Twice, Tirso Gurrola escaped capture and imminent death. The first time, he had been taken in for interrogation. He identified himself with a fictitious name, but still suspecting him, the government officials searched his clothing to prove he was Tirso Gurrola. Knowing he had his wedding ring in his pocket with his wife’s name engraved on it – Aurelia Gurrola – he convinced the officials to let him first use the bathroom before being searched. He hid the ring in a bar of soap while washing his hands.

The second time, when my grandmother’s family decided to temporarily escape Durango, my great-grandmother Aurelia and a brave family friend came up with a scheme to sneak Tirso out of their hacienda in the village of Tapias. They tied him up so that he was compact and lifeless like a pole, wrapped him up, and placed him on the back seat floorboard of the car.

Aurelia’s brave friend was a strong Mexican American woman from Detroit, Michigan, and when the government officials asked about the wrapped pole, she explained that she was a photographer from the United States. She told the officials that if they dared un-wrap the package, they would have to make themselves responsible for the damaged film. Not willing to take responsibility, but still skeptical, they kicked the “camera.” And Tirso must have made himself stiff as a board, because they let Aurelia and her friend go.

Several years ago, I researched the archives of the Mexican Congress and found the following from the November 25, 1926 legislative session (translated): “The 2nd of October, the Chief of Military Operations in the state of Durango communicated that in the town of Santiago Bayacora, a rebel movement had taken place. A gang of approximately one hundred men was led up a nearby mountain by Knight of Columbus Cristero rebel Tirso Gurrola.

[By the end of October, most of the Cristero rebels had been killed or captured and] Gurrola's rebellion had completely dispersed. Tirso Gurrola had fled and his whereabouts were unknown. In the state of Durango, the Government continues to search for dispersed rebels -- the only rebels that remain in the entire country -- with the certainty than in a few days, they will be completely exterminated.” My great-grandfather had indeed fled to the United States via Eagle Pass, Texas, with his wife, and two sons (my grandmother and her younger sister fled separately pretending to be the maid’s daughters), until it was safe enough to return to Mexico.

Through the stories passed down in my family, I’ve learned the intimacies of two Mexican wars. But I’ve never had the chance to get a personal perspective from American wars. And then I discovered a treasure trove of American military history in our very own city of Austin: the Brigadier General John C. L. Scribner Texas Military Forces Museum at Camp Mabry, whose mission is to “tell the story of the Texas Military Forces from 1823 through the present and into the future, support the mission of the Texas Military Forces, honor our veterans, educate our fellow citizens, promote esprit d’corps among the men and women of the Texas Military Forces, and inspire our youth to serve.”

Located on West 35th Street just west of Mopac, the Museum resides in Building 6, which was built in 1918 as a mess hall complete with a bakery and kitchen facilities. The exhibitions begin with the Texas War for Independence (1835-1836) and extend through all major conflicts, including the 1846 Mexican War with the United States.

The Military Forces Museum is slated for a major renovation, but I suggest visiting now while the artifacts are still contained in a plain un-museum type setting, and they can be enjoyed in quiet and solitude. The Museum and its archives house more than 10,000 artifacts, 6,000 books, 20,000 historic photographs, and more than three dozen history military vehicles and artillery pieces. In the two times that I have been to the Museum, late on a Sunday afternoon, we were the only people there a majority of the time.

The phase I renovations are structural (roof repairs and electrical upgrade), but the phase II and phase III renovations are more aesthetic, including the construction of exhibit space and design of new exhibits. While these later-phase renovations will certainly help the Military Forces Museum join the ranks of higher-end museums such as the Blanton and the Bob Bullock, I always feel that with too much polish, you lose some of the charming quirks: the creaky floors, the eerie drafts, and the mysterious corners.

War is gritty and complicated, and it’s difficult to absorb by reading history books, let alone watching Hollywood movies with romanticized imagery, or by going to museums with spectacularly designed exhibitions. The reality of war cannot be neatly categorized or beautifully displayed. The best presentations of war are the personal accounts – and if you’re lucky and they are still alive, from your family and friends.

To read the published version of the article, check out a coffeehouse near you for this month's issue of TODO Austin!

Forgotten Graveyards


You probably know about the Texas State Cemetery on Navasota Street just east of I-35, which according to its website is “the final resting place of Governors, Senators, Legislators, Congressmen, Judges and other legendary Texans who have made the state what it is today.” You may have even been to Oakwood Cemetery a few blocks north – the oldest cemetery in Austin with graves dating back to the 1760s. There is one cemetery, however, you may have never heard of. It’s not the oldest, or the largest, or the most historically significant, but it exists as an oddity, frozen in time, inconspicuous between new apartment complexes and restaurants.

Perhaps you’ve sat at Trudy’s palapa bar off Stassney, without realizing that right across the street is Williamson Creek Cemetery. It’s completely enclosed by a chain link fence and padlocked gate, designated by the Texas Historical Commission. Although I do not necessarily encourage illegal trespassing, there is a secret way to enter without disturbing the fence, and I made sure to remain on the remnants of the foot pathways – all for the sake of undercover journalism!

Most of the tombstones are crumbling and their inscriptions are weathered, or the markers are simply gone with only sunken earth as evidence of a decomposed grave. The Austin Genealogical Society cemetery database doesn’t give a clear record of the earliest grave, but the Austin History Center does have a complete inventory. With my own amateur photography, I documented a few tombstones dating back to 1891 and 1895. There is one newly placed plaque at the foot of a live oak tree – while the marker is obviously recent, the grave of James P. Eagle is dated 1863.

I experienced a sensation of strangeness being in this cemetery, not because it was haunted, but from my fleeting encounter. Because I had a feeling I shouldn’t be there and the sun was about to set, I only had a brief period of time to absorb the details of each grave: the variation of the carved letter types and decorative motifs, or the way they were neglected with overgrown weeds and not a single fresh flower. Clearly, some of these sites had not been visited in years, or maybe even since the time of burial – yet someone had taken the time to try to reconstruct some of the broken tombstones. My memory of the cemetery’s particulars is now hazy, and all I have are a few photographs to help me write about the visit.

In this way, I think about my maternal grandmother, Maria Ines Lopez Gurrola, who passed away on January 8, 2007. Sometimes, my sadness comes not just from the fact that she is no longer around, but that I wasn’t able to take in more of her while she was alive – her stories, her mannerisms, and her intelligence. The only things that remain are her belongings, photographs, a few home videos, and a cassette tape with her final childhood recollections in Durango, Mexico during the Cristero War. She was in many ways, the undercover Mexican grandmother.

She did not cook very much, leaving that chore to my grandfather. My most distinct memory of one of the few times of her making something in the kitchen involved Lebanese kibbeh and homemade yogurt. She was mostly busy running accounts for the flower shop, Florería Mayali, she owned in Aguascalientes. She did not teach me how to sew or iron, but she did teach me how to read, and how to drink a small glass of wine with dinner like European children.

As I get older, I think about how much of life is consumed by technology to record our moments. I see people more focused on how the photograph will look on their social networking profile the next day, rather than letting their minds capture the moment. When we are at the end of our lives, will we clearly remember our experiences, or will we have to do an internet search to find them?


Click here to read the published version of this article in the October issue of TODO Austin.