Smeltertown: Making and Remembering a Southwest Border Community

Smelter town

Published in Association with The William P. Clements Center for Southwest Studies, Southern Methodist University, by The University of North Carolina Press, Chapel Hill

making and remembering a southwest border communit y

Smeltertown Monica Perales

© 2010 the university of north carolina press All rights reserved. Designed by Courtney Leigh Baker and set in Quadraat and Univers by Rebecca Evans. Manufactured in the United States of America. The paper in this book meets the guidelines for permanence and durability of the Committee on Production Guidelines for Book Longevity of the Council on Library Resources. The University of North Carolina Press has been a member of the Green Press Initiative since 2003. Perales, Monica. Smeltertown : making and remembering a Southwest border community / Monica Perales. p. cm. “Published in association with the William P. Clements Center for Southwest Studies, Southern Methodist University.” Includes bibliographical references and index. isbn 978-0-8078-3411-4 (cloth : alk. paper) — isbn 978-0-8078-7146-1 (pbk. : alk. paper) 1. Mexican Americans — Texas — Smeltertown — History. 2. Mexican Americans — Texas — Smeltertown — Biography. 3. Mexican Americans — Texas — Smeltertown — Ethnic identity. 4. Working class — Texas — Smeltertown — History. 5. Smelting — Social aspects — Texas — Smeltertown — History. 6. Community life — Texas — Smeltertown — History. 7. Collective memory — Texas — Smeltertown. 8. Smeltertown (Tex.) — History. 9. Smeltertown (Tex.) — Biography. 10. Company towns — Mexican-American Border Region — Case studies. I. William P. Clements Center for Southwest Studies. II. Title. f394.s64p47 2010 976.4'96 — dc22 2010004479 A portion of this work appeared earlier, in somewhat different form, as “Fighting to Stay in Smeltertown: Lead Contamination and Environmental Justice in a Mexican American Community,” Western Historical Quarterly 39 (Spring 2008): 41–63, copyright by the Western History Association, and is reprinted by permission. “La Vieja Esmelda” (The Old Smeltertown) by María Mata Torres is reprinted by permission of Adolfo Mata Jr. cloth paper

14 13 12 11 10 5 4 3 2 1 14 13 12 11 10 5 4 3 2 1

Para la gente de La Esmelda, Que sus historias no se olviden.

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Contents

Acknowledgments xi Introduction 1

PART I. Making Places

1. Making a Border City 21 2. Creating Smeltertown 57 PART II. Making Identities

3. We’re Just Smelter People 97 4. We Were One Hundred Percent Mexican 149 5. She Was Very American 185 PART III. Remembering Smelter town

6. The Demise of Smeltertown 225 Epilogue Finding Smeltertown 261

Notes 279

Index 319

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Illustrations, Maps, and Tables Illustrations Early view of the El Paso smelter and surrounding area 64 Home of asarco chief metallurgist J. J. Ormsbee 66 El Bajo, 1911 71 Santana family home, ca. 1930s 73 El Bajo, 1931 78 Paz Luján holding her nephew, ca. 1930s 92 Manuel Gonzales and Marciano González 98 Men outside the smelter gate 111 Mexican brick workers inside the smelter, ca. 1910s 116 Jesús Perales’s identification card 118 Members of the smelter safety committee, 1954 126 Two strikers outside the smelter, July 14, 1949 135 Women workers at asarco, ca. 1940s 145 First Communion at the smelter parish 150 Unidentified patrolmen overlooking Smeltertown, 1920s 156 Five Mexican revolutionaries with bandoliers 159 Los Trovadores 171 Monsignor Lourdes Costa 181 Mexican girls with American flag 189 Luz Luján (Perales) and Carmen Martínez (Escandón), 1929 197 Young women on the porch of the Smelter Vocational School 200 Luz Luján (Perales) studio portrait 202 Smelter Vocational School alumnae and Mrs. Gryder, March 1943 213 View of Smeltertown and County Road in the 1950s 233 Texas Air Control Board meeting at Liberty Hall, May 15, 1970 250 Esmeltianos’ parting words, January 22, 1973 256

Maps asarco and affiliate properties in the western United States and northern Mexico, 1904 36 El Paso neighborhoods 48 Smeltertown and surrounding area 62

1 2 3 4

Tables Smeltertown Population Totals, 1900–1930 49 El Paso Population, by Race, 1930 51 Scale of Daily Wages for Selected Positions in the City of El Paso, 1911 and 1919 108 Ethnic Distribution of 10 Percent Sample of New Employees at asarco, by Decade, 1910–1950 112

Acknowledgments This book has been a true labor of love, and its completion is a bittersweet end to a wonderful journey begun many years ago. Along the way, I have been fortunate to have had the encouragement, guidance, and support of many individuals who believed in Smeltertown’s story and in my ability to tell it. In countless ways, they made this book possible. I am deeply grateful to the many former Esmeltianos and their families who opened their homes to me, who shared their time, memories, mementos, and photographs. In those conversations and exchanges about La Esmelda, I learned not only of the beauty and challenges of living in the shadow of the smelter, but also important lessons about resilience and the enduring power of community. Writing the history of Smeltertown from the point of view of Esmeltianos was a responsibility I took seriously. I am humbled that they entrusted me with their stories and hope that they find something of the place they loved in the pages that follow. I have benefited from the guidance of many amazing teachers and scholars who have helped me to grow as a historian. The seeds of this project were planted at the University of Texas at El Paso. Ron Weber taught me that history is “the stories people tell to give themselves an identity,” a definition that has remained with me to this day. Cheryl Martin, Sherry Smith, and Yolanda Chávez Leyva were enthusiastic supporters. Ernesto Chávez has been a generous mentor and friend, and I am truly grateful for his insight, keen observations, and always spot-on advice. At Stanford, Albert Camarillo and Richard White nurtured my intellectual development through their tough and thoughtful criticism, and have continued to provide wise counsel and direction. The ideas in this book matured during my year as a Summerlee Fellow in Texas History at the William P. Clements Center for Southwest Studies at Southern Methodist University. The opportunity to devote a full year to writing in a collegial setting transformed this project in significant ways. I am thankful to David Weber, Sherry Smith, Andrea Boardman, and Ruth Ann

Elmore for making my time in Dallas possible and productive. Ana Alonso, Susan Johnson, and all the participants of my manuscript workshop challenged me to conceive of this project in broader terms. Chris Wilson, Cynthia Radding, Debbie Kang, Andrew Needham, John Chávez, Benjamin Johnson, and Michelle Nickerson have left a positive imprint on this book and made that year in North Texas a real joy. When I arrived at the University of Houston (uh), I found a supportive community of colleagues and friends who shared their time and immense knowledge. The entire faculty of the Department of History encouraged my project. I owe special thanks to Joe Pratt, Marty Melosi, John Hart, Nancy Beck Young, Landon Storrs, Cathy Patterson, Sarah Fishman, Kathy Brosnan, and Susan Kellogg for reading drafts, for offering help with the writing and publishing process, and for their encouraging words. Kairn Klieman has been a trusted friend, and our walks at Memorial Park fed my mind and spirit. Raúl Ramos took the time to teach me how to navigate the world of academe. Raúl, Eduardo Contreras, and Todd Romero provided insight, smart advice, and good doses of humor. Their friendship and camaraderie made all the difference. Beyond the department, Christina Sisk and Guillermo de Los Reyes gave constructive criticism on early drafts. Michael Olivas offered much wisdom and perspective. I have been extremely fortunate for timely and generous financial support at various phases. The Stanford University School of Humanities and Sciences, the Ford Foundation/National Academies, the Mellon Foundation, and the Stanford Humanities Center all provided early assistance. The completion of this project was facilitated through grants from the Grant to Enhance and Advance Research and the New Faculty Research programs at the University of Houston. An award from the uh Small Grants Program assisted with its publication. Tatcho Mindiola and the Center for Mexican American Studies at uh provided intellectual and financial support in the form of a Visiting Scholar Research Program fellowship and travel grants to present my work at various academic conferences. A junior faculty semester leave from the History Department gave me much appreciated time in the critical final stages. My research was made possible — and more enjoyable — through the help of archivists, librarians, and many other knowledgeable individuals. I am indebted to Claudia Rivers and the excellent staff at the C. L. Sonnichson Special Collections Department at the University of Texas at El Paso. Patricia Worthington, Barbara Rees, Lynn Russell, and Carolyn Drapes of the El Paso County Historical Society offered enthusiastic support and assistance with loxii

Acknowledgments

cating photographs and other resources and hidden gems. El Paso historian Fred Morales kindly shared his knowledge of Smeltertown and early El Paso history, and Jesus Reynoso at the El Paso City/County Environmental District helped me navigate the archives. I am especially grateful to Larry Castor and Lairy Johnson, formerly of Asarco’s El Paso plant, for granting me access to employee records and photographs, and to Ray Muñoz and the other members of the Asarco Security Department who were extremely accommodating during my research visits. Teresa Montoya was incredibly generous with her time and indispensable as a liaison with the company in the final stages of this book. Marta Estrada at the Border Heritage Center at the El Paso Public Library offered much kind assistance. Simón Elizondo Weffer, Lorena G. López, and Marilyn Espitia helped me make sense of quantitative employee and census data. Juan Galván and Jeff Womack were able and thorough research assistants. Chuck Grench, Katy O’Brien, Ron Maner, and the staff at the University of North Carolina Press shepherded the project through the publication process; I am immensely grateful for their patience and the great care they took in seeing this through to completion. Stevie Champion helped me clarify and smooth out my prose. Vicki L. Ruiz’s and Stephen J. Pitti’s careful reading of the manuscript improved it in immeasurable ways. If it is true that “a friend is your needs answered,” then I consider myself especially blessed to have a wonderful group of colleagues and friends who have sustained me throughout this project. Magdalena Barrera, Marisela Chávez, Marilyn Espitia, Gina Marie Pitti, Gabriela González, Mary Ann Villarreal, Elizabeth Escobedo, Shana Bernstein, Judith Segura, and Christian Clarke Cásarez have been with me nearly every step of the way. Whether reading drafts, offering supportive words, or simply providing a much-needed shoulder to lean on, their friendship has enriched my work and life in profound ways. Luis Alvarez, José Alamillo, Gabriela Arredondo, Matt Bokovoy, Antonia Castañeda, Matt García, Steve Mintz, Natalia Molina, and María Montoya exemplified the true meaning of collegiality, taking the time to help this fledgling scholar find her way. Words cannot convey my gratitude to Vicki L. Ruiz. Though busy enough with her many students and countless responsibilities, she warmly welcomed me into the fold, and has been a staunch advocate and trusted mentor. Her commitment to the field and her generosity never cease to inspire. Most of all, my deepest gratitude and appreciation go to my family. My parents, Manuel and Carmen Perales, nurtured my love of learning from an early age. They taught me about strength and the importance of remaining Acknowledgments

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true to myself — lessons that have carried me through the ups and downs of this project. They have kept me grounded, while encouraging me to reach for the stars, the greatest gift any child can receive. My sister Cristina Perales accompanied me in the back seat of that Gran Torino station wagon, and together we watched for the red and white smokestacks to appear in the distance. She has lifted my spirits more times than I can count. Her willingness and ability to hunt down obscure references in microfilm (for free, no less!) helped me to cross the finish line and earn her an honorary degree as far as I am concerned. I do not know if my grandparents, Luz and Lorenzo Perales and María Isabel and Manuel Gonzales, ever imagined that their life stories would find their way into a history book. Writing this book afforded me the precious opportunity to know them in a new light, which has been one of the greatest blessings of all. In the summer of 2004, Matt Perkins came into my world. My life is all the richer because he is in it. For his patience, faith, and love, I will be forever grateful.

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Acknowledgments

Smelter town

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Introduction On the evening of March 27, 1972, the parish hall of San José de Cristo Rey Catholic Church in Smeltertown was packed with angry neighbors looking for answers. Just two years before, the city of El Paso and the state of Texas had filed suit against the American Smelting and Refining Company (asarco) for violating the 1967 Air Safety Code, based on complaints over the air pollution caused by asarco’s giant smokestacks. As city and county health officials investigated the case, they made an even more alarming discovery. More than one hundred children in the predominantly Mexican, working-class community had abnormal, and potentially life-threatening, levels of lead in their bloodstreams.1 The public meeting that night was one of many that had taken place in Smeltertown since the lead contamination story had erupted. However, it was not lead, Smeltertown’s children, or public health that had residents so fired up that spring evening. What had incited such emotion were rumors that the city had targeted Smeltertown for demolition and that it would be condemned for habitation in thirty days. Before long, the meeting attended by Mayor Bert Williams and members of the El Paso Housing Authority turned into what the El Paso Times termed a “stand off confrontation” between city officials and residents over the fate of Smeltertown. One attendee called Williams a liar when he claimed that the city had spearheaded earlier improvements in their neighborhood. Others booed and jeered the mayor and El Paso Housing Authority director Woodrow Bean as they described federally subsidized low-income housing in other parts of the city that would be made available to Smeltertown residents.2 Tempers flared among residents who resented what they saw as a politically motivated relocation project, not a response to a public health crisis. In their minds, city and health officials were not there to help their community. They were there to destroy it. At first glance, the responses of Smeltertown residents at that community meeting seem completely out of step with what one might expect in light of such an environmental disaster. To be sure, the residents cared about the

health of their children, but the events of that night revealed that there was something just as important as the physical well-being of their families at stake in the debate over Smeltertown. Their vocal reactions against relocation powerfully illuminate the centrality of place in working people’s lived experiences, its role in shaping a sense of self and one’s relationship to a wider world, and the important ways in which individuals created meaningful lives and claimed a sense of dignity in what appeared to be the most unpromising of settings. For residents, Smeltertown —“La Esmelda” as they called it — was home. It was a place they created through generations of labor at the smelter and over almost a century of shared, intimate contacts with one another. Despite the contamination and pollution, the years of corporate intrusion into many aspects of their lives, the grueling labor, and myriad other hardships, residents held a deep attachment to Smeltertown. It defined their place in the city’s past, drove their desire to save their homes, and profoundly affected how they viewed themselves and their legacy for the future. The struggle over Smeltertown lays bare the intricate web of relationships, shared traditions, cultural practices, and memories that formed the basis of a working community, and the remarkable ways that people derived meaning from and forged a deep connection to this place on the banks of the Rio Grande. Smeltertown: Making and Remembering a Southwest Border Community traces the formation, evolution, demise, and collective memory of one of the largest single-industry Mexican American communities on the U.S.-Mexican border from the closing decades of the nineteenth century through the end of the twentieth century. Formed at the base of the American Smelting and Refining Company, Smeltertown served as home to thousands of Mexican-origin asarco employees and their families. Smeltertown was generally divided into two major areas. Upper Smeltertown, or “El Alto,” sat on company property on the bluff overlooking the Rio Grande and was itself divided into racially segregated sections. Anglo managers and their families lived in what was called “Smelter Terrace,” while ethnic Mexican workers and their families resided in company-owned tenements in a separate section they called “El Alto.” Lower Smeltertown, or “El Bajo,” was the predominantly ethnic Mexican area nestled between County Road and the Rio Grande. It comprised a number of smaller barrios, including La Calavera, or “Skull Canyon,” the only neighborhood that remains today. As El Paso grew, Smeltertown’s boundaries also expanded, and by the 1930s and 1940s this nearly self-contained community boasted several other industries, a Mexican-owned commercial district, and a population of several thousand. 2

Introduction

In a region shaped by industrial capitalism, transborder commerce, and international migration, Esmeltianos forged a sense of community through a variety of daily practices, social interactions, and familial and kinship relationships, creating a social and cultural geography rooted in their lived experience. Although the company exerted a powerful control over their lives, and they encountered countless hardships, the residents made Smeltertown to suit their immediate needs. They molded and transformed institutions such as work, the church, schools, and Mexican-owned businesses and shops into spaces within which they articulated a sense of community and identity over the course of nearly a century. Following the lead contamination controversy in the early 1970s, city and company officials dismantled Smeltertown, relocating many of its remaining inhabitants to low-income housing projects around the city of El Paso, bringing about the neighborhood’s demise. Yet Smeltertown still exists in the memories of the people who once called La Esmelda their home. The creation of community, and later the rearticulation of community through collective memory, served as a mechanism by which working people found agency within their limited range of choices and allowed them to rewrite their presence onto a landscape from which they had been erased. The central premise of this book is that Smeltertown was not a singular, unified place defined solely by the physical proximity of its residents and the geographic boundaries established by asarco. Rather, Smeltertown was composed of a number of real and imagined social worlds — conflicting, overlapping, and contradictory — that were continually created by the company, the church, the schools, and the residents themselves, for multiple purposes, both in the past and in the present. Historians, anthropologists, geographers, and social theorists have critically examined the ways in which people interact with their lived physical environments and the ways that places are created and hold specific cultural, political, and social meanings for the people who inhabit them. As these studies have shown, places do not just “exist”— they are a “spatial reality constructed by people” and the meanings of places shift and change over time.3 As environmental psychologist and anthropologist Setha M. Low explains in her study of public plazas in Costa Rica, places are “spatial representations of . . . society and social hierarchy,” and thus are venues within which people debate, contest, and negotiate the power of the state in their lives.4 A similar kind of spatial geography emerged in Smeltertown. In its early years, asarco maintained a small, racially segregated company town on plant property, complete with company store, hospital, and Introduction

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other amenities that established its position as the community’s patron and served to cultivate a loyal workforce. Residents navigated through the world the company made, but they also purposefully engaged in creating their own Mexican world beyond the bounds of company property, building a vibrant community culture rooted in the places they inhabited on a daily basis. Although a sense of collectivity and shared experiences among Esmeltianos helped to define Smeltertown, intra- and intergroup conflict along lines of race, gender, labor, region, and religion shaped the boundaries of these multilayered social worlds as well. This multiplicity of interactions facilitated a sense of community defined not solely in terms of geographic locality, but through social memory and experience created within those locations.5 In this way, residents built a richly textured world through daily interactions and relationships they made both with the company and with one another, deeply grounded in the places they created in the shadows of the smelter’s smokestacks. The community culture forged by Esmeltianos served as a mechanism for survival, allowing them to mitigate the power of the company that touched every aspect of their lives. The smelter literally loomed over Smeltertown’s residents. Traditional modes of resistance including labor and community organizing allowed Esmeltianos to demand benefits and services from the company and the city, and figure prominently in the story of Smeltertown. But more often, residents found daily means of making life livable and, through their community rituals and institutions, retained a sense of control over their lives in a setting where the company ultimately held the upper hand. In the words of literary theorist Ross Chambers, Esmeltianos found “room to maneuver” through the system of power and limitations they encountered, negotiating, challenging, and sometimes accommodating the overarching influence of the company in their lives.6 At times openly confrontational, at others quietly subversive, Smeltertown’s residents vigorously resisted efforts to treat them as a subordinate class, and they used community institutions like the church, schools, organizations, and businesses to contest, or at least lessen, the power of the company over their lives. In these subtle and unexpected ways, they maintained their way of life for almost one hundred years, finding hope, dignity, and beauty in a setting colored by the smelter’s black slag and acid fumes. Although this book focuses on how residents ordered their immediate social worlds, Esmeltianos were an integral part of a city and region also in the process of defining itself. Smeltertown grew in the border city of El Paso, 4

Introduction

Texas, the historic crossroads of two nations, at a time when city leaders and boosters, railroad financiers, mining and smelting entrepreneurs (most notably the members of the Guggenheim-controlled American Smelting and Refining Company) sought to place the border city on the map. The arrival of the railroad in the 1880s and the subsequent development of industry and manufacturing catapulted the little village on the U.S.-Mexican border onto the national and international scene. Before long, the intricate web of rail lines and corporate investments by companies like asarco and Phelps Dodge connected El Paso to every major market in North America, making it a participant of the corporate frontier and an active partner in the modern capitalist transformation of the American West.7 By the start of the twentieth century, asarco, through its various operations, ruled uncontested over the mining industry, operating one of the largest mining and smelting conglomerates in the nation, representing “a complex of transportation, resource development, and processing enterprises that had no equal.”8 At the center of these massive modern networks, El Paso quickly outgrew its identity as the roughand-tumble frontier town its local historians are often fond of cultivating in collective memory.9 Indeed, it was the veritable nexus of a modern railroad and mining empire. The transformation of the region not only occurred on an east-west axis but also spanned the continent north to south; as such, Smeltertown’s history is deeply transnational. Capital did not see international boundaries. The immense investment of American businesses in the post–Civil War period, particularly during the reign of Mexican president/dictator Porfirio Díaz (1876– 80, 1884–1910), intimately linked northern Mexico with the U.S. Southwest. American capital helped to build Mexico’s transportation infrastructure and contributed to the transfiguration of its economy, which all but ensured the continuous flow of capital, in the form of ore and Mexican laboring hands, ever northward.10 Through cooperation, collusion, and coercion, American industrialists and their powerful allies in Washington, D.C., assured U.S. economic expansion and domination in Mexico. By the time Smeltertown appeared on the scene, the United States had established the framework of what historian Gilbert González calls a “culture of empire” that effectively rendered Mexico “an economic outpost of American capitalist interests.”11 Powerful transnational operations like asarco benefited handsomely; by the close of the century, American-owned companies controlled more than 80 percent of mining capital in Mexico and owned more than half of the nation’s thirtyone largest operations.12 The rapid growth of the southwestern economy, Introduction

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its deep ties with Mexico, and the economic and social unrest that erupted into revolution in 1910 combined to make El Paso the largest port of entry on the southern border. During this period of civil war, thousands of Mexicans poured through El Paso’s inspection checkpoint each month. Smeltertown emerged at this pivotal moment, at the dawn of an industrial boom and on the eve of one of the largest human migrations of the century. The global impact of industrial capitalism and migration affected local communities, and immigration policy and repatriation, revolution and world wars, assimilation and urban reform, economic prosperity and recession played central roles in the daily lives of Esmeltianos. A critical examination of Smeltertown thus reveals how globalization, free trade, transnational capitalism, and transborder flows of people and products — issues we associate with the late twentieth century — have profound roots in the history of the region. Smeltertown’s location on the border provides the opportunity to examine the development of a vibrant and permanent Mexican American community in a place marked by the constant flow of people and capital through the border city. Smeltertown experienced similar patterns of social, economic, and political disenfranchisement — as well as resilience and persistence — found in barrios across the country.13 However, border cities like El Paso were not just places Mexicans passed through on their way to become Mexican American in Los Angeles, Chicago, or any number of other American cities. Building on Mario T. García’s influential study of Mexicans in El Paso, this story of Smeltertown reclaims the border as a dynamic and historically contingent site where questions of citizenship, legitimacy, and nation are negotiated in people’s everyday lives.14 Indeed, for people on the U.S.-Mexican border, these issues manifested themselves in ways that were grounded in a border setting, where two sovereign nations, with their long and complicated histories, met in a messy and sometimes hostile manner. The border matters precisely because it is the site where cultural and national citizenship is determined immediately upon crossing; as sociologist Pablo Vila contends, it is a place where what is Mexican, foreign, and racially other is constantly redefined by what lies just across the easily traversed river.15 As inhabitants of a border community, Esmeltianos fashioned a sense of community and sense of self along multiple axes in light of changing immigration law, labor relations, economic shifts, and major political events. Daily encounters with what was on the other side forced them to make choices about who they were (and were not) vis-à-vis the racial backdrop of the workplace, their community, and the border city as a whole. At times, conflict, more than collaboration, 6

Introduction

determined how Mexicans in El Paso viewed their relationship to the border, and in times of economic and political strife, the Rio Grande proved to be an impassable gulf between them and the mexicanos on the other side. The case of Smeltertown thus not only reveals how people created stasis in a place of constant movement, but also how lived experience determined how border dwellers viewed themselves in racial, cultural, and national terms. Furthermore, the story of Smeltertown is fundamentally one steeped in memory, shrouded in a foggy mix of nostalgia, myth, and misperception. Writing the history of Smeltertown has been immensely complicated by its erasure from the physical landscape and, to a great degree, from the dominant story of El Paso’s past. Where a bustling and dynamic community once stood is today a large empty lot covered in overgrown desert brush. Historical studies of the city are similarly silent when it comes to the existence of Mexican Smeltertown.16 Years after its physical demise, however, residents and nonresidents alike continue to remember and re-create Smeltertown. Former Esmeltianos gather for annual reunions each summer and pass down their stories of the lives and relationships they built in La Esmelda. At least one former resident has created an online community of former Esmeltianos and their descendants in an effort to archive stories and photographs, making a virtual Smeltertown across time and space. In the same ways that their forbearers made Smeltertown in a particular time and place to meet the needs of their daily lives, Esmeltianos today craft their own versions of Smeltertown in memory, often devoid of labor conflict, transience, or the painful experiences of racial discrimination. These stories serve as a way to assert their place in the past, their sense of community in the absence of a physical Smeltertown, and a legacy for their descendants. This book contends that these memories are more than simple nostalgia and longing for a bygone time and place. Through their stories and positive memories of place, Esmeltianos write themselves onto a landscape that today betrays Smeltertown’s existence and its historical significance to the economic, cultural, and social fabric of the region. They inject themselves into the history of the U.S. Southwest, not as supporting characters, but as central actors in the shaping of a major border metroplex. My search for Smeltertown has deep roots in these stories. For as long as I can remember, Smeltertown has figured prominently in my memory, even though it is a place that I never saw with my own eyes. When I was growing up, my family and I routinely made the seemingly interminable drive along Interstate 10 from our home in Phoenix, Arizona, to El Paso, to visit grandIntroduction

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parents and extended family for the holidays or summer vacations. Camped out in the backseat of a white Gran Torino station wagon, along with my sister and sometimes the family dog, we spent hours waiting to get to Nana and Grandpa’s house. The desert scenery did not change much, making the ride all the more unbearable. We knew we were almost there, though, when the giant red and white asarco smokestack appeared on the horizon. Its twinkling red lights flickering on the dusky sky were a welcome sight for the weary child traveler. It was only then, when I could see that smokestack, that I knew we were almost there. That smokestack was a welcome beacon guiding us in our white Gran Torino home. “Home” was the little barrio called Buena Vista, just a mile or so up the road from what had been Smeltertown. The majority of the people in Buena Vista were connected through family or friendship, but also through their ties to Smeltertown. My father’s father, Lorenzo, was born in El Paso in 1909. Lorenzo’s Mexican-born father, a boilermaker by training, found employment at asarco as early as 1901. My paternal grandmother, Luz, had migrated to Smeltertown as a child in 1917. Her father, José Luján Meléndez, had worked for an asarco-owned enterprise in Parral, Chihuahua, and moved his family north to escape the violence and uncertainty wrought by the Mexican Revolution. After they married in 1934, Luz and Lorenzo Perales, both graduates of the company-sponsored Smelter Vocational School, set out to start their life together and were among the first to purchase a home in Buena Vista. Their two-room house on Vista Hill Drive was a huge step up from the asarcoowned housing in which they had spent their childhoods, but they were never far removed from Smeltertown. They remained involved in the activities of the Vocational School and its community programs, as well as the San José de Cristo Rey Catholic parish. Their children attended E. B. Jones Elementary School, and Luz was active in the pta. Though they had moved from the old neighborhood, La Esmelda was still a regular part of their lives. My mother’s family was also from Smeltertown. Her father, Manuel Gonzales, was born on M Street, in the heart of Smeltertown, at the base of the hill that led to the front gates of the smelter. When he began working at asarco shortly before World War II, he was among the third generation in his family to do so. María Isabel, my grandmother, was from La Calavera, the tiny subsection of Smeltertown tucked into an arroyo near the smelter. After Manuel and María Isabel married in 1944, they lived in La Calavera and later moved into a little house off the main County Road, directly under the railroad trestles that brought ores from across the Southwest to be processed at the 8

Introduction

smelter. Over time, with better pay resulting from successful strikes waged by the union, they eventually settled into their own home on Vista Hill Drive. Like my father’s family, the Gonzaleses retained ties to Smeltertown. Extended family members remained in the homes in which they had been born and reared. And, of course, there was the work. Grandpa worked at asarco for forty-one years, until he retired in the 1980s. Throughout that time, Smeltertown continued to be a regular part of his daily life. Whether he was clocking in at the smelter, participating in the union’s strikes, or watching a softball game at the company-sponsored field, asarco and Smeltertown were a part of his routine. When he died in December 2006, the pension he received for his many years of labor transferred to my grandmother, continuing the link between the company and our family. I myself never lived in Smeltertown. I never saw the homes or the businesses and stores, the puente culumpio (swing bridge) that spanned the Rio Grande, E. B. Jones School, the local ymca, or San José Church. By the time we made those regular treks to El Paso, what had been Smeltertown was nothing more than a deserted patch of land on the river’s edge. Even still, Smeltertown existed. It existed at the annual church kermés (bazaar), held in conjunction with the Smeltertown reunion each summer, when people connected by generations of family and kinship traded funny stories about growing up in La Esmelda — recalling old nicknames and reminiscing about schoolyard antics and old sweethearts. It existed in my Grandma Luz’s photo albums and shoe boxes filled with cracked and fading sepia-toned photographs. The names and dates, in her careful script, anchored the subjects in time and space; the ever-present smokestacks anchored them to Smeltertown. Smeltertown was also present in the sad news of someone who had died —“You remember them, eran de la Esmelda . . . they were from Smeltertown.” My family’s memories became my memories — by and large, happy ones of a bygone time and place. These memories and the stories of Smeltertown served as my family’s touchstone, the point of origin to which we could trace our bloodlines in the United States, a reference that defined who we were and from where we came. My whole life, Smeltertown had been a part of me and a part of my family’s past, as well as the pasts of many Esmeltianos. This study thus emerges from the intersection of the memories of the place I knew but never saw and the history of a place and region. Using the historian’s tools and methods, I scoured census data, newspapers, employee records, court papers and proceedings, and other archival collections to bring Smeltertown back onto the landscape from which it had disappeared more Introduction

9

than thirty years ago. Oral history became invaluable in attempting to reconstruct a historical narrative of Mexican Smeltertown from the pieces of memories and fragments of history that remain. Many came from the University of Texas at El Paso’s Oral History Collection, but others I gathered through the intricate web of family and kinship that still connects the dispersed community. My Smeltertown lineage proved a considerable help in this endeavor. Interviews often began at family gatherings, or with people suggesting I talk to their grandparents or family friends. “Diles quien eres” (that is, tell them you are from a Smeltertown family). People shared not only their stories, but also photographs and other mementos, and interviews lasted for hours. When I was allowed access to asarco employee records, I am certain it had as much to do with my lineage as it did with my credentials and timing. Within clearly established limitations regarding the privacy of employee personal data, I was permitted to search through dusty file box after dusty file box of employee records noted on old yellowed cards, some dating back to the late nineteenth century. Then–plant manager Larry Castor and the rest of the personnel at asarco were immensely gracious and welcoming, genuinely interested in helping me to present a more richly textured picture of the company and its relationship to Smeltertown. Where the archives are silent, memories speak volumes of this community on the banks of the river. Admittedly, these memories are problematic; filtered, altered, and selective, they more often tell us about the present needs of the people who relate them than they tell us about the past. The facts of history do not always align with the stories we tell. In interviews, with few exceptions, former residents described Smeltertown in positive terms. People recalled the good old days, when folks could leave their doors unlocked without fear, when “everybody knew everybody,” when you could always count on your neighbor for a cup of frijoles. These fond memories consistently forced themselves to the foreground, as they glossed over the painful or troubling things that people would rather not remember. “History is the enemy of memory,” cautions Richard White, because it challenges what we think we know about the past and intrudes in rude ways on our positive memories of place. But, he concedes, “there are regions of the past that only memory knows.”17 For a place like Smeltertown, long disappeared from the landscape and historical record, these words ring especially true. This does not mean that Smeltertown’s history is unrecoverable, however. When only fragmentary evidence and memories remain, historians must take a different path through the inconsistencies, contradictions, and unknown. As David Blight explains, “As 10

Introduction

historians, we are bound by our craft and by our humanity to study the problem of memory and thereby help make a future. We should respect the poets and priests; we should study the defining myths at play in any memory controversy. But then, standing at the confluence of the two streams of history and memory, we should write the history of memory, observing and explaining the turbulence we find.”18 This project, then, attempts to make sense of the competing stories of Smeltertown that fight for position in the past and in the present. It is both the history of the Smeltertown people made in a specific place and time and the history of the Smeltertown they make in its physical absence today. I have tried not to dismantle the figurative pedestal on which collective memory placed Smeltertown, but rather to understand how and why it was crafted. This proved more difficult than I anticipated. Early on I discovered there are no easy villains or heroes in this story, and sometimes how people and institutions interacted with one another in the past was not always consistent with a twenty-first-century worldview. At times I felt that providing an honest account of the Mexican barrio of Smeltertown was incompatible with one that honored the people I knew and the community they loved. In the end, I concluded not only that the two versions were compatible, but also that one was absolutely essential for understanding the other. The resulting book illustrates how balancing memory and historical context allows for a more complicated view of the past, one in which we can reconcile the harsh realities of industrial capitalism with the memories and longing for a place that has vanished. It is far more important to explore how people built meaningful lives, how they understood their place in the world, and how they developed strategies to navigate the world around them. The fact that the memories of this place persist reveals the power of memory in re-creating and perpetuating community. More important, the kinds of memories that do persist reflect the need and desire to keep Smeltertown alive, long after the last building had been razed and the last person had moved on. It is in this desire that we can see, in the words of architectural historian Dolores Hayden, the true “power of place” in which a working people created their own socially and culturally specific world on an otherwise dreary urban, industrial landscape.19 The stories people told of Smeltertown illuminate the connections that people had to one another because they could trace their families to this little corner of West Texas. I only hope that those who knew La Esmelda beyond my meager comprehension can find something of themselves and the place they loved in the story that unfolds in the following pages. Introduction

11

this book is divided into three sections. Part I, Making Places, consists of two chapters. The first, “Making a Border City,” traces the development of El Paso as a center of international commerce and immigration and the emergence of asarco as a major transnational mining and smelting conglomerate that spanned the North American continent. In the closing years of the nineteenth century, city boosters and the business-minded political elite capitalized on El Paso’s advantageous location on the U.S.-Mexican border and worked to entice industry and manufacturing to the border city by promising access to Mexico’s natural wealth and labor reserves. In tirelessly courting the smelting industry, they entered into a proverbial devil’s pact with an enterprise that would, in a short century’s time, be viewed as a relic of the past. City leaders also laid the foundations of a racial architecture that defined residential patterns, social mobility, and economic opportunity for El Paso’s ever-expanding Mexican population. Though regarded as a necessary element of a vital economy, Mexican residents learned that there was no real place for them in a modern American city, and segregation enforced through social practice defined their position in the city’s emergent racial hierarchy. Chapter 2, “Creating Smeltertown,” turns its attention to life in the barrio and the multilayered worlds created by the company and the residents themselves against this backdrop of industrial capitalism and racial segregation. asarco laid out the boundaries and institutions of a functioning company town, but Mexican residents imagined Smeltertown differently. They navigated through the world the company made but also established a vibrant world of their own, one defined by the social relationships forged in company-owned spaces and in their own community institutions. Bridging a study of the political economy of a region with the local practices and social relationships of a particular place, these two chapters offer a new interpretation of El Paso and Smeltertown’s place within it. By the dawn of the twentieth century, the city was the center of international mining and railroad activity in the Southwest, the largest “port of entry” on the U.S.-Mexican border, and one of the most important centers for Mexican labor recruitment in the region. It was also a place where Esmeltianos, through daily rituals, kinship, and familial relationships, and the development of their own institutions, began to craft a permanent community in this rapidly transforming border city. This section thus counters the interpretation of the border region as transient, revealing the intricate ways in which Esmeltianos established the foundations of a community that would endure for decades and that would live even longer in collective memory. 12

Introduction

People make places, but places also “make” people. Using the prism of place, Part II, Making Identities, explores several locations in Smeltertown where residents crafted a multidimensional sense of self in the places they inhabited daily. As Stuart Hall explains, “Identities are never unified” and are “never singular but multiply constructed across different, often intersecting and antagonistic, discourses, practices and positions.” Furthermore, identities are “produced in specific historical and institutional sites.” In short, how people define themselves is fundamentally shaped by the geographic, historical, and social worlds in which they live; by how they are viewed by others; and by the differences they see between themselves and those around them.20 In separate chapters on work, the local Catholic parish, and the public schools, this section examines how Esmeltianos simultaneously claimed ethnic, gendered, religious, and political identities in various locations in Smeltertown. Each chapter begins with a seemingly simple self-description — taken from interviews with former Esmeltianos and their families — but reveals how the identities they crafted in those spaces were far from uncomplicated. Rather than just providing compartmentalized descriptions of various aspects of residents’ lives, the chapters in this section use place as an analytical vehicle to examine how identity is informed by and also transcends discrete places, and how Esmeltianos’ sense of self shifted depending on the spatial and social context in which they found themselves. This section also offers an alternative to studies that emphasize the linear transformation of identity among ethnic Mexicans in the United States, showing the messy, fragmented, and incomplete ways that people have defined themselves across time and space, and how those identities allowed Mexicans to articulate political autonomy, broadly defined. Chapter 3, “We’re Just Smelter People,” uncovers the process by which Mexican men began to define themselves as a permanent class of smelter workers, confronting discrimination on the job and participating in union activities, thereby directly challenging widely held stereotypes of Mexicans as temporary, racially inferior, replaceable workers in a border labor system. The smelter, and the workplace more broadly defined, became a critical site where Mexican workers increasingly became “smelter men,” claiming a masculine smelter worker ideal that encompassed ideas of gender, race, and nationality that gave them permanence, legitimacy, and status in a border labor system where race and nationality defined everything from occupation to pay scale. At the same time that work at the smelter came to be seen in these masculine terms, labor essential to the family’s survival outside the smelter also came to Introduction

13

be viewed in gendered ways. While the men worked at the plant, women and children adopted a schedule and set of economic roles also defined by the smelter whistle. In similar ways, their participation in an informal but necessary economy made them into “smelter people” too. Chapter 4 explores how the San José de Cristo Rey Catholic parish in Smeltertown served as a place where Esmeltianos reimagined what it meant to be racially and culturally Mexican in the context of an American border town. Titled “We Were One Hundred Percent Mexican,” this chapter outlines how El Paso’s Anglo establishment, an influential Mexican elite, and Mexican residents of Smeltertown engaged in a contested debate over the meaning and place of the city’s large Mexican population in the daily life of the city. The activities of Smeltertown’s Catholic parish, especially its youth chorus, Los Trovadores, allowed residents of La Esmelda to articulate a positive sense of mexicanidad that served as a defense against the negative images many El Pasoans had of Mexicans living in their city and across the border.21 This mexicanidad did not exist in a vacuum. Rather, it was deeply informed by exposure to American education, ideology, political activities on both sides of the border, and an emerging popular and consumer culture; it was also very much subject to interpretation. Chapter 5, “She Was Very American,” considers Smeltertown’s public schools and the ways that young Esmeltianos took formalized Americanization lessons imposed by educators, employers, and popular culture and, rather than adopting them wholesale, adapted them to their lifestyle and experiences. Using the example of my grandmother, Luz Luján Perales, this chapter traces how young women at the Smelter Vocational School appropriated the lessons in domestic arts — intended to create a class of domestic laborers — to claim a female moral authority in order to improve their community and create women-centered spaces within Smeltertown. Like the previous chapter, it recognizes that what was Mexican and what was American were always relational, as students engaged both cultural influences simultaneously. In this sense, they participated in a process of what historian Vicki L. Ruiz has called “cultural coalescence”— the active selection, rejection, incorporation, and adaptation of cultural elements that served immigrants’ purposes at a given time and place. The result was not a rigidly defined Mexican or Mexican American culture, but rather “cultures rooted in generation, gender, region, class, and personal experience.”22 Caught between the expectations of their Mexican-born parents, the American-based educational system,

14

Introduction

and their own desires, the women of the Smelter Vocational School crafted their own definition of womanhood relevant to their experiences. In Part III, Remembering Smeltertown, the book takes up the impact of Smeltertown’s physical demise on its residents and the city as a whole, and the way the community found new life in collective memory. At the turn of the century, city and business leaders bet that recruiting the smelting industry would secure El Paso’s economic dominance in the region. Esmeltianos had benefited from their own bargain with the smelter, as they lived undisturbed in its shadows for almost a century. By the 1970s, copper’s image had tarnished. In the postwar period El Paso witnessed a changing economic landscape, a growing concern about urban conditions, and a nascent environmental movement troubled by the effects of a century of smelting activity in the expanding city. The devil, in short, had come to collect his due. Chapter 6, “The Demise of Smeltertown,” chronicles the discovery of lead in the barrio and the struggles of Esmeltianos to save their community from demolition. In the end, competing interests with very different interpretations of community engaged in a heated battle over Smeltertown: city and health officials saw Smeltertown as an impoverished and highly polluted ethnic barrio; the smelter’s owners saw an area that was, and had always been, an industrial zone, not a residential community; Esmeltianos saw it as home, a place they built over generations to which they were deeply attached. Though ultimately unsuccessful, the residents fought to preserve their home and way of life. The case of Smeltertown is remarkable in that, although their lives may have improved in terms of health and safety, the residents suffered a devastating loss. Smeltertown was gone, but the smelter continued churning for several more decades. The book concludes with an epilogue, “Finding Smeltertown,” that explores the meaning of Smeltertown in the present day. More than thirty years after its demolition, Smeltertown still matters. Former residents continue to gather for reunions. Websites trace the histories of Esmeltianos in virtual space. Authors and poets (both with ties to Smeltertown specifically and El Paso more generally) have used it as the setting for their prose. More recently, politicians and activists raised its specter (though rarely by name) to block the efforts to resurrect the asarco smelter from the nearly decade-long slumber it began in 1999 as a result of the slumping copper market. In February 2009, asarco finally gave up its fight to reopen the smelter, opting instead to close the plant and plan for its demolition. As the massive steel structures stare

Introduction

15

silently across the desert landscape, a shadow of the city’s once industrial past, El Pasoans of all stripes contemplate the future course for their city. In the end, this extinct place continues to shape in a fundamental fashion how a community of Mexican workers and a border city as a whole see their place in history and in posterity. In the current political climate, when immigration reform and border security are hotly debated issues, Smeltertown offers critical insight into the lived reality of the U.S.-Mexican border, revealing how the members of one border community shaped the economic, social, and cultural destiny of a region, and created an enduring, meaningful world rooted in the borderlands. As a working community, it was a delicate ecosystem that provided meaning, support, and legitamacy to its inhabitants. More important, by telling the story of Smeltertown from the perspective of the people who lived and labored there, this book illuminates the strong emotional bonds that form communities, and how the loss of community — whether to environmental pollution, deindustrialization, or devastating natural disasters — is experienced on the most profound of levels.23 Ultimately, the story of Smeltertown reveals how a group previously viewed as temporary and marginal created permanence, felt a sense of belonging, and found surprising sources of power firmly rooted in place. it is important to say a few words about terminology. “Esmeltianos,” a term used to describe the Mexican residents of Smeltertown, comes from the writings of the smelter parish priest, Monsignor Lourdes Costa. The degree to which residents used it as a self-referent is unknown, and, given the multiple ways in which residents crafted their identity, using a term “imposed” on them is admittedly problematic. Indeed, many residents probably never called themselves “Esmeltianos” or recognized themselves in such terms until Smeltertown’s demise was imminent. Given the widely popular use of “La Esmelda” to describe Mexican Smeltertown, I have opted for the similarly hispanicized descriptor “Esmeltianos” to refer to the men and women of Smeltertown collectively; it seems to best capture the ethnic composition of the community and reflect how Mexican residents might have viewed themselves. “Esmeltianas” (as used in Chapter 5) refers more specifically to the women of Smeltertown. For the purpose of uniformity and clarity, I use the terms “Mexican,” “ethnic Mexican,” and “Mexican-origin” interchangeably throughout this study to describe the population in Smeltertown. When a distinction needs to be 16

Introduction

made (most often along the lines of citizenship), I opt for the imprecise but serviceable terms “Mexican American” to describe people born in the United States of Mexican heritage and “Mexican immigrant” to refer to individuals born in, and retaining citizenship to, Mexico. Though equally imprecise, the terms “Anglo” and “American” appear because they were most often used by Mexicans in El Paso to refer to non-Mexican whites. I also employ the term “Euro-American” to convey the diverse ethnic composition of El Paso’s nonMexican population in the early twentieth century. Finally, the American Smelting and Refining Company has gone by many names and abbreviations over the years. In 1975, the company’s stockholders voted to change its name officially to “Asarco, Inc.”24 In the interest of consistency, I use the capitalized acronym “asarco” generally throughout the text as it was one of the most common forms used in written sources during the time period covered. The fact that this capitalized acronym is prominently displayed on the main red and white smokestack probably contributes to its continued popular usage. I will use “Asarco” in reference to the company in the post-1975 period, particularly in the Epilogue, since it deals with the smelter in more recent times. Direct quotations will use whichever form appears in the original source.

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PART I

Making Places

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1 Making a Border City It remains for the citizens of El Paso to encourage and foster the mining and smelting industries that have sought this city as their natural center and base of operations, for it is a patent fact that it depends more upon these two industries for its future progress and the extension of its limits than upon all other interests combined. — charles longuemare, El Paso Times, December 1888

The story of Smeltertown is a story about the U.S.-Mexican border, but it does not begin on the banks of the Rio Grande. It begins deep in the ground, in the mineral-rich mines of Santa Rita, New Mexico, the Santa Barbara and Ahumada mines of Chihuahua, and the numerous independently operated mining properties throughout the U.S. Southwest and northern Mexico. It was there that thousands of tons of copper and lead-silver concentrates began their journey to El Paso on the intricately interlaced tracks that wove their way to this West Texas town. Small rail lines connected the mines to the major railways — the Mexican National Railroad, the Santa Fe, and the Southern Pacific — and all converged in El Paso and the unloading yards of the El Paso Smelting Works. Capable of handling 350,000 tons of lead charge and 500,000 tons of copper charge annually by 1914, the smelter had made El Paso the premier center for copper and lead processing in the region, virtually unparalleled in its importance. Unloaded by an army of Mexican contract workers, the ores began their odyssey from railroad cars and gondolas into the mouth of the massive plant. After hand sampling, the lead ores went through a complicated process of crushing and roasting before being blasted in one of the plant’s eight lead furnaces and then poured into small pots. Skimmed of its impurities, the molten end product was cast into bars. Copper extracted from the lead ores, as well as copper concentrates, followed a separate path, each load making its way through one of the smelter’s eight Wedge roasters, three reverberatories, and three converters. Forgoing mechanized cranes, the company employed a crew of Mexican workers to load locomotives to haul copper slag, matte, and bullion out of the converters. Giant ladles poured

the molten copper into cast-iron cylinder molds. With the excursion through the smelter complete, another team of Mexican workers loaded the lead bars and copper anodes back onto railroad cars headed for their final destinations: the asarco-owned Perth Amboy, New Jersey, refinery for the lead and the Baltimore refinery for copper, where they would be processed into finished products. The migration process resumed, this time moving east and north on the same tracks out from El Paso.1 Ore was not the only product that made the journey to El Paso on the rails in those days. With revolution brewing south of the border, the grandparents of Manuela Vásquez Domínguez began to look at the tracks as a possible way to escape economic hardship and secure their personal safety. Sabino Vásquez’s family, like countless other Mexican families across the countryside, had been deeply affected by the devastating poverty that wracked the country. The economic policies enacted by Mexican dictator Porfirio Díaz simultaneously encouraged the corporatization and proliferation of mines and smelters owned and operated by American-based companies like asarco and discouraged small-scale farming, leaving many families in dire straits. With few options available, Manuela’s grandparents and several of their children began their own journey that would lead them north. Initially, they migrated from hacienda to hacienda as a means of scraping together enough resources to support their growing family. The oldest daughter had already made the trip to El Paso, settling in the bustling district of Smeltertown, where her husband worked at the Southwestern Portland Cement Company. Opened in 1907, the cement plant was booming in the early decades of the twentieth century; as the only cement plant in the area, it provided building materials for the growing city as well as the entire region.2 Producing as many as 1,500 barrels of cement per day required hundreds of laborers; add those jobs to the ones at the smelter, the nearby limestone quarry, and brick plant, and economic stability seemed all but assured in El Paso. Personal issues factored in too. Vásquez’s daughter urged her parents to join her there so they might be reunited. “She would say, ‘Come, so that we might die together,’” Domínguez explained. One day they finally decided to make the trip north. Vásquez helped his family board the flatbed railroad car pulling out of the station at San Luis Potosí, but the train began to move before he could get on. Determined, he followed the tracks on foot, eventually catching up with his family. And thus they slowly embarked on their trek toward El Paso. The rail lines, built largely by American investors to extract mineral wealth from

22

making places

Mexico, became the channels by which its other valuable resource — laboring hands — also moved up the line.3 These migration stories powerfully illustrate how the global forces of capitalist development and human migration, facilitated by the expansion of the railroad, became deeply intertwined in the late nineteenth century, and how the destinies of a region, city, and individuals converged in the border city of El Paso. This chapter illustrates how copper and capital transformed El Paso into an international center for railroad, mining, and smelting activities by the turn of the twentieth century. For centuries, El Paso had served as a center of trade and transportation, first for the native populations that inhabited the region and later as a point on the heavily traveled Camino Real. In the years following the Civil War, the United States engaged in an aggressive campaign to extend its dominance to the territories of the Southwest and Mexico. As American financiers and industrialists established the broad architecture of an economic imperial project in Mexico and Latin America more generally, El Paso emerged as a critical player in these efforts.4 With lines that connected east and west as well as north and south, El Paso became the nerve center of the flow of capital — in the form of money, resources, and labor — throughout the region. The city’s political and economic elite, recognizing the benefits of making El Paso into an industrial and commercial city, energetically worked to cultivate its image as a center for industry and tourism. They took full advantage of the perfect storm of conditions that existed in the border city: a convenient and strategic location as the geographic passageway to the north; a long-standing history of travel, trade, and commerce on the Spanish, Mexican, and, eventually, American frontier; thirty years of Porfirian-era policies courting American investment in Mexico; and most important, the proximity of Mexico, with its vast mineral resources and its seemingly limitless supply of cheap labor a short distance from the center of town. Seizing on its advantageous position on the eve of one of the largest waves of migration from Mexico, city leaders, boosters, and business giants placed El Paso squarely on the national and international map. In terms of financial power and significance, the El Paso they made remained one of the most prominent industrial southwestern cities for more than half a century. Once the economic infrastructure had been laid, El Paso’s business and political leaders also determined the roles that people would play within it. At the same time that they encouraged economic development in the making of their modern city, they also had to confront the realities of being a border city.

Making a Border City

23

Although the abundance of Mexican labor and the accessibility to Mexican resources and markets were clear advantages to the city’s growth strategy, it did not necessarily mean that El Paso was, or should ever be, a Mexican city. Anglo leaders remained ambivalent about Mexicans’ place in their city. On the one hand, some praised the cultural diversity and expressed a desire to maintain certain customs that spoke to the region’s rich history. But more often, Mexican residents found themselves on the literal and figurative wrong side of the very tracks that had brought many of them to El Paso. While the line between Anglos and wealthy Mexican exiles was less absolute, for the vast majority of working-class Mexicans, daily life was marked by residential, economic, and social segregation. This chapter also traces how El Paso’s political and business powerbrokers not only shaped the political economy of the city, but sought to establish a social and racial hierarchy within its boundaries as well. Despite El Paso’s origins and long-standing connections to Mexico, from the 1880s to the 1920s its leaders crafted their idea of a modern American border city: the gateway to old Mexico yet markedly different from anything in its sister republic. In El Paso, Mexicans fit into a distinctly subordinate social position, its boundaries reinforced by daily practice and law. In the end, this context would determine how residents of Smeltertown came to see themselves: essential to the city’s growing economy and to one of the most important companies in town, but occupying the lower rungs of the social pecking order. Over the course of nearly a century, Esmeltianos struggled to define their place in the border city whose economic, social, and racial contours were coming into clear relief at the dawn of the new century.

From Supply Outpost to Railroad Hub and Manufacturing Center Historically, El Paso had always served as an important transportation and commercial center — a place of movement and migrations of people and products. The region that would become modern-day El Paso and Ciudad Juárez sat at the natural conduit between two rugged mountain ranges that cut across a vast swath of desert landscape. The area was home to diverse native populations who began to blaze the trails later generations would use for trade, exchanging surplus crops with communities as far away as Casas Grandes, Chihuahua.5 Following the conquest of the Mexican interior, Spanish explorers and missionaries set about to claim their vast empire. Through a combination of violence produced through military force, missionary ef24

making places

forts, and cultural adaptation and coercion, Spain secured its foothold in the Southwest.6 The first Spanish expedition made its way to Paso del Norte (Pass of the North) in 1581, but it was not until 1598 that Juan de Oñate claimed the territory for Spain near present-day San Elizario, Texas. A few days later, Oñate’s party crossed the Rio Grande to the west of what would become downtown El Paso, near the spot where asarco and Smeltertown would be built some three hundred years later. Over the next several months the Oñate party made its way farther north, absorbing Pueblo communities as far as Santa Fe and Albuquerque and founding the first Spanish settlements in the territory. With the northern provinces thus under Spanish rule, Paso del Norte became the official gateway to New Mexico.7 Pushed back to the Rio Grande following the bloody Pueblo Revolt in 1680, the Spanish relocated a temporary capital near the Mission Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe de los Mansos del Paso del Norte (established in 1659). By the close of the century, Spain’s military presence in the El Paso area ensured safe passage for merchants and travelers on the Camino Real between Chihuahua and Santa Fe, and maintained control at missions and presidios along the Rio Grande including Paso del Norte, which would become present-day Ciudad Juárez. The region expanded significantly by the time of Mexican independence in 1820, and trade and commerce were still among the most important functions at the pass. Of the several settlements along the river, Paso del Norte stood out not only in size (with a population of eight thousand, it was more populous than neighboring communities including San Elizario, Socorro, and Ysleta combined), but also as the seat of political and economic power in the region.8 During the Mexican period, Paso del Norte was the site of a customhouse, and it remained a key resting spot and supply station for weary travelers along the vast desert route. Once the gateway to the northern provinces of New Spain, Paso del Norte now represented the entryway to grand possibilities and increased profits for American merchants looking southward in the 1820s. Tapping into the historic Chihuahua and Santa Fe trade seemed a lucrative opportunity. According to contemporary accounts, between 1734 and 1843 an estimated $90,000 worth of products passed through Paso del Norte annually.9 Numerous Americans made their fortunes in the Chihuahua trade — among them, James W. Magoffin and Hugh Stephenson, who would later be among El Paso’s Anglo founding fathers; Magoffin, a Kentucky native and former U.S. consul in Saltillo, became very active in assorted business ventures in Chihuahua. Like their contemporaries engaged in Making a Border City

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the Santa Fe–Missouri trade, these entrepreneurs found themselves negotiating business in a Spanish Mexican world, bound by Spanish Mexican customs and laws. Magoffin married a Mexican woman, managed to establish a successful copper mining interest in Chihuahua, secured Mexican citizenship, and garnered enough economic, political, and social clout to become known as “Don Santiago.”10 The period of accommodation to Spanish Mexican society proved relatively short lived, as American business interests and immigrants from the United States continued to push their way into the region. Over time, Mexican officials grew uneasy with the presence of Americans like Don Santiago and of their suspected illegal dealings with neighboring Apaches; for their part, Americans yearned for a greater piece of the trade. The second conquest of the region, this time by American military and economic interests, produced equally disruptive results. The War of Texas Secession (1836) and the signing of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo (1848) that ended the War with Mexico and ceded nearly half of Mexican territory to the United States, engendered profound social, political, and economic changes that shaped the position of the Mexican-origin population of Texas, casting a long shadow on AngloMexican relations for generations.11 In 1846, American troops captured and occupied Paso del Norte, praising the region’s potential for agricultural development; more important, however, was its strategic location and history as a transportation route. As the area around modern-day El Paso became incorporated into the United States, the region continued to function as a critical commercial and transportation hub. During the California Gold Rush, El Paso provided migrant miners a place to stock up on provisions on their way to the gold fields. In 1854, federal troops at the newly established Fort Bliss offered protection for residents from Apache raids and ensured continued and safe commercial activities. By the end of the Civil War, this historic travel pass had regular mail and stage service for multiple carriers en route from Santa Fe, San Antonio, Saint Louis, and San Francisco, and had emerged as a market for cattle from both Mexico and the United States. Although the majority of the area’s residents continued to live on the southern side of the Rio Grande in Paso del Norte, by the time El Paso became an incorporated city in 1873, its population had grown to approximately eight hundred, mostly men involved in “merchandising, freighting, mining, or the law.”12 The power of U.S. business interests to shape the future of the border city was embedded in the very roots of the town. Not only did American merchants capitalize on the historic Spanish trade lines, but also the territorial core of 26

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El Paso consisted of several major settlements on the northern bank of the river belonging to successful Anglo entrepreneurs (including those owned by Magoffin; Stephenson; Simeon Hart, whose flour mill contracted to supply the military; and Benjamin Franklin Coons, who also participated in the Missouri trade).13 While the years immediately following the U.S. conquest were marked by relatively harmonious economic relations between Anglos and Mexicans, before long the massive wave of capitalist development and subsequent economic explosion of El Paso cast the majority of Mexicans in the region into low-paying wage work. The newly defined boundary separated Paso del Norte on the Mexican side from the area that would become El Paso on the American side, but the border could not sever the regional economy of which El Paso had always been a part. Indeed, this history is what made El Paso so important, even after the American takeover. These commercial roots undoubtedly made El Paso a strategic economic center, but it was the arrival of the railroad that dramatically changed the city. Prior to the Civil War, much of the railroad track in Texas was in the east, serving the large cotton-producing areas of East Texas. Although two Texas railroads were chartered to build lines through El Paso in the 1850s, it was not until the Southern Pacific Railroad pushed to be the first southern transcontinental rail that El Paso appeared on the radar. With the coming of the Santa Fe Railroad in April 1881, almost overnight El Paso was transformed from a “little adobe village” into a “flourishing frontier community.”14 The Southern Pacific and Santa Fe railroads both constructed terminals in El Paso. The Southern Pacific also built a fifteen-stall roundhouse, car shop, passenger station, and freight depot to the tune of $150,000. The Santa Fe erected a $100,000 facility. Although El Paso greatly benefited from the passenger service offered by the expanding lines, the primary goal was to increase commercial transportation and activities. Not only would the rail lines bring the so-called blessings of civilization to this budding border community, but they would also provide the means to ship local products to outside markets. The modern transportation lines introduced by the railroads reinforced old connections and traversed the same routes previously traveled on foot and by mule train. Thanks in large measure to the railroads, the population of El Paso grew by leaps and bounds; in the decade after the first train arrived, the population exploded fourteenfold (from 736 in 1880 to more than 10,300 in 1890) as did the city’s wealth.15 In just three short years, El Paso had become one of the premier railroad centers in North America. At the turn of the twentieth Making a Border City

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century, El Paso had seven connecting railroads: the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe; the Southern Pacific; the Texas and Pacific; the Galveston, Harrisburg, and San Antonio; the Mexican Central; the Rio Grande, Sierra Madre, and Pacific; and the El Paso and Northwestern.16 In 1919, the Chamber of Commerce declared that more than two thousand freight cars coursed through El Paso rail yards each day, carrying 800 million tons of goods annually; that the city held the distinction of being a terminus for five major rail lines from points east, north, and west, and two from the south; and that as many as forty passenger trains made their way through El Paso daily.17 “What a few years earlier had been a small, sleepy, and extremely isolated adobe village,” one historian wrote, “was now a fast-growing small city with rapid and dependable freight and passenger transportation to every major population center on the continent.”18 El Paso’s emergence as a major rail center was not an accident, nor did it occur in isolation. At the same time that the United States sought economic domination across the western territories, it also directed its attention toward Mexico. El Paso sat at the center of this crossroads. Railroad investment and construction in Mexico represented the realization of the dreams of some of the most powerful American financiers, industrialists, and politicians to establish a transcontinental and transborder railway infrastructure connecting U.S. economic interests and Mexican resources through border cities like El Paso. From the close of the Civil War, American financiers clamored for concessions and land grants to begin railroad projects in Mexico. In Porfirio Díaz — who viewed modern transportation and communication lines as vital to Mexico’s ultimate growth and success —American investors found a willing partner. Under his regime, U.S.-financed railroad lines spread like wildfire. Before Díaz assumed power, Mexico possessed less than 700 kilometers of track. By the start of the revolution in 1910, it totaled more than 24,000 kilometers, much of it heading to U.S. border cities.19 In late 1881 Boston financiers arranged with the Mexican government to begin construction on the Mexican Central Railroad lines from Paso del Norte to Mexico City, and by World War I the Mexican Central’s terminal point was in El Paso.20 As historian John M. Hart explains, “the railroads were the fundamental element in American power and influence,” enabling American capitalists to entrench themselves in nearly every aspect of the Mexican economy.21 El Paso’s business elite strategically highlighted the city’s best features to ensure its development as a crucial center for transportation, business, and tourism. The Chamber of Commerce lobbied to reduce freight rates on 28

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its rail lines to make El Paso competitive with St. Louis and other railroad centers for companies wishing to ship goods both within the United States and to Mexico. It also offered rebates to merchants who purchased at least $1,500 worth of goods manufactured in the city and more generally pursued antilabor policies to prevent unions from hampering production and profitability.22 As important as these inducements was the chamber’s campaign of words heralding the border city’s potential. Its trade territory encompassed “a greater area than that comprised in the New England States, New York and Pennsylvania added for good measure.”23 Its ideal climate, most notably its “high percentage of sunshiny days, a low average rainfall, [and] a consequential slight humidity,” allowed El Paso to market itself as a haven from rough northern winters and ailments like rheumatism, tuberculosis, and nervous disorders aggravated by cold climes.24 The chamber also primed the city for tourism and conventions. El Paso offered “the wearied transcontinental tourist, a veritable Nile-like oasis in a wide stretch of barren country,” as well as access to one of only two eighteen-hole golf courses between San Antonio and the Pacific, and, in the words of one newcomer, “so many good hotels, I would dare not state the number.”25 In sum, El Paso was not only “the largest and most important city between Denver, Colorado, and the City of Mexico, or between San Antonio, Texas and Los Angeles, California.” It was a “dominant metropolis” of a region whose territory encompassed an area the size of the entire country east of the Mississippi River.26 In the minds of its most vocal boosters, the old eastern manufacturing cities were relics of the past. El Paso represented a new future on the horizon. Although access to natural resources, railroad connections, and balmy weather made it a logical choice for transportation and tourism, it was El Paso’s prominence as the largest city on the 2,000-mile border with Mexico that provided the biggest advantage from a marketing perspective. As such, El Paso was uniquely positioned to be the “Gateway to Mexico,” providing not only an entrepôt for manufactured products but also accessibility to raw materials and labor. For boosters, the city’s proximity and historical relationship with Mexico reinforced this view. The July 1920 issue of the Greater El Paso proclaimed that El Paso “is thoroughly familiar with the requirements of this foreign commerce, speaks the language of the neighboring republic, knows the Mexicans by their first names, has the stocks at the right prices, and, being the natural gateway to Mexico, is in a predominating position to expedite delivery.”27 The proof was in the receipts. El Paso’s warehouses were filled with merchandise and machinery awaiting transport to and from Mexico, Making a Border City

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and by 1918 the city’s customhouse imports and exports totaled in the millions of dollars.28 Products manufactured in El Paso firms not only supplied the local area and the U.S. Southwest, but also reached deep into Mexico, to “the farms, ranches, plantations and mines of the Mexican states of Sonora, Sinaloa, Nayarit, Chihuahua, Durango, Coahuila and Zacatecas.”29 Working closely with the Ciudad Juárez Chamber of Commerce, El Paso business leaders cultivated international cooperation by highlighting the economic vitality of the border region and courted Mexican consumers by supporting Spanishlanguage advertising of American goods.30 By the 1920s, as the disruption and violence caused by the Mexican Revolution gave way to economic reconstruction, El Paso business and banking interests continued to aggressively assert their mastery to shape and revitalize the Mexican economy. Mexico needed the power of U.S. capital, they reasoned, but America needed Mexico’s resources. As a result, American businesses continued to view Mexico in terms of the potential profits it could offer. It was in this spirit that the former Mexican consul in Kansas City, Jack Danciger, encouraged American entrepreneurs to “go to Mexico, old boy, grow up with Mexicans.”31 These activities would no doubt continue to benefit El Paso’s economy, as well as reflect a concerted effort on the part of the business elite to raise the profile of the city as an international banking, commercial, trade, and shipping powerhouse. Though the potential for international commerce was certainly a major attraction for manufacturers, access to inexpensive Mexican labor was perhaps the most enticing of all. Laws intended to stem the tide of immigration had employers scrambling to secure continued access to cheap immigrant labor. The exclusion of Chinese immigrant workers in 1882 and the Gentleman’s Agreement with Japan in 1907 effectively cut off access to Asian immigrant labor. The head tax and literacy test provisions of the 1917 Immigration Act, as well as the progressively restrictive racialized population quotas established by the 1921 Emergency Immigration Act and the 1924 Johnson-Reed Act, posed additional challenges, particularly to firms up North and back East that relied on steady immigration from Europe. Thus El Paso’s seemingly unlimited supply of Mexican laborers appealed especially to manufacturers hoping to keep their financial bottom line in check. In sheer volume, the number of workers of Mexican origin in El Paso — native and foreign born — was a tremendous perk. “Because it is the only city of size on the Mexican border and also because by composition it is nearly half a Mexican city,” Chamber of Commerce officer Frank H. Knapp noted, “it has always been a reservoir for Mexican labor.” Knapp further emphasized the great advantages of hir30

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ing Mexicans because of their perceived adaptability, docility, and willingness to work. He pointed out that historically Mexicans had been employed throughout the Southwest to great effect and were eminently suited to factory work given that “by nature the Mexican laborer prefers a community environment.” Moreover, Mexican workers had the advantage of being “employed at a wage scale that makes the labor charge for work done only a fraction of that demanded in the East and North.” Addressing manufacturers concerned about union mobilization, Knapp contended that, “contrary to the general impression prevalent in the North, the Mexican workman is loyal and steady, at least in the United States. Labor trouble among Mexican laborers has never occurred in El Paso.”32 Although this last point completely ignored the long history of labor mobilization throughout the West in which Mexicans played an integral role, not to mention the highly publicized (if ultimately unsuccessful) strikes by Mexican smelter workers and Mexican and Mexican American laundresses in El Paso in those years, Knapp spoke the words that businesses wanted to hear.33 If Knapp was correct, and a Texas cotton mill using Mexican labor could save as much as $200,000 annually in labor costs over an identical mill operating in Rhode Island, then the choice was clear. El Paso, with its army of willing Mexican workers, made simple business sense. The Chamber of Commerce’s efforts paid off handsomely. By the end of World War I, at least 125 industrial and manufacturing firms called El Paso home. For example, Globe Mills was one of the city’s largest producers of flour, but it also had plants for making ice used to refrigerate railroad cars and for crushing cotton seed to produce oil used in salad dressings and shortening.34 The El Paso Foundry and Machine Company, which formed in 1890 in a small adobe building just south of the rail yards, had the proud distinction of having produced all of the international boundary markers along the entire expanse of the U.S.-Mexican border.35 Located in New Mexico, across the river from the smelter, the International Brick Company, which opened in 1897, was operating at full capacity by 1920, when it produced 100,000 bricks daily to meet demands for building materials as far away as East Texas and Louisiana. Before the end of the decade, nearly 85 percent of its business came from out of state; El Paso bricks were used in banks, hotels, colleges, and utility companies across the region.36 Capitalizing on the smelter’s need for limestone for fluxing, and later the city’s demand for cement for building purposes, Alfred Courchesne opened a quarry in 1887 and began blasting the neighboring foothills.37 In its first twenty years of operation, the quarry produced an estimated 4 million tons of limestone. Given the abundance of limeMaking a Border City

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stone, the first of the Southwestern Portland Cement’s three plants opened in El Paso in 1907. Cement from El Paso was used in various major construction projects, including the Elephant Butte Dam on the Rio Grande in New Mexico, approximately 125 miles north of El Paso. Over the course of two decades it produced over 10 million barrels of cement.38 Major large-scale industrial works produced bricks, cement, oil, kerosene and gasoline products, structural steel, and mining machinery; numerous smaller manufacturing firms making items such as food and beverage products, clothing, cigars, and mattresses contributed to the city’s economy as well. This rapid industrial growth gave members of the El Paso business community every reason to believe that “while our ambitions go apace, much has been realized, much more will be realized.”39 In their eyes, they were succeeding in making El Paso a modern industrial center: “El Paso is fast outgrowing its old clothes.”40

Making the “Copper Capital of the Southwest” On first glance, El Paso did not seem to be the most obvious place in which to develop a leading smelter center in the Southwest, especially considering its distance from the mines located deep in the Chihuahua and Sonora deserts. However, with the creation of a vast transborder railroad network, the marketing of the city as a site of industry and manufacturing, and its position as the gateway to Mexico’s rich mineral deposits, El Paso soon emerged as the only logical choice. In response to the global demands for copper and lead — in such varied forms as pipe and wiring for commercial and household use and military arms and ammunition at the dawn of World War I— commercial mining in the West expanded at near-breakneck speed. Boosters like Charles Longuemare, publisher of the newspaper Bullion in nearby Socorro, New Mexico, were among the strongest advocates of cultivating the mining and smelting industry in El Paso. In an article published in the El Paso Times in December 1888, Longuemare predicted that, “while the smelting interests of this city have assumed great magnitude, they are but a shadow of what they will be in the course of time.”41 For him, the city’s future lay in ore production; with mining and smelting as its main focus, El Paso was poised to compete with, if not surpass, the great copper giants in Colorado. The race to create a copper capital proceeded full steam ahead. Local leaders aggressively courted companies in this sector, offering access to land and the city’s water supply, as well as tax incentives, to entice smelting firms.42 Tapping into its appeal as a center of conventions and tourism, boosters also 32

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wooed the organizers of mining conventions, bringing to town a wide range of individuals interested in all aspects of mining and ore production. In 1882, El Paso played host to the Great Silver Convention and was the home of the Southwest International Miner’s Association, which sponsored its own conventions in the border city for several years. El Pasoan Charles A. Dinsmore began publishing the El Paso Mining Journal in 1908, suggesting the presence of an audience interested in all things metallurgical.43 In an attempt to gain even more respectability and raise El Paso’s profile in the mining world, city and business leaders pushed for the creation of a mining school and worked together to raise the funds to develop its campus. The Texas legislature authorized the construction of the State School of Mines and Metallurgy in El Paso, which opened in 1914.44 The school became a department of the University of Texas in 1919 and changed its name to the College of Mines and Metallurgy in 1921. The smelting industry quickly took root. “El Paso has been singularly blessed with the mining industry and put right in the midst of the richest mining territory,” explained El Paso historian Cleofas Calleros. By the closing years of the nineteenth century, “almost every adult in El Paso was a mining man, actively engaged and very interested in promoting a smelter, or prospecting, or studying a ‘retodero’ or looking for the famous ‘Padre Mine’ which has been legend around these parts since time immemorial.”45 One of those men was Robert Safford Towne. Towne was among the many American businessmen of the day who sought his fortune in mining, focusing much of his attention on the abundant reserves of northern Mexico. In 1887 Towne, a mining developer and president of the Mexican Ore Company, collaborated with the Argentine, Kansas-based Kansas City Consolidated Smelting and Refining Company to build a smelter on the far northwestern outskirts of El Paso to process silver-lead ore from his Santa Eulalia and Sierra Mojada mines.46 Towne established a lead grading and sampling facility in El Paso in 1883, but then transported the lead to Socorro, New Mexico, for smelting. Recognizing the financial benefits of smelting the ore in El Paso, Towne interested Kansas City Consolidated in building a smelter closer to El Paso’s rail connections. His lead smelter, complete with four lead blast furnaces and four hand roasters, opened in 1887 and was an immediate success.47 Operating as a custom smelter, Towne’s plant contracted with independent mines to process their ores for a fee, thereby securing a reliable source of incoming ores to keep the plant churning at a steady pace. In its first year of operation, the smelter produced 12,000 tons of lead bullion; as one historian wrote, “It Making a Border City

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represented the only really important custom smelting works in the Southwest. It remained so for over thirty years.”48 Indeed, if the railroads “formed the spokes for the mining hub that was El Paso . . . the smelter served as the bearings upon which that hub rotated.”49 Towne sold the smelter to Kansas City Consolidated in 1887. In 1899, the El Paso Smelting Works (as it was known locally) became incorporated as part of the American Smelting and Refining Company, a move that assured the smelter’s, and the city’s, international prominence for nearly one hundred years.50 A product of the Gilded Age business pattern of consolidation, asarco was a classic trust, formed by eighteen of the biggest smelting operations in the country. Like other powerful corporations of its time, asarco’s goal was to control its industry, choking out competition in the process. Unfortunately for its shareholders, by the early 1900s asarco found itself in serious financial straits. Salvation for the ailing trust came in the form of the Guggenheim family, quickly becoming one of the most important players in the business world. A Swiss immigrant of German Jewish heritage, Meyer Guggenheim and his family arrived in Philadelphia in 1847. After establishing a respectable fortune in lace manufacturing and importing, railroads, and mining ventures, Guggenheim turned his interest to smelting. By 1890, Meyer Guggenheim Sons was already the largest and most successful silver and lead smelting company in the United States, owning several properties in Colorado. Although they had initially resisted inclusion in asarco, by 1901 the Guggenheims were amenable to a merger. After months of negotiations, they agreed to commit their highly successful smelter operations, refineries, and up to $18 million in cash and equipment to infuse much-needed cash into the debt-ridden company. In return, they received, among other concessions, $45.2 million in common and preferred asarco stock, making the family the single largest shareholder.51 After the deal was sealed, Meyer Guggenheim’s five sons joined the company’s board of directors, and Meyer took his place as the “patriarch of the copper industry” and head of one of the largest mining and smelting firms in the world.52 The growth of the Guggenheims’ empire was not bound by the Rio Grande. As in the case of the bankers and railroad financiers before them, highly capitalized mining ventures looked toward Mexico’s vast mineral wealth as the next step in their quest for market dominance. Díaz actively courted American mining companies with generous incentives including subsoil rights and seemingly unlimited access to Mexico’s resources. The Guggenheims benefited handsomely from the arrangement. Even before their merger with 34

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asarco, Daniel Guggenheim met with Díaz, who granted Meyer Guggenheim Sons wide latitude in mining exploration, as well as permission to build and operate three smelters at locations of their choice.53 The family also received other perks in the form of rights to federal land, speculation rights, and tax and import duty exemptions. By 1898, Meyer Guggenheim Sons was the largest metals-producing corporation operating in Mexico, with smelters in Monterrey and Aguascalientes and earnings of $1 million.54 By the start of the Mexican Revolution, asarco owned and controlled claims in the states of Chihuahua, Durango, San Luis Potosí, Zacatecas, Coahuila, and Michoacán, in addition to major custom smelters in Monterrey, Chihuahua, and Aguascalientes. In addition, small railroads linking the mines and smelters came under asarco ownership, creating an intricate web of interrelated interests that blanketed the Mexican landscape. asarco also consolidated the management of its Mexican properties under a Mexican Mining Department, devoting tremendous financial and manpower resources including an army of leading engineering, accounting, management, and legal experts.55 Combining their vast holdings throughout the North American West and northern Central Mexico, the Guggenheims laid the foundations of their transborder empire. Soon asarco emerged as the largest privately owned business in Mexico, planting roots in Mexico that ran deeper than the veins of ore coursing beneath its soil. With total assets valued at more than $185 million by 1911 and properties throughout the United States and Mexico, asarco had, in the words of one historian, “risen to the premier position in its field, with a prestige undisputed.”56 In two decades’ time, asarco consisted of thirty affiliated companies operating under individual local management but all directed by corporate headquarters in New York. When one historian claimed that “the sun never sets upon [asarco’s] activities,” he was not exaggerating.57 For asarco officials, El Paso was no isolated outpost or afterthought; it was the center of their multimillion-dollar international operations and a critical point of production in a multinational network of mines, smelters, refineries, railroads, and shipping lines that spanned the North and South American continents. The El Paso smelter operated as two smelters under one roof, with separate lead and copper operations each producing tens of thousands of tons of ore per month. El Paso also became the headquarters of the metals giant’s Southwestern Smelting Department (which included the local plant and the one located in Hayden, Arizona). The management offices of the Mexican Mining Department, one of the company’s most important divisions given its transnational focus, were also located in the border city. Making a Border City

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c anada Everett Montecristo WASHINGTON

Wallace Helena OREGON

Great Falls East Helena Elkhorn

NORTH DAKOTA MINNESOTA

MONTANA

IDAHO

SOUTH DAKOTA WYOMING

uni ted Reno NEVADA

Oakland

stat e s IOWA

Salt Lake City Mingo Murray

NEBRASKA

Leamington

Denver Leadville

UTAH

COLORADO

CALIFORNIA

Silverton Durango

KANSAS

Pueblo Aguilar Primero

OKLAHOMA

ARIZONA NEW MEXICO

Hanover Florida El Paso

TEXAS

Batugo Hermosillo Chihuahua

PA C I F I C OCEAN

Galveston Santa Eulalia Minas Nuevas Dolores San Juan Monclova Santa Barbara Sierra Villaldama Inde Mojada Alamo Diente American Smelters Descubridora Velardena Steamship Co. Monterey Copper Queen Zacatecas Aguascalientes

Properties owned or operated by the following: American Smelting and Refining Company Consolidated Kansas City Smelting and Refining Company Velardena Mining and Smelting Company Guggenheim Exploration Company Federal Lead Company M. Guggenheim's Sons United Lead Company United States Zinc Company

Bonanza Azul Tepezala Asientos

Mexican Central Railway Oropeo

El Oro

Tampico GU L F OF M EX ICO Pachuca Mexico City

m e xi c o

asarco and affiliate properties in the western United States and northern Mexico, 1904

With more than fifty employees, the El Paso offices purchased more than $2 million in supplies to support asarco’s Mexican mining ventures, which “taken as a whole, are by far the largest mining operations in that country, and one of the largest in the entire world.”58 Several other ore smelting and refining enterprises sought to reap the benefits that asarco made possible in the border city. In 1888, the International Smelter, located just southeast of downtown, opened to great fanfare. Following the first blowing of the furnace at International, “wines flowed plentiful and Havanas spread perfume and appropriate toasts were made”; the owner, Colonel C. C. Fitzgerald, and his friends promptly “adjourned to the city to bring the first batch of bullion made at the new works.” The International Smelter did not enjoy the same success as asarco. Following a series of land disputes and litigation (as well as the rumored defection of its superintendent, J. W. Neill, who reportedly had been lured away by Towne), it closed for repairs after only five months of operation. Fire destroyed the grounds in 1901.59 Similarly hoping to cut into asarco’s monopoly, the Federal Copper Company opened its own smelting and mining enterprise in 1901. Located northeast of town, the Federal smelter occupied an initial force of twenty and provided a small residential area for its employees. The Federal smelter operated intermittently, but following its own financial troubles, was extinct by 1908.60 Although the land was ultimately sold for real estate development and never used for other smelting activities, the industry remained rooted in the landscape. The streets in the new residential development bore the names Gold, Silver, Copper, and Federal, a nod to how deeply embedded mining was in the city.61 Phelps Dodge, perhaps asarco’s closest competitor in terms of size and capacity, also made inroads into El Paso. In 1902, the city became the operating and traffic headquarters for the El Paso and Southwest System, a railroad organized by Phelps Dodge to connect its various copper mining properties in Sonora, Mexico, southern Arizona, and northern New Mexico to the Southern Pacific line.62 The Nichols Copper Refinery opened in 1930 but later was absorbed by Phelps Dodge.63 In the months leading up to the opening of the $4 million facility, which would refine smelted copper from Arizona, New Mexico, and northern Mexico to nearly 100 percent purity, local press coverage lauded the refinery as the final jewel in King Copper’s crown for El Paso. When Nichols opened in January 1930, the El Paso Times declared without hesitation that “El Paso Becomes ‘Copper Capital of the Southwest.’”64 Whether

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or not individual outfits succeeded, copper (and metals production more generally) generated great excitement among entrepreneurs who recognized its potential for personal glory and financial gain. One needed only to look at the ever-churning asarco smelter as proof of the possibilities. Copper quickly became one of the “Four Big C’s” that defined El Paso’s economy.65 This success in mining, smelting, and asarco came to define the city. The College of Mines took its place among the top training institutions for mining and metallurgy, and by the 1950s the El Paso smelter’s general manager and all local management were graduates of Texas Western College, as it later was renamed.66 More important, asarco’s preeminence in the industry, the size of its revenues, workforce and output, and the facility itself became a source of pride for the city. The 1926 County Auditor’s Report emphasized the importance of the smelter to the area, citing its significant contributions in tax revenues (second only to the railroads) and the fact that it was a vital part of the local economy, purchasing more local goods and supplies and employing the largest number of workers in the area. It even touted the smelter as a major attraction for tourists, asserting that “a trip through the plant, which is the largest custom smelter smelting lead, silver, gold and copper in the United States, is one that will be long remembered” though it was “a treat that is very seldom offered to the tourist.”67 The press was especially vocal not only in promoting the smelter, but also in helping to connect the city’s sense of self to asarco’s achievements. The El Paso Times ran special mining-themed inserts, containing advertisements and stories of interest about various mining issues in Arizona, New Mexico, and West Texas.68 Local newspapers also routinely highlighted the history and activities of the smelter in their general news and features pages. Headlines proclaimed “Million Dollar Payroll for El Paso’s Smelter,” “Smelter Here Is Largest Customs Plant in World,” “World’s Largest Customs Smelter Is Located Here,” “Foreign Ore Booming Work at Smelter,” “Big Smelter Is Largest of Its Kind,” and “200 Mines throughout the World Feed E. P. Smelter.”69 Well into the 1970s, stories still lauded asarco’s position as the largest custom smelter in the country and one that contributed $20 million to the local economy. Through depression, war, and recession, the smelter kept humming, but, more important, it remained central to El Paso’s identity. The smelter was integral to the city’s past and future, and connected it fundamentally to something that transcended its geographic boundaries. Indeed, copper coursed through El Paso’s veins as surely as it coursed through the smelter.

38

making places

Coming to El Paso El Paso’s geographic location at the center of a transnational network of capitalism helped to make it the busiest port of entry on the southern border. The city’s growth coincided with, and to a large degree contributed to, one of the largest human migrations of the twentieth century. Scholars estimate that between 1900 and 1930, as many as 1.5 million Mexicans entered the United States. Railroad and mining networks like those headquartered in El Paso were not just apparatuses for the physical transport of Mexican labor. In fact, they were a part of the carefully constructed machinery forged by American capitalist development and business interests that drew Mexicans northward, making them crucial pieces that kept the machinery in motion. The same government and economic policies that allowed American corporations to gain a foothold in Mexico wreaked havoc for the millions of poor Mexicans living throughout the countryside. Liberal land policies dating back to the 1850s favored the consolidation of agricultural lands into haciendas to produce crops for export, leaving poor campesinos landless, mired in poverty, and forced into itinerant labor or sharecropping. Conditions only worsened by the end of the century. Many of the displaced began migrating to the American-owned mines and railroads, which paid comparatively better wages, but which had also done their own part to destabilize the economic situation for campesinos by raising land prices. This transition was brutal and disruptive for the people who experienced it in their daily lives. These sweeping changes had tangible personal meaning for people like Sabino Vásquez. Unable to support his family, he was forced to seek temporary migratory work from the large hacendados until finally deciding to leave Mexico and take his family north. “They were very poor, see,” his granddaughter Manuela remembered many years later. “They helped harvest the crops of the landowners.”70 The revolution that erupted in 1910 only compounded already desperate conditions. Simultaneously, southwestern growers, manufacturers, and industries looked to Mexico to provide much-needed labor to meet the increased demand in agriculture as well as copper and lead production for sale to European countries at the outset of World War I. The pattern of circular migration emerging between the Mexican countryside and Mexican towns logically expanded across the border and into U.S. cities like El Paso. The presence of a highly organized, intricate infrastructure that entwined two nations and their economic destinies had all but guaranteed it. People made the choice to head north, but their available options were fundamentally shaped by the calcu-

Making a Border City

39

lated and organized efforts of American capitalists to exploit Mexico’s most valuable resources for their own economic benefit. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, Mexicans immigrated to the United States with relative ease — in large measure due to the existence of such transborder economic flows. The primary concern of the Bureau of Immigration in these years was European immigration by way of Ellis Island. The small force of mounted inspectors that would become the U.S. Border Patrol focused more on preventing the entry of excluded Chinese immigrants through the southern border. U.S. immigration law prohibited contract labor and barred the entry of those likely to become a public charge, policing movement through the nation’s ports of entry. State officials scrutinized poor women and children with a close eye in an attempt to enforce sexual and moral order, while they were more likely to view men as potential laborers.71 Even with such restrictions, the movement continued to flow across the international boundary, and inspectors often looked the other way as Mexicans crossed into the United States. As a result of the interrelated factors of labor demands, economic necessity, and revolution, the numbers of Mexicans entering El Paso exploded. During one week alone in May 1902, the Bureau of Immigration reported that as many as 500 Mexicans entered El Paso, and an average of 250 more applied for entry each day. With the start of the revolution, the numbers skyrocketed. Depending on conditions, immigration officials reported between 1,000 and 2,000 entrants per month, and in one week in 1916 more than 4,800 Mexicans passed through El Paso’s border checkpoint.72 The passage of the 1917 Immigration Act, on its face, would seem to have tightened immigration of Mexicans coming through El Paso. Although it still placed no numerical quota on Mexicans entering the United States, its head tax and literacy test provisions threatened to curb the flow of much-desired Mexican laborers. However, the act allowed for the importation of unskilled agricultural, railroad, and mine workers, and provided an exemption for the admission of foreign skilled workers in industries where no native-born equivalent could be secured.73 Railroad and mining companies were quick to take advantage of this exemption. In a 1918 letter to the secretary of labor, asarco requested five hundred workers for its operation in Maurer, New Jersey, as “Mexican labor is well suited for smelting work.”74 It also tried to stretch the law to include laborers not only in mines, but also in smelters, arguing that smelting was a necessary immediate step between mining and the creation of finished metal products, and was thus of critical importance 40

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to meet the wartime demand. Immigration officials reported that more than twenty thousand laborers admitted in the 1919 fiscal year fell under the guidelines of these exemptions.75 Of course, laborers arriving under these conditions were not the only immigrants crossing during this period. Recognizing the economic reality of the region, inspectors allowed the movement of Mexicans to work in agriculture or one of the other industries of the Southwest, effectively defining immigration policy on the ground to meet local circumstances.76 Local employers, politicians, and lobbyists like the El Paso Chamber of Commerce’s Washington, D.C., representative, J. A. Happer, pressured Congress for, and secured, the extension of Mexican exemptions even after the war ended, thereby ensuring their continued access to immigrant labor from south of the border.77 The loose application of immigration restrictions notwithstanding, Mexicans found it harder to cross the border by the 1920s. Outbreaks of typhus in Mexico’s interior and fears of contagion from El Paso’s Mexican barrios led to the institution of invasive and humiliating inspection and delousing procedures at the city’s border checkpoint, even as these methods were eliminated elsewhere. In addition, the 1924 National Origins Act tightened control on the land borders, and in the 1920s Mexicans coming into the United States faced more formalized requirements and inspections as well as more vigorously utilized deportation procedures. The implementation and application of such practices set “the U.S.-Mexico border as a cultural and racial boundary, as a creator of illegal immigration,” thereby “creating a barrier where, in a practical sense, none had existed before.”78 Although they faced greater challenges, Mexicans continued to make their way to the border city and reshaped the face of El Paso. The large numbers of Mexican workers arriving in the border city made El Paso the most important labor recruiting center in the Southwest. Though laws banning contract labor were on the books, enterprising individuals, companies, and even state agencies became involved in the business of securing Mexican workers and placing them into jobs in American firms not just in El Paso but throughout the United States. From 1905 to 1920, several privately run recruiting agencies operated in El Paso. For example, Román Gómez González used his community ties in the Mexican neighborhood near the border called Chihuahuita to organize one of the most successful of these businesses, placing as many as six thousand laborers in jobs with railroads and growers in 1909 alone.79 Several companies established their own systems for hiring workers. As early as 1894, the Southern Pacific opened a recruitMaking a Border City

41

ment office in El Paso to secure workers for its line, and soon several other railroads and agricultural interests set up operations. Not all of this recruiting activity went unnoticed. Robert Towne found himself in trouble with the law in 1888 for illegally contracting for and transporting forty workers from the Mexican town of Santa Rosalía to work at his recently opened smelter. The arrival of more than one hundred skilled railroad workers in El Paso from Aguascalientes between June 1 and July 18, 1918, also raised the suspicions of immigration officials.80 By 1918, in response to complaints from the Mexican government, the Texas Bureau of Labor Statistics and the U.S. Department of Labor had opened employment agencies in El Paso in an attempt to regulate labor recruitment practices and prevent abuses.81 Although the sheer volume of workers entering El Paso made for a highly competitive market in which agencies needed workers more than workers needed agencies, the presence of these firms reveals how labor and immigration were deeply connected in this border city. In many respects, the smelter was its own greatest recruitment tool, second only to the railroads in the number of employees. The presence of asarco throughout Mexico and the Southwest facilitated the movement of Mexican workers to El Paso who either had direct experience with the company or had heard of employment opportunities with the copper conglomerate. A survey of the birthplaces of a 10 percent sample of Mexican-origin wage laborers who started to work at asarco between 1900 and 1960 reveals that before the Great Depression a significant percentage came from states in Mexico with large asarco holdings, suggesting a connection between asarco’s Mexican dominance and migration to El Paso. More than half of the sample were born in Chihuahua, Aguascalientes, Durango, San Luis Potosí, Coahuila, Zacatecas, Michoacán, or Monterey.82 These networks were especially significant in bringing workers who eventually settled in Smeltertown. Of the Mexican-origin smelter employees in the same period who settled in Smeltertown, more than 80 percent came from one of these states.83 Many Mexican workers relied on their firsthand experience with the labor circuit and family-kinship networks that provided information about potential employment opportunities at the smelter. José “Corona” Luján’s father, José Luján Meléndez, was an employee of the asarco-owned Avalos mine near Allende, Chihuahua. According to Luján, his father had heard about opportunities at the smelter and requested a “transfer” to the El Paso smelter in 1917. Rogelio Carlos Jr.’s grandfather Gonzalo, who also worked at the Avalos plant in Chihuahua, transferred to the El Paso smelter and worked there for thirty-five 42

making places

years.84 Though it is not clear if the company had a formal process for moving laborers from one unit to another as it did for managerial staff, José Luján Meléndez and Gonzalo Carlos did have knowledge of the El Paso smelter, either firsthand or by word of mouth. For the hundreds of workers without direct connections to asarco but who had at least some familiarity with railroad and related occupations, the smelter offered the possibility of employment. Many industrial skills were generally transferable, and it was not uncommon for former railroad employees such as boilermakers, machinists, mechanics, and blacksmiths to find comparable positions at the El Paso smelter. The 109 railroad workers detained by immigration inspectors in 1918, which included machinists, carpenters, blacksmiths, boilermakers, car repairmen, and an electrician, may very well have been illegally contracted to work in the United States. But it is also quite possible that they simply recognized that their training and expertise could get them work in a city known for its railroads and smelting operations. asarco’s presence throughout the region did not just attract Mexican workers to the border city. Anglos also migrated to El Paso from areas that were heavily industrialized or urbanized, or where mining (not only of copper and lead) was a major industry. The fact that prior to 1930, approximately 29 percent of Anglos in the sample hired at asarco worked as skilled tradesmen (carpenters, boilermakers, blacksmiths, electricians, mechanics, machinists, and pipefitters) suggests that specific jobs at the smelter lured skilled workers from New York, Tennessee, Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Illinois.85 Other transplants arrived in Smeltertown as managerial staff. Those families perhaps serve as the best example of the vast network that connected El Paso to distant locales. Constance White said her family moved to El Paso in 1927, when her father, Brent N. Rickard, was reassigned to the El Paso plant as manager and head of the Southwestern Division. It was asarco’s practice to train its managers broadly, periodically transferring them to its various properties to gain firsthand knowledge of its wide array of operations. Rickard was born into a mining family — both his father and grandfather were in the business — in Anaconda, Montana, the company town of Anaconda Copper Company. After graduating from the University of Michigan, Rickard served as a metallurgical engineer with asarco, first in Monterrey, Mexico, and later at the East Helena, Montana, and Salt Lake City plants before being transferred to the El Paso smelter.86 White remembered a number of families that came to El Paso because of similar transfers, including one she had known in East Helena.87 Making a Border City

43

asarco’s copper interests had created a vast community that spanned the continent; people coming to El Paso circulated freely within it. Although the global forces of capitalist development and war created the conditions that set migration in motion, at its heart were people who made choices based on their knowledge of the region’s mining and railroad connections and personal relationships. Parents, siblings, and extended families all aided in the migration process, passing along news about job possibilities and providing material and emotional support for new arrivals.88 It was through the help of his compadre, Pablo Saenz, who already lived in El Paso, that José Luján Meléndez was able to bring his wife and five children to Smeltertown. These kinship networks and migration practices contributed to large clusters of families in El Paso’s barrios. Melchor Santana Sr. laughingly recalled: “One time I heard an Anglo say ‘If you find one Martínez in this house [in Smeltertown], you’ll find three generations of Martínez[es] around there because they all stick together!’”89 Ramón Salas’s father heard about steady work available at asarco and came to El Paso before sending for his wife and family in Durango in February 1923.90 Carmen Escandón’s mother moved her and her brother Antonio to Smeltertown from Aguascalientes after their father died. Escandón’s grandmother, aunt, and uncle already lived in Smeltertown, and the presence of family plus the availability of work at the smelter for Antonio made the move a practical choice.91 The fact that nearly one-third of the Mexicans working at and settling around the smelter in 1920 were born in Texas and many others hailed from southwestern states that were part of the copper and railroad network reveals not only the power of such labor circuits over people’s lives, but also the creation of families and relationships along the lines. The stories of Sabina Alva and her daughter Enriqueta Beard underscore how these labor and familial networks shaped the lives of individuals. Sabina, whose father was a road master for the Southern Pacific Railroad in Camargo, Chihuahua, Mexico, was born in Smeltertown in 1905, when her mother came to stay with an aunt who lived there. About a month later, Sabina’s mother rejoined her husband in Casas Grandes, Chihuahua. Within a short time, however, Sabina’s father decided to look for a job at the smelter in El Paso. Given his experience with Southern Pacific, he was quickly employed at asarco and relocated the family to Smeltertown permanently.92 Eventually Sabina married José Alva, and the labor networks that brought her own family to El Paso soon carried her new family farther north. Unable to find work in El Paso following a layoff at the smelter, the Alvas embarked on the 44

making places

migrant circuit; José’s smelter skills proved invaluable in getting a job with the railroad. Their daughter, Enriqueta, was born in a railroad car in DePew, Illinois, in 1924. According to Enriqueta, her mother simply could not adjust to the snow and missed her own mother too much. So Sabina returned to Smeltertown with nine-month-old Enriqueta while her husband finished out his employment in the Midwest. By the time he returned two years later, he again found a job at asarco.93 As these cases illustrate, asarco had crafted a world to meet its own business ends, but it also intimately connected people from Montana to Chihuahua to Illinois and back to El Paso. These workers were all a part of the whole, and their lives converged in El Paso.

Making an “American” Border City Business leaders, corporations, and immigrant labor all contributed to the making of El Paso, firmly establishing its economic foundations and fueling the mechanisms that kept a regional network humming. But a city is more than its commercial and economic activities. At the same time they were developing El Paso as a financial center, the city’s leaders sought to shape its social dimensions too. As El Paso grew, it came to depend on the large presence of Mexican laborers, but the Euro-American elite holding the political and economic power tried to create as much social distance from them as possible in their distinctly defined American city. The process of making an American border city revealed the complicated love-hate relationship city leaders had with their Mexican neighbors, a population vital to El Paso’s success. In the end, early in the twentieth century, the leadership drew on selected elements of the city’s Mexican past to establish control over its Mexican present and define its American future.94 From the origins of its modern iteration in the late nineteenth century, El Paso emerged as a city in which racial boundaries and social hierarchies were deeply embedded in the physical and cultural landscape. These racial dynamics were evident in the consolidation of political and economic power in the years following the arrival of the railroad. Prior to that time, the settlements east of town, comprised of the largely Mexican and Native communities settled in the seventeenth century, had been the more populous and prosperous. There, people of Mexican origin constituted the numeric majority and retained political and social influence. For years after annexation, the Spanish language remained prevalent and, through the installation of machine politics, Mexicans retained a measure of autonomy. One of the settleMaking a Border City

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ments, San Elizario, had the distinction of being the site of the first seat of El Paso County; county auditor J. A. Escajeda wrote in 1927 that it “was the most important town on the Rio Grande north of the river up to the day of the arrival of the railroads.”95 Following the 1877 Salt War — the dispute over access to salt deposits that led to armed conflict — the county seat moved to nearby Ysleta, until “El Paso stole the county seat from Ysleta” in a muchdisputed election.96 On the one hand, with El Paso set to grow as a result of economic development, it made practical sense to have the seat of political power closer to the action. But the move had larger implications. In bringing the county seat to El Paso, city framers managed to consolidate economic and political power within the boundaries of the Euro-American defined town, effectively disenfranchising the predominantly Mexican population of the area. Moreover, it marked Anglo El Paso as the symbol of modernity and progress, making all things Mexican backward by comparison. In a 1923 appraisal of El Paso’s emergence as a modern city, one historian commented: “El Paso got the railroads with their shops and their payrolls because the Americans in the town went after the business, while the Mexicans . . . sat around following the shade from one side of the house to the other.”97 In his estimation, and that of El Paso’s powerbrokers at the turn of the century, it was simply destined to be that way. El Paso grew into a segregated city. Several parcels of land that formed the residential core of early El Paso were owned by prominent Euro-American settlers and entrepreneurs, while others belonged to wealthy eastern business interests. As El Paso transformed from “frontier town” into “western community,” city leaders energetically pursued changes that would make El Paso a replica of the cities and towns in the East. With the railroad came all of the trappings of a modern city, including banks, newspapers, a post office, hotels, Protestant churches, shops, a central plaza complete with a fountain and alligator pond, and a lavish $80,000 opera house seating 1,200 that opened to great excitement in 1887.98 In addition to accommodating the growing city’s needs, these changes were meant to replace the physical markers of its Mexican origins. Commercial and residential builders aggressively replaced the adobe structures representative of the region’s architecture with wood frame and brick houses and buildings. As early as the 1880s, local, Anglo-run newspapers pushed for the demolition of adobe buildings in the downtown area, one paper arguing that “the removal of the ancient adobe with all their bad associations means a new life for El Paso.”99 Even structures that had served the financial needs of early Anglo entrepreneurs, such as the Overland Mail 46

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Company building, fell victim to the crusade for a modern, American city. In 1885, the El Paso Times reported the demolition of the Overland building, whose “massive adobe arches and pillars were considered street obstructions” and would be replaced with “modern pavement.”100 Euro-American residents settled into their large brick, stone, and wood-frame homes north and east of the downtown commercial area in tony sections named after city fathers. The coming prosperity, largely accomplished through the use of Mexican labor and resources, had allowed El Paso’s elite to remake the center of town into a modern American city on the border. By taking charge of public space and residential patterns, they firmly established their authority to craft the city in any way they chose. As development continued, Second Street became the official “border” in the border city, separating American El Paso from the growing numbers of Mexican immigrants. According to Mario T. García, by 1920 El Paso was home to the second largest Mexican population in the United States (behind San Antonio) and was the only major American city where the majority of residents were Mexican. Sixty percent lived in a rapidly expanding neighborhood known as Chihuahuita (Little Chihuahua) in South El Paso, located roughly between downtown El Paso, south of the rail yards, and just north of the international border. Residents of Chihuahuita lived in small adobe tenement-style structures with few if any amenities, standing in stark contrast to the lavish homes in the Anglo sections of town. Although the majority of the Mexican population resided here, Mexican settlements began to spring up in other parts of the city as well. Some Mexicans lived southeast of downtown near the railroad yards, while others set up residence on land owned by D. Storms in an area that came to be called “Stormsville.” The historic Mexican agricultural communities in San Elizario and Ysleta still remained.101 Given the prominence of the smelter, one of the fastest-growing Mexican communities was Smeltertown. As illustrated in Table 1, by the turn of the century Smeltertown was already a densely populated neighborhood with a steadily growing population, most of which was Mexican. Census figures show that in 1920, 95 percent were of Mexican origin; in 1930, the percentage was nearly 97 percent. Though El Paso’s barrios differed in size and character, by and large they shared the difficulties that came from the rapid influx of immigration to the city in the early decades of the twentieth century. Limited economic resources and the practice of social segregation had contributed to overcrowding and poor housing, as well as health and sanitation problems. Social separation extended to community institutions, enforced by daily Making a Border City

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Interstate 10 (completed in 1970s–1980s)

texas

N

FRANK LIN MOU NTAINS

CORONADO HILLS (established 1950s)

Rio Gr an de

new mexico Buena Vista

El Paso

County Road (today U.S. 85) UNITED STATES MEXICO SMELTERTOWN

chihuahua

Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe Railroad

KERN PLACE STORMSVILLE (demolished 1928)

Southern Pacific Railroad

SUNSET HEIGHTS DOWNTOWN

0

1

2 miles

ty un Co

CHIHUAHUITA

ad Ro

Ciudad Juárez

To Socorro, San Elizario, and Ysleta

El Paso neighborhoods

practice, residential patterns, and law. For instance, Mexicans worshipped in churches separate from their Anglo neighbors. Anglo Protestants established their own congregations. While Catholics (some of whom were Irish and German transplants to the city) initially attended Mass at one of the missions east of town or at the mission across the border in Paso del Norte, the formation of the Diocese of El Paso allowed for the rapid increase in the number of Catholic parishes. Parish boundaries followed residential (and racial) boundaries, with churches like Sacred Heart, Santa Rosalía, and Holy Family ministering to the Mexican communities on the south side, Smeltertown, and Sunset Heights, respectively, and Saint Patrick Cathedral serving the EuroAmerican neighborhoods to the north of downtown. El Paso’s schools were similarly formed to reinforce racial divides. Employing what at the time was considered scientific proof of the inferior intellect of Mexicans, school administrators and psychologists justified the separation of Mexican students into 48

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table 1. Smeltertown Population Totals, 1900–1930

Year

Total Population

SpanishSurnamed Population

Percentage SpanishSurnamed

1900

2,721

na

na

1910

2,903

na

na

1920

3,119

2,974

95.35

1930

2,876

2,779

96.62

Source: U.S. Bureau of the Census, Manuscript Census, Twelfth, Thirteenth, Fourteenth, and Fifteenth Census of the United States, microcopies 623–26 (Washington, D.C.: National Archives and Records Administration).

distinctly inferior facilities on the grounds that they were mentally incapable of succeeding in American classrooms.102 To enforce this separation, the El Paso School Board prohibited non-English–speaking children from enrolling in public schools. To combat this problem, Mexican preparatory schools, like Olivas Aoy’s school established in South El Paso in the 1880s, provided students with at least a working knowledge of English so they could enroll in classes in separate city schools designated for Mexicans. The El Paso School District incorporated Aoy School on a segregated basis in 1888. By the early 1900s, Aoy’s enrollment was nearly five hundred, the largest of any El Paso school at that time. However, the fact that few Mexican children, even on acquiring English-speaking skills, were able to enroll in public schools because they had to work to help support their families proved how deeply embedded separateness was in the social and economic fabric of the city.103 Additionally, in response to the sharp increase in immigration from Mexico and the subsequent overcrowding of barrios, parks, and other public spaces, the city council enacted a series of ordinances beginning in 1901 that prohibited gathering in groups on city streets and sidewalks. Offenders were to be arrested on the spot. In reality, as one historian explains, these measures were thinly veiled attempts to control Mexicans’ movement and presence in public spaces.104 By the early 1920s, concerns about mass immigration from Mexico, Mexican participation in alleged corrupt machine politics, and the presence of vice and violence in the city’s Mexican quarters as well as across the border during Prohibition contributed to the formation of a local chapter of the Ku Klux Klan (kkk).105 Based on complaints by Anglo citizens regarding the overwhelming presence of Mexican children in the public Making a Border City

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school system, not to mention the fear that the Catholic Church was trying to control the schools, the Klan managed to dominate the school board elections in 1922. The kkk proved ineffective in altering El Paso politics over the long term, mostly because voters believed that an association with the Klan would ultimately harm the business and social relations they had so carefully sought to cultivate with Mexico. Nonetheless, its presence was a powerful symbol of the deep-rooted racial and nativist tensions under the veneer of the modern American city. Although the racial dynamics of El Paso were defined largely by the predominance of its Mexican-origin residents, the boundaries that marked the edge of Anglo El Paso also separated other racial and ethnic groups from civic life. Table 2 illustrates the city’s racial diversity in 1930. That diversity, however, did not change power relations in town. Arriving as laborers on the railroad, Chinese immigrants established a small community between Overland Street and Second Street, opening restaurants and laundries to serve the local clientele. After the passage of the Chinese Exclusion Act, Chinese in El Paso and Juárez created elaborate networks that facilitated the covert entry of Chinese workers through the southern border. These immigrants traded their Chinese “racial uniform” for a Mexican one, which allowed them to blend into the dominant racial landscape of a city like El Paso, much to the consternation of immigration officials. City officials and reformers viewed El Paso’s Chinatown — with its rumored smuggling rings navigating through secret underground tunnels, opium dens, and so-called disease-ridden laundries — as a blot on the good image they sought to foster.106 Comparatively speaking, African Americans in El Paso experienced greater mobility, inasmuch as they were not confined residentially to one section of town. Some took up residence in the area east of downtown, while, according to the 1920 census, at least two African American women — a cook in an asarco manager’s home and her daughter — lived in Smeltertown. Although some African Americans achieved economic success and were among the city’s skilled laborers and business owners, most still experienced the racial prejudice and separation that prevailed in the Jim Crow South. Their children were relegated to a segregated school (named after Frederick Douglass), they worshipped in separate Baptist and Methodist churches, and they incurred the hostility of white El Pasoans for crossing racial and sexual boundaries. In the 1910s, local papers reported cases of black men convicted of making unseemly advances toward white women.107 The racial politics of this border city were varied and com-

50

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table 2. El Paso Population, by Race, 1930 Racial Category*

Population

Racial Category*

Population

White

39,121

Indian

Foreign-Born White

2,844

Mexican

58,291

Negro

1,855

Filipino

19

Chinese

175

Japanese

80

28

Unspecified “Other” Total

8 102,421

Source: U.S. Bureau of the Census, Fifteenth Census of the United States, 1930, Abstract of the Census, Population (Washington, D.C.: gpo, 1933). *Terms used by U.S. Census Bureau.

plex, with occasional collaboration and conflict. In the end, it was more often the Anglos who, by design, had the advantage. Race was a factor in El Paso’s geography, but socioeconomic class afforded some groups the ability to transcend boundaries. A small but consequential Syrian community established roots in the city. Having entered through Mexico to circumvent restrictive immigration quotas enforced in other ports of entry, these families gained a solid foothold in the El Paso economy as merchants. In addition, though some early Japanese immigrants initially settled in Chinatown, their relative wealth and interest in agriculture allowed them to purchase land outside the city limits. Perhaps most significant, Mexican elites and an emergent Mexican American middle class challenged the racial boundaries imposed on their working-class counterparts. Given the economic history of the region, many of El Paso’s power players had strong connections to the Mexican upper class, and when revolution threatened to depose the old order, wealthy Mexicans looked to El Paso for refuge. One of the more notable examples, an 84-year-old former Chihuahua governor and businessman named Luis Terrazas, had established close ties with American business interests including asarco’s Guggenheims and American politicians. With the outbreak of revolution, Terrazas fled Mexico and reportedly arrived in El Paso with twenty horse-drawn wagons filled with his possessions. He rented a whole floor of the luxurious Paso del Norte Hotel before taking up more permanent residence at the El Paso mansion owned by New Mexico senator Albert Fall.108 Other former Mexican officials and people of means settled into the large homes in the predominantly Anglo Sunset Heights district,

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where they were instrumental in building their own exclusive private schools, libraries, and the Holy Family Catholic Church. In addition, a growing middle class of Mexicans, both foreign and native born, gained social status in El Paso. A very small percentage of Mexicans were listed among the city’s doctors, lawyers, and other professionals. Some found white-collar work in local businesses or set up their own successful commercial enterprises that catered to a Mexican clientele; others started Spanish-language dailies that provided news and entertainment relevant to their community. Still others who curried favor with the political machine secured political appointments or served on the local police force.109 The upper- and middle-class Mexicans of El Paso gained social acceptance and mobility because they were viewed as being more cultured than poor Mexicans who lived in the barrios; in truth, they held the same views about their compatriots. Although at times they looked down on the Mexicans of the working class, some wealthy Mexicans and Mexican Americans emerged as community leaders intent on the cultural and moral uplift of the Mexican community as a whole, a point explored in greater depth in later chapters. However, the political, economic, and cultural privilege of these “better classes” only went so far. Many Anglos paid little attention to the differences between Mexicans and Mexican Americans, wealthy or poor. Those able to afford apartments outside the barrios were often turned away by real estate practices that only served “Americans.” All the money in the world could not get the darker-skinned children of Mexican elites into the parochial school operated by St. Patrick Catholic Church, and while they may have occupied some of the nicest homes in one of the swankiest parts of town, by 1920 the more exclusive Sunset Heights neighborhood was experiencing early patterns of white flight.110 For some, then, status could bend the racial boundaries but ultimately could not break them. Part of defining El Paso as an American city was positioning it in contrast to its Mexican counterpart across the border. As early as 1884, one visitor highlighted the differences between the changing landscape of El Paso, which was in the process of getting its American facelift, and Paso del Norte, which retained the outward appearances of a Mexican town. Paso del Norte was “an unpretentious mud village, which was content to remain so, if those restless Americanos from over the border would only allow it to. But they will not, and the Yankee ‘City of the Pass,’ like Laredo, is pushing its apathetic Mexican sister into prominence.”111 Moreover, as boosters quickly seized upon marketing El Paso as a center for tourism, part of the allure was that their city was 52

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a place where the Old World lay just across the river from the New West. In his 1920 article in the Greater Southwest, Ralph E. Herron explained that visitors to El Paso would be treated to sights that were “to be had nowhere else on the American continent.” The El Paso–Juárez region was a “curious atmosphere, where people of many races mingle, where widely separated social classes meet, where elemental and primitive life of a hoary civilization persists amidst the complexities and artificialities of the ultra modern.” He went on to detail all the exotic things one would see and hear in Mexico: devout old women in black praying in the Catholic cathedral, the sights and sounds of the marketplace, the gambling houses where “the pauper and the rich man rub elbows about the gambling table,” and possibly “the blood-quickening measures of ‘La Cucaracha’ or the soft sonorous strains of ‘Las Palomos’ [sic]” played by street musicians outside the adobe cantinas. In addition to these more pleasant attractions, Herron pointed to the things that made Mexico and Paso del Norte so foreign: the “sightless beggars, with the hand outstretched, mumbling strange prayers,” the “ragged urchins who plead for alms,” and even the “hopeless derelicts of his own blood, cursed with poverty, pursued perhaps by some victorious appetite for alcohol or drugs.” These last powerful images contrasted starkly with the progress and prosperity to be found in El Paso. El Paso, by default, was the place with “great office buildings and superb hotels,” where there were no drunks, paupers, or derelicts, but only “manly cowboys with bronzed faces in picturesque costumes, sturdy miners, farmers who do not worry looking at the clouds, the throng of the city’s workers, not different from those of other cities, stalwart soldiers whose lives are a guarantee to its safety and protection.” The trip to Mexico enabled the tourist to step into the past temporarily, only to underscore the modernity of El Paso; on his return, “he sees the long lines of threadlike rails, stretching far away, the glistening wires aloft, that join the city to the rest of mankind.”112 The positioning of American progress and masculinity against Mexican backwardness and moral and physical degeneracy through tourism set the two cities apart, despite their historic ties, and further reinforced the foreignness of Mexicans within El Paso’s city limits. While the city as a whole benefited from the strategic plan to make it a modern American town, not everyone subscribed to the belief that erasing El Paso’s Mexican past was a positive thing. These sentiments were not entirely altruistic, but they gave the city certain advantages. The Rose Gregory Houchen Settlement House, established by the Methodist Church in the South El Paso barrio in 1912, sought to reach out to — not shun — its Mexican neighMaking a Border City

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bors. Though its mission was to proselytize and Americanize, its educational programs incorporated and honored the culture and language of its charges. Houchen’s facilities provided important social and critical medical services (a clinic was established in the 1920s) to El Paso’s Mexican families.113 In 1925, the City Plan Commission appointed by the mayor offered suggestions for municipal improvements of all kinds. Despite the long-held distaste for the Mexican quarter of Chihuahuita prevalent among reformers, politicians, and the local press, the commission believed that, “instead of being an eyesore, unhealthful and a disgrace to the city,” the area “can be and ought to be made a section of exotic charm and special interest to visitors and residents.” Moreover, pointing to its location in close proximity to the border, the commission suggested that, in conjunction with the construction of an international bridge connecting “the heart of El Paso with the heart of Ciudad Juárez,” a permanent outdoor market, park space, and buildings extending from Chihuahuita to the bridge’s base would “be impressive and memorable.”114 The “Bridgehead” project was only one of the proposed improvements for the Mexican barrio. The commission also recommended the construction of a city park in the congested barrio named “Hidalgo Park” complete with swimming pools, a ball field, playgrounds, gardens, and a platform for dances and community events. Though its rhetoric was tinged with Progressive Era language of improvement and reform, the commission surprisingly argued against complete Americanization of the area; rather, it urged that “all that is good and interesting in Mexican life should be promoted and retained” and that “the people should be encouraged to retain their distinguishing types in dress, in recreation, and in social life.”115 In promoting the revitalization and sweeping improvements of the city’s largest barrio, commission members viewed Mexicans not as people unworthy of civic inclusion, but as important parts of the local economy and “potential assets of enormous value to El Paso . . . it is dangerous and wasteful to neglect them in the least degree.”116 Others lamented the loss of the quaint old customs of a bygone era. Commenting in 1927 on the development of the long-standing rural communities east of El Paso, Lucy M. Peterman praised the modernization of the region but waxed nostalgic for the “sun warmed patios, which nestle behind simple, austere fronts of the old adobe houses,” with the “old Mexicans and Indians wrapped in serapes dreaming of languorous days of ease before the march of progress began its interruptions and so intricately mixed Americano and Mexicano ways.” On the one hand, her sentimental characterization of the old Spanish and Mexican customs assumes a static view of Mexicans as tradi54

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tional and unchanging. At the same time, her words are a refreshing contrast to the aggressive remaking of El Paso at the hands of boosters and politicians. Four decades after the demolition of the adobe Overland Mail building, Peterman praised the architectural style of the new Woman’s Clubhouse in Ysleta. “Indian mission in type,” she wrote, it was “a delightful sign that there are people who appreciate the real beauty of the architecture suitable to this country, and perhaps in time the simple lovely lines of like structures will replace the inappropriate modern bungalows.”117 Although its leaders’ plans for making El Paso into an American city had been set into motion with great force, the debate over how El Paso would be remade and remembered would continue for generations to come.

El Paso: The Modern American Border City In his March 1921 article for the Greater El Paso and Southwestern Commerce, Dallas reporter John Sneed remarked on the great strides the city of El Paso had made in developing and broadening its economic activities. But more to the point, he praised the diligent efforts, hard work, and inexhaustible drive the business community had put in to making the former frontier village into a prominent southwestern city. “For the city that sprang magically from an environment of arid desert and volcanic rock is their handiwork,” he wrote, “and they have a right to be proud of her.” Although El Paso’s rise was certainly attributable to the “natural course of events,” city leaders bore a lion’s share of the credit. “They were possessed of supreme confidence, child-like faith in their future, also untiring energy, co-operation, pluck and liberality”— that thing called “the El Paso spirit,” he explained. But more important, “They watched and tended the little town of twenty years ago as diligently as a horticulturist watches and nurtures a tender plant and they fashioned her development. The result is shown today.”118 To the casual observer, the cities of the American West seem to have simply appeared out of nowhere, a result of the natural course of events, the inevitable move of progress and modernity ever westward. In reality, as Sneed’s observations on El Paso reveal, cities are carefully made and remade to suit the needs of their inhabitants. In the closing years of the nineteenth century, politicians, industrial entrepreneurs, and civic boosters tirelessly engaged in the making of the modern American border city of El Paso. By the early twentieth century, they had created one of the most efficiently operating machines in the borderlands. El Paso emerged as a railroad and mining hub not through Making a Border City

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the “natural course” of events, but rather as the deliberately crafted center of industry that leaders envisioned. And it was not just the industrial city that had to be made. The social relations that structured power, influence, and prestige also had to be created. City framers knew they needed Mexico and Mexicans to ensure the success of their city, but decided on how, where, and to what extent their presence would matter. Within the city limits, Mexicans would continue to be vital fuel for El Paso’s industries. Despite the best efforts of the elite to craft their ideal American city where Mexicans would be indispensable but invisible, the Mexicans of El Paso were not just cogs in the machine. They also made their own connections to this place and to the machinery of which they were an essential part. Integrated fully into the regional networks of capital, Mexicans made their own choices and came to see themselves as vital parts of the apparatus that kept the border city moving. Some merely passed through the city, some stayed briefly, but many others chose to remain in El Paso. The people in one tiny corner on the outskirts of town — under the shadow of the giant brick smokestacks, the black steel railroad trestles, and the deafening hum of the blast furnaces — planted their roots firmly into the city’s industrial future. In Smeltertown, they would fashion their own image of a border city, and for the next hundred years they would play a critical role in the making of a modern El Paso.

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2 Creating Smelter town Well, up on top there was a whole family, they lived like brothers [and sisters] . . . the whole place, like what one would call a small village. — jesús gutiérrez, former Smeltertown resident

“I remember the ‘Old Smeltertown’ when we used to live there,” wrote José “Corona” Luján in the pages of a thin blue spiral notebook. In diligent, handwritten, run-on sentences, Luján described what he recalled of his childhood home, the Old Smeltertown that had long ago faded from the dusty West Texas landscape. Reaching far into the past and the deep corners of his memory, Luján took a walk through the streets of Smeltertown, carefully re-creating the landmarks of his neighborhood. “We lived on ‘B’ Street. We knew the businesses there in the barrio.” His mind’s eye, of course, recalled the major industries: “asarco . . . Courchesne’s quarry, El Paso Brick Co.” He also remembered the features that made up the formal company town: the “tienda de raya Smelter Store E.M. Bray,” Courchesne’s [company] store, El Paso Brick’s [company] store, the Cement Plant’s restaurant.” As important as these locations were to his rendering of the “Old Smeltertown,” they were not the only landmarks that defined his childhood world. What stand out most in his entries are the detailed lists of the Mexican businesses owned and operated by friends and neighbors. Familiar names of people and places remained deeply connected in his memory: small shops like Don Alberto Alba’s La Primavera, Don Fabián Urquidi’s La Estrella Blanca, and George Gonzales’s Flor de Mayo; there was also the El Pasito butcher shop, Don Ariteo Rodriguez’s bakery, and Don Librado J. Villegas’s and [Nicardo] Rodriguez’s barbershops; local hangouts like Don Benito Fierro’s La Gatita Blanca tavern and Don Chon Murillo’s pool hall stood out too. Other social spaces like the Smelter Theater, San José Catholic parish and the ymca were also noteworthy landmarks.1 Luján’s memory of the geography of Smeltertown is not unique. Other former members reminisced about the different neighborhood businesses; over

time, some of the old institutions gave way to new stores, confectionaries. the union hall, and the locally owned filling station.2 More important than simple proximity, it was the meaning behind those places that came to mind when people remembered Smeltertown. For many, it was the strong personal relationships that they created that defined their community. “I was very comfortable,” said Becky Seañez, born in Smeltertown in the 1930s. “It was just like a big family . . . and everybody knew everybody.” Enriqueta Beard arrived in Smeltertown in the mid-1920s at the age of nine months; by her estimation, she grew to know at least half of the families in the rapidly expanding neighborhood. Ramón Salas, who moved to Smeltertown as a young boy in 1923, had similar feelings: “I wasn’t born there, but I grew up there . . . we knew almost everybody by their names, and where they worked, or what sport they liked or what they enjoyed.” Melchor Santana Sr., born in Smeltertown in 1920, laughingly remembered that “we used to call ourselves ‘one single family.’ Everybody knew everybody.” “And the people, well, they were all compadres, it was . . . a big village,” recalled José Lerma, also born in Smeltertown during the Great Depression.3 For former Esmeltianos, what defined the boundaries of Smeltertown were the long lists of friends and neighbors — of families who settled in Smeltertown and over time became interconnected through friendship and kinship, brought together through the shared experiences of migration, labor, religion, language, and life at the base of the giant smelter smokestack. The strikingly positive memories that residents have of Smeltertown belie a much more complicated truth and reveal how communities are fundamentally made by the individuals who inhabit them. In both history and memory, Smeltertown was a place created on multiple levels, by a variety of individuals, for different purposes. Weaving together the memories of residents with the material geography of place, this chapter charts the contours of the web of overlapping and interwoven communities that existed in Smeltertown. On one level, it was a company town, whose boundaries and very existence were determined by the smelter. At the same time, through different eyes, it was a more broadly defined Mexican community, a place tied to the will of the company and existing because of it, but imagined in ways that reflected the day-today realities and desires of the people who lived there. Esmeltianos navigated through the world created by the company, but also through the world they created for themselves. In this way, residents and company officials engaged in a delicate, carefully orchestrated dance, negotiating the boundaries and limits of corporate power and the meanings of community on the physical 58

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landscape of Smeltertown.4 The process of making Smeltertown involved forging relationships within lived spaces, as as well as establishing relationships to places both company-owned and not. Sifting through the many layers of Smeltertown — their boundaries, their location, how they were lived and experienced by different people — this chapter lays out the spatial and social geography of Smeltertown. How Esmeltianos related to these places in personal ways is central to understanding how they defined themselves and the parameters of their social world; it reveals the practical, cultural, and emotional bonds of which communities are ultimately constituted. As outlined in the preceding chapter, the global forces of industrial capitalism in the U.S. Southwest at the turn of the twentieth century set the stage for the formation of a community whose existence was linked to a massive transborder empire. asarco built a functioning company town on the outskirts of El Paso in the mold of the quintessential company town: a place defined by the fixed boundaries of the plant property, complete with an Anglo community of managerial staff on the hill and a separate Mexican worker community residing in company-owned tenement housing just outside the gates. Mirroring the dynamics of countless single-industry towns — citrus communities like Corona and Pomona in southern California’s inland empire, mining towns emerging across the western landscape like Anaconda, Butte, Cripple Creek, Primero, and Clifton-Morenci, or the long-standing mill towns of the Carolinas, to name but a few — the power of capital and “the company” pervaded every aspect of workers’ public and private lives.5 The smelter sought to foster a larger working community by providing a variety of amenities, not only out of a sense of duty, but also as a means of social control to ensure a pliable workforce. Whether out of charity or a pragmatic business sense, asarco wielded a powerful hand over the most basic aspects of its workers’ lives, designating where and how they would live, where they would work, and where they would spend the wages they earned at the smelter. To be sure, drastic inequities marked the relationship between Mexican residents and their corporate benefactor. Literally and figuratively, the smokestacks loomed large over Smeltertown. But Smeltertown was more than just a company town. As scholars of company towns have shown, residents of such communities were hardly relegated to lives of misery and drudgery. On the contrary, they found ways to construct culturally vibrant and personally meaningful worlds in spite of, and perhaps even because of, the heavy hand of their corporate benefactors. Esmeltianos’ memories speak to the profoundly human ways in which individuals Creating Smeltertown

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attempted to make the most of their situation — to make a home in Smeltertown and to carve out at least some small measure of agency within a limited range of choices the smelter offered them. With the memories of former Esmeltianos as a guide, the Smeltertown that emerges in these pages is a place imagined then, and years later, to be something far richer and more nuanced. As in other single-industry towns, Smeltertown’s residents fashioned their own way of life in the world the company made, one marked by inequality, racial segregation, and corporate paternalism. Residents partook of this world, accepting the resources and spaces the company provided, which included not only jobs that brought better pay and a degree of prestige and stability few other options offered, but also various amenities that presumably made life a little easier on the edge of town. In doing so, they willingly entered into a proverbial pact with the devil, allowing the company to control their lives both on and off the clock. This deal would ultimately lead to Smeltertown’s demise, but in the early years of the twentieth century, it allowed residents and the company to forge a working relationship in which seemingly all sides could win, or at least survive. Though it shared many characteristics with other single-industry communities, Smeltertown stood out in several ways. Several factors afforded Esmeltianos the ability to mitigate the absolute power of the company in their lives. First, Smeltertown was just a short streetcar ride from a bustling border city, making its residents less isolated and less beholden to the company for all of their needs. Second, while the smelter was one of the biggest, most influential, and best-paying employers in town, El Paso had a diversified economy and labor market. So while asarco may have been the biggest show in town, it was by no means the only one. With several other industries located in Smeltertown alone, Esmeltianos had options not available in other communities subject to the will of a single employer. These traits helped them to build a greater Smeltertown that expanded beyond asarco-owned property to encompass a much larger territory. For Esmeltianos, myriad daily and personal interactions stemming from a variety of factors including a common national and ethnic identity, individual and familial relationships, and shared religious traditions and cultural practices formed the basis of their world. Residents named their own streets and smaller sub-barrios, erected their own homes, built their own stores and carved a place in the area’s economy, and established their own private schools and social spaces, creating a community life that was meaningful for them. Sometimes these worlds overlapped and intersected; many other times they existed on parallel planes, but they 60

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were always tightly intertwined. A journey through Smeltertown reveals the interconnections between workers and the company, and the rich and multiply defined worlds that Esmeltianos crafted for themselves.

The Boundaries of a Company Town Today, asarco and what was once Smeltertown rest almost at the geographic center of a sprawling border city with a population of more than 700,000. Situated between Interstate 10, the city’s major traffic artery, and U.S. Highway 85, the imposing smelter sits quietly on a bluff overlooking the trickle of muddy water that is the Rio Grande. Border Patrol agents in their conspicuously marked green and white sport utility vehicles keep a watchful eye on the border. A newly erected massive, militaristic border wall begun in 2007 is visible on the dusty mesa beyond the city limits and slowly edges its way toward the center of town, with a huge portion recently built near the smelter’s main entrance. On the other side lies Ciudad Juárez, with nearly 1.5 million residents, whose own sprawl and population boom have given rise to the congestion of homes dotting the hills west of town. The vast desert expanse has been transformed into the heart of a border metropolis, with its attendant traffic jams and population density among a wide array of urban problems. It is almost impossible to imagine a time when this area was nothing more than uninhabited desert, when three miles from the residential and commercial centers of town might as well have been three hundred, and the line demarcating the international and state boundaries would have been even harder to see. But this was what it looked like in the 1880s, when Robert Safford Towne and the Kansas City Consolidated Smelting and Refining Company established the first smelting operations in El Paso. People traveling from town could access the plant and its adjacent community via the two-lane County Road (later greatly expanded and renamed “Paisano Drive,” or U.S. Highway 85). By 1902 people could make their way to and from Smeltertown on the streetcar, whose tracks ran parallel to County Road.6 On arrival, their senses would undoubtedly have been assaulted by the sights, smells, and sounds of a massive smelting operation: the steel machinery and brick furnaces housed in buildings that loomed impressively over the river and neighboring foothills; the black smoke wafting from the stacks against the blue sky, and the acrid smell of the exhaust; the churning of the plant, and the grinding of steel on steel of the passenger and freight trains that passed through the area at regular intervals. The tracks of the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe Railroad ran in Creating Smeltertown

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front of the smelter and neighboring cement plant and along County Road; the Southern Pacific Railroad used tracks behind the smelter and on the two railroad trestles that crossed over the main road and the Rio Grande. Transportation lines and natural resources brought other industrial firms to the area around the same time. Southwestern Portland Cement established its plant just north of the smelter in 1907, and the International Brick Company, located across the Rio Grande in New Mexico, set up operations in 1897. Capitalizing on the city’s growth and the demand for cement and other building materials, Alfred Courchesne opened his limestone quarry in 1887.7 By the 1930s, Smeltertown had become what Corona Luján called “un centro de comercio e industria” (a center of commerce and industry). In the midst of the bustling smelter operations, officials laid out the basic core of a company town. In Upper Smeltertown, situated squarely on plant property on the hill overlooking the Rio Grande, Anglo company superintendents, engineers, foremen, and their families settled in the elegantly named Smelter Terrace. On completion of plant construction in 1887, the company immediately built housing for the managerial staff, including the smelter’s metallurgical engineer, manager of the blacksmith shop, assistant foreman of the sampling mill, carpentry foreman, bricklayer foreman, and weighing master for the Mexican Central Railroad.8 According to fire insurance maps, the residential and office structures in Smelter Terrace were constructed of wood and brick.9 In addition to a number of duplexes, several single-family homes lined the street, including chief metallurgist J. J. Ormsbee’s house, which was referred to as “The Castle,” and the large white house inhabited by superintendent T. S. Austin and his family.10 Brent N. Rickard, general manager at asarco, lived in a large two-story house on plant property. Despite the discomforts that came with living in the middle of an industrial enterprise, the mostly Euro-American residents of Smelter Terrace enjoyed the kind of life befitting the managerial class. Their free-standing, single-family homes came complete with the modern conveniences of indoor plumbing and electrical wiring, as well as several bedrooms and front and backyard space. Just beyond their fenced lots, tree-lined graded streets — although unpaved — were maintained to alleviate dust.11 Besides the luxury of running water, electricity, and telephone connections, the residents of Smelter Terrace enjoyed summer boat rides and winter ice skating on the plant’s cooling ponds, as well as the use of a company bowling alley, reading room, and tennis courts. For single men, the company provided a boardinghouse and dining hall, or they could find boarding in the home of a local family on nearby Smelter Hill. Creating Smeltertown

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Early view of the El Paso smelter grounds and surrounding area. Wood-framed plant offices and managerial homes around the cooling ponds contrast in size and form to the Mexican tenements to the far right. Photo © Colorado Historical Society, William Henry Jackson Collection, scan #20103401.

Home of asarco chief metallurgist J. J. Ormsbee. According to Mary Antoine Lee (“A Historical Survey of the American Smelting and Refining Company” [M.A. thesis, utep, 1950]), it was known as “the Castle,” likely for its size and unusual architectural detail. Photo courtesy of the El Paso County Historical Society, Charlotte Barbara Ormsbee Collection, vol. 1, p. 2.

Smelter Terrace and Smelter Hill existed in a world of their own, where “the aesthetic side of community life was not overlooked.”12 María Palacio vividly remembered the homes where the families of the straw bosses and managerial staff lived. “They were very pretty houses . . . for the wives and their kids, but nobody went there,” she said. “They had a swimming pool too.” That community was separated from hers by more than custom: “It was fenced,” she noted, “and locked.” This imposing fence cannot be seen in early photographs of the smelter. Perhaps it came later, or maybe it was never as big as it appeared in the mind’s eye. Yet for children like Palacio, the figurative and physical barriers that defined social relations were obvious. Early on, she knew that access to the world of the “big bosses from the smelter” was limited. “Only the maids could enter there, could go in there,” she explained. “Like my aunt . . . my father’s sister, she used to work there.”13 66

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As Palacio’s recollections reveal, there was a separate, yet closely interconnected world that existed alongside the picturesque image of Smelter Terrace and Smelter Hill, just beyond a wooden fence. Geographically a part of the company town established on plant property, Mexican El Alto undoubtedly must have seemed to be worlds removed from the Anglo side of the fence, but the workers and their families who resided there were just as vital to the operations of the plant. The accommodations in Mexican El Alto paled in comparison to the Anglo neighborhoods. Company-owned housing in El Alto consisted of several tenement-style row apartments made of adobe bricks and hollow concrete blocks.14 Unpaved “streets” ran between the rows of apartments. The units were small, and, depending on family size, living quarters could be especially tight. The one- and two-room apartments were without running water, electricity, or gas connections, though some had small wooden porches in the front. asarco provided separate men’s and women’s public lavatories. Former resident Ismael De Anda said the toilets flushed automatically “at four or five minute intervals, [and] scar[ed] the wits out of whoever was sitting.”15 The smelter allowed the occupants to haul buckets of water for their personal use from the company pump house or from one of several faucets located in the area. Residents of El Alto attempted to make their small homes aesthetically pleasing too, planting their own miniature gardens on their front porch if they had one. These miniature gardens also served a more practical purpose, as a small vegetable garden could yield much-needed food for the table, thus decreasing a family’s reliance on the company store. For the Lujáns, their garden also increased the square footage of their home. Angel Luján recalled that for a time he had to sleep on the floor because there was not enough room in his family’s apartment. But his luck changed when his brother secured a job at a filling station in Sierra Blanca, Texas, and Angel inherited his bed on the porch. “There was a little Army cot that he had on the outside, on the porch,” he said. “The only thing that covered the porch was a bunch of . . . morning glories . . . that’s the only thing that covered it up. Snow or anything, we’d sleep there. The only thing we had in our favor was when the people from the smelter dumped some slag over there, it would warm up the whole place! Yes, I liked that!”16 Luján’s memories of the warmth of the copper slag that filtered through the morning glories are a testament to how El Alto’s residents made the best of their meager circumstances and how former residents recast their stories removed in time and space. They also expose the distinct differences between life in Smelter Terrace and El Alto, and the chasm between the two Creating Smeltertown

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worlds separated only by a wooden fence. The fact that Mexican interviewees did not talk about bowling in the company’s alley or ice skating on the cooling ponds suggests that the separateness found in housing extended to social spaces as well. There were two company towns, one Anglo, one Mexican, both born of a company’s need for labor, existing side by side. Although residents inhabited these distinct spaces, their worlds extended beyond their company-owned homes. It was in these spaces that company and community interacted beyond the confines of the workplace, and where residents had to deal with the power asarco exerted in other facets of their lives. As part of El Paso County, Smeltertown had its own justice of the peace, volunteer fire department, a constable, and a small jail. According to former resident Pedro Saucedo, the constable — a Mr. Fletcher — mostly just arrested the occasional drunk because vandalism and theft were rare, particularly in a poor community where there was little to steal from one another.17 Others remembered a justice of the peace named Don Domingo Ware, whose responsibilities, De Anda wrote, consisted of “[presiding] over trials involving fights among drunks and gossipy old women.”18 The smelter also provided a number of basic services needed for a functioning company community. In the 1890s, asarco established its own hospital with a resident doctor and surgeon.19 The facility provided medical care not only for workers hurt in plant accidents or emergencies, but also for both Anglo and Mexican residents. A general store opened on company property in 1898. As companyaffiliated institutions, the hospital and store were places where Anglo and Mexican worlds intersected. Years later, the way they were remembered was determined largely by which side of the power equation one happened to be on at the time. In her 1950 history of the El Paso smelter, Mary Antoine Lee explained that the store “was not strictly a company store, but its services were equivalent to that.” The store stocked not only items “adapted to the needs of an isolated industrial community,” but also groceries, clothing, and treats for the children; it also served as the post office.20 The company store closed in 1937, when, as Lee notes, automobiles, buses, and streetcars allowed for easier movement to other parts of El Paso, where people could purchase goods at much more competitive prices. From the point of view of Smelter Hill’s Anglo residents, who by and large earned better wages than their Mexican counterparts, the store may have functioned as a convenience. Lee interviewed no Mexican laborers, but only members of the managerial ranks for whom the store probably represented a quaint relic from a time gone by. Mexicans had a different connection to 68

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what they called the tienda de raya (company store), one that marked the power relations between them and the company. As with most company stores, the Smelter Store extended credit to workers, with payment deducted from their weekly paychecks. However, merchandise was expensive, which made it difficult for Mexicans who earned low wages. “During the early days, the people [who worked] in the smelter would buy their groceries at the tienda de raya,” Angel Luján explained. “It was just like [the] Ernie Ford [song] ‘I owe my soul to the company store.’ That’s how a lot of people were . . . [the stores] would sell ordenes — papers with stamps — you could buy them or just say ‘charge it’ and charge to your name.”21 Pedro Saucedo recalled that workers barely made ends meet because payment to the company store was taken directly from their paychecks. For Christmas, some workers borrowed against their wages as far ahead as April and May. While this method allowed employees to purchase the items they needed, Saucedo commented, they had to sign away their paycheck and their lives.22 Over time, Mexican residents made their own alternatives to the tienda de raya for their basic needs. Moreover, it is likely that the company store’s decline might have resulted more from labor gains during World War II (of which Mexicans played a central part) than the proliferation of transportation to and from the center of town. The store became a place where power relations — between company and worker, between Anglos and Mexicans — were played out in physical space. How individuals related to the store, and remembered it afterward, was rooted in their relationship to it. Residents recognized the power the company wielded but tried to find ways to deal with it in their everyday lives. To be sure, at times their relationship could be confrontational, as it was when workers’ unions struck for better wages and conditions, and the right to move into higher positions. However, that relationship could also be, if not mutual and harmonious, at least something that people could live with. Rather than trying to fight the company’s influence in every aspect of their daily lives, Esmeltianos accepted the amenities intended to control them as workers but came to see these benefits as part of the deal residents brokered with the smelter. For example, Jesús Gutiérrez recalled that asarco sent company carpenters to build a bandstand for use during special events, including Cinco de Mayo and Dieciséis de Septiembre (Mexican Independence Day) celebrations. “That is the thing,” Gutiérrez explained. “Everything that we asked for from the big bosses . . . they made the expense.”23 Gutiérrez’s statement that the bosses responded to the requests of residents reflects the kind of day-to-day relationship that the Creating Smeltertown

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company and residents forged together. Lavatories, access to potable water, and the building of common spaces were among some of the basic services that residents came to expect from the company. Perhaps the company built a bandstand following demands by residents; perhaps it was something that they provided out of a sense of paternalism, a way to control the workers’ activities after work hours. In either case, Gutiérrez and others recognized on some level that the company should respond to local needs.

Greater Smeltertown: A Walking Tour Upper Smeltertown functioned as a company town, created and maintained by the smelter. But Smelter Terrace and El Alto were only a part of what would become the whole of Smeltertown. A transnational enterprise that employed thousands of common laborers at the turn of the twentieth century, asarco needed more workers than could have realistically been housed in the small section of company-owned tenements in El Alto. Across a wooden pedestrian bridge — on which Smeltertown’s couples strolled hand in hand and “illiterate Romeos” left love messages scrawled on the painted, black surfaces — lay Lower Smeltertown or El Bajo, the predominantly Mexican area nestled between County Road and the river.24 Though technically not part of the company town, El Bajo existed to serve the needs of the company. asarco did not own the property in Lower Smeltertown. Rather, it was owned by various individuals who rented parcels of land on which Mexicans built their own homes. Former residents remembered paying as little as seven dollars to rent their small plots as late as the 1970s.25 Mexican workers and their families, drawn to the area by the lure of steady, well-paid jobs, settled on the privately owned land on the banks of the Rio Grande. There, just beyond the company housing on the hill yet under the smelter’s gaze and ultimate control, they fashioned a Mexican world in conversation with the company, defining themselves by the relationship they forged. The fact that El Bajo was not company-owned property allowed residents to determine the geography of their neighborhood, reorienting their community away from company-defined parameters to ones that mattered in their lives. This could be seen in the ways in which Esmeltianos arranged themselves spatially. As in El Alto, the roads in El Bajo were unpaved. According to Sabina Alva, in the early years the houses in El Bajo were not always arranged in neat rows because the families built their homes wherever they could rent space. As a result, streets in El Bajo did not follow the order of a city grid, 70

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El Bajo, 1911. Adobe homes and businesses along County Road. Photo courtesy of the El Paso Public Library, Border Heritage Center, Otis Aultman Photograph Collection, photo #A384.

but instead reflected the social relationships and material needs of residents. The residential streets in El Bajo branched off of the main County Road and were initially labeled with letters, Calle A through Calle M. After World War II, residents of Smeltertown changed the names of the streets in honor of local men who had died in the war: Rafael Pereas, Willie Barraza (for whom the local chapter of the Veterans of Foreign Wars was also named), Alejandro Carlos, Rito Delgado, Pedro Durán, Rodolfo Romo, Willie Martínez, and Carlos López all became memorialized in the naming of streets where they had lived with their families.26 In the residential area and parallel to County Road, Rio Grande Street and Dieciséis de Septiembre Street were thoroughfares that intersected the letter streets, though they did not necessarily run all the way through the neighborhood. As in El Alto, many of the structures in El Bajo were tenement-style apartments consisting of two or three rooms, many made of adobe brick. Following his father’s retirement from asarco, one resident had to move out of company housing to an area in El Bajo where they “had to build our own Creating Smeltertown

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shack . . . out of rock and mud.”27 The fact that residents made their own homes to accommodate the needs of their growing families meant that dimensions were not necessarily uniform or standard. José Lerma’s house was initially a one-room adobe structure, but as the family grew, so did the house. Eventually, the Lerma home became a small “complex” with several rooms for extended family that took up almost a whole block.28 The physical closeness of the homes — in fact, many residences shared walls — likely helped to foster, if not reinforce, the closeness of the community. “The houses were right up against each other, one against the other,” Sabina Alva remembered. “Like I said, we used to jump over the wall from the Holguin [sisters’] house . . . and they would jump over to ours.”29 Alva further explained that her home in El Bajo was an adobe structure with a thatched roof, which usually let in more rain than it kept out. It consisted of a kitchen/living area and two small rooms, all of which were heated by a single wood-burning stove. The homes in El Bajo had no running water, electricity, or gas, and some families used small kerosene lamps for lighting. During the winter months, Alva’s mother would remove the smoldering mesquite roots used to heat the stove and place them in a bucket in the middle of the room, which, aided by the thick adobe walls, helped to warm the rest of the house. In the summer, they opened the shuttered windows to let in fresh air and covered the windows with tarlacán — a thin material that came in a variety of colors — to keep out the mosquitoes. Although adobe homes predominated, they were not the only type of housing available to residents of El Bajo. Melchor Santana Sr.’s childhood home, for instance, was a seven-room wooden frame house located in the heart of El Bajo at 11⁄2 County Road. Santana’s father bought the home in 1923, and though the house and all of the materials from which it was made — the wooden frames, doors, and window panes — belonged to Santana, the property was rented from Alfred Courchesne, the owner of the quarry and cement materials plant located in Smeltertown.30 Manuela Vásquez Domínguez’s childhood home — located at 2 County Road, right next door to the Santanas — was actually a large, multifunction hall that the family occasionally rented out for parties and dances. Rogelio Carlos Jr. said that when he and his family moved from El Alto to El Bajo, they occupied a small apartment behind the main house located between the two railroad trestles.31 The people who lived in La Calavera, just across County Road from El Bajo, enjoyed more spacious quarters. Sabina Alva’s aunt, Doña Apolonia, for example, had cows on her small patch of land. Clearly, while these types of homes may have been exceptions, they demonstrate how residents built and lived in different kinds 72

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Santana family home, ca. 1930s. This seven-room, wood-frame house illustrates the range of housing available to Mexican families in Smeltertown. Photo courtesy of Melchor Santana Jr.

of homes. More important, in building their own houses where they could, on streets they established and named, and on land that asarco did not own, residents created their own world — a Mexican world — just beyond the purview of the company town. They set the parameters of this place that existed alongside the one the company made. Life in Mexican Smeltertown — El Alto and El Bajo — widely differed from life in Anglo Smelter Terrace, pointing to the socioeconomic gap between the residents of both places. “La Esmelda never improved,” Carmen Escandón stated. “No, well, there really wasn’t any way to improve.”32 The meager wages that Mexican workers earned at the smelter and in other industries could only stretch so far. Yet, former residents recalled, people did the best they could to beautify their homes and community, making the most of their limited resources. Constance White, who grew up in Anglo Smelter Terrace, remarked: “They were little old adobe homes, beautiful little houses . . . with lovely flowers and plants and hollyhocks.”33 Residents like the Lujáns, who Creating Smeltertown

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lived in company-owned housing in El Alto, planted vines not only to make their porch into an extra bedroom, but probably also to make the exterior of their home a little more pleasant. One former resident described the small garden his father planted outside their house, in which he grew green beans, tomatoes, and other vegetables to provide sustenance for his family.34 Enriqueta Beard remembered another house located along County Road, visible from the streetcar, that was beautifully landscaped, with a huge oleander in the front yard.35 Personalized touches such as small gardens and pink or yellow tarlacán window coverings allowed people to make the most of poor economic conditions and to make their homes comfortable. According to Alva, people did the best they could with what they had because “back then, everything was very simple, and we all lived in the same manner . . . and very beautiful, the men and women all very friendly, and everything. No one was envious of anyone.”36 The fond memories of a modest life mask the harsh reality of poverty, but they also speak to the very human need to reinvent the past in a way that highlights a sense of control over one’s condition. This desire is poignantly illustrated in the stories several former Esmeltianos shared of the tirapanes. Literally the “bread throwers,” the tirapanes were African American porters working on the passenger trains that passed daily on the railroad trestles over Smeltertown. As the trains neared the terminal near downtown El Paso, the porters tossed leftover rolls and pastries from the train to the children in Smeltertown. On the surface, these stories show how scraps of bread supplemented the meager meals of Mexican working families trying to make ends meet on the limited wages they earned. Yet for the people who told the stories, the tirapanes did not represent the impoverished conditions of a working community or the very real struggles their parents might have faced. Instead, the arrival of the trains was an exciting event. The children of the neighborhood eagerly anticipated the bread that rained down from the hands of the tirapanes, and they scrambled along the base of the trestles in hopes of catching a tasty treat.37 For them, it was a sweet childhood memory and a way of envisioning their experiences that privileged the beauty of everyday life rather than its brutality. While economic circumstances made life difficult in many ways for the Mexicans of Smeltertown, they managed to build a life and a community in what seemed to be the most unpromising of settings. From Smelter Hill, Mexican homes may have appeared to be the “primitive dirt-floored adobe hovels” that Mary Antoine Lee described in her historical study of asarco. From a Mexican perspective, there was joy to be found in their midst too. 74

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From the outside, El Bajo may have taken on the appearance of a singular Mexican enclave; and, indeed, many years later former residents claimed a great sense of unity among the Mexican occupants of Smeltertown as a whole. Nevertheless, residents created various subbarrios within Smeltertown, revealing a multiply defined community. Each barrio had its own descriptive name. La Calavera (Skull Canyon) was so called because it sat at the bottom of the hill leading to the Smeltertown Cemetery. La Calavera was said to have had slightly more land space than the rest of Smeltertown, and its families were able to raise animals including goats, chickens, and the occasional cow.38 On old maps it appears as La Laguna (the lake) or Laguna Addition, because, as one resident said, it often flooded during heavy rainstorms. According to Melchor Santana Sr., his childhood neighborhood was called Barrio Alumbrado (The Lighted Neighborhood) because it was the only part of Smeltertown that had utility poles with lights.39 Barrio Benefica got its name because the Mexican-owned store La Benefica was located in that neighborhood. Puente Colorado (Red Bridge) was appropriately named for the red bridge in the area. Situated approximately 1.5 miles from Smeltertown proper, Puente Colorado became known as Buena Vista, an important residential area for families able to save enough money to buy a home. Barrio del Corte (Rock Cutter) was on the property of Alfred Courchesne, who also owned the quarry in the area. Other barrios had colorful names — Barrio Libre (Free Barrio), Barrio de la Chancla (Old Sandal) — though their origins are long forgotten. These subbarrios were more than simply descriptive. They also represented the ways that Esmeltianos ordered their space in terms that mattered to them. Smeltertown’s many subbarrios illuminate the commonalities and differences residents recognized among themselves, and how these relationships defined boundaries and geographies within the community. As people migrated to Smeltertown, they tended to settle near friends and family from the same villages and towns in Mexico, revealing the deep attachment to regional identities they retained. “That lady in front of us was born in Aguascalientes and knew my mother way over there,” María Palacio remembered. “So when she married, they came to live [in Smeltertown], so we all grew up together, her family and ours.”40 Santana Sr. agreed, recalling how his grandmother used to make him accompany her throughout the neighborhood, visiting friends “because she was from the pueblo . . . like let’s say Chihuahua, or Parral, or Jiménez, or La Cruz or Villa López. But that’s how come the people knew all the people.” In addition to Mexican regional preferences, each neighCreating Smeltertown

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borhood had its own distinct character, even its own baseball team. According to José Jiménez Sr., who himself was born in Barrio Libre but later moved to Barrio del Corte, residents identified with the team from their particular barrio: the “Corteños,” “Esmelteños,” “Calavereños,” or “Alteños.”41 Positive memories of “one single family” in Mexican Smeltertown obscure the messiness of lived experience, and the conflicts and distinctions that arose from day-to-day interaction. One former resident described Smeltertown families as being “clannish,” and it was clear that while people’s social worlds could transcend barrio boundaries, such distinctions might be important markers. For example, Corona Luján was probably only half joking when he commented that Barrio Libre was called that because people who lived there didn’t care about anything; his offhand remark drew an important line between “those people” and the ones where he grew up, a line that was meaningful in his lived experience.42 As María Palacio explained, “It was very funny, the people on this side stayed with their own people, the middle ones stayed there, and then the other ones . . . it was divided into three [laughter].”43 Sometimes these distinctions led to conflicts. Jiménez Sr. engaged in rock-throwing fights with some of the kids from other barrios, even though he concluded that, for the most part, everyone got along well.44 As Jesús Gutiérrez observed, sometimes the people from El Alto did not get along with the ones from El Bajo, which he attributed to being “something between the families.”45 Geography, place of origin, sports team affiliation, and family conflicts were only a few of the countless differences former residents believed distinguished them from one another. These distinctions mattered, defining multiple smaller worlds within Smeltertown. Tensions between families and neighbors were a part of life and a part of the geography of Smeltertown but can still coexist with recollections of unity and solidarity, poking their way through the positive memories of place. The creation of a Mexican commercial district in El Bajo provided important economic options for some residents that were beyond the control of the smelter. As early as 1906, small grocery stores, taverns, barbershops, and food establishments appeared in El Bajo, with names such as La Benefica (The Beneficent), La Buena Fe (Good Faith), Flor de Mayo (The May Flower), El Buen Amigo (The Good Friend), and Cinco de Mayo (The Fifth of May). At the most basic level, owners were able to find economic security in a border city and a community whose livelihood often depended on the will of the company. Proprietors carved an economic niche for themselves, catering to a Mexican clientele, selling items that their customers wanted and needed that 76

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could not be found at the company’s tienda de raya. Most of the establishments were small grocery or general stores that stocked a limited selection of food items, as well as comic books, candies, and sodas for the children. Located primarily along County Road, the commercial district resembled, in the words of Corona Luján, a modern “mini mall.”46 In addition to stores appealing to Mexican customers, other entrepreneurs made their living as vendors or peddlers with their own pushcarts, selling a wide array of items from soda and candy to milk, wood, and ice. These establishments provided a social space for Esmeltianos, but, more important, they served as landmarks that delineated the geographic and figurative boundaries of Mexican Smeltertown. Their carefully chosen and colorful Spanish names reflected the owners’ identity and the common ethnic composition of the residents of the community.47 The merchants of Smeltertown were neighbors, relatives, and friends of the people they served. As such, when they extended credit to their customers, it was more than standard business practice. The owners of these shops were not affiliated with the company; they were people from the neighborhood, people that residents knew personally and trusted. Many residents remember the stores by their owners rather than by the names of the establishments, which suggests that they felt a more intimate connection with the owners of the Mexican businesses. Like Corona Luján, Sabina Alva recited a long list of businesses, not by the shops’ names but by their owners: “Don Bernabé Alva’s was, well a store . . . it was a dry goods store, grocery store . . . then there was another store that my compadre Jesus Robles made. Then there was another owned by Don Rosendo Márquez . . . and then another one owned by Don Fabián Urquidi . . . and then here, right on the street front, Don Benito Fierro’s.”48 Other former residents mentioned the small stands of street vendors, who were also a crucial part of the economic life of Mexican Smeltertown. Enriqueta Beard fondly remembered tasting her first hamburger and root beer, which she bought from a man who had a small stand outside Don Porfirio Vera’s billiards hall.49 Another person mentioned a vendor who made menudo (a hominy and beef tripe soup) and sold it around the neighborhood, shouting, “ ‘Menudo para los crudos!’” (menudo for the hangovers). While these vendors likely did not turn a large profit given the community’s overall poverty, they were important players, and their presence helped to define the economic and social world of Smeltertown’s Mexican residents. In addition, Mexican stores, restaurants, barbershops, and taverns provided a public space for social interaction. Neighbors who ran into one anCreating Smeltertown

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El Bajo, 1931. By the Great Depression, Smeltertown was a “center of commerce and industry.” Photo courtesy of Alma Zubia.

other at Don Ariteo’s panaderia (bakery) or Doña Adela and Doña Checha’s menudería (beef tripe soup stand) likely stopped to exchange gossip. Folks might have chatted with a friend while waiting for a haircut at Don Pancho’s or Don Teodoro’s barbershop. The Gatita Blanca (White Kitty) or John Ford’s Saloon were places where people could gather for a drink or a game of pool. Enriqueta Beard used to help her blind grandfather walk over to Don Porfirio’s billiards hall so he could pass the time talking with friends. On some occasions, the owners, and later the patrons of John Ford’s Saloon, stopped by Sabina Alva’s home next door to the bar for a bite to eat.50 Manuela Vásquez Domínguez’s grandfather operated a number of small businesses out of his home, making it another important place for social interaction. Manuela remembered that kids from around the neighborhood used to gather at the house to listen to the records Don Sabino Vásquez played on his old Victrola or to hear Vásquez and his wife Nicolasa play the harp and violin.51 In later years, María Palacio said, youngsters would hang out at Don Carlos Escandón’s confectionary, located between the two railroad trestles. “There was another one, but Carlos [Escandón] had music [laughter]. . . . Carlos was very nice . . . he liked kids!”52 Such common, day-to-day interactions drew the residents of Smeltertown together, heightening the emotional bond they shared. It was these places that defined the parameters of Mexican Smeltertown.

Community Landmarks and Institutions In addition to the informal gathering places the various businesses provided, Smeltertown had its own centers specially designed for social gatherings that became important spaces for Mexican residents. In the early 1920s a chapter of the ymca opened a center in Lower Smeltertown, providing public showers, organized activities such as dances and athletic leagues, and recreational facilities including a movie theater. The fact that the “Y” was a Protestant-run organization initially worried the clergy of the local Catholic parish, who were concerned that their parishioners would turn to Protestant churches for their material and spiritual needs.53 But for Mexican residents, the ymca was a space for companionable and cultural activities, and they claimed the center as an important social, not religious, institution. In the 1920s and 1930s, the smelter ymca became a popular gathering place for Smeltertown children on Saturday afternoons and during the summer break from school. Melchor Santana Sr. went to the “Y” every Saturday to play checkers or dominoes, read magazines, or watch a movie for five cents.54 The ymca was also home to 80

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the Boy Scouts of America Troop 10. Under the direction of Miguel Carrasco, director of the Smelter Vocational School, a number of boys participated in scouting activities such as hiking and camping in the nearby foothills. The “Y” was also instrumental in organizing various athletic leagues for the entertainment of Smeltertown residents; it coordinated baseball, basketball, and football games with teams sponsored by the Vocational School, the smelter, and other businesses in the area, and with other city organizations. Ramón Salas said that Smeltertown had some very good baseball players, and that such games were a popular diversion not just for the players, but for all the people of Smeltertown. Though the “Y” organized a number of the leagues, Angel Luján recalled that kids could be found playing baseball or basketball just about anytime at the ymca or in any vacant field.55 Dances also became an important community pastime, especially for Smeltertown’s youth. The ymca and other local groups such as the “Caddies” (an association of young men who caddied for patrons of the El Paso Country Club) sponsored dances at the “Y” as well as at various other halls in Smeltertown.56 Former ymca assistant Alberto “Beto” López Sr. told the El Paso Times in 1993 that the ymca held dances on the weekends, charging five or ten cents per person for admission.57 According to Salas, dances were major events that the young people anticipated and planned to attend well in advance. “At the time we were teenagers, and somehow we had to come up with the thirty-five cents for the dances,” Salas said. “We had to find the money and have some to spare for a soda and for the compañera [date]. I remember we enjoyed that . . . when we heard there was going to be a dance we started saving so we could make it.58 Residents also attended dances at other venues in Smeltertown. The El Paso brick plant had a hall that was used for social gatherings, and the Vásquez and Guaderrama families each had facilities they rented out for parties. These kinds of activities and public spaces throughout Smeltertown provided numerous opportunities for social interaction, and because people in the neighborhood owned several halls, they promoted a sense of community. Schools also helped define the parameters of Mexican Smeltertown. Governed by the county school system until the early 1950s, the Smelter School District consisted of an elementary school and a secondary/vocational school, led almost exclusively by an Anglo faculty. It is not clear when the elementary school was established, but “the course of study of the El Paso city schools is followed in its entirety.”59 Initially, Smeltertown children — from the first through the seventh grades — attended Courchesne Elementary in the nearby Creating Smeltertown

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Puente Colorado neighborhood. Students were then promoted to El Paso High School, in the city’s school district, for grades eight through twelve. In the early decades of the century, the need to find work to contribute to the family’s income, plus the lack of resources for transportation and “decent clothes,” kept high school out of reach for most Mexican students.60 For the younger grades, Courchesne’s distance from Smeltertown created its own hardships. Corona Luján remembered that when he started Courchesne Elementary in 1924, a truck with a flatbed trailer hitched to the back would pick up some children in Smeltertown, then proceed through the upper valley to collect other Mexican children from the ranches.61 It was more common, though, for students to trek to school on foot. The trip — roughly one mile each way — was burdensome and often conducive to truancy. José Jiménez Sr., for example, recalled the lure of playing in the nearby foothills too strong to resist. Pedro Saucedo said he simply got tired of walking to school and decided to quit.62 The newly opened E. B. Jones Elementary School in El Bajo provided a closer option. It appears that the school was a remodeled version of the original Smelter School, renamed after E. B. Jones, asarco purchasing agent, former justice of the peace, and longtime Smelter School Board member and chair.63 By the 1930s, E. B. Jones became the official elementary school in the Smelter School District for grades one through four, while children in grades five through seven remained at Courchesne.64 The smelter education system, and the extent to which it served as a place where Esmeltianos grappled with American teachings and ideals in a border setting will be examined in greater detail in subsequent chapters. But how neighborhood schools functioned as key community institutions in the daily lives of Mexican residents is equally important. The school system that emerged to educate the children of Smeltertown, in theory, could have served as a place where the worlds of Anglo and Mexican workers would intersect. Yet although the schools bore the names of important company officials, few, if any, of their children seem to have attended them. When asked about the composition of their classes, Andrés Ortíz said, “Well, over there at the smelter [school], we were 100 percent Mexican.”65 Corona Luján remembered a few Anglo children from neighboring ranches and dairies who attended Courchesne, but for the most part the student body was entirely Mexican. One former resident said that the Anglos on the hill rarely interacted socially with the people in Lower Smeltertown. “They didn’t even go to school at E. B. Jones, that’s where they were supposed to go to school, but [their parents would] send them to school downtown . . . because they were white, you 82

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know, they [thought] they were ‘superior.’”66 The recollections of former residents that no Anglos attended school in Smeltertown seem consistent with the accepted practice of segregation found in the city’s schools as a whole. Organized and operated by the county, the Courchesne and E. B. Jones schools were central institutions in Mexican Smeltertown. But Esmeltianos also sought educational options outside of those controlled by the county and named for company officials. Some parents enrolled their children in the Escuela Católica de la Parroquia de Smelter — the parochial school maintained by the San José de Cristo Rey Catholic Church. At the escuela del padre (literally, “priest’s school”), students received Spanish-language instruction that reflected their religious tradition, while fulfilling the county mandate for school attendance. Additionally, a number of preparatory schools opened throughout Smeltertown in the early twentieth century to introduce Mexican children to formalized education and provide essential preparation for American schooling. These so-called escuelas particulares represented a significant effort on the part of Mexican residents to claim ownership of their children’s education, an endeavor that had roots in Mexican liberalism and in the belief in women’s role in promoting “cultural uplift.”67 Based in the homes of young women who had been educated in Mexico, escuelas particulares were first and foremost preschools for religious education that prepared young children for their First Communion. According to various interviews, at least seven young women operated escuelas particulares from their homes. These schools offered classes in basic math, reading, and writing and sought to provide students with at least a minimal knowledge of English necessary for study at the county-run American schools. Melchor Santana Sr. stated that students learned enough English to communicate at the elementary schools and to translate for their parents as needed.68 By giving students a working knowledge of English, these schools provided an important service to Mexican families, giving their children the skills they required to enter, and survive in, the public school system. Though acquiring English skills was a clear advantage of attending an escuela particular, the Spanish-oriented curriculum and focus on Mexican cultural activities made these schools into community spaces where Esmeltianos countered the control and power exerted by the company and county schools in other places. José Jiménez Sr. said that in María Mendoza’s school they used all Mexican books and readers, and she taught her students first how to read and write in Spanish. In addition, these schools promoted Mexican culture through an emphasis on the Spanish language and the celebration of Creating Smeltertown

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Mexican national holidays. Sabina Alva recalled her husband’s days in Amadita Lucero’s school, and how Lucero had her students march through the streets of Smeltertown in their finest clothes singing the Mexican national anthem on Mexican Independence Day. Similarly, Manuela Vásquez Domínguez remembered the patriotic and historical Mexican poems she memorized in Lucero’s class.69 By providing a space in which Mexican identity could be celebrated and preserved, these schools served to resist, in some small but meaningful way, the racial stratification and Americanization programs Mexican students would eventually encounter in the county schools. The people of the community developed escuelas particulares to meet a very specific need, and the appearance of these preparatory schools demonstrates how Smeltertown’s residents managed to claim a degree of control over their children’s education. They provided alternative educational spaces where Mexican identity was not erased, but rather embraced and preserved. Perhaps the most significant educational facility in Smeltertown was the Smelter Vocational School, established on asarco property in 1923. The Vocational School was designed to be a principal institution for the Americanization of young Mexican men and women, and to provide the smelter and neighboring industries a steady supply of skilled workers. But it was more than just school; the Smelter Vocational School came to be imagined as an important community institution in Mexican Smeltertown. “No, it was a great thing for us . . . a great thing indeed, that there was the [Vocational] School,” Panfilo Dueñez explained. A number of former students had fond memories of the school, its director, Miguel Carrasco, and the crucial role it played in the lives of its students. Enriqueta Beard recalled people who had studied there — the Santanas, the Ontiveroses, the Veras, the Sánchezes, and many others. Mexican students entered the school and gained valuable training, which they hoped would lead to higher-paying jobs at the plant. Some students had the opportunity to become teachers at the school. Other former students used their experiences at the school to organize the Smelter Community Center Association, which was intended to address the needs of the working-class community. “Well, we got together to see what problems we had,” explained Panfilo Dueñez, former treasurer of the organization. The group did not have large financial resources, but “we did what we could.” In the 1940s, the association was able to build a community playground for the children in the neighborhood.70 The Smelter Vocational School originated in the context of segregation and widespread assumptions about the mental inferiority of Mexicans in the early part of the twentieth century. Yet its students 84

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used the space as a means of defining Smeltertown in their own terms, taking the lessons imparted there and making them meaningful and useful to them and to their community. The Catholic Church also played a vital role in the lives of Smeltertown’s residents. Built on the hill immediately adjacent to the ominous machinery of the smelter, the little parish of San José del Rio (later renamed San José de Cristo Rey), offered Esmeltianos a spiritual and emotional sanctuary. From its inception, San José was a Mexican church, built by Mexican hands, to offer a spiritual haven for the Mexican worshippers of Smeltertown. Established by Jesuit missionary Carlos Pinto and dedicated on Christmas Day 1892, the border church was initially known by its parishioners as Santa Rosalía, named after the town in Chihuahua from which many of Smeltertown’s pioneers came. Sabina Alva’s mother would tell stories of how early residents not only named their own church, but also built its physical structure. “My mother used to say that when they finished making lunch, since the women used to wear aprons that they tied like so . . . they used to [fold] their aprons and that’s how they carried sand up there [for] when the men got out of work,” Alva recalled. “[The men] worked from 5:00 [in the morning] to 5:00 in the afternoon — then when they got out they would go and pour the foundation, and then they went to lay the adobe bricks, and that’s how they made the church. It was called Santa Rosalía Church.”71 Brick by brick, Mexican parishioners constructed the church building, including the small sanctuary, choir loft, sacristy, and small bell tower. Attached to the church was a living area for the priest, as well as meeting rooms (used as classrooms for the parochial school) and later a stone grotto dedicated to Our Lady of Lourdes.72 Initially, priests from Sacred Heart Church, the Mexican church in South El Paso, ministered to the community, but before long the little parish had its own resident priests.73 In 1924, Father Lourdes Costa became the parish priest; he remained at the church until the 1960s. After fire destroyed the original church in the 1940s, parishioners built a new one in El Bajo, near E. B. Jones Elementary. Regardless of where the building stood, the church remained an important space for Esmeltianos. Built by the sweat and labor of their ancestors, it held special meaning as one of the oldest institutions in La Esmelda. Following the pattern of segregation evident throughout the city — even separate Catholic churches for Anglo and Mexican worshippers were the norm — the smelter parish was designed to attend to the needs of its Mexican charges. Though some scholars maintain that the majority of Mexican immigrants and Mexicans Americans felt alienated from the Catholic Church Creating Smeltertown

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on their arrival in the United States, in actuality a large proportion of Smelter residents joined and remained members of the tiny parish.74 According to census data collected by the parish priest, by 1899 San José parish consisted of approximately 2,000 Catholics, 1,700 of whom attended Mass regularly. By the early 1920s, the estimate rose to nearly 5,000 parishioners, all of whom were Spanish speaking.75 Based on the recollections of former residents, the vast majority of Esmeltianos were Catholic. The 1926 parish census reported 5,944 total members, which included mostly residents of greater Smeltertown, as well as folks from some nearby ranches in New Mexico and the old Fort Bliss area, located about midway between Smeltertown and downtown El Paso.76 The congregation grew significantly, and in 1929 and 1930 the parish estimated that its members numbered nearly 7,000, some coming from beyond Smeltertown.77 It is quite possible that some Mexicans in Smeltertown worshipped in Protestant congregations in the city or may have even held their own services in Smeltertown. The presence of the Protestant-run ymca would seem to hint at this possibility, though no information about Protestant congregational activity has surfaced.78 The Catholic parish’s annual census data and resident memories, however, strongly point to the widespread adherence to Catholicism and the significance of the church in Mexican Smeltertown. The parish priests had their own notions of what constituted the boundaries of Smeltertown. Father Costa’s annual censuses established membership according to who had received the sacraments and who had not, creating a distinct Catholic world within Smeltertown. Similarly, the use of the clergy’s official instrument, the parish newspaper called the Hoja Parroquial de Smelter, also functioned to set the limits of Catholic Smeltertown. Started in 1924, the Hoja Parroquial was distributed weekly through 1931, initially by subscription and later to all parishioners, usually on Fridays. Recognizing the realities of its working parishioners, the priest used the newspaper as a means of reaching his charges, many of them smelter laborers, who found it difficult to attend Mass because of their work schedules. The inaugural issue proposed that the paper would be “the [grand aid] for the poor laborers, who because of their work circumstances are not able to attend Mass, and finding themselves thus deprived of the paternal advice of the parish priest.”79 True to its words, the Hoja Parroquial kept its members in touch with the workings of the parish, listing the meetings and activities of the various religious societies, as well as a schedule of Masses, so parishioners would know what was going on and when. Each week, the paper also published the names of individuals 86

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receiving baptism, marriage, and burial sacraments in the “Movimientos Parroquiales” (Parochial Activities) section. By listing their names — often with their residences and church affiliations — the Hoja made a clear distinction between those who were members of the community (those who received the sacraments and were thus Catholics in good standing) and those who were not. To be sure, this relationship was not always harmonious, as the parish priests and residents engaged in their own tug-of-war over the meaning of the church in the community’s life. On the one hand, the parish, through the Hoja Parroquial and its various activities, recognized the world created by Esmeltianos and saw itself as an integral member of that world. In describing its mission the paper, and by extension the church, proclaimed itself “the voice of the Great Catholic Community . . . the voice of the community that shall suffer with those who suffer, that shall labor with those who labor.”80 In fact, as early as 1924 the smelter church offered a 5:30 a.m. Misa de los Trabajadores (Worker’s Mass) for those who could not attend one of the regularly scheduled services. Certainly, the clergy’s primary concern was getting people to church on Sunday. The fact that this parish made special provision for its working parishioners demonstrates that it recognized the importance of work in the lives of Esmeltianos. In their own way, parishioners had probably forced the creation of a Worker’s Mass by leaving pews empty; if the priest wanted to see more people at Mass, he would have to accommodate their schedules. On the other hand, the parish priest asserted his considerable authority in the pages of the Hoja Parroquial. A vehicle of public surveillance and sanction, the Hoja’s reportage of the official comings and goings of the parish publicly called out those who did not follow the rules and praised those who did. Thus the paper illuminated the fragile but carefully negotiated bonds parishioners and neighbors forged with one another. Still, in its regular “Movimientos Parroquiales,” the Hoja did not just monitor parishioners’ activities; it provided a vehicle for sharing community news — both good and bad. Sometimes it reported events in detail, as it did when Ventura Rodríguez suffered an epileptic seizure and died while working at the Courchesne quarry or when Pedro Prieto, a member of the men’s Sacred Heart League, lost his arm following an accident at the smelter.81 In this way, the news of the Hoja Parroquial was not just church-related business; it was community business. For Esmeltianos, the church was also a place for social interaction both during and after Mass. According to Carmen Escandón, “That was our whole life, the church . . . everyone used to get together [there].”82 Men, women, and Creating Smeltertown

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children belonged to a number of religious and devotional societies, including the Sacred Heart Society, the Altar Society, the Hijas de María (Daughters of Mary), the Sacred Family Society, and the Guadalupanas (devotional society of the Virgin of Guadalupe), and the Hoja Parroquial kept parishioners abreast of all of their meetings and activities. Celebrations for Easter, Christmas, and major feast days were often large affairs. For example, during Holy Week, members of the parish staged elaborate reenactments of the Last Supper and the Passion. The Hoja published the long list of Mexican parishioners who participated in the various reenactments as Roman soldiers, Nazoreans, apostles, and the three Marys, as well as choir members, reflecting the widespread involvement of the Mexican community in these celebrations.83 Parishioners also held numerous festivals, bazaars, and fund-raisers to collect money to support the maintenance of the church grounds, an indication of the church’s importance to their social world. For many years, Sabina Alva and other women of the parish made and sold food at church bazaars and from their homes to raise funds to build the living quarters for the parish priest and, after the original church burned down, for the new church building in El Bajo. Men helped erect booths for the festivals and, after their work shifts, helped with improvements to the church grounds. Parishioners also attended various cultural activities such as movies and plays and musical productions put on by Los Trovadores (the Troubadours), a chorus of young men and women from the parish. Pilgrimages were another important activity of the parish. The collective effort to erect the monument of Cristo Rey (Christ the King) in the nearby foothills represents a critical way that residents claimed participation in the church and played a role in shaping the physical landscape of Smeltertown. The fact that the present-day 43-foot sandstone figure of Christ and the giant asarco smokestack are two of the most prominent man-made features on the West El Paso skyline (among the only physical reminders of the nowextinct community) points to just how central Esmeltianos were in shaping their world and the border community. Pilgrimages had long united the congregation as a community, and Father Costa’s proposal to erect a marker in celebration of the Feast of Christ the King on the mountain, then called “Cerro de Muleros,” was enthusiastically accepted by his parishioners.84 The priest had been concerned with a perceived lack of participation on the part of the congregation. According to Costa, many had stopped attending Mass because they could not afford the customary offering. Yet on announcing his plans, he noted that “the church was filled like never before.”85 Members of the Mexi88

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can congregation erected the wooden cross at the top of the mountain and thus became instrumental in the early phases of the monument’s construction. Students from the Smelter Vocational School later made an iron cross as a more permanent marker. Additionally, Esmeltianos contributed time, labor, and money to clear the winding trail to the top of the mountain. Costa and the congregation petitioned the U.S. Geographic Board in Washington, D.C., to change the name from “Cerro de Muleros” to “Sierra de Cristo Rey” and constructed additional shrines, including the fourteen Stations of the Cross, along the path to the summit.86 The Cristo Rey project was a true community undertaking. According to Sabina Alva, in addition to the intensive labor the men contributed, women and children did their part by carrying whatever materials they could up the mountain in pails and in their aprons. The El Paso Herald Post reported that the women also helped by preparing lunch for the workers and priests.87 Fundraisers, such as the ones described previously, also contributed to these efforts, and many parishioners donated a portion of their wages. Ramón Salas remembers that during the Depression, students from the Vocational School helped surveyors improve the road and level the top of the mountain in preparation for the giant stone monument that sits on the mountain today.88 By 1935, one article stated: “The people from the Smelter district have given about 16,000 hours of manual toil; they have carried nearly 52,000 pounds of material, and suffered hunger and thirst with all the inclemencies [sic] of the four seasons of the year, and yet every day they are more desirous of contributing all that is within their power . . . to construct the monogram of the Holy Name of Jesus . . . at times forming chains of more than two hundred persons, men, women, and children, in rough and sloping places.”89 The project eventually grew to such proportions that it could no longer be sustained by Father Costa and the Esmeltianos alone. The construction became a diocesan project in 1937. Three years later, on October 17, 1940, the completed monument, sculpted by artist Urbici Soler, was dedicated by an apostolic delegate from the Vatican and “the largest gathering of dignitaries” from the United States, Mexico, and the Southwest.90 We cannot know whether it was their religious devotion or the influence of Costa that inspired parishioners to give their time, money, and labor to the effort. What the Cristo Rey project does emphasize, however, is that, regardless of their motivation, residents had a direct hand in building Smeltertown: its structures, its institutions, its social networks, and its landmarks. Each was shaped by the hands of the people who lived there and interacted with each other in personal and intimate ways; Creating Smeltertown

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they applied their own sense of importance to their lived spaces. In the case of Cristo Rey, the stories former Esmeltianos share of its construction and the roles they and their families played reinscribe Smeltertown onto a landscape that today betrays its very existence. The smelter church was, by all accounts, one of the spaces that Mexican residents carved out for themselves. Located as it was up against the smelter gate, the parish was also a place where company and community worlds intersected. Though asarco made its influence apparent, the church served as a place where residents and company negotiated the responsibilities and obligations each party owed to the other. Although the smelter did not control the church directly, for years the smelter contributed monetary support and gifts, as well as building and grounds maintenance. Each Christmas from 1924 to at least 1928 (with the exception of 1926), the smelter donated money to the San José de Cristo Rey parish. The funds were used to purchase small gifts for the children of the church to be distributed at their annual Christmas parties. Additionally, Mr. Bray, the proprietor of the Smelter Store, donated candies, apples, and other treats.91 asarco also helped to maintain the physical property of the church. In 1925, the company undertook major renovations to widen and repair the road that led from County Road to the church, despite the fact that it was not a major artery for plant activity.92 Whether these donations were made out of a personal sense of charity on the part of particular individuals, or were the result of the company’s calculated efforts to control its workforce, is not so easy to determine. What is clear, however, is that on some level, the company saw its relationship with its neighbors as one in which harmony and mutuality were key ingredients to keep workers happy and loyal. The expectation of reciprocity between the industries in the area and the Mexican residents of Smeltertown was certainly a two-way street. For as much as the companies did for the community, they benefited greatly from the relationship as well. The community provided a steady pool of labor for the companies, and graduates of the Smelter Vocational School infused the labor supply with skilled workers. Individually, asarco plant representative Kuno Doerr and Smelter Store owner E. M. Bray were company contacts who interacted with Esmeltianos on a more personal level through their relationship to the church. These carefully cultivated relationships served to smooth out conflicts that arose when the worlds created by the company and the residents grated against one other. When, for example, the Santa Fe Railroad and asarco encountered problems with Smeltertown youths throwing 90

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rocks onto the tracks in front of the smelter and vandalizing property, the companies turned to their intermediary, the parish priest, to help resolve the issue.93 While the relationship between company and community may not have always been an easy one, it was marked by an understanding of the critical importance of cooperation and mutual obligations.

Charting a Social Geography of Place In 1950, Mary Antoine Lee, a history student at Texas Western College, wrote what was at that time a comprehensive history of one of El Paso’s most important industries. In her chapter titled “The Smelter Community,” Lee described the picturesque homes of Smelter Terrace, the tree-lined streets, and the quaint way of life that, even in 1950, seemed to hark back to a bygone era. In her account, the smelter community was fixed to the world the company made, specifically the one that served to house the managerial and supervisory staff at the smelter and their families. She did not mention the wooden fence that separated this world from the one inhabited by the thousands of Mexican workers who kept the smelter churning. In fact, only twice did she refer to this expansive Mexican world that existed on the other side of the fence and below the smelter’s enormous structures. At one point, she explained that Mexican laborers and their families “built their own primitive dirt-floored adobe hovels and established themselves and their families in their crude homes located in what became to be known as Smelter Arriba (Upper) and Smelter Bajo (Lower).” And again, in a caption to a photograph that featured a pack mule in the foreground with the smelter stacks in the distance, she noted the “shacks” inhabited by Mexican workers that were scattered in the space “between the burro and the smelter.”94 Clearly the thesis was a product of its time, and Lee was a product of hers. From her point of view — framed not only by midcentury racial politics, but also by the narrowly conceived notion of a company town — the only world that existed was the one built by the smelter for the people on the hill. Of course, Smeltertown was a community made by the company, but it was something more as well. The social geographies that Esmeltianos created out of their memories chart the multiple places that made Smeltertown a vibrant, bustling community on the far edges of town in the early years of the twentieth century. They outline the contours of the multilayered worlds of which Smeltertown was comprised: the segregated company town on the hill controlled by the company, but also the Mexican world that reached far beyond Creating Smeltertown

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Paz Luján holding her nephew, ca. 1930s. Joyous occasions, like a birth in the family, were as much a part of life as the smokestacks in La Esmelda. University of Texas at El Paso Library, Special Collections Department, ms 349, Luz and Lorenzo Perales Smeltertown Photographs.

the limits of company-owned property complete with its own schools, shops, church, and social spaces that residents navigated day in and day out. These memories do more than simply delineate the physical features of Smeltertown. They bring to the surface the intricate web of social relationships that constitute communities, and they illuminate the powerful ways that residents injected meaning into the physical places they inhabited every day. The various worlds that existed in Smeltertown were not determined by mere physical proximity, by strict definitions of property ownership, or by fixed, impenetrable boundaries tied to location. Instead, residents of Smeltertown mapped out their world through daily, intimate contacts between family, friends, and neighbors in the spaces that the company provided as well as the ones they made themselves. Esmeltianos never imagined themselves as victims or saw their relationship to the smelter as one defined by dependence. The Mexicans of Smeltertown envisioned their community in ways that allowed them to make a world that afforded them alternatives and a sense of autonomy within very real limitations. In the spaces where they had been relegated, Esmeltianos made a place that mattered to them.

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PART II

Making Identities

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3 We’re Just Smelter People We’re just smelter people . . . it’s in our blood. — rogelio carlos jr., former Smeltertown resident and retired asarco employee, to the El Paso Times on the closure of the smelter in 1999

Manuel Gonzales wore many uniforms in his lifetime. As the oldest son of thirteen children, it fell to him to help contribute to the family’s income. So in 1942, just shy of his high school graduation, he left school, put on the standard uniform issued at the smelter, and began working as a machinist’s helper.1 The fact that he had been born and raised in the shadow of the smokestacks in a house on M Street down the hill from the smelter gates, not to mention the boom in production following the start of World War II, likely made the smelter a logical source of employment. Probably equally important in his decision was the fact that he was not the first member of the González clan to have worn asarco work gear.2 In the early 1910s, his grandfather Macario González emigrated to El Paso from Aguascalientes, Mexico, and in 1918 began working as a laborer in the sample mill at the smelter; already in his fifties when he began his employment, he retired from asarco in 1928. Later that year, Macario’s son (and Manuel’s father) Marciano also secured a job in the sample mill. Marciano worked in a number of positions and departments during his time at asarco, mostly as a laborer, but also in stints as a motorman in the blast furnace, as a signalman, and, toward the end of his long career, as an attendant and janitor in the bathhouse. He retired on a company pension in 1961 after more than fifty years of service.3 Like his grandfather and father before him, Manuel learned the skills required for his position and before long was promoted from helper to machinist. It was a hard job, but a skilled one that afforded good pay and steady work. In 1943, with the United States embroiled in war, he traded his greasy machinist’s coveralls for army fatigues. By 1946, he was back in Smeltertown with his wife María Isabel and at his job at asarco.4 Over the years, this work allowed him to save up enough money to purchase a house in the nearby Buena Vista neighborhood

My grandfather, Manuel Gonzales (left), and his father, Marciano González, ca. 1960s. Both men retired from the smelter after more than forty years of service each; they are but one example of many stories of multigenerational service at the smelter. Author’s Personal Collection.

for him, his wife, and four children. At the end of each shift, he showered and changed at the company bathhouse, and carried home his oil-stained work uniform for María Isabel to wash. In the spring of 1985, after forty-one years of service, Manuel Gonzales also retired on a company pension.5 The other members of Manuel’s immediate family also assumed the wardrobe of the laboring ranks in a community where the smelter loomed large. 98

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Work was nothing new for his mother, Julia González. As a young woman, she was among the growing number of young Mexican women who engaged in the wage economy in one of El Paso’s large laundries. She used to tell her children stories about her days in the union, when she had donned the white outfit of her occupation and marched in “parades”— perhaps the demonstrations associated with the strike waged by the city’s laundresses in 1919, when ethnic Mexican women demanded living wages on a par with those of American workers.6 Though her days earning a living outside the home were behind her, Julia was still very much a working woman. With a husband and several sons employed at the smelter, the whistles signaling the change of shift at the plant punctuated her life as well. Exchanging her laundress garb for an apron, she oversaw the running of the González household, ensuring that each of her sons and daughters contributed in some way to the family purse. In addition to the laborious tasks involved in maintaining her household, the smelter provided Julia the opportunity to make a little extra cash of her own. In her home kitchen, Doña Julia (as her patrons called her) cooked hot meals everyday for her family and extended the service, for a small fee, to a few workers who routinely stopped by the González house. Sometimes she prepared boxed meals that Marciano took to the guards at the plant and that her children gave to the teachers at their school, affording Doña Julia a supplemental source of income. The work she did to keep her home running was as vital to the family’s survival as the work her husband performed at the smelter. The experiences of the González family, both inside the smelter itself and in the wider community of which it was a part, illustrate how work became deeply ingrained in the lives of the Mexican residents of Smeltertown. This chapter explores the institution of work as one of several places where Esmeltianos articulated a sense of identity closely connected to the smelter and rooted in their location in a working-class border community. Influenced by prevailing racial attitudes and the racially constructed landscape of the border city, employers subscribed to stereotypes of Mexican workers as childlike, intellectually and socially inferior beings who were transient and ultimately replaceable. The continuous influx of workers pouring into the self-styled international industrial center in the early twentieth century and the relatively rapid turnover of Mexican laborers at the smelter certainly seemed to corroborate this view. But while many Mexicans worked intermittently or simply passed through the smelter as day laborers, others, like the Gonzálezes, stayed. asarco’s attempts to cultivate a pliable and reliable workforce We’re Just Smelter People

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through company housing, a vocational school, athletic leagues, and workers’ clubs succeeded in making Mexican workers loyal company men, allowing Esmeltianos to craft a different narrative of their experiences. Their endurance of physically demanding working conditions and racist foremen and their acquisition of industrial skills allowed Esmeltianos to become smelter men, claiming a Mexican American masculine identity that gave them legitimacy and status in a border labor system that was set up to demean and exploit Mexican workers.7 The working identities constructed in the context of smelter jobs extended beyond the shop floor. The work at the smelter intruded in tangible ways into the lives of all Esmeltianos. While smelter work may have been men’s work, it relied on the critical supportive roles that women and children played in the economic life of the community. The smelter not only helped to shape the immediate economic opportunities of the men, women, and children of Smeltertown, but it also was the means by which Esmeltianos planted strong roots on the American side of the border and defined their place in the border city. In fashioning an identity as a permanent class of workers with families, community ties, and a long, multigenerational history within the industry that kept the city and region churning, Esmeltianos challenged the company’s stereotypes and wider view of Mexican labor as transient as well as the very border labor system that systematically placed Mexicans in the lowest rungs of the economic ladder.

Help Wanted: Cheap, Docile, and Mexican By the start of the twentieth century, the city of commerce, manufacturing, and industry that El Paso boosters had envisioned was a reality. As promised, the city’s large Mexican population and reputation as a labor depot provided the thousands of unskilled, manual workers that employers required. According to the 1920 manufacturing census, El Paso had more than 2.3 million feet of factory floor space and over six thousand men and women worked in one of the city’s two hundred manufacturing firms. Of these workers, more than 70 percent were Mexican.8 By the 1930 census, the city counted more than thirty thousand gainfully employed men and women, more than half of whom were of Mexican origin, largely clustered in occupations in manufacturing and industry, transportation (including railroad work), and domestic and personal services.9 It appeared that manufacturers and boosters had tapped into a gold mine when it came to locating a steady pool of working hands. 100

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Throughout the Southwest, pervasive and deeply held racial stereotypes about Mexican workers reinforced and justified their exploitation as a largely unskilled labor force. Mexicans, many employers believed, were biologically predetermined and intellectually suited to be common laborers. In a 1908 report for the Department of Commerce and Labor, Victor S. Clark described the majority of Mexican immigrants entering the United States in the first decades of the twentieth century — many of them displaced agricultural peon laborers — as “Indians in physique, temperament, character and mentality.”10 In addition to their perceived lack of intelligence, Mexican workers were believed to be physiologically built for the kinds of arduous labor available in the railroads, mines, smelters, factories, and fields of the Southwest. Arguing in favor of the extension of exemptions for Mexican agricultural workers in 1920, for example, one Texas farm owner contended that not only was the Mexican laborer a “hot-weather plant” who worked better in the Texas summer heat given his “tropical” origins, but he was also “specially fitted for the burdensome task of bending his back to pick cotton and the burdensome task of grubbing the fields.” What Mexicans reputedly lacked in physical strength they more than made up for with “nimble fingers” and the ability to complete repetitive tasks in agricultural and factory work.11 Similarly, in his comments about El Paso’s “most attractive” labor supply, Frank H. Knapp, manager of the Industrial and Manufacturers’ Department of the El Paso Chamber of Commerce, asserted: “For mechanical operations he is usually superior to an American, for he will be content to remain on one operation and will attain great dexterity.”12 By choosing to view Mexicans as naturally adapted to unpleasant work, employers managed to create a pool of the perfect laborers to suit their needs. Employers further characterized Mexicans as docile and lacking in ambition, traits that perpetuated the notion that they were controllable and exploitable on the job, and that called into question their masculine right to higher wages and better working conditions. “The Mexican laborer is unambitious, listless, physically weak, irregular and indolent,” Clark wrote. “On the other hand, he is docile, patient, usually orderly in camp, fairly intelligent under competent supervision, obedient and cheap.” While hardly a ringing endorsement, these qualities especially appealed to businesses looking to keep their labor costs down and to minimize labor conflicts. “If he were active and ambitious,” reasoned Clark, “he would be less tractable and would cost more.”13 The fact that Mexicans, like those employed in section gangs on American railroads, were willing to live in adobe houses or ramshackle cabins with few We’re Just Smelter People

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amenities marked them as not only intellectually inferior but also wanting as family men. Employers believed that, unlike the American worker versed in the virtues of hard work and frugality, Mexicans (native and immigrant born) quickly spent their wages on gambling, drinking, and fancy clothes. Still, Mexicans knew their place in the racial hierarchy: the “Mexican does not put himself forward, or seek white society. He observes his own canons of reserve and dignity, which are never offensive.”14 Employers throughout the Southwest believed that it was their inherent lack of ambition and understanding of their proper place that made Mexicans willing to take whatever work was given to them for low wages and few complaints. Labeling them as passive, agreeable, obedient, and docile was a rhetorical device that allowed employers and legislators to make Mexicans seem less threatening, childlike, and racially other in a world where a combination of race, class, and masculinity defined everything from skill level to pay scale. Such attitudes worked to place Mexicans squarely within the West’s emergent racial and ethnic labor hierarchy that pitted one group against another and where those able to prove their whiteness could lay claim to manliness and job mobility. A Mexican worker’s skill level or experience factored less than his heritage. Although a small number managed to secure positions as section bosses on the railroads, the vast majority of Mexicans, due to their “natural capabilities,” found themselves trapped in the ranks of common laborers in track maintenance, construction, yard gangs, and extra gangs working under the supervision of “American or European foremen” who were racially better fit for these jobs. Employers cultivated competition between workers of different ethnic backgrounds through their open comparison of workers’ ethnic characteristics and through company strike-breaking efforts. Needless to say, native workers expressed hostility toward Mexican workers, challenging their masculinity for their willingness to cross picket lines and for accepting depressed wages that undercut the efforts of so-called honest, hardworking American men. In either case, Mexicans were deemed to lack the traits necessary to be recognized as individual workingmen and thus constituted the nameless mass of pliable workers needed to ensure a successful bottom line. In employers’ eyes, perhaps the most appealing — if also at times the most frustrating — feature of Mexican workers entering the transborder labor force was their supposed transience. Employers sometimes complained about Mexicans’ less-than-regular work habits and propensity for quitting or simply not showing up. Mexicans drifted from railroad work to agricultural work depending on the availability of seasonal employment, and in some cases 102

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left their contracts to pursue better-paying jobs in other industries, including mining. For workers, quitting represented a way to assume control over their working bodies and their earning potential. Refusing to put up with racist bosses, miserable conditions, and lousy wages, they responded with their feet by walking away. Despite this, some railroad managers preferred “roving Mexicans” to itinerant white men because “they will go on a job, if they agree to, and work, though they may not stay long.”15 Employers and legislators generalized that Mexican workers — many of them men who traveled the labor circuit without families — were birds of passage who would not only wander from job to job, but also would eventually return to Mexico. These arguments were undoubtedly structured to assuage the fears of nativists, reformers, and Euro-American residents of cities who worried about the growing presence of Mexicans in neighborhoods, schools, and public spaces. The image of Mexicans as temporary workers also helped justify their position in the bottom rungs of the economic ladder. If workers did not stay, employers and local and state agencies bore no obligation to them; more to the point, employers bet on the fact that there were always more workers to replace them.

Making Modern Workers: American Companies in Mexico Much as government officials and employers liked to portray Mexican laborers as being completely ignorant of the ways of modern capitalism, in reality many Mexicans had already gained substantial experience in industrial work before they set foot across the border, thanks in large part to the influence of American-owned railroads and mining companies. Thus, although larger structural and cultural forces beyond their control limited the possibilities, Mexican workers chose to become a part of the transborder labor system based on their understanding of how that system operated and their place within it. Requiring large numbers of workers for their operations, Americanowned railroad and mining companies in Mexico turned to native labor to fill their ranks. Though the labor was plentiful, it was not initially industry-ready. The process of converting a group accustomed to working the land into an efficient, proletarianized industrial workforce involved not just the acquisition of different skill sets, but the creation of different value systems, cultures, and relationships to work. This process was ever-evolving and, at times, highly contentious. In Mexico in the early years of the twentieth century, employers and middle-class reformers engaged in a calculated drive to transform transient peon agricultural laborers into their vision of respectable, morally We’re Just Smelter People

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upright workers through a complex program of incentives and the inculcation of values both on the job and in the home.16 Using both coercion through the local and state police and perks like high wages and bonuses, companysponsored housing, health care facilities, and other benefits, employers attempted to craft a resident class of workers who turned to the company for their needs rather than their native communities once they had acquired the basic necessities. A strong undercurrent of paternalism ran through these measures, yet the companies’ desire to create a manageable workforce was paramount. According to one observer, the American companies “undertook a great many things for the Mexican laborer which had never been done before, some of them on the grounds of public good and others simply as a matter of business, to secure the contentment and efficiency of the labor.”17 Using advertisements and labor recruiters known as enganchadores, and promising enticing benefits, companies recruited workers from the countryside and surrounding regions. Over time, Mexican laborers who initially migrated from the haciendas for seasonal work in the mines and smelters settled in small towns surrounding the mines or followed the better-paying jobs on the railroad. The transformation of the Mexican workforce in U.S. firms occurred on multiple fronts. For the most part, American railroad and mining company officials, informed by racial thinking in the United States, continued to see their workers as lacking in intelligence, skill, and initiative. In most large enterprises, Americans occupied managerial and supervisory positions, with native Mexicans filling the remainder of the working ranks. American foremen still complained that Mexicans were slow and inefficient, but over time employers began to impart more favorable views. Despite initial conflicts between Mexican labor and American management over perceived apathy toward learning to operate and maintain heavy machinery, the U.S. wage system, and the number of vacation days taken, Mexican workers adapted to American methods. By some accounts, newly trained Mexicans were becoming more efficient workers and exhibiting a decidedly industrial work ethic. The positive effects of proletarianization showed. For example, Mexicans at the large smelter in Aguascalientes, who had clearly absorbed the lessons in industrial training, were “fairly sturdy and well fed, in marked contrast to the peons who came in to market from the neighboring ‘haciendas.’”18 For their part, Mexican laborers gained valuable experience through their industrial jobs in Mexico, which shaped their understanding of their position in a transborder labor system. The need for a stable, trained workforce 104

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provided opportunities for Mexicans to enter skilled or semiskilled positions. Despite the initial lack of cooperation between Anglo workers and their Mexican trainees, skill transfer did take place and gradually native workers adapted to new techniques. Their new skill sets enabled them to earn more money and pursue greater opportunities in Mexico and beyond. For example, Mexicans at Mexican Central Railroad shops found positions as skilled machinists and helpers. Although they only earned between 2 and 5 pesos per day, in marked contrast to Anglo machinists who received a monthly salary of $125 paid in U.S. currency, this still compared quite favorably to the 50 centavos per day earned by unskilled laborers.19 Even common laborers acquired industrial skills and work habits that would make them employable in railroad jobs, smelters, and mines in Mexico and the U.S. Southwest, which provided occupational opportunities unavailable to poor farmers tied to the hacienda labor system. The demand for labor to build rail lines on the northern frontier brought thousands of Mexicans closer to the border, where, as Clark observed, “American employers, with a gold wage, have had little difficulty in attracting him across that not very formidable dividing line.”20 Mexican workers knew they could earn as much as twice what they were paid in Mexico, contributing to the “constant movement of labor northward inside of Mexico” and eventually across the border, where it “is ultimately absorbed by the still more exigent demand — as expressed in wage rates — of the border States and Territories of the United States.”21 Add to that the recruitment efforts of labor contractors operating in cities like El Paso, and the choice for Mexican workers was clear. Knowledge of available work familiar to them and better wages were enough to inspire Mexicans do whatever they could to secure the train passage to El Paso or to make the journey on foot. Perhaps as important as employable skills and better wages, through their work in U.S.-owned companies in their homeland, Mexican workers gained an understanding of their relationship to capital and the employer. As William E. French’s study of class formation in the mining districts of northern Mexico shows, corporate paternalism and employee benefits also shaped what workers came to expect from their employers. French argues that familyrun firms and major corporate conglomerates like asarco “engaged in symbolic acts calculated to reaffirm the personal links” between employer and employee.22 Company-sponsored stores, schools, and churches as well as bonuses represented the “proverbial carrot” to entice workers. For instance, asarco mining officials in Santa Barbara, Chihuahua, distributed beans and corn to help sustain laborers and their families during periods when revoluWe’re Just Smelter People

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tionary fighting forced plant shutdowns.23 In less desperate times, asarco’s Mexican subsidiaries sponsored band concerts on Sunday afternoons, attracting young people from neighboring towns and mines.24 These acts of corporate welfare were obviously self-serving and did not change the ultimate power employers held over their labor force. Company gifts came with the price of acquiescence that not all workers were willing to pay; the bloody battles over wages and working conditions and the dominance of American capital in the copper mines of Cananea, Sonora, and southern Arizona in the early twentieth century serve as proof.25 Yet even as Mexican workers demanded better working conditions and higher pay, there was an important transformation in terms of how Mexican workers viewed their relationship to their employers. Employers’ actions were undoubtedly infused with paternalistic leanings and motivated by fears of worker unrest or desertion, but they also provided a tangible expression of the company’s concern for their employees’ welfare. Through attractive benefit packages, companies had formed a social compact with their workers. These workers understood that, in exchange, they had capital of their own — their loyalty, labor, and skills. In addition to their industrial skills, the Mexican workers who traveled north brought with them their understanding of this compact. These relationships and expectations likely had a major influence on how Mexican workers, particularly those making their way to the asarco smelter in El Paso, would interpret their role in the company that was the cornerstone of the city’s economy for generations to come.

Mexican Workers in a Border City Two decisive historical processes — the creation of a Mexican worker stereotype and the proletarianization of Mexican workers in U.S. firms in Mexico — collided in El Paso in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. El Paso’s position on the border had a profound impact on the labor market, presenting challenges that workers in cities farther removed from the border simply did not have to confront. Mario García argues that the two-tiered labor system that emerged in El Paso in the early twentieth century divided Mexicans (native and foreign born) and Euro-Americans along lines of both race and citizenship. The combination of an economy that required large numbers of unskilled laborers while providing far fewer skilled and managerial positions, the city’s prominence as a Mexican labor recruitment center on the border, and the long-standing stereotypes of Mexican laborers all worked together to 106

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create a labor structure where Mexicans remained locked in low-wage, bluecollar jobs. While some firms, including the railroad and the smelter, employed a small number of skilled Mexican craftsmen, in 1920 a mere 10 percent of Mexicans in El Paso held skilled positions. In a pattern that persisted well into the middle of the century, Euro-Americans comprised the majority of the city’s professionals, managers, and skilled craftsmen, while Mexicans, regardless of nativity, were employed as laborers, service workers, and semiskilled operatives.26 Within a short period, certain jobs became known as “Mexican jobs”— to be performed solely by Mexican Americans and foreignborn Mexicans. So strong was this association that during the Great Depression, El Paso’s elites were able to counter the unionization efforts of Mexican American domestic workers by either hiring Mexican women from across the border or structuring relief requirements in such a way that American-born Mexicans had no choice but to accept the miserable-paying jobs as maids.27 In El Paso, Mexican work was so deeply entrenched that it was extremely difficult if not impossible to break out of it; the proximity to the border and immigrant labor reinforced the boundaries of Mexican work in more immediate ways than in places farther removed from the international boundary. This type of racialized labor segmentation directly affected wages. Table 3 shows average daily pay for sixteen industrial occupations in El Paso during 1911 and 1919. Common laborers, who were almost exclusively Mexican, earned only one-half to one-quarter as much as predominantly Euro-American skilled craftsmen like carpenters, electricians, and bricklayers. The “Mexican wage” system in which Mexican workers consistently earned significantly lower pay than their non-Mexican counterparts was a common and welldocumented practice throughout the region. According to a 1911 report of the Dillingham Commission,28 a full 86 percent of Mexicans working on railroads in the West earned less than $1.25 per day. By contrast, the overwhelming majority of native and foreign-born workers of English, Greek, Irish, and Norwegian descent earned more than $1.50 per day. Smelter workers in Arizona were similarly divided, with Mexican workers making around $2.00 per day and non-Mexican workers more than $2.50.29 On the one hand, these wages represented a marked improvement from those earned in Mexico — in some cases, as much as double the pay rate — and for many Mexicans the opportunity to make comparatively better pay was enough to keep them working in the lowest-paying jobs under the worst conditions. However, the fact that skill level and experience had few material advantages must have been an extremely difficult pill to swallow. “They will never pay a Mexican what We’re Just Smelter People

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table 3. Scale of Daily Wages for Selected Positions in the City of El Paso, 1911 and 1919 Daily Wage Occupation Bricklayer

1911

1919

$5.00–6.00

$9.00

Bricklayer, helper

2.50

Bricklayer, foreman Carpenter

10.00 3.50–4.00

Carpenter, helper Carpenter, foreman Electrician

9.00 3.50–4.00

Electrician, helper

10.00 1.25–1.50

Labor, foreman Mason

Steam fitter, helper Steam fitter, foreman

2.00 4.50

5.00–6.00

Mason, foreman Steam fitter

9.00 4.50

Electrician, foreman Labor, common

8.00 3.50

5.50 6.50

6.00

9.00 4.50 10.00

Source: El Paso Chamber of Commerce, Greater El Paso, 1, no. 4, 85, El Paso Public Library, Border Heritage Center, El Paso; Mario T. García, Desert Immigrants: The Mexicans of El Paso, 1880–1920, table 5.3, “Daily Wages Paid for Skilled and Unskilled Labor in El Paso, 1911,” 90.

he is really worth compared with a white man,” one particularly aware EuroAmerican mechanic explained. “I know a Mexican that’s the best blacksmith I ever knew. He has made some of the best tools I ever used. But they pay him $1.50 a day as a helper, working under an American blacksmith who gets $7 a day.”30 As this mechanic pointedly illustrates, seemingly objective measures of skill were in actuality highly subjective and were intimately intertwined with notions of race, manhood, and citizenship. The wage differential was especially problematic in El Paso because of the competition from newly arrived Mexicans or those who resided in neighboring Ciudad Juárez. The fact that employers could tap into this deep pool of Mexican immigrant labor allowed them to pay consistently lower wages across the board, regardless of workers’ background. The Labor Advocate, the 108

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newspaper for El Paso’s American Federation of Labor–organized Central Labor Union, reported that union workers in El Paso received as little as half of what unskilled laborers earned in any city in the region because of its location on the border. Furthermore, a 1919 investigation of women’s wages and working conditions in Texas uncovered the widespread practice of not only paying El Paso’s Mexican laundry and factory workers less than American workers in the state, but also giving Mexican women in the border city less compensation than women performing the same work in cities without competition from across the border.31 Members of the Central Labor Union repeatedly railed against Mexican immigrant workers and the Mexican wage that depressed earnings for all workers. Maintaining a policy of organizing by craft and limiting membership to U.S. citizens, El Paso’s unions positioned themselves against the “horde of pauper labor” that took jobs and decent wages from hard-working American men. In various campaigns in the 1910s, these unions, which included a small percentage of skilled Mexican American craftsmen and women workers, drew a deep dividing line along citizenship, hurling the loaded epithet of “cheap labor” at Mexican workers whom they blamed for the miserable state of affairs. As an example of the divisive rhetoric, during a streetcar conductor strike in 1914 the Labor Advocate wrote: “Then turn around in your seat or across the aisle and take a look at some ugly visaged, peon Mexican labor from the smelter or the cement plant. Compare [him to the Euro-American streetcar conductor]. There is the American motorman or conductor, true Americans, yet paid a slave’s wage. Those Mexicans who can neither read, write the English language and can hardly think, are paid as much as are these men upon whom the company places a burden of responsibility greater than their wages.”32 Although it is highly unlikely that a Euro-American streetcar driver could really have made as little as a Mexican smelter or cement plant laborer, the union’s position was painfully clear. White streetcar conductors were “true Americans” and high wages were their manly birthright. By contrast, the “ugly visaged,” illiterate Mexican laborers at the smelter and cement plant had stolen that ability to earn a manly wage from American workers. The diatribe against Mexicans that accentuated their foreignness was predicated along citizenship lines, but racial ones as well. Unfortunately, despite the Central Labor Union’s official policy of organizing Mexican American skilled workers, on a practical level few El Pasoans bothered to distinguish between U.S.- and foreign-born Mexicans, many of whom were also employed at the asarco smelter and Southwestern Portland Cement. This hostility We’re Just Smelter People

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toward Mexican labor, which would remain a mainstay of El Paso labor politics, ultimately weakened the position of all laborers in the border economy. It helps to explain why many Mexican Americans would choose to distance themselves from immigrant workers in order to survive and secure their own position in the labor hierarchy.

Inside the Gates: Mexican Workers in the El Paso Smelter As the nineteenth century came to a close, the asarco-owned smelter located just beyond the city limits emerged as one of El Paso’s largest firms, profiting from and participating in a border labor system dependent on Mexican labor. Based on the size of its physical structures, workforce, and payrolls, the smelter was, quite literally, the biggest show in town. As a result of its massive operations, the smelter attracted thousands of workers to El Paso and to Smeltertown. In the minds of residents, employers, and potential workers throughout the border city, the connection between the smelter and the community that bore its name was clear: If you wanted work, you needed to get to Smeltertown. In addition to the hundreds of families who settled into company-owned homes and self-constructed houses built on rented property in the neighboring community, workers from across the city made their way via streetcar to the end of the line in Smeltertown. Once there, they waited outside the company’s gates hoping to be selected for a day’s work or for a job that might turn into something more. In the smelter’s early years it was a common practice for foremen to fill a vacant position by telling another worker to go call on a friend or family member, or for them to go out to the company’s gates to get extra day labor. Sabina Alva recalled that other men left their names at an asarco office building that had once been a restaurant and later a store, where foremen sent someone to call workers if they were needed.33 Years later, Rogelio Carlos Jr. had vivid memories of workers sitting in an open area outside the smelter waiting to be hired. “They would come on the bus, and they’d get off right there on the highway, in front of Porritas’ [a Smeltertown neighborhood bar] and the smelter,” he said. “[Back then] the supervisor had the power to go up there and go ‘You, you, you, you and you, I need you inside.’”34 It was a convenient arrangement all around. The company relied on a large supply of laborers to maintain its level of output, and people living and arriving daily in Smeltertown depended on the plant as a steady source of jobs. Both workers and jobs could be found in Smeltertown. The abundance of Mexican labor was vital to the smelter’s growth and ul110

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Men outside the smelter gate, date unknown. In the early years, men seeking work waited outside the gates of the smelter. The covered benches also provided a place for workers to eat the lunches prepared by wives and delivered by sons. Photo courtesy of the asarco El Paso Plant Historical Photograph Collection.

timate success. The El Paso smelter was the only large-scale operation of its kind in the Southwest to rely so extensively on a large Mexican workforce. In 1914, one industry journal noted that following a fire in 1900, the El Paso smelter had been rebuilt for the express purpose of making use of Mexican hand labor.35 The plant was unique among large custom smelters for its craneless converter department, opting instead to use separate locomotives with crews of workers to load copper matte into the large converters and haul away slag, matte, and bullion. Because of its large Mexican workforce to supply manual labor, the smelter avoided the initial capital investment to install expensive equipment. “In the craneless plant . . . there is a great saving in first cost,” the Engineering and Mining Journal observed, “and where there is ample converter capacity and cheap labor, it might be accepted as a substitute for the usual equipment.”36 To this end, the smelter employed more Mexicans We’re Just Smelter People

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table 4. Ethnic Distribution of 10 Percent Sample of New Employees at asarco, by Decade, 1910–1950 Mexican Employees

Anglo Employees

1910

21

5

1920

615

115

1930

67

71

1940

255

108

1950

91

38

Source: asarco Retired Employee Archives.

than any other industry in town. Jesús Gutiérrez began his tenure at asarco in the 1910s, at the height of its World War I boom. “Well, in those days, we were thousands of workers,” he said — somewhere in the neighborhood of 1,200.37 Rodolfo Candelaria remembered that even in the 1940s, when he started working at the smelter, the workforce was easily “99 percent [Mexican]. . . . [Maybe] not that much, but there were more Mexicans there [than Americans].”38 The numbers support Candelaria’s recollection. Table 4 places the smelter’s ethnic distribution of new hires in perspective. An analysis of a 10 percent sample of daily wage workers shows that from 1915 to 1950, Mexicans constituted a clear majority of the smelter’s new hires.39 This trend was especially notable in the 1910s and 1920s, when Mexicans comprised 81 and 84 percent, respectively, of the laborers starting their employment at the plant. The only time new Euro-American employees outnumbered new Mexican workers was in the decade of the 1930s, but even then Mexicans made up almost half of new workers in the sample. In response to the economic slump brought on by the Depression, the smelter dramatically scaled back production (at times only operating every other month), cut down on the number of new hires, and undoubtedly laid off hundreds more. As the downturn in the economy continued unabated, the hostility created by the perception that Mexican workers were taking jobs from American workers took the form of layoffs and deportation drives in major cities across the Southwest. Although there is no hard evidence that asarco employees were actually deported, the antagonism toward Mexican smelter workers in El Paso was likely very evident.40 By the start of World War II, numbers had rebounded, and once again Mexicans represented approximately 70 percent of new employees at the smelter. 112

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The smelter’s reputation for being one of the best-paying employers in town attracted hundreds of workers to its gates and to the nearby bustling community of Smeltertown. An industry observer wrote that the smelter’s contract system, which paid according to the amount of ore a worker unloaded from the unending line of box cars and gondolas that entered the yard, proved to be a huge draw. This successful system contributed to the “constant waiting list of men to get on the unloading gangs” and represented “a good example of the intelligent application of efficiency engineering” on the part of smelter officials. This industry insider maintained that, in 1914, contractors working in the unloading yard earned as much as one and one-half to two times the day wage that unskilled workers in the city were making. This rate varied, depending on the grade of the ore and the distance it was moved; workers spreading the ore on beds earned a little extra.41 A former employee, who started as a contractor in the unloading yard in the 1940s, stated: “[asarco paid] you so much money per car . . . of course, you were already guaranteed an hourly wage, but if . . . you could unload a car fast, well, you could make some good money.”42 From its inception, though, contracting work was Mexican work, and the better pay was relative to the dismally low wages paid across the border city. But the chance to make higher wages compared to other jobs in town and the opportunity to get a foot in the door to an even better-paying and more permanent job probably made up for the fact that it was hard physical work, designated as a “Mexican job.” José Jiménez Sr. and José Hidalgo, who both joined asarco in the 1940s, began as contractors “descargando carros” (unloading ores from the railroad cars).43 Once in, Jiménez applied for a position as a driver; he remembered being reassigned from one day to the next. Hidalgo remained a contractor in the unloading department for two months before moving to the blast furnace in the lead department. Because of its potential for paying better wages than other local firms, the smelter’s contract department proved highly effective in attracting the large crews of inexpensive Mexican workers it so desperately required. Such a massive operation must have been an impressive sight in those early years. On entering company grounds, the observer undoubtedly would have been met by hundreds of Mexican workers who performed the various tasks necessary to keep the smelter churning. Young men, more than half of them between the ages of 18 and 26, flocked to the smelter in hopes of finding work. A small number of older men, like Macario González, and an even smaller number of young boys hoped that asarco officials would overlook their age and give them a chance too. At least two 12-year-olds made We’re Just Smelter People

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the cut, hired to be “scouts” in the yard in the 1910s and 1920s, as did Panfilo Dueñez’s 15-year-old friend who carried water to the workers in the unloading yard so they would not lose any work time taking water breaks.44 By 1914, the Mexican workers who made it onto the 1,000-man labor force were spread across occupations and departments throughout the plant.45 From 1900 to 1929, 84 percent of Mexicans in the 10 percent sample were hired as common laborers, regardless of their skill level, previous experience, or education, while less than 10 percent of Euro-American workers entered as laborers. A former employee said that his father, who worked at asarco from 1897 until his retirement in 1931, spent his entire career as a laborer, performing menial, manual tasks like “carrying some material in wheelbarrows, some [dirt] and iron, stuff like that.”46 Almost 6 percent of new Mexican workers were hired as helpers for skilled — most often Euro-American — blacksmiths, machinists, carpenters, and other craftsmen, though in the years before the Depression even these semiskilled and lower-paying jobs were reserved for Euro-Americans. Smaller numbers of Mexicans entered the smelter in other, assorted occupations. As early as the 1920s, some Mexicans were employed as samplers (who checked the purity levels of the ores throughout the day), firemen (who fired up the furnaces), rail switchmen, bathhouse and tool room attendants, maintenance workers, and flue dusters and tappers. A small percentage of Mexicans worked as janitors or as office or hospital help. By the 1940s, Mexicans also became machine oilers or punchers, who had the arduous task of using a sledgehammer to maintain an opening in the air vents in the copper converters.47 Department assignments drew the racial boundaries between Mexican workers and their Euro-American counterparts inside the smelter: generally speaking, the more skill required for the position, the less Mexican the department. Before the Depression, the largest concentrations of Mexican laborers were found in the blast furnace (22 percent), extra gang (typically workers who were assigned tasks as needed, 21 percent), brick plant (11 percent), and sample mill (10 percent). By contrast, Anglos were not as concentrated in any particular department, though the largest numbers of Anglos were assigned to the electrical shop (11 percent), blast furnace (8 percent), riggers (7 percent), and blacksmiths (6 percent). Mirroring the patterns common throughout the Southwest, skill level was directly linked to ideas about race, citizenship, and manhood. Well into the twentieth century, the brick plant and the contract department appear to have been almost exclusively Mexican, as no Anglo workers in the sample were assigned there in the pre114

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Depression era. The brick department, which was responsible for making the bricks used to build the smelter’s furnaces, required hundreds of laborers.48 While some of the workers assigned to this particular task may in fact have had some experience or skill level pertinent to brick making (a separate masons department may have been somehow related to this area of the plant), the majority of workers were more likely drawn from a pool of general laborers. On the other hand, no Mexicans were assigned to the electrical shop, which most likely required larger numbers of skilled electricians. Similarly, Mexicans were not hired as crane operators, motormen, or mechanics, and it was not until an industrywide strike by Local 509 of the International Union of Mine, Mill, and Smelter Workers (iummsw) in 1946 that Mexicans were permitted to bid for these positions.49 Although assignment to a lesser-skilled job in a “Mexican” department was more common, some Mexicans found entry to the plant as skilled tradesmen, indicating that even if some positions were restricted according to race, they were not always exclusively so. The immigrant identification card of my paternal great-grandfather, Jesús Perales, indicates that he was a boilermaker by occupation. A letter tucked inside his old wallet, typed on Consolidated Kansas City Smelting and Refining letterhead certifying his employment status, states that he was hired in July 1901 as a boilermaker in the mechanical department at the El Paso smelter and that he held that position until at least May 1924. Described as a “very faithful and steady employe [sic]” who was “sober and trustworthy,” Perales seemed to be one of a few exceptions to the rule holding that Mexicans were more often than not inherently untrustworthy.50 Andrés Ortíz also was a boilermaker and a general mechanic in the 1930s.51 The 10 percent sample of all personnel records shows that asarco employed Mexicans in distinctly skilled positions very early in the plant’s history. Before 1929, the company hired four carpenters, two blacksmiths, one machinist, and ten masons, all of whom were of Mexican origin.52 A separate set of employee records for workers residing in Smeltertown shows a marked presence of skilled workers, including two carpenters, a blacksmith, a mason, an engineer (most likely a locomotive engineer), two operators, two samplers, and one straw boss — a supervisory position below the foreman.53 Although an analysis of starting occupations in the data sets did not indicate that any Mexicans were hired as foremen or assistant foremen, a review of the names of department foremen entered onto the cards themselves revealed that Spanish-surnamed individuals worked as foremen in several departments as early as the 1910s and 1920s. At least four different Spanish surnames were We’re Just Smelter People

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Mexican brick workers inside the smelter, ca. 1910s. Photo courtesy of the asarco El Paso Plant Historical Photograph Collection.

Jesús Perales’s identification card listing his occupation as boilermaker. According to a letter from the company folded in the wallet with this card, he worked in that position at the smelter from July 1901 to at least May 1924. Perales Family Personal Collection.

among the foremen in the brick plant and two in the sample mill, as well as in other divisions.54 It is not clear whether these Spanish-surnamed foremen were hired as foremen or were promoted or transferred into the position, or how long they performed their jobs. However, their presence is significant. Early in the plant’s history, Mexicans established themselves as vital, skilled players in the smelter’s operations; their labor in these skilled positions reveals the distinct, if circumscribed, opportunities for advancement for Mexicans in the smelter. While wages at the smelter were among the most coveted in the border city, they were still low and pointed to the racialized employment structure that functioned inside the plant and across the country. The fact that asarco largely hired Mexicans for lesser-skilled jobs regardless of experience or training directly affected their rate of pay. Between 1900 and 1929, the average starting pay for all smelter workers for whom a daily wage was listed was $2.31. Approximately 83 percent of Mexican workers earned, on average, $2.03 a day. This stands in stark contrast to the Anglo starting pay during this period, which averaged $3.75 a day; only 21 percent of Anglos started at a wage below the plant average. Employees’ words vividly convey the extent and effect of these wage differences. One former asarco employee recalled that his father, who was a common laborer at the smelter from 1897 to 1934, 118

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earned ten cents an hour for a 12-hour day.55 Andrés Ortíz, who worked at asarco in the 1920s and 1930s, stated: “Well, there were some jobs, like I said, [that paid] up to 75 cents a day . . . $1.25, $1.50, $1.75. A worker who earned in those days, let’s say, $2.00 a day, that was considered regular pay. Someone who had a salary of, for example, 18, 20, 22 dollars a week, that was excellent pay in those times . . . work was very tight, that was during the Depression.”56 Humberto Silex, a Nicaragua native and labor organizer who was instrumental in the establishment of the iummsw at asarco, said that workers in similar industries in Chicago in the 1920s made significantly more than El Paso workers: “When I arrived in El Paso, I noticed how the people here were working in a state of slavery, to put it in those terms, for a dollar a day, for a dollar fifty. The highest pay in that time when I arrived there was $1.90 for ten hours of work. . . . In Chicago, when I worked at a smelter I earned, at that time, 6, 7 dollars [for eight hours] a day, which was very good money at the time. But here [in El Paso], you see the difference.”57 Although wages increased in the 1930s and 1940s, due in large part to the effective organizing of Mexican workers, Mexicans continued to earn less initially than their Anglo counterparts. For the vast majority of Mexicans in the early years, working ten- and twelve-hour shifts seven days a week helped them to make ends meet for their families, but it was far from ideal. Laboring in a virtual “state of slavery,” many took what they could get given the limited alternatives. The nature of the work, the racialized labor structure, and the low pay, not to mention the city’s labor recruitment center identity, all contributed to the high rate of movement and turnover at the smelter. Once employed, workers could expect to be frequently shifted from one department and position to another. Julio Hernández, who came to the El Paso plant in the 1940s after having spent eight years working for asarco’s Avalos, Chihuahua, operation, said workers in Avalos were hired on a sixty-day basis, then reassigned according to the plant’s needs, not necessarily the worker’s capabilities or interests.58 This policy was likely implemented at the El Paso plant as well; even into the 1960s, workers were rotated often, exposing them to a variety of jobs.59 Of the workers hired between 1900 and 1960, nearly half had more than one occupation at the plant. On average, 3.4 different positions had been entered on their employee cards for this period; 20 percent of the employees held more than five different positions during their time at the smelter. This kind of movement may have been the result of the smelter’s particular needs, but in industrial firms it was not uncommon to reassign workers frequently to prevent specialization and unionization. In addition, the company policy that We’re Just Smelter People

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allowed smelter foremen to go out to the gates to call in workers as the need arose also allowed for the equally easy dismissal of those workers after their job was done. Almost a third of asarco workers left the smelter because they were laid off, fired, rejected, or paid out for their short-term labor. Another third left their starting occupation, apparently of their own accord. Fed up with the conditions, poor pay, and limited opportunities, or lured by brighter prospects elsewhere, these workers took control of their occupational destinies and moved on. As the numbers clearly indicate, the smelter was, for a significant percentage of Mexican workers, a stopping point or pass-through on the way to something better anywhere but on the border. These numbers seem to confirm the idea of a transient labor force in a city of constant movement. But what of the third who stayed? These workers crafted identities that explain their persistence, positioning them in opposition to the ones who simply passed through. They were different, they believed; they were smelter men. Who they were and how they saw themselves as participants in a border labor system was shaped by their experiences at the smelter.

Becoming Smelter Men The process by which Mexican smelter workers became “smelter men” required confronting the firmly ingrained stereotypical qualities associated with Mexican labor in a border labor system (transience, docility, and, by extension, the lack of masculine character) and writing a new narrative of their experience that highlighted permanence, skill, and manly endurance of hardships. In the face of the transience experienced by a significant proportion of the workforce, one way that smelter workers challenged some of the more commonly held beliefs about life and work in a border city was in establishing permanent communities. While a large proportion of immigrants entering the United States in the early twentieth century were single and married men migrating as solos seeking better employment opportunities in order to send money home to their families, the formation of Smeltertown allowed many Mexican workers to simultaneously establish deep connections to the company and plant firm roots in the community asarco helped to create. Part company town and center of industry, part Mexican barrio composed of people with transborder ties, Smeltertown provided a permanent base where workers and their families could establish their homes in close proximity to their jobs. Of the sample of Mexicans hired by asarco between 1900 and 1930, the largest group (44 percent) resided in Smeltertown; census data from 120

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1920 and 1930 show that the majority were married and lived in male-headed households, often with extended families including in-laws, brothers, sisters, or other kin. More than half of all smelter employees lived with a spouse, and more than 20 percent of single men lived with a relative. Unlike other work available to Mexicans, much of it requiring mobility, employees at the smelter established households, and their jobs at asarco provided a sense of stability and permanence. In short, smelter men did not move from company to company and from town to town; they built homes, families, and settled lives. Even those workers not residing in Smeltertown had ties to El Paso. Many lived in or around the center of the city in one of several well-established barrios. Common perceptions and labor union complaints notwithstanding, a surprisingly low number of Mexicans crossed the border daily to work at the smelter: only about 11 percent of the employee sample crossed the bridge from Ciudad Juárez.60 This fact presents a completely different perspective on labor in border industries and suggests something unique about the work at asarco. Certainly people commuted from all over the city to their jobs at the smelter, with a few making the journey across the bridge from Juárez. Some maybe even lied about their resident status. During times of labor strife, asarco, like many other employers, no doubt tapped into the Juárez workforce to counter the organizing efforts of Mexican American smelter workers. It appears from the numbers, however, that while asarco located its operations on the border to capitalize on the benefits of the transborder labor flow, it is quite likely that the workers themselves came to see asarco as a place that would allow them to settle in the area, rather than just pass through. Over time, fewer workers lived in Smeltertown for a variety of reasons. Smelter and road expansions in the postwar period eliminated company-owned housing and displaced others living along County Road; improved transportation in and around El Paso and greater opportunities to purchase homes in the rapidly growing city afforded smelter workers more options. From early in the century, settlement trends indicate a changing worldview for Mexican smelter workers. What these numbers suggest is that those who chose to move to El Paso, and more specifically to Smeltertown, saw their place in the smelter as more secure. Many may have chosen to move on, and some may have taken on migratory work during layoffs or strikes, but others took advantage of the opportunity to set down roots and hoped that it would pay off in the long run. Workers also confronted the high rate of mobility within the plant. From one perspective, the practice of reassignment and layoffs contributed to the We’re Just Smelter People

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transience of the smelter workforce. But for many longtime employees, the constant movement of workers within and across departments and positions afforded them the ability to learn the workings of the smelter from every angle, giving them a distinct edge in acquiring valuable skills and potentially better-paying jobs. In contrast to the sample of all employees, workers in the Smeltertown sample averaged five positions at the smelter, and 33 percent had more than ten occupations, suggesting that not only did they stay longer, but also that they gained exposure to more departments and positions, as well as on-the-job experience. Workers reconfigured the meaning of mobility in ways that highlighted the advantages it brought. While reassignments may have been intended to limit skill acquisition and discourage worker mobilization, they also positioned workers to see themselves as valuable assets to the company. Rodolfo Candelaria, who worked at asarco for twenty-three years, recalled that because they were moved around so frequently, Mexican workers were more flexible when it came to operating certain equipment and were skilled at a variety of tasks. “I was an all-around machinist,” he explained. “To be a machinist in El Paso, you had to work in any machine they give you, not only one machine. That’s why they’d [asarco] been having trouble. At the time there used to be some machinists from the East who said they were machinists . . . [they] were one-machine men, and that machine had to be adjusted by somebody else.”61 Candelaria’s varied work experiences turned the company’s tactics to his advantage. The policy of not allowing Mexicans to hold permanent, skilled positions enabled him to become an “all-around machinist,” one who was more vital to the plant’s operations than the Anglo machinist from back East, who, by virtue of his race and citizenship, simply entered the smelter as a skilled employee. In Candelaria’s estimation, Mexican workers had a distinct leg up on the Anglo workers, making them an integral part of the smelter’s workforce. In addition, though many Mexican workers — immigrant and native born — had to take lower-skilled positions despite their experience and training in skilled trades, reassignments opened up opportunities for advancement and more security. Jesús Gutiérrez started working at asarco as a sweeper in the sala de muestras (ore sample room) in 1904 for 75 cents a day. He then moved to the smelter hospital, where he gained first aid certification and assisted in the pharmacy. Over the course of more than fifty years as an asarco employee, Gutiérrez experienced a great deal of mobility within the company. He worked as an ayudante de herrero (blacksmith’s assistant), as a garrotero (laborer who carried crushed rock and ore to the ovens and helped 122

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empty out the slag cauldrons), and ultimately as a machinist and foreman. “All of that work was in the [smelter], but it was in different departments,” he explained. “I went about accommodating myself to earn more money, and by then I earned $2.50 up there, and it was [for] eight hours.” In his mind, the movement was not about the company taking advantage of him as a worker or even a lack of skill or focus. Rather, it represented his hard work and desire to earn better wages, and his ability to “accommodate himself ” in higherpaying positions with better hours.62 Similarly, Panfilo Dueñez was hired out of the Smelter Vocational School in 1927 as a mechanic’s helper. Dueñez eventually worked his way up to become a foreman at the smelter’s power plant, a position that provided him the security and perks of a skilled job, including a small house near the power plant to sleep in while he was on call.63 Another employee, who eventually secured a position as a machinist, recalled his difficulty in moving up the ranks despite the fact that he had attended the Smelter Vocational School and served as an airplane mechanic in the U.S. Army Air Corps during World War II. As he remembered, “I was hired and I went to work in the unloading department. Con la pala [with the shovel] yeah, unloading cars . . . my hands were so tender . . . I didn’t do any hard work in the service. Yeah, it was hard for me to adjust to that . . . I didn’t stay long. They tried to put me in the machine shop but they couldn’t, but I had to work my way up . . . well, you had to establish some kind of seniority.”64 Moving up in the plant was by no means easy, and the structural obstacles to job security were a well-established fact. Once obtained, however, seniority brought stability and a sense of prestige in a labor system that viewed Mexicans as expendable and replaceable. Having one or more family members who also worked at asarco could facilitate an employee’s advancement from an entry-level position and provide a greater sense of permanency within the smelter. The experience of Alberto Beard Jr. illustrates this point. Mining ran deep in Beard’s family. His grandfather, a mining engineer from England, was among the wave of foreigners arriving in Mexico during the nineteenth century. When the revolutionary tide turned against foreign-owned companies, he brought his family to El Paso. Alberto’s father, Alberto Sr., had worked at the smelter for a number of years running the slag cauldron. When Alberto Jr. returned from military service in the 1940s, he was hired on in the arsenic plant. He lasted there for about six months, then was moved briefly to the lead department. Beard noted that the foreman of that department had once worked with Beard’s father at the neighboring El Paso Brick plant. This proved to be an ideal opportunity for We’re Just Smelter People

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Beard: “So when he saw my last name, he said, ‘How are you related to Alberto Beard?’ I told him, ‘Well, I’m his son.’ [He said to me] ‘And what are you doing out here in the lead department?’ ‘Well, this is where they put me.’ ‘Don’t you know anything about mechanics?’ ‘Yes, I went to school and everything, I have a diploma.’ . . . and in two weeks, no, even before two weeks passed, right away [I was reassigned].”65 Beard became an assistant in the mechanical department, working under a Mexican American mechanic named Ramiro Escandón. Beard said that Escandón taught him well in what was “trabajo pesado” (hard work) — lifting and replacing heavy tires and repairing machinery. When Escandón retired on disability following a stroke, the foreman allowed Beard to take over Escandón’s job. Beard eventually moved into a position as a machinist, where he stayed until he retired in 1982. For the Beards, mining and smelting had been the family business for generations, connecting them across space and time. These familial and generational ties gave them a stronger connection to the job and the company, allowing them to secure better jobs, and to claim permanence and longevity in a system known for its instability. Mexican workers also asserted their status as smelter men through their ability to endure the grueling, dangerous, and sometimes deadly work in the smelter. American employers complained about Mexicans’ lack of manly fortitude and physical strength at the same time that they praised their inherent docility and natural suitability to arduous labor conditions because it allowed them to make a workforce to fit their needs. But as one historian contends, the dangerous work in mines, and one might argue in the equally hazardous smelters, provided “new ways for achieving masculine status” not only through the potential for higher wages, but also because of the strength such jobs required.66 In asarco’s early years, the hours were long (ten- and twelve-hour shifts were common) and the smelter was not mechanized, requiring strenuous manual labor. Sabina Alva, whose father and husband worked there at the start of the twentieth century, said that “back then, almost all those poor souls worked by hand, or with their lungs . . . there wasn’t anything like there is now, machinery or anything.”67 Alva’s father helped to dump the molten slag — which she described as “pure fire, like blood!”— out of large cauldrons, a job that was both extremely strenuous and dangerous.68 In his time at the smelter, Jesús Gutiérrez used no machinery as a blacksmith’s helper. “There were no steam hammers — everything was done by hard, physical labor, everything was done by hand.” Gutiérrez remembered hauling 200to 300-pound loads of ore in wheelbarrows to be dumped into the furnaces.69 124

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Although the converters operated electrically by the time Andrés Gómez was assigned there as a puncher in the 1940s, the work was still arduous. The puncher’s job, Gómez explained, was to make sure that air continued to circulate by literally “punching” a hammer into the air vents to keep them from becoming clogged with molten copper. This was a physically demanding job throughout the year, but it was especially tough in the summer months. “In the winter it wasn’t as bad, because it was cool outside . . . but in the summer, many of us almost became dehydrated, vomited.”70 In addition, although asarco provided safety gear, including goggles, masks, and gloves, the heat, fumes, and dust inside the smelter compounded the physically taxing nature of the work. Fires and accidents were an ever-present reminder of the dangers of industrial labor, underscoring the masculine strength smelter men had to possess. “Many men were killed there,” Enriqueta Beard recalled. “Some were burned, others suffocated, the heavy loads fell on them. There were some terrible accidents at times.”71 Sabina Alva remembered one man, Pancho Sánchez, a coworker of her father, who was seriously burned while dumping slag.72 Among other grizzly accidents, José Hidalgo said that a man he used to call “Flaco” was killed when forty tons of dirt and ore fell on him in the scale department. “Well, we got him out after about 15 or 20 minutes, but he was already dead, the poor guy.”73 Some workers died or were seriously injured in explosions. Surviving such conditions required physical strength and mental fortitude; endurance on the job distinguished Mexican workers as smelter men. Preparedness, attention to detail, and the acquisition of skills necessary to prevent injuries were also badges that smelter men wore proudly. Rogelio Carlos Jr. pointed out that some departments and jobs were more dangerous than others. “You could burn yourself, or bang your finger, or break a hand, or chop [your] hand off . . . you know, if you were not paying attention to what you were doing, then it was dangerous.”74 Jesús Gutiérrez earned first aid certification during his one-year appointment in the asarco hospital, where he treated small injuries — mostly cut hands or hurt feet — but he saw no fatal accidents in his years at the smelter.75 Mexican workers took pride in their safety records. A member of the safety department, José Hidalgo was paid to attend courses on how to treat job-related injuries. As a member of the safety crew, he encouraged his men to be particularly mindful in their work to avoid accidents and injuries. “I liked to go around to the guys [and tell them] ‘Be careful, eh? There’s no rush to do things. Just steady. Let’s do things right, so we don’t hurt ourselves in the first place.’”76 The smelter We’re Just Smelter People

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Members of the smelter safety committee, 1954. Smelter men took pride in their safety records and longevity at the plant. The men here were honored for their role in securing more than two million man-hours without an accident. Front row (left to right): Carlos Islas, Carlos Duarte, Pedro Vásquez; Second row: Panfilo Dueñez, F. W. Archibald, W. C. Cunningham, B. D. Roberts, Manuel Apraiz, Eduardo Rodríguez, T. J. Woodside. Photo courtesy of the El Paso Times.

further promoted safety by awarding individuals for their safety record and by monitoring each department’s safety record. Rogelio Carlos Jr.’s father earned the company’s Joseph Helms Award for safety, because the fifteen to twenty men he supervised had no injuries or lost time. In all, he and his team clocked nearly 400,000 man-hours without a single instance of lost time due to an accident.77 Dangerous and tough working conditions were not the only challenges to manhood that Mexican workers faced inside the smelter. The pervasive pattern of discrimination embedded in the plant’s employment structure, as well as in the border city, placed real limits on their advancement. It also revealed how race, citizenship, and manliness became inextricably linked in the racial politics of smelter work. Prior to the 1940s, the smelter had segregated bath126

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rooms, restrooms, and lunchrooms. Former union organizer Humberto Silex said the discrimination was “palpable” when he first started at the smelter, and there were specific restrictions on the kinds of jobs open to Mexican workers well into the 1930s. When Silex applied for the job of fireman — the person responsible for monitoring and maintaining temperatures in the furnaces — it was categorized as a higher-paying, skilled position. At the time, each furnace had a fireman, an assistant fireman, and a helper. Silex was hired as a helper, the lowest of the three, despite the fact that he possessed the necessary training and experience for the fireman position: Turns out that if an Anglo-Saxon entered, it didn’t matter if he was a hillbilly from the mountains; instead of starting as a helper like I did, he came in as an assistant. The assistant earned a dollar more than the helper. The helper earned something like two or three cents more than the laborer, and the assistant, yes, earned a dollar more. And the fireman, well he earned a salary like an official. So the Hispanic could die there as a helper, but they never promoted him to assistant, so he could earn a dollar more. But an Anglo could come in as an assistant without knowing anything about the job and the helper had to teach him the assistant’s job and watch out for him. But the Anglo, if there was a vacancy, in three, four months that he was on the job, was promoted to fireman.78 Silex’s experience vividly demonstrates the racial hierarchy functioning within the smelter. His comments reveal how Latinos imagined their own manhood in the context of their work at the smelter. Not only does Silex imply that lesser-skilled, underqualified Anglos would have landed better jobs based on their background, but also he uses the derogatory slur “hillbilly” to accentuate his point. Latino workers’ sense of manhood was grounded in the fact that they possessed skills, experience, and a long history with asarco. The company’s arbitrary hiring policies challenged that notion, insisting instead that race alone determined skill, rank, and pay level. Being assigned as a helper to a lesser-skilled person solely on the basis of imagined racial difference was not only infuriating, but also insulting to the masculine smelter worker identity that Mexican employees had worked so hard to create. Panfilo Dueñez encountered similar problems when he went to work for asarco after completing training as a mechanic at the Smelter Vocational School. Dueñez wanted to move ahead as a mechanic but discovered that despite his training, he could not obtain a higher position. On the advice We’re Just Smelter People

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of his Vocational School instructor, he approached the plant supervisor and explained that, based on his education at the school, he wanted to work as a mechanic. He was told that there were no openings in that position, but he could take a lesser-skilled and lower-paying job. Dueñez insisted: “It was discrimination, it was discrimination . . . I said, ‘No, I have spent a long time studying, and my mind is dedicated to mechanics’ . . . no, well, [the supervisor] probably had company orders to do that.”79 Various other positions were closed to Mexican workers as well. Mexicans could not bid on jobs as crane operators, for example, and very few found entry as straw bosses or foremen. Jesús Gutiérrez stated plainly: “Que barbaridad [What a disgrace!] . . . it was really hard that they didn’t give you a chance.”80 One former employee had bitter memories of his time at the smelter: “asarco was one of the best [paying jobs available], but then there was always that dust, and they treated the people like dirt. They wanted more and more work, and they’d tell the people if you don’t like it, well, there’s somebody out at the door waiting for a job. You were intimidated, you were intimidated.”81 Perhaps the most contentious battles over race, class, citizenship, and manhood were waged during day-to-day interactions between Mexicans and Euro-Americans. While corporate officers and plant supervisors may have had the ultimate say in the overall management of smelter operations, interactions with foremen and coworkers more often defined workers’ immediate experiences. The relationship between Euro-American foremen and their Mexican subordinates could be the most conflicted, as foremen attempted to assert their racial power and authority and to undermine these workers’ masculinity. According to Gutiérrez, some foremen “eran muy perros” (were real dogs) and treated the Mexican workers, especially unskilled laborers, very harshly, but “they were in charge in those years.” Although workers had to arrive fifteen minutes early to get their machines in order, Gutiérrez said they never received pay for that extra time, even if it was required. “Those fifteen minutes, they stole it from us, that time.”82 Rodolfo Candelaria recalled one heated exchange with a foreman who refused to call him by his name: “One day the foreman said ‘Hey, you!’ I didn’t pay no attention, I didn’t know who in the hell he was talking to. He came to me and says, ‘Hey, you.’ I said, ‘Listen, my name ain’t “Hey, you,” my name is Candelaria. Understand? If you need me, you call me Candelaria, not ‘Hey, you.’ . . . Some other guys, they tried to do the same way, and I told them, ‘Uh, uh. That’s not my name.’ And I told the other fellow[s] ‘No se dejen [Don’t let them treat you that way].’”83 As this episode indicates, the verbal exchange between Candelaria and his foreman was 128

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about more than correcting rude behavior. By demanding that the foreman call him by his name, and telling other workers not to put up with this disrespect, Candelaria was claiming the regard he deserved both as a worker and as a man — he may have been this foreman’s subordinate, but he was not beneath him racially or otherwise. Revealing how his own concept of masculinity was intertwined with notions of skill, Candelaria contended that the root of Euro-American hostility was that Mexicans performed better than their Euro-American coworkers and better than their supervisors expected or could even do themselves. “Some of those Mexican guys were darn good machinists, better than the Yankees there, damn good,” he said. “They were jealous of [the Mexican workers] because they knew better.”84 Likewise, Candelaria’s statement about his Anglo coworkers’ jealousy takes a jab at the Anglo machinists’ masculine skill. Whether or not this was the case, the fact remains that both groups had developed their own understanding of legitimacy in the smelter ranks in which manhood and race were key components. Yet not all interactions with Euro-Americans were marked by confrontation. Although people recounted individual experiences with wage and job barriers and foremen who routinely showed disdain for Mexican workers, the fact that they simultaneously asserted that there was little or no discrimination in the plant suggests the active reworking of their narrative that placed them not as victims, but as smelter men who retained their dignity and status. The example of Rogelio Carlos Sr. offers special insight into how powerful this counternarrative can be. During his forty-four years at asarco, Carlos Sr. established a strong reputation as a hard worker and earned the respect of his coworkers, Euro-American and Mexican alike. His skill and expertise had won him promotions to better positions, including a salaried post, as well as recognition for his service and safety record. His son, Rogelio Carlos Jr., said that his father never really spoke of discrimination or conflicts with Anglos during his time at the smelter. On the contrary, he emphasized that Euro-American managerial staff recognized and respected his work. “He was well-liked by the Anglos,” Carlos Jr. explained. “He got along with them pretty good. He never had any conflicts . . . he was well liked ’cause they were colorblind to you. There was supervisors there that . . . Anglo supervisors that barely knew how to write their names. And my father used to tell me that he used to help them do their paperwork. And I guess that’s why they liked him . . . if they had a problem, they’d actually go to my father and he would help them out.”85 Arguably, the son’s account of his father’s experience is filtered through We’re Just Smelter People

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the lens of his own impressions. Carlos Jr. started working at the smelter in the second half of the twentieth century, when the power dynamics and racial politics had changed markedly. However, this story poignantly illustrates both the challenges Mexican smelter workers faced and how they reconstructed their memories of a painful past to highlight their positive roles at the smelter. The evidence suggests that smelter work was far from colorblind, given the systematic placement of Mexican workers in lesser-skilled positions regardless of their experience or training. On some level, being asked to help a supervisor with his paperwork must have been hard to accept. Carlos Sr.’s participation in union activities and strikes against the company for better opportunities and benefits indicates that even if he could foster harmonious relationships on the floor, he did not necessarily agree with the differential policies in place. In describing the positive interactions with foremen and supervisors, and making references to his qualifications in contrast to those of the Anglo supervisors who lacked even basic reading and writing skills, the Carlos men made a powerful assertion of their place in the smelter and challenged the dominant narrative ascribed to Mexican workers. Not all Anglos exhibited racist views of Mexican workers. José Jiménez Sr. observed: “There were some guys who I don’t think really liked Mexicans. But the higher-ranking foremen would reprimand them, they told them, ‘No, you’re not better than they are. Maybe it would be better if you left. . . . These people are working here, why do you bother them?’ No, but they did not succeed. We kept working there.” Mexican workers did not just keep working there. They transformed the workplace and challenged the racialized work order. José Hidalgo remembered that although he learned to speak English in order to communicate with the superintendent, manager, and foremen in his capacity as straw boss, Anglo workers, including the plant superintendent, also learned to speak Spanish out of necessity, revealing how the majority Mexican workforce pressed the managerial staff to adjust to the ethnic realities at the smelter. Hidalgo said, “I think at the time that I worked there, there were maybe two, three American guys that didn’t speak Spanish, but we taught them real quick, eh?”86 As another former asarco employee stated, “Oh yeah, you know . . . they’d [Anglos] separate themselves from the Mexicans. But after time went by, you know, we were making the same money as they were, and we were as better or worse off [than] they were, and so . . . they had to assimilate. They had to assimilate to us.”87 Despite the discrimination they encountered in many facets of their work experience, Mexican workers

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asserted their place in the smelter — they were there to stay, and managers had to adjust. Claiming status as smelter men did not just involve defining oneself against racist Euro-American foremen. Manhood, citizenship, and skill also divided Mexican smelter men from other Mexicans in the plant, both native and foreign born. Jesús Gutiérrez and Andrés Gómez said that sometimes the Mexican foremen and straw bosses were worse than Anglos, because these men worked them harder to win the favor of their supervisors. These “pushers” lacked the integrity that smelter men possessed not only because they did not always have the qualifications or experience for the position, but also because they sought to get ahead at the expense of other Mexican workers. Being a pusher did not bring better pay, Gutiérrez explained, but as the foremen’s “pets,” they got easier assignments and therefore did not work as hard as the “real” smelter men. Pedro Saucedo’s experiences with Mexican American foremen at the Southern Pacific seemed to be very similar to the practices in play at the smelter. “Well, the Anglo always treated me better than the Mexican American. That’s why I always preferred to work for an Anglo supervisor,” he said. “They treated me better. The Anglo[s] stood by you in certain things, or they would back you up. The Mexican American[s] didn’t stand up for you; they often just let you go see the boss by yourself and they were afraid to see the boss themselves.”88 The tension wrought by favoritism that set Mexican against Mexican did not go unnoticed. One former employee said: “Monsignor Costa [the parish priest in Smeltertown] . . . used to say, ’no hay peor cuña que del mismo palo’— there is no worse wedge than that made out of the same wood.”89

Union Men: Defining Manhood through Brotherhood Union organizing and strikes effected tremendous change for Mexican workers at the smelter; they also served as an important front on which Mexicans fought to determine what it meant to be smelter men. Labor activity among Mexican mine and smelter workers in the Southwest had a long history. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, Mexican workers in the region’s mining districts engaged in both informal work stoppages (known as strikitos) and organized efforts at unionization, like the major strike in CliftonMorenci, Arizona, in 1903.90 Mexican smelter workers in El Paso made similar attempts. In 1907, 150 Mexican smelter workers walked out at the El Paso

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plant demanding better pay. Six years later, in early 1913, they acted again, calling for an increase in wages, a decrease in working hours, and an end to unfair practices and treatment. Their ranks swelled to as many as 1,000 by the early spring. The men found some surprising support. Early on, they were joined by five Anglo union carpenters, and despite its contentious relationship with Mexican workers in the border city, the El Paso Central Labor Union endorsed the strike, even providing a small amount of financial assistance and tamping down its usual anti-Mexican rhetoric in the Labor Advocate. Nevertheless, the racialized border labor system proved insurmountable. As one historian explains, despite the initial signs of solidarity, more than 250 Anglo workers at asarco, likely unionized workers, continued to show up for work. The limited support from the Central Labor Union, the lack of organized representation, the company’s use of violence and intimidation, and the hiring of scabs — among them, Mexican nationals displaced from railroad work — combined to defeat the strikers. Although it ultimately failed, the action represented a critical moment in border labor history and revealed that the Mexican workers were willing to risk their jobs and their lives to be respected as smelter men.91 Unionization of Mexican workers at the asarco smelter and other area industries gained strength in the 1930s and 1940s with the emergence of the progressive Congress of Industrial Organizations (cio). The cio espoused a more radical approach, one that organized workers according to industry, not just craft, and included women, minorities, and immigrants; making significant gains during the Depression, it brought thousands of workers into its fold. It was in this context that the cio-affiliated International Union of Mine, Mill, and Smelter Workers began to organize Mexican workers at the El Paso smelter. Though Euro-American craftsmen at the smelter had long been represented by an American Federation of Labor–affiliated crafts union, there was no organization that addressed the concerns of the masses of Mexican workers.92 Smelter employee Humberto Silex and iummsw representative James Robinson initiated a campaign to organize Mexican American and Mexican workers at asarco, the Phelps Dodge–operated copper refinery across town, and the Southwestern Portland Cement Plant in Smeltertown. Collaboration across citizenship lines was instrumental to the union’s success. Silex and Robinson not only tapped “natural leaders” from among the smelter’s workforce, but also approached the Confederación de Trabajadores Mexicanos (ctm) in neighboring Ciudad Juárez for organizational help to reach the Mexican nationals employed at the smelter.93 Organizers utilized a 132

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“border strategy” of reaching out to Mexican workers — in Spanish — in the workplace, holding meetings in Smeltertown to attract community support, as well as appealing to Mexicans living in Juárez to join the union and not accept positions as scabs, which would undermine union efforts.94 These arguments certainly appealed to Andrés Gómez, a longtime smelter employee and union member who lived in Juárez until the 1960s. He faithfully joined when the union called for a strike, because “it is the only weapon that the worker has.” Despite the actions of plant officials and El Paso County sheriff Chris P. Fox to intimidate union leaders and accuse them of communist activity, the organizing efforts were a success. “Years back, yes, I’d say about 99 percent were union,” Rogelio Carlos Jr. stated. “They needed a union. The company just . . . I guess they treated you like slaves.”95 While collaboration across the border was instrumental to the union’s success, the practice of hiring foreign workers to replace Mexican workers pushing for change was a tried-and-true strategy for undermining union efforts in El Paso. The ongoing struggle to acquire rights and status as Americans in light of continued immigration from Mexico sometimes forced Mexican Americans to make the difficult choice to distance themselves from the foreign-born men with whom they worked in similar jobs and under similar conditions at the smelter.96 In the same way that Euro-American strikers challenged the manliness of Mexican workers, Mexican American smelter men implicitly challenged the masculinity of foreign workers who crossed picket lines or were generally willing to accept low-paying and menial jobs. During the 1946 nationwide walkout by the iummsw that included the Local 509 chapter at asarco, strikers initiated round-the-clock picket lines to prevent the plant from hiring strikebreakers. Knowing that asarco and Phelps Dodge would draw from the pool of laborers from across the border, strike committees secured the promise of the ctm that it would not allow Mexicans to break the strike.97 This show of solidarity could also be seen as a display of masculinity and honor. A scab crossing the picket line possessed neither. One particularly honest former union member recalled: “Even at asarco, all the menial jobs were supposed to go to Mexicans, you know . . . and when we wouldn’t accept it, they didn’t like it at all. So when they . . . had ‘trouble’ with us, then they started hiring . . . wetbacks. The bigger the hat, the sooner they’d get hired . . . they had too much trouble with the citizens.” Using derogatory terms like “wetbacks” and making reference to the fact that they were preferred to the trouble-making “citizens,” this worker made a clear distinction between Mexican nationals and Mexican We’re Just Smelter People

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American citizens, using language similar to that used by turn-of-the-century employers and unions.98 While hardly politically correct, these sentiments point to the powerful appeal of citizenship as a marker of status in a border labor system. Building on the foundation laid by workers in the 1930s, the strikes of the iummsw in the 1940s brought about many positive material changes for Mexican workers. In June 1945, the union signed its first contract with asarco establishing the iummsw as the bargaining agent for the workers, a forty-hour workweek, time and a half for overtime, a wage increase of 111⁄4 cents per hour, a one-week paid vacation, and discontinuance of the company store and segregated facilities.99 The strike remained a powerful tool for the workers. The following year the smelter workers went on an industrywide, three-month strike calling for improved wages and benefits, effectively halting plant operations. Thereafter, Mexicans were able to bid on positions as crane operators, machinists, motormen, and foremen. If asarco had stood out as one of the best employers in town before these tangible gains, the new pay increases and greater occupational opportunities only made smelter work all the more attractive. Advertisements for asarco touting a starting pay of $0.75 an hour (approximately $6.00 for an eight-hour day) prompted José Jiménez Sr. to leave his job at a local construction firm for the smelter. Similarly, Rodolfo Candelaria earned about $1.00 an hour when he started as a machinist at the smelter in the mid-1940s, and Julio Hernández made $1.90 per hour when he transferred to the El Paso plant from Chihuahua in the late 1940s.100 José Hidalgo said his starting pay in 1947 was $5.85 a day.101 Furthermore, the increased wages and opportunities allowed union members to claim their place as the man of the house. Returning to work after months out on strike restored their manliness as family breadwinners, even as the very act of organizing affirmed their masculinity. As the chairman of the strike committee told the El Paso Herald Post, “That’s the American way of fighting, when workers and company men can get together and talk things out.” In addition, men returning to Phelps Dodge were excited to know that they would no longer have to be “staying home during the day and reading the funny papers” to their children, that they could return to the task of providing for their families the luxuries of allowances, fares for movies, and new “dresses and shoes” for their wives.102 The union battles waged in the 1930s and 1940s, as well as the military service of Mexican American men in World War II, reshaped the ways in which workers viewed the relationship between citizenship and masculinity 134

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Two strikers outside the smelter, July 14, 1949. A. Briones (left) and Luis A. Gonzales, members of Local 509, International Union of Mine, Mill, and Smelter Workers, picket outside the smelter’s main entrance. The union became a powerful tool by which Mexican workers gained better opportunities and became proud smelter men. Photo courtesy of the El Paso Times.

in defining smelter manhood. The events of these decades also brought about important changes in how the Mexican population in the United States conceived of themselves and their place in the social, political, and economic life of the nation. Various scholars have shown how Depression-era repatriation exposed the precarious position ethnic Mexicans held in American society; the threat of deportation, regardless of their citizenship status, forced them to make critical choices about their national identity. Others point to World War II military service and national appeals to wartime unity as providing the impetus and language that Mexican Americans appropriated in order to demand their rights as citizens.103 In the case of El Paso’s Mexican smelter workers, a long relationship that dated back to prerevolutionary Mexico in which the company and workers had mutual responsibilities also contributed to their sense of belonging and informed their struggles for equality and We’re Just Smelter People

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fairness on the job. Although this history mattered, many men also recalled World War II as a critical turning point for Mexicans at the smelter. While generations of experience certainly shaped labor activism, the war seemed to provide a different conceptual framework for understanding the legitimate right of smelter men to better pay and working conditions. Though Mexican American workers had already begun to distance themselves from their Mexican counterparts, the language of patriotism, freedom, and Americanism was a powerful tool for workers. Employing the ideals of rights and liberties earned as American veterans and union men, Mexican American workers laid claim to the rights that they (and their fathers and grandfathers before them) had been fighting to attain for generations. Many described a marked difference in job opportunities after returning from military service. Rodolfo Candelaria, who was involved in the union movement at asarco, remembered how he helped to convince the smelter superintendent to let him train Mexican machinists after the war. Candelaria, who became known as “El Maestro,” told the superintendent: “Well, these Mexican boys [have] served their country, they’re entitled to have better jobs. Let’s get going.”104 In addition to the visible change in the opportunities for Mexican workers at the smelter, there was also a subtle shift in attitudes. Panfilo Dueñez commented: “When I came back from the Army, well, we had more privileges. . . . And then we had new people who didn’t have the same kinds of discrimination against the people here . . . yes, we experienced a lot of discrimination. But I don’t know what happened, something I just don’t understand . . . when I came back from the Army, I had been back at the smelter for about a week, and this man who was very . . . very anti-Mexican . . . he was very changed.”105 By the close of World War II, Mexican workers found better-paying, higher-skilled jobs at the smelter. Candelaria observed: “We got machinists, we got electricians, we got pipefitters, we have painters, we have carpenters; everything. At first the big jobs [were] for the Anglos. Now you go to the smelter and you find, let’s see, I think there are only two Americans [Anglos].”106 The experience of war and the strength of the union changed the conditions of many workers at the smelter, opening greater opportunities for Mexicans at asarco. Moreover, the fact that by the 1940s, 70 percent of the new Spanish surnamed employees were native-born Mexican Americans further reveals the changes taking place at the smelter.107 For generations, Mexicans had asserted their place in the plant; having fought on the picket lines and the front lines, they claimed their rights as men and as citizens to higher-skilled, better-paying positions and transformed the workplace. 136

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Company Men: Corporate Paternalism and Worker Loyalty Despite their overwhelming participation in union drives and their direct challenges to the entrenched racial politics of the smelter, Mexican workers retained a strong sense of loyalty to asarco, reflecting the deeply nuanced relationship welfare capitalists had forged with their workers. As Lizabeth Cohen explains, American corporations responded to the violent labor struggles of the World War I era by enacting a series of measures geared toward securing workers’ loyalty and productivity. Rather than using repressive and heavy-handed paternalistic approaches to labor management, which represented little more than “a padded glove over an iron fist,” they opted for more enlightened measures including the reorganization of employer/worker relationships in the plants, wage incentives, welfare programs, and communitybuilding activities. They hoped that by winning over employees through these positive measures, workers would cede their trust to the employer, not the union or the state.108 While smelter workers in El Paso certainly benefited from the new, “enlightened corporation” approach, their arrangement with the smelter had much older roots. Workers who had migrated to El Paso through the transnational network of labor and capital created by asarco were already familiar with the ways in which the company rewarded employee loyalty through company housing, stores, schools, and employment packages. The relationship between asarco and its workers residing in Smeltertown was shaped by an understood mutuality, in which both parties received some benefit. Though an undercurrent of corporate paternalism ran through asarco’s efforts to maintain a controllable, productive working community, Mexican workers not only recognized these benefits that made smelter work so appealing, but they also helped to reinforce their sense of belonging and status as smelter men. asarco provided a number of perks to ensure loyalty within its ranks. In addition to monetary compensation, its workers received accidental death benefits and pensions, which, though not high by most standards, represented an effort to show the company’s goodwill toward its workforce. And there were other incentives. Jesús Gutiérrez remembered that during the World War II labor shortages, the smelter provided meals between double shifts. “At the change of shift, the company would pay us and they would take us sandwiches at our jobs . . . and good sandwiches.” Workers received a tendollar monthly bonus for their efforts. And when Pedro Saucedo’s stepfather was killed in an accident at the smelter in 1935, his mother received eight thousand dollars in compensation from asarco.109 Moreover, the company We’re Just Smelter People

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attempted to help maintain the ethnic culture of its workers. For instance, in the early years of the plant, it paid for and built a bandstand on company property for the celebration of Mexican holidays such as 16 de Septiembre and Cinco de Mayo.110 If the smelter hoped to secure the workers’ loyalty through such efforts, it succeeded. Despite the hardships he encountered, Gutiérrez said he never participated in strikes, due largely to the benefits the company provided: “I lived in a company house . . . I had four very good rooms . . . well, the company treated me very well in those days.” This did not stop others from striking. Indeed, it was probably the sense of the company’s responsibility to its workers as much as the desire for greater job opportunities that spurred them into action. The smelter also sponsored community-building activities intended to bring workers into the asarco family. As early as the 1920s, it supported local baseball teams and leagues for its workers. The organization of athletic events served multiple functions for plant officials and workers alike. For the company, organized sports served to teach workers the virtues of wholesome activities that would build team spirit and camaraderie and improve morale on the job, while lessening the ties to ethnic or neighborhood teams and providing a healthy outlet for pent-up frustrations. In Smeltertown, sporting competitions had long been important community events, and companysponsored teams reinforced, rather than undermined, these long-standing ties. When the smelter team competed against the cement plant, brick plant, or other area teams, the games drew workers, families, and friends. María Palacio remembered going to see her father, Marciano González, play at the field by the El Paso brick plant; families would take a picnic lunch and sit under the trees to enjoy the game.111 By the 1950s, the machine shop organized a team that competed against teams from all over the city and Ciudad Juárez.112 In addition, as historian José Alamillo has shown, these athletic teams provided precious leisure space where men could “reassert their racial and masculine identity” through physical competition on the field and through the expression of manly bravado, drinking and sometimes even fighting off the field. Moreover, these leisure spaces served as places where men honed the kind of leadership skills and formed social networks required for successful union organizing.113 Whether organized by the company or the workers, baseball, softball, and other games reflected the ways in which both company and workers attempted to build a community tied to the smelter, but also extended beyond its walls. One of asarco’s most important resources in its attempt to create future 138

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company men was the Smelter Vocational School, which opened its doors in 1923. Vocational schools in this era functioned largely as agents of social control and Americanization; indeed, few opportunities for better positions immediately materialized for graduates of the Smelter Vocational School. For hundreds of Mexican students, the school offered the promise of access to higher-paying, skilled positions in the smelter and other area firms through vocational training and symbolized the potential for something better, influencing their willingness to trust the company. Given the school’s function and popularity (it produced over three hundred graduates between 1923 and 1942), it is evident that Mexican workers considered the acquisition of vocational skills crucial to their future economic security. Skilled workers passed this mindset down to their children by encouraging them to seek out training. Alberto Beard Jr. learned this lesson from his father, who not only worked at asarco, but was also an instructor at the Vocational School.114 Melchor Santana Sr. said many people took advantage of the education offered by the school because it was free and not restricted to smelter employees and their children. “asarco paid for everything, and my father didn’t even work for asarco. Everybody was welcome there.”115 Pedro Saucedo commended the school for providing essential training to its students. He believed that asarco helped many workers learn important skills that enabled them to get better-paying jobs.116 According to Panfilo Dueñez, one of its first graduates, the Vocational School was a great opportunity because it offered training in a wide variety of areas and its students left with a “carera” (career). As Dueñez recalled, “When Mr. Carrasco came, and they gave him what was known as the Smelter Vocational School, we [Dueñez and his friend Lorenzo Perales] were in school over here at Courchesne [the county school]. I was in the fifth grade, Lorenzo, I think he was also in the fifth grade, well off we went . . . we went to learn a trade. Well, the instructor, he was a very good man, recognized us, and he told us, ‘Look boys, you have very little education, and so . . . you’re going to learn a trade, to use your hands so you can get a good job.’”117 Although the Vocational School was an example of the limited educational choices available to Mexicans and other people of color in the United States, its effects for Smeltertown’s working community were more far-reaching. For Dueñez and many other residents, the Vocational School represented a chance not only to receive an education, but also to build a career directly linked to the industrial work at the smelter. Both sides seemed to benefit from the arrangement: the smelter gained a more skilled and self-replenishing workWe’re Just Smelter People

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force by educating its neighboring Mexican community. Mexicans received important industrial training and the chance to acquire a higher-paying job. The school created and trained a class of skilled workers who used their education to claim a place in the history of the smelter. Another way in which asarco fostered a sense of community was through the Twenty-Five Year Club. Established in 1950, the club had two purposes: to recognize workers who “have given long and faithful service” to the smelter for twenty-five years or more and to “[promote] social relationship among the members of the Club.”118 Each year on or near April 4 (asarco’s anniversary), an annual meeting and banquet were held as the club’s signature events linking the workers with the history of the company. The evening provided a time for past and present employees to socialize and enjoy a nice dinner together. Members were welcomed by the current plant manager, and the president (the active employee with the most seniority at the time) was named. In addition, a moment of silence was observed for members who had died in the past year, and new members were inducted into the club. This latter portion of the evening’s events was the most important. By listing the names of deceased and new members, the club and the company recognized the individual contributions of workers and designated them part of the community of silver-year veterans. The large number of Mexican employees among the membership, furthermore, underscores not only their significant achievements but also their longevity at asarco. Of the thirtyfive charter members living at the time of the twenty-fifth annual banquet in 1975, thirty-three were of Mexican heritage, including Marciano González and Rogelio Carlos Jr.’s grandfather, Gonzalo Carlos. By the time of the fortyseventh annual banquet, it was reported that forty-one of the forty-seven past presidents had been Mexican.119 The image of four members of the TwentyFive Year Club — all gentlemen in their eighties when photographed for the asarco News — provides a visual testimony of the experiences of thousands of Mexican workers. Mexicans were a vital part of the smelter and were proud company men. They gave years of service, endured discrimination and physically demanding labor, and carved out a prominent place for themselves in the history of asarco. Many of the men profiled here witnessed a great degree of turnover during their time at the smelter, yet the fact that several retired with more than thirty years’ service suggests the effectiveness of asarco’s efforts to make a community of company men. According to employee records, of the sample of all employees hired between 1900 and 1960, slightly more than 4 percent 140

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(or 61 employees) retired from the smelter. Jesús Gutiérrez was one of them. When interviewers from the University of Texas at El Paso’s Institute of Oral History met with Gutiérrez on February 26–27, 1980, he had already been retired from asarco for more than thirty years. In describing his time with the company — more than fifty years in all — Gutiérrez painted a rich portrait of the Mexican experience at the smelter. As a child, he would take lunch to the gates at break time; as an employee, he worked hard, on some occasions sweeping out the sample room, on others carrying 200- and 300-pound loads of ore to the furnaces. He spoke of the discrimination he confronted and the changes he witnessed. As he reminisced, Gutiérrez commented that talking about his experiences was like working again. “Me excito del corazon” (My heart becomes excited), he said. This simple statement reveals the strong connections Mexican workers forged with the company, as well as the power of being able to rewrite one’s story. Gutiérrez’s narrative is not one of victimhood. Though reflecting discrimination and hard work under less-than-ideal conditions, his memories are framed in a way that allow him to be proud of his contributions, excited in his heart. Above all, the long lists of asarco’s multigenerational Mexican workers speak most powerfully to the company culture of which they were a part. Like the three generations of the González clan, numerous families claimed generations of men who labored at and retired from asarco. José Lerma, his father, and several of his brothers worked at asarco, and by his account they put in more than three hundred years of labor between them. In addition to establishing lengthy service to the smelter, successive generations found mobility. Rogelio Carlos Jr., who represented the third generation of his family to work at asarco, established a long career at the smelter, eventually becoming a supervisor and traveling to Chile to help with the company’s operations there. The Carlos family witnessed the company’s arc firsthand. Grandfather Gonzalo Carlos had been a part of asarco almost from its beginnings in Chihuahua; Carlos Jr. was there after the plant ended production in 1999. By then, Carlos Jr.’s son Bob was also working there. The El Paso Times commemorated the “multigenerational contributions to asarco” in February 1999, saying: “Just look at all the families who have worked at asarco, dedicated laborers who have toiled and [sweated] at the plant for generations and generations, sometimes fathers and sons, sometimes only brothers — people like the Floreses, the Arellanos; the Lermas, Arturo, Mike, Manny, Luis, and before them, their father Pedro.” For many Mexican workers, their labor at asarco was central to their identity as individuals and as members of a comWe’re Just Smelter People

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munity. Through the hardships and challenges, they had become smelter men and company men. The smelter was, as Rogelio Carlos Jr. told the El Paso Times, “in our blood.”120

Smelter Families By its size and prominence, the smelter touched the lives of all of the people who called Smeltertown home. The sights, sounds, and smells from the earliest years of its operation were a constant reminder of the industrial character of the community and its dependence on the smelter’s existence. Former Smeltertown residents remembered the smell of the exhaust and other emissions from the plant — a fine yellow dust of sulfur that rained out of the smokestacks in the mornings, the soot that kept the locals from leaving their white clothing on the clothesline overnight. Residents also had vivid memories of the noise; the constant churning of machinery operating 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year, and the sound of freight and passenger trains passing through the community were ever-present reminders of the industries at the core of the community. The ominous blare of the plant’s emergency siren was always followed by fear that a husband, father, or brother had been injured or killed at work. Though rare, a strong explosion at the plant could shatter the glass windows in El Alto, necessitating the immediate evacuation of homes.121 In moments like these, there was little question as to industry’s role in the life of the community. For many residents, these were a fact of life. In the most fundamental ways, the smelter defined the lives of Smeltertown’s residents. Furthermore, while smelter work transformed Mexican workers into smelter men, it also reconfigured relationships between family members and helped to define their roles in contributing to the household economy. The schedules of women and children, as members of smelter families, mirrored those of their counterparts at the plant. The smelter counted on women not only to provide wholesome, clean homes for its present workers but also to produce and raise future workers. More important, while men strove to achieve the wages and stature that would allow them to be the breadwinners of the family, women provided critical gendered work that kept the household running. Women performed the domestic tasks — cooking nutritious meals for the family, cleaning the house, washing clothes — as well as raising the children and teaching them their respective roles in the home. Girls learned early on the importance of women’s work to the household. María 142

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Palacio, one of Julia González’s daughters, distinctly recalled her initiation to women’s work. “By the age of 9 years old I was making tortillas. I knew how to make tortillas and my mother and I used to fix the . . . dinner in the afternoon,” she said. “That’s why I tell [people] ‘I was born in the kitchen and I’m gonna die in the kitchen! [laughter].’” Her sisters did all of the washing and ironing and housecleaning. From the beginning, María understood that these chores were essential: “And everybody had to work. You know, not for somebody else, but at home.”122 Boys learned their responsibilities from an early age as well. While girls were given domestic duties in the home, young boys’ tasks were generally associated with the kinds of physical work that would someday earn them a wage. Julia González’s sons chopped and stacked the wood that the family used in its wood-burning stove and that their elderly grandmother, one of Smeltertown’s street vendors, sold around the neighborhood. When they were older, young men found intermittent work as caddies for Anglo country club members, some of whom likely held management positions at one of Smeltertown’s industrial firms.123 Other chores and work opportunities placed these youths in closer contact with the male-defined work at the smelter. Many boys took their fathers’ lunch to the gates of the smelter at break time. Jesús Gutiérrez was about five years old when he started taking lunch to his father.124 Some boys worked as scouts and water boys in the smelter, while others, like Andrés Ortíz, found employment at an early age in one of the other industries in the area. Ortíz began working at the Southwestern Portland Cement plant for two or three summers in the 1910s when he was still in school.125 Eventually, young men and women enrolled at the Smelter Vocational School, further reinforcing the importance of the gendered division of labor. The role of industry in reshaping the lives of women and children is clear. At the same time the men were establishing their work identities at the smelter, women and children were figuring out the part they would play in the family economy. A very small percentage of married women listed in both the 1920 and 1930 censuses earned a wage outside the home (less than 4 percent in both decades). On the one hand, this seems to suggest that such work was rarely acceptable. Outside employment might challenge the masculine role of breadwinner that smelter men worked to attain. María Palacio said that although her mother Julia had worked as a laundress before she wed Marciano González, once she married her husband did not want her to work — she joked that it was probably because there were so many kids to care for. Sabina Alva tearfully remembered quitting her job as a seamstress at the Popular Dry We’re Just Smelter People

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Goods Company (a local department store) even though her husband was on strike at the smelter, because her son suggested that her employment might make her husband the target of ridicule by his coworkers. These two brief anecdotes suggest how notions of gender had a powerful place in the minds of Mexican smelter workers.126 Another explanation for the low numbers of working women might be that census enumerators failed to capture the full range of women’s options available to supplement their family’s income. Smeltertown’s industrial and commercial economy created opportunities for women to contribute in less formal, though no less significant, ways through the extension of their household duties. In some cases, they prepared large meals at lunch, and workers left the plant to eat at home or at one of a number of “restaurants” for a small charge. Marciano González’s wife Julia operated one such informal eatery. Similarly, Sabina Alva’s aunt ran her small restaurant in El Alto for years, and Doña Chencha, who opened a small store that sold shaved ice and candies out of her home in Smeltertown, also prepared lunches for workers, which her sons delivered to the plant’s gates at noon and 5:00 p.m. In addition to the several restaurateurs, some older women earned an income as landlords, collecting rent on their properties. In the 1920s and 1930s, Andrés Ortíz’s mother rented out twenty-two small houses in the neighborhood, which brought in roughly ten to fifteen dollars a month.127 A number of women, including Ortíz’s mother, worked as parteras (midwives) in the community, and some charged a flat rate to help deliver babies.128 Also, some young women worked as teachers both inside and outside of the home; Alva remembered several who operated escuelas particulares in Smeltertown. Graduates of the Smelter Vocational School, like Luz Luján (Perales), had the opportunity to teach vocational classes. Expanding their gendered roles thus allowed women to help sustain the family financially without directly undermining the position of the man of the house. There were, of course, women — married and single — who did work outside their homes. For the most part, women’s options consisted of positions that extended private work into the public realm. The largest numbers of women in the 1920s and 1930s worked as domestics or maids for private families or as laundresses for families, professional laundries, or the smelter hospital. Prisciliana Torres Rentería and some of her friends from Smeltertown, for example, worked as maids for families in El Paso, taking the streetcar downtown to find work; María Palacio’s aunt was a maid in a home on Smelter Terrace.129 Women also found work as street vendors and peddlers, or as 144

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Women workers at asarco, ca. 1940s. During World War II, Mexican women filled the jobs of smelter men. The family of Herlinda Salas (top row at far left) shared this photograph. Photo courtesy of the Salvador Salas Family Photograph Collection, El Paso.

clerks or proprietors of small general stores; others sold items like wood, milk, and cheese from carts throughout the neighborhood. Panfilo Dueñez’s aunt was even known to sell a little bootleg liquor on the side.130 There were also seamstresses and a teacher, and a few women worked in the smelter clinic and offices. These women, like so many others, were active participants in the economic life of the Smeltertown community, though their opportunities to earn money were determined along gendered lines. Although smelter work was strongly identified as men’s work, young women filling labor shortages during World War II challenged the gender barrier if only temporarily. According to employee records, a number of women entered the smelter between 1942 and 1946. In the sample of all asarco employee records, women represented 3 percent of new employees in the 1940s. Women in the Smeltertown sample helped fill vacant positions in slightly We’re Just Smelter People

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larger numbers, constituting 14 percent of new employees in this period. Like the men who left their jobs to serve in the armed forces, the women in both groups were almost exclusively Mexican American. Prisciliana Torres Rentería began working at asarco in 1943, shortly after the death of her husband, a longtime asarco employee.131 Rentería said she performed the same type of work as the men. “Well, see, I got to do a number of jobs,” she explained, “but one thing that I have never forgotten was when we worked the reverbs, which was where they melted ores, and there you had to wear these shoes with very thick soles, like out of wood, because it was a terrible heat that you just couldn’t stand! And we had to push wheelbarrows and take them over where they went into the reverbs. And also up there where the trains came in filled with materials . . . to unload or load.” Rentería worked alongside her friends Herlinda Salas and Leonor López, who performed the same type of work as the male employees, and for the same pay. In fact, it was this promise of equal pay that was so alluring; although the work at the smelter was very physically demanding, Rentería noted, it paid much better than cleaning houses.132 According to employee cards and former workers, the smelter released these women as men returned from military service.133 Like other wartime workers, asarco’s smelter women had answered the call to support their men and their country in time of need, but, when the war ended, they were asked to leave so smelter men could resume their rightful place. The few women who managed to remain on the payroll were transferred to less arduous positions in the office or equipment rooms. Rogelio Carlos Jr. remembered a woman who had begun working during the war who did not retire from asarco until shortly after his arrival in the 1960s.134 Although certainly in the minority, women played an important role at the smelter, and their entry into industrial work was a result of the strong influence of the smelter in their community and in their lives. But their immediate release after the return of smelter men also perpetuated the rigid division of labor that defined smelter work as ultimately men’s work.

“We Were Smelter People”: Rewriting Narratives of Work and Persistence Manuel Gonzales — machinist, smelter man, World War II veteran, father and grandfather — was a man of few stories. As his granddaughter, that is how I remember him. He was never really one to regale us with tales of the past,

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though we managed to find out bits and pieces about his life over the years. I have vivid memories of playing on the big porch at my grandparents’ home in Buena Vista and catching a glimpse of him walking up the hill from his job at the smelter. Dressed neatly in a button-down shirt, slacks, and his standard wing-tipped shoes, he carried a big black lunchbox in one hand and, if we were lucky, a treat like a book of paper dolls in the other. When he died in December 2006, my mother told me that she herself knew little about the job where her father spent his working days. Growing up, she knew he was a machinist at asarco. She saw him leave and return each day, dressed in his usual dapper manner, and on Fridays he brought with him his oily, stained work uniform that her mother washed in a separate load. She knew he was a union man, and that meant in the event of a strike her father would take his turn on the picket line. During one particularly long and drawn-out confrontation, when strike pay from the union grew thin, her father took a construction job to bring in much-needed income for the family. This strike stood out in her memory, not for the details of the demands or even its unusual length. Rather, it was the first time she had ever seen her father return from a long day of work sweaty and covered in dirt. It was then that she understood that her father labored with his hands. At the smelter, Manuel could shower away the oil and grime that came from a hard day’s work, put on a fresh set of clothes, and bring home his dirty uniform to be washed. By contrast, his construction worker’s uniform was harder to discard. As I considered these memories in greater depth, I realized that Manuel Gonzales had been telling us his story all along. My grandfather’s ability and choice to step out of his work clothes at the end of the day provides insight into how he and other smelter men viewed their own sense of identity in relation to their working lives. asarco gave Mexican smelter workers the opportunity to shed the uniform that the border labor system had forced them to wear: that of racially inferior, transient, unskilled, and exploitable laborers. The uniform they chose in its place was that of proud, permanent, smelter men who challenged the racialized labor system in which they found themselves through hard work, physical strength, and the knowledge and skills that came from years of service. In assuming this uniform, smelter workers crafted a new narrative of their experience. In this story, they were members of a permanent class of workers with deep roots and community ties. The stories of grandfathers and fathers emigrating from Mexico to work in the smelter, of wives and children preparing and delivering them food, and of

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successive generations finding better jobs and pay established their long history in Smeltertown and the border region, and connected them in intimate ways to the company that gave the city life. They were proud of these accomplishments and of being a part of the asarco family. It gave them and their families a distinct place in El Paso’s history.

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4 We Were One Hundred Percent Mexican Eramos cien porciento Mexicanos (We were one hundred percent Mexican) — josé “corona” luján, former Smeltertown resident

Resting on the bluff against the gates to the massive steel structures of the smelter, the picturesque adobe chapel eventually called San José de Cristo Rey held a prominent and symbolic place in Mexican Smeltertown. It was, first and foremost, a spiritual home for the largely Catholic community, a place where its members fulfilled the obligations of their faith by baptizing their children, sanctifying their marriages, and receiving the last rites as required by church law. However, its significance in the lives of Esmeltianos was also rooted in a more basic and intimate connection: it was a place residents made with their own hands. Smeltertown’s pioneers gave of their limited wages, time, and manual labor to build the church structure. Even after its completion, parishioners continued to contribute to the maintenance of the building and later additions. It is no surprise, then, that when Father J. M. Bertrant called upon parishioners in 1924 to construct a stone grotto on the side of the church in honor of Our Lady of Immaculate Conception, they responded enthusiastically. As part of the project, Bertrant asked members of the parish to serve as patrons and proposed a ceremony to mark the laying of the first stone — to be blessed by the bishop of El Paso. This first stone was a hollowed piece of concrete with a lid, and in the dedication of the grotto as a community space Bertrant encouraged parishioners to deposit in the cavity items of special significance to them. More than one hundred Mexican men and women accepted the honor of serving as patrons of the grotto. As might be expected, the items selected to be placed in the cornerstone included a list of the patrons, photographs of former and current parish priests and the bishop, and issues of assorted Catholic newspapers such as the Hoja Parroquial de Smelter. Patrons also chose to include a set of U.S. and Mexican coins, a collection of paper currency from the Venustiano Carranza and Porfirio Díaz governments in Mexico, and pictures of the smelter buildings.1 The blessing

First Communion at the smelter parish, date unknown. The group is posed in front of the stone grotto to Our Lady of Immaculate Conception, proximate to the smelter grounds. University of Texas at El Paso Library, Special Collections Department, ms 349, Luz and Lorenzo Perales Smeltertown Photographs.

of the completed grotto on the Feast of the Assumption that August was an elaborate affair; Father Bertrant praised the grotto as a “monument of piety and loving remembrance of the youth of [Smeltertown] and of the many who helped in its construction.”2 As the events surrounding the grotto project show, in the early twentieth century additions to the physical structures of the church were not the only things under construction at the smelter parish. The items included in the grotto’s first stone suggest the interplay between religious affinity and cultural and national citizenship, and how residents of Smeltertown were constructing their own sense of themselves as Mexicans — in culture and practice, if not always by citizenship — in the context of their geographic location in a border town. In sanctifying and claiming this space in the grotto, the parishioners declared themselves to be devout Catholics. Esmeltianos were also proud of their connection to a Mexican heritage and history, as evidenced by the inclusion of Mexican currencies that marked important individuals in national history. Yet they were pointedly aware of how their location north of 150

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the Rio Grande shaped their sense of self. The inclusion of U.S. currency and photographs of the workplace in the cornerstone suggests that Esmeltianos understood that they were a part of this new place too, and that their identity was shaped by, and formulated against, the literal and figurative backdrop of American capitalism that exerted so much influence over both their working and their private lives. This richly textured event sheds light on the complicated process by which Smeltertown’s Catholic residents came to understand their Mexican identity in relation to their geographic, cultural, and racial position in a border community. This chapter explores how Esmeltianos articulated cultural and political Mexican identities at a time when the line dividing the United States and Mexico was becoming increasingly fixed through law and the racial boundaries in El Paso were becoming even more rigid. Specifically, it examines how the serene Catholic chapel on the hill became the locus for developing a positive counternarrative to challenge the dominant perceptions of what it meant to “be Mexican” in a U.S. border town. How Esmeltianos conceived of themselves in ethnic terms was intimately tied to the cultural and racial politics that unfolded in the first two decades of the twentieth century and the ways in which Anglo city leaders and residents of El Paso viewed Mexicans, Mexico, and their relationship to the border city. As we have seen, El Paso’s Anglo residents, political officials, and smelter managerial staff already viewed Mexicans as laborers. In addition, the presence of Mexican insurrectionist encampments within clear view of the border and revolutionary battles taking place just a stone’s throw from the center of town fueled the city’s fascination with revolutionary violence and illicit activities. At the same time, the increasing volume of migrants from Mexico resulting from the displacement wrought by both revolution and dire economic hardship exacerbated the impoverished and overcrowded conditions in El Paso’s segregated barrios, creating a heightened fear of disease linked to Mexican bodies. In response, local officials pushed for stronger immigration inspection procedures and sought to eradicate contagion that threatened the health of their American city. Eventually, El Paso would capitalize on its connection to revolutionary ties as a way to deal with its Mexican past. At the time, El Pasoans cast their gaze southward, toward their Mexican neighbors, with a mix of fascination and anxiety. Mexicans represented the consummate foreigners and racial others — dangerous, deadly, and diseased. To be sure, in the political climate of the early twentieth century, Esmeltianos could not forget they were Mexican. In a city where just about everything We Were One Hundred Percent Mexican

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Mexican was devalued by the mainstream, the activities of the smelter parish provided a place where Esmeltianos could craft a positive Mexican sensibility, a sense of mexicanidad that celebrated a shared heritage and served as a bulwark against the daily encounters with racism.3 Mexicanidad in Smeltertown was also shaped by a Mexican Progressive ideology that contained its own notions of class and respectability. Mexican government officials, Spanishlanguage journalists, and members of the Mexican middle and upper classes competed to retain a sense of national identity and cultural integrity among working-class Mexicans living in the United States. These groups focused their attention on México de afuera (the Mexico outside Mexico) in the hope of maintaining allegiance to the home country through the celebration of Mexican patriotic holidays, retention of the Spanish language, and continued adherence to the Catholic faith. At times, this process of constructing mexicanidad was a hotly contested and deeply divisive issue, cutting along generational, class, and citizenship lines. The writings of the strong-willed and highly vocal smelter parish priest, particularly on the conflict between Church and state in Mexico in the 1920s, illuminate the different ways that Esmeltianos conceived of mexicanidad and its place in their lives. Concurrently, as this chapter reveals, in defining mexicanidad in Smeltertown, Esmeltianos drew on both American and Mexican cultural influences, strategically and selectively choosing the elements that best suited their desires and needs at any given time, thereby charting their own path through the racially and culturally fraught waters of “being Mexican” in Smeltertown.

The Mexican Image in the Anglo Mind Being Mexican in a U.S. border city in the first decades of the twentieth century was fundamentally framed by the economic, political, and social events that unfolded on both sides of the border. While economic factors played a major role in determining how Anglos conceived of Mexicans in El Paso, the political turmoil and violence that accompanied the Mexican Revolution served as the backdrop against which El Pasoans formulated their attitudes and impressions of Mexicans. Some of the earliest battles took place in the north, most notably in the neighboring state of Chihuahua. Following Francisco Madero’s call to depose the antidemocratic Díaz regime on November 20, 1910, rebel soldiers — representing a wide cross section of Mexican society and led by local leaders including Pancho Villa and Pascual Orozco — marched into towns across the northern state. Under Orozco’s command, rebels racked 152

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up several military victories against federal troops and expanded their ranks exponentially. By Spring 1911, Orozco and Villa called for an armed attack to take Ciudad Juárez, one of the largest Mexican border cities and ports of entry to the United States. Against Madero’s orders to retreat for fear of provoking U.S. intervention, Orozco’s troops attacked in early May 1911. The bitter fighting lasted for three days, severely damaging Juárez’s infrastructure. The battle ended with federal General Juan Navarro’s surrender to revolutionary forces, but the war was far from over.4 Given its geographic proximity, as well as its long-standing political and economic ties, El Paso found itself a part of both sides of the action. El Paso was one of several U.S. cities that provided a haven from which the rebels launched their movements against Porfirio Díaz’s regime; it was also the destination of citizens sympathetic to Díaz who were seeking to escape the increasingly hostile environment in Mexico (to this day, a street in the Sunset Heights neighborhood where many of these wealthy exiles lived bears Díaz’s name). Moreover, the intimately entwined railroad and transportation infrastructure connecting the two nations was conveniently centered in El Paso, a city with “a large Mexican population whose loyalties had remained with the land of their birth” and — the official policy of neutrality notwithstanding — “a potential source of arms, munitions, and provisions.”5 The El Paso–Juárez region was thus at the epicenter of early revolutionary activity, and El Paso was tied to what was happening in its embattled sister city across the border; it is impossible to speak of one without the other. When revolutionary troops prepared for battle and set up camp across the river from Smeltertown in 1911, Esmeltianos arguably had the best seats from which to view the rebels’ activities. Born in 1905, Sabina Alva had distinct memories of American and Mexican soldiers on their respective banks of the Rio Grande, near the cement plant and the Puente Culumpio (swing bridge) that crossed the river in Smeltertown. From her house near the river Alva could see the Mexican soldaderas (women who supported the rebel soldiers by setting up camp and many times engaged in the fighting as well) grinding corn on their metates and making tortillas. For the most part she did not fear the soldiers, though one incident demonstrated just how close the revolution was: “One day, my Aunt Micaela, an aunt who has since passed away, and [my friend] Pola and I sat over near the edge of the river — there was no barrier, there wasn’t anything — a Mexican soldier was patrolling on horseback, back and forth, back and forth. . . . Well, I don’t know how, he must have heard the noise of the water, and he turned around and fired shots! But we were there We Were One Hundred Percent Mexican

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. . . my Aunt Micaela shouted, “Santa Rosalía de Camargo, take care of us!”6 One might argue that memories tend to exaggerate, and perhaps the event Alva described had been imbued with the dramatic license that comes with time and distance. However, her story of the soldier with the quick trigger finger more than eighty years after the fact is a powerful reminder of the proximity of the danger on the other side of the river. The tension was undoubtedly palpable not only for the troops preparing to engage in bloody combat, but for observers as well. The action was close enough for even a little girl to see women working at the metate and to smell the fresh corn tortillas; it was also close enough to place Esmeltianos, and El Pasoans at large, squarely in the line of fire. The presence of revolutionary forces encamped within clear sight and the subsequent armed battles that raged for days provided El Pasoans “the greatest show they had ever seen.”7 On a basic level, the Battle of Juárez and the Mexicans who took part in the fighting became entertainment for the curious. David Dorado Romo’s “underground cultural history” of the El Paso–Juárez region during this period offers a critical examination of how the Mexican Revolution evolved into “spectacle,” with residents of every stripe clamoring to get the best view. Spectators perched on railroad cars, purchased tickets to sit on rooftops of downtown businesses, and gathered on the banks of the river near the smelter to watch the drama unfold right in their backyard. Blurring the line between observer and participant, entrepreneurial individuals found ways to capitalize on the action. In addition to the business owners who sold seats on their roofs to eager onlookers, advertisements in local papers offered everything that one might want or need to enhance his or her viewing experience: field glasses for a closer view, round-trip tours of battlefields for fifty cents, souvenir items like spoons and postcards, even nightly concerts following the battles. Enterprising children sold snacks to “both revolutionaries and sightseers alike,” and one individual profited from the collateral damage by advertising his services to unfortunate home and business owners whose windows had been broken by wayward bullets.8 Among the spectators were diverse groups of Mexicans who viewed the fighting with either hope or dread. For Anglo observers, watching the Revolution became a way to connect with the action in Mexico without completely engaging with Mexicans themselves. Part voyeurs, part entrepreneurs, El Paso’s Euro-American population came to look upon Mexicans as exotic, exciting, and intriguing. Smugglers — of munitions and money to support the revolutionary cause as well as bootleg alcohol following the passage of Prohibition in 1920 — fur154

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ther captured the imagination of Anglos and Mexicans in El Paso. The city’s elite profited from the sale of weapons to revolutionary forces well before the Battle of Juárez. American businessmen also supplied and arranged for the delivery of arms to rebels across the border, often storing them in local residences until they could be transported under cover.9 Located as it was on the outskirts of the city, Smeltertown proved a strategic spot for such activities and an obvious location for transborder support. Given the immigrant composition of El Paso’s barrios, moreover, it was logical that Mexicans in El Paso would become personally involved in the events unfolding in Mexico. Although impossible to verify, Romo’s contention that Mexican workers at asarco donated money from their wages to Madero’s cause seems plausible given that the recently arrived laborers who comprised the majority of employees on the smelter’s payroll in this period likely shared many of the revolution’s ideals and goals.10 Although none of the former residents interviewed for this study discussed their own family’s political allegiances, stories of gunrunners and contrabandistas abound in the collective memory of the residents and the city as a whole, revealing how El Paso’s Mexicans laid claim to the revolution. Corona Luján quipped that you could tell who the smugglers were: they were the ones who always seemed to have money in the predominantly working-class neighborhood. My own great-grandmother was rumored to supplement the household income by secretly selling shots of her husband’s stash of alcohol, and one of her sons disappeared one day, apparently the result of an ill-fated gun-smuggling mission.11 Truth or fiction, the fact that these stories exist speaks to the allure of contrabandistas for Mexicans, the way they emerged as a powerful trope of border lore, and the way they linked Mexicans in the United States to revolutionary activity. As well as adding to the excitement of illicit activities along the border, stories of Esmeltianos engaged in bootlegging and smuggling alcohol during Prohibition demonstrate the hardening of a boundary that made Mexicans into lawbreakers and defined Anglos as symbols of order. Enriqueta Beard, Alva’s daughter, said that rum-running was among the worst-kept secrets in Smeltertown. One of their neighbors, a woman who moved to Smeltertown from Guadalajara, was such an entrepreneur. In the middle of the night, the woman directed her crew as they sneaked large, square metal cans filled with liquor across the river and into the secluded lush garden of her uncommonly large home. Beard remembered all the sights and sounds of the illicit exchange: the clanking of the metal cans against the rocks, the dim light of the single match that lit the smugglers’ way, and the almost comical sight of We Were One Hundred Percent Mexican

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Unidentified patrolmen overlooking Smeltertown, 1920s. With their wide-brimmed hats, these may have been the kind of officers Angel Luján and his friends imitated in their childhood games. Photo courtesy of the Salvador Salas Family Photograph Collection, El Paso.

pantless grown men attempting to hide the cans under their long shirts as they waded across the river. Such covert operations and the attempt by U.S. officials to police them occasionally led to violence. “At times there were gunshots, because the ones from here would catch [the smugglers], and the ones from there would defend themselves,” she explained. “Well, it would scare me. I was very young, but it would scare me because my father would say ‘Ay! Here comes the shootout!’”12 Angel Luján recalled playing a game of “bootleggers and lawmen” with other members of his Boy Scout troop. In those days, the scouts wore brimmed hats that resembled those worn by what he called “immigration officers.” Luján stated: “We’d go walking around the streets where they was shooting all the bootleggers and all that. . . . One time we got scared, ’cause the shooting got too close and we saw some of the officers going by, and some of the bootleggers were running. . . . [We said], ‘I’m not coming back here with that uniform!’ [laughter].”13 Young Enriqueta and Angel were simply absorbing what they saw on a daily basis. Yet their stories reveal the hardening of the border through the policing efforts, reinforcing a more fixed distinction between what was “Mexican” and what was “American.” Although Beard and Luján could laugh about their childhood experiences, at the time such altercations were frightening for a child observer and represented 156

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a growing connection between illegal activities and Mexicans that began to emerge in the minds of El Pasoans. Perceptions of Mexicans as violent and dangerous only increased as the revolution in Mexico raged on. Shortly after the Battle of Juárez, the northern coalition splintered, leading to further violence and a new phase of the war marked by bitter in-fighting and power grabs that persisted for the remainder of the decade.14 During this period, relations between the United States and Mexico grew increasingly tense. President Woodrow Wilson refused to recognize Victoriano Huerta as the president of Mexico following his successful ouster of Francisco Madero in 1913. Armed with information provided by American business interests and special emissaries harboring racialized views of Mexicans, Wilson backed Huerta’s Constitutionalist opposition. The increased presence of the U.S. naval fleet in Mexican waters off the coast of Tampico, Veracruz, the arrest of several American sailors, and the American blockade of German ships providing arms to Huerta led to violent conflict and the first outright U.S. military intervention in Mexico since the midnineteenth century. Anti-American sentiment ran high throughout the country as angry citizens dragged U.S. flags in the streets, looted U.S. businesses, and harassed U.S. tourists.15 The hostile reaction in Mexico in the wake of American intervention, as well as a series of violent episodes that crossed into U.S. territory, fueled negative perceptions about Mexico and Mexicans living in U.S. cities. Bloody confrontations between Texas Rangers and Mexicans erupted throughout South Texas following the discovery of the Plan de San Diego in 1915. The plan, which called on Mexicans and other oppressed minorities to rise up in arms against American economic and political domination, as well as the reclaiming of the land ceded to the United States in the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, led to fierce skirmishes and the lynching of thousands of Mexicans.16 Fears of similar Mexican outbursts in the El Paso region led city leaders to demand an increase in the number of army troops stationed at Fort Bliss. In 1916, two incidents hit closer to home. President Wilson’s recognition of Carranza galvanized an existing, if ill-defined, strain of anti-American sentiment among Villistas, who escalated their attacks on Americans and American-owned businesses in Mexico (including robbing an asarco property in Laguna). The violence came to a head in January 1916, when Villista troops stopped a passenger train en route to Santa Isabel, Chihuahua, ordered all Americans off the train (among them, seventeen asarco mining engineers returning to Cusihuaráchic), and executed them on the spot, purportedly under direct We Were One Hundred Percent Mexican

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orders from Villa.17 The murders incited outrage in El Paso, and the arrival of the bodies on January 13 sparked a wave of race riots throughout the city. Anglo civilians and soldiers armed with clubs, knives, and their fists sought to exact revenge against any and all Mexicans residing in El Paso. When word of the melee spread across the border into Juárez, armed Mexicans from the Juárez side crossed the border to help their compatriots. Mayor Tom Lea responded by ordering police to Overland Street (which divided Anglo El Paso and Mexican Chihuahuita) ostensibly to protect Mexicans from the mobs. Revealing his own view of Mexicans, however, he also had fifty Villa sympathizers arrested on vagrancy charges and ordered them to leave town. The institution of martial law under General John J. Pershing finally quelled the rioting, but the violence indelibly marked Mexicans as a potent threat to the racial order of El Paso.18 Two months later, Villa launched another attack against Americans, this time crossing into the small border town of Columbus, New Mexico, approximately eighty miles west of El Paso. Wilson directed General Pershing to lead a punitive expedition with troops from Fort Bliss to capture Villa. Like the Texas Rangers, who gained notoriety for their role in policing the state’s racial boundaries often with a brutal hand, these soldiers, many of them from the East Coast, arrived in El Paso with clearly conceived notions of Mexicans. According to one soldier who arrived at Fort Bliss with the 8th Massachusetts Regiment in 1916, on the train ride to El Paso his comrades (in their testosterone-fueled fervor for their mission) carried and drew pictures on which “many minor inscriptions appeared. ‘Get Villa,’ ‘To Hell with Mexico,’ and ‘The only good Mexican is a dead one,’ were favorite mottoes.” In their minds, the Mexican “ ‘men were villainous,’ and the children were ‘embryonic Villas.’”19 The incursion of American troops into Mexican territory heightened the already shaky relations between the two nations. Ultimately, Pershing proved unable to capture Villa, and the expedition ended as the United States prepared to enter the war in Europe. The impact of these events on Mexicans living in El Paso, however, was one of the lasting legacies of the violence that spilled across the border. Whereas in the early years of the fighting, El Pasoans were captivated by the romanticized notion of revolutionaries and entranced by Mexico and Mexicans as entertainment, by the middle of the decade they considered Mexicans synonymous with bloodshed and treachery. If intrigue and violence were not enough to contaminate the popular perception of Mexicans in the border city, the Progressive Era obsession with 158

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Five Mexican revolutionaries with bandoliers, smelter in background, date unknown. During the 1911 Battle of Juárez, troops led by Pascual Orozco set up camp across the river from Smeltertown. El Pasoans viewed the revolutionary activity in Mexico with a mixture of excitement and fear. Photo courtesy of the El Paso County Historical Society.

urban order, public health, and disease further stigmatized Mexicans as racially distinct and unworthy of inclusion in the civic life of El Paso. The racialization of Mexican bodies and their association with disease highlights the interconnected debates over federal immigration policy and local public health concerns in major U.S. cities in the early decades of the twentieth century. As hundreds of thousands of Mexicans displaced by the ravages of war made their way to the United States via El Paso, settling into overcrowded barrios with few if any services, federal and local officials sought to find ways to control the medical threat they believed Mexican bodies posed. Specifically, the outbreak of typhus in Mexico in 1915 raised fears that Mexicans entering the country would contaminate American citizens. By the early twentieth century, the U.S. Public Health Service had instituted formal procedures for medical inspection, quarantine, and the fumigation of baggage at border crossings.20 Although there were few documented cases of typhus fatalities in El Paso, the death of a prominent Anglo doctor who contracted the disease from treating Mexican patients heightened power brokers’ anxiety about the effect of immigration on the city’s public health. In addition to concerns about a potential outbreak, city leaders and boosters undoubtedly worried about We Were One Hundred Percent Mexican

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maintaining the image they had carefully cultivated of El Paso as a tourist and health destination.21 In light of the perceived medical threat, officials ramped up their efforts. The inspection facility on the Santa Fe International Bridge subjected crossers to elaborate and dehumanizing physical examinations. Individuals were required to disrobe completely and bathe before they were examined for lice and vaccinated. In addition, inspectors fumigated all clothing and baggage.22 Corona Luján remembered the experience clearly. When he and his family crossed into the United States by car on February 22, 1917, “They bathed us at the immigration,” he stated in a surprisingly matter-of-fact way. “Yes, when we passed from that side to this side, they took us into the immigration [office] and they bathed us and disinfected our clothes. Paz [Corona’s youngest sister] was only two, so they did not bathe her. I was, I don’t know, maybe eight years, seven years [of age].”23 The fact that these procedures became policy at all checkpoints along the U.S. Mexico border and lasted for the next twenty years, while medical inspections were either eliminated or rarely used at other ports of entry, demonstrates how the threat of disease had become inextricably linked to Mexicans. As historian Alexandra Stern contends, the use of such inspection procedures at border crossings and the creation of the U.S. Border Patrol as a policing apparatus to reinforce the border “worked to create a regime of eugenic gatekeeping on the U.S. Mexican border that aimed to ensure the putative purity of the ‘American’ family-nation while generating long-lasting stereotypes of Mexicans as filthy, lousy, and prone to irresponsible breeding.”24 Thus El Paso, with its constant flow of Mexicans through the international checkpoint, was the proverbial place where the rubber met the road in terms of citizenship, the definition of national sovereignties, and lived boundaries. It was at border inspection sites like those in El Paso where the state declared what was foreign or native, American or Mexican on first entry. Similarly, local officials feared the contagion in their own city. Concerns about disease and unsanitary conditions in ethnic and immigrant communities in American cities across the nation — as well as fears of the spread of disease into white communities — thus came to define a sense of national belonging and citizenship.25 In El Paso, Mayor Lea pushed for stronger inspections and launched a campaign to “clean up” the city and save it from Mexican contagion. On learning from his own doctor that lice carried diseases such as typhus, Lea exchanged his cotton undergarments for silk underwear because lice would not cling to silk.26 This personal fear of contamination shaped public policy and informed Anglo perceptions of Mexicans. In 1916, 160

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Lea ordered city health inspectors to sweep Mexican barrios in the search for individuals with lice and disease, and initiated a drive to tear down Mexican buildings and homes in the name of public health. According to newspaper accounts, “Where lice are found . . . the occupants [were] forced to take vinegar and kerosene baths, have their heads shaved and their clothing burned.”27 Despite the very low number of reported cases of serious illness found on these raids, the city of El Paso demolished more than one hundred Mexican adobe homes in the Chihuahuita neighborhood deemed to be threats to the city’s health. The extent to which these raids moved beyond Chihuahuita into other Mexican neighborhoods is unknown. However, the correlation between Mexicans’ alleged lack of hygiene and their potential risk to the health of the city could not be limited to one barrio. Esmeltianos who personally experienced the medicalization of the border had their own vivid recollections of baths and disinfections on entering the United States. They also undoubtedly understood the wider implications of state policies designed to protect and separate Euro-Americans from Mexican immigrants making their way across the border. Years later, these images of dangerous or deadly Mexicans remained deeply embedded in historical memory. An article published in 1997 in the El Paso County Historical Society’s journal Password, titled “Murder in Smeltertown,” offers a gruesome, if somewhat exaggerated account of the barrio during this era: “For a hundred years [Smeltertown] has been an area haunted by violent death and crippling disease . . . it has been a no man’s land of confused legal jurisdiction where a quick ride across a shallow river enabled a fleeing felon to pass into either country. The rocky hills and twisting gulches made it difficult to determine whether the lethal Mexican Rurales or the equally tough Texas Rangers have shooting rights on fleeing banditos [sic].”28 The article was written by Douglas V. Meed, who grew up in El Paso listening to the stories passed down by his army officer father about his own days patrolling the border during the Mexican Revolution.29 He goes on to relate the scandalous tale of cattle thievery, revolution-era gun smuggling, and murder committed by various members of the Guaderrama family, also known as the notorious “River Gang.” According to Meed, the gang had dabbled in cattle rustling as early as 1906. But its real claim to fame was smuggling rifles and ammunition during the Mexican Revolution from its base of operations: a storefront and saloon in Smeltertown operated by “Mrs. Mariana Guaderrama, the portly, gray-haired, 55-year-old mother of the boys and by María, Juan’s fiery young wife.” In a barroom brawl rivaling that of any Hollywood western, Mariana We Were One Hundred Percent Mexican

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and her sons killed two Texas Rangers by bludgeoning them with a hatchet before shooting them. A third Ranger subsequently shot and killed Mariana. Standing trial for murder twice (the first ended in a mistrial), three of the brothers and María were acquitted; the jury found the fourth brother guilty of second-degree murder and sentenced him to a mere five years in prison. In another fascinating twist to the story, the Guaderramas were successfully defended by Mayor Tom Lea, raising many questions about the role of El Paso’s elite in the smuggling scheme.30 Meed’s article plays upon the typical images of the gun-slinging Wild West and the border as an area of lawlessness and unbridled crime. More to the point, its introductory remarks illustrate the powerful hold of the images of Mexicans in the minds of El Pasoans during the revolution, images that in some ways persist to the present. From the text, it is clear where Smeltertown figured into the racial hierarchy that emerged in El Paso at the turn of the century: a predominantly Mexican barrio, it was marked by the “crippling disease” associated with Mexican bodies; it was a “haunting” place of violence and illegal activity, also embodied by Mexican bandidos fleeing justice and “deadly” Mexican rurales; and finally, it was a place inhabited by Mexicans with a taste for illicit activities who associated with corrupt city officials and by women who would easily resort to murder if necessary. As Meed’s article colorfully illustrates, the once physically indistinguishable border over time became a very visible political and racially charged line separating law-abiding and healthy Anglos from diseased and dangerous Mexican bodies.

The Mexican Image in the Mexican Mind During the tumultuous years of the revolution, Anglos crafted an image of Mexicans and their place in the racial hierarchy of their American city on the border. At the same time, middle- and upper-class Mexican expatriates as well as the Mexican government attempted to preserve a sense of national identity among those immigrants. For many elite Mexicans, the move to the United States was always intended to be temporary, and numerous organizations sought to maintain expatriates’ cultural integrity and political allegiance to Mexico. Many of these elite exiles viewed themselves as the gente decente (literally, the decent people) often operating within the framework of the multilayered yet somewhat fluid class and race-based Mexican social system that separated those with education, good manners, respectability, and, in the case of women, domesticity, from the uncultured, crude gente corriente 162

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(common people).31 Nonetheless, they crafted “the idea of a Mexican community in exile, or a México de afuera . . . in which the culture and politics of Mexico could be duplicated until Mexico’s internal politics allowed for their return,” encompassing rich and poor Mexicans alike.32 Spanish-language newspapers proved critical to this effort. Writers of short stories and columns called crónicas helped to “fan the flames of nationalism” by satirically mocking characters who had fallen victim to American culture, losing their Spanish language, their Catholic religion, their proper gender roles, and their moral values along the way.33 The wide array of mutual aid societies in El Paso and throughout the Southwest also united Mexicans under a shared banner of Mexican nationalism. In 1893, the president of La Unión Occidental Mexicana in El Paso explained that some of the most crucial goals of the society were to “ ‘unalterably’ maintain the Spanish language, to protect the morality of its members, and to spread fraternal bonds among Mexican nationals in the United States.”34 As an indication of their patriotism, mutualistas (mutual aid societies) coordinated celebrations of Mexican Independence Day that only grew in size and significance with the start of the revolution in 1910. Although the middle class and Mexican exiles often looked upon working-class Mexicans with condescension, their efforts did provide a measure of community cohesion and support for Mexicans living in a strange setting. By creating a Mexico outside Mexico, these organizers not only “worked to restore the culture of la patria (Mexico) in the face of growing pressure of Americanization and dilution of a Mexican identity,” but also “promoted a common ethnic identity to unify Mexicans across class lines in a struggle for survival amid racial discrimination and devastating poverty.”35 The Mexican government joined in the effort to cultivate and promote loyalty among Mexicans living in the United States. With the end of armed fighting by 1920, it undertook various measures to unify the nation after years of bloody civil war, including turning to the millions of its citizens who now resided outside Mexico’s boundaries for assistance in that process. According to historian George Sánchez, although the government had been largely “ambivalent” about Mexicans leaving for the United States prior to the 1920s, it now saw them as a population that could help to rebuild the country, especially since many now possessed valuable skills acquired from years in the U.S. labor market. Mexican consulates took actions to foster Mexican nationalism abroad by creating an imagined Mexican community and celebrating national and ethnic pride, but with the goal of encouraging Mexicans to return home.36 Consulates in U.S. cities promoted Spanish-language schools and We Were One Hundred Percent Mexican

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sponsored elaborate, month-long celebrations of Mexican patriotic holidays complete with food, beauty pageants, and films. Mexicans found themselves in the middle, with the Mexican government and expatriate community pushing cultural nationalism on one side, and the agents of formalized Americanization programs and the powerful lure of American consumer culture on the other, a theme explored in the next chapter. What we find is that Mexicans living in the United States created a sense of self that fit their own local and specific interests that was in dialogue with both. For Esmeltianos, defining what it meant to “be Mexican” in Smeltertown was tightly woven into the cultural fabric of the places they inhabited and the relationships they created; it was completely shaped by the racial landscape of their border city. Esmeltianos defined their Mexicanness in many ways. On one level, identification with the regions from which they had migrated played a key role . In her study of Chihuahua during the Mexican Revolution, anthropologist Ana María Alonso argues that “localism, the identification with and allegiance first and foremost to the ‘patria chica’ or ‘little motherland’ was and remains central to peasant consciousness in Chihuahua.” In short, for the vast majority of Mexicans, membership in the nation-state was less meaningful than the local village or town where they were born and had lived. This regional identity made sense in the context of being in Mexico and translated in important ways to Mexican immigrant communities in the United States. Melchor Santana Sr. recalled that his Smeltertown neighbors came from various towns in Mexico, and that Mexican village affiliation facilitated their adjustment to the barrio. Village affiliation also was the basis of their relationship to one another. As a child he walked with his grandmother from one end of Smeltertown to the other to visit with people simply because they knew each other from the old pueblos in Mexico. Sabina Alva similarly remembered the close bonds that former residents shared because of these ties to their communities of origin. Her parents, like many of Smeltertown’s earliest settlers, came from the small village of Santa Rosalía de Camargo in Chihuahua.37 This regional identity defined them as pioneers and gave them a connection to their neighbors through a shared history. Moreover, regional affiliation was a way in which residents recognized their differences; it determined settlement patterns within the subbarrios of Smeltertown and sometimes lay at the heart of conflicts between neighbors. As in Mexico, in the context of an exclusively Mexican barrio, being from Santa Rosalía, Villa López, or Jiménez had greater, more immediate meaning than membership in an amorphous nation called Mexico. 164

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In a U.S. city where Anglos viewed all Mexicans as the same regardless of subtle regional differences, let alone complex social and class distinctions within the Mexican population, a more broadly defined “national” and ethnic identity took on greater resonance. When asked about Smeltertown’s population, Corona Luján’s immediate response was “eramos cien porciento mexicanos” (we were one hundred percent Mexican). Despite his detailed commentary on regional affiliation, Santana similarly explained, “You could name it ‘Little Mexico’ because all the people were Mexican.” What these recollections reveal about Smeltertown’s residents is twofold. On the one hand, this sense of Mexicanness reflected the demographic composition of the community and the naturalization status of many Esmeltianos. The vast majority of Smeltertown’s residents were of Mexican heritage if not citizenship. According to the 1920 census, nearly two-thirds of the barrio’s Spanish-surnamed population were “alien,” or not having U.S. citizenship either by birth or naturalization. The 1930 census shows an increase in the number of U.S. citizens among Smeltertown residents, but still slightly more than half of Spanish-surnamed individuals were counted as noncitizens.38 Census data, particularly regarding factors such as citizenship status, are admittedly problematic in that they rely on the enumerator’s accuracy (or lack thereof ) and personal prejudices. Yet what these figures show is that even if over the course of a decade increasing numbers of Esmeltianos became U.S. citizens either by chance or by choice, many more retained their formal connection to Mexico. On the other hand, the memories of former residents — like those of Corona Luján and Santana above — suggest that residents recognized their similarities in more broadly defined ethnic terms as Mexicans in Smeltertown, U.S.A. The shifting demographic trend evident in the 1930 census indicates that strict definitions of legal status were not the only, or even the primary, factor that determined their sense of mexicanidad. Chicana cultural theorist Gloria Anzaldúa contends: “By mexicanos we do not mean citizens of Mexico; we do not mean a national identity, but a racial one. . . . Deep in our hearts we believe that being Mexican has nothing to do with which country one lives in. Being Mexican is a state of soul — not one of mind, not one of citizenship.”39 Despite her seemingly essentialist perspective, Anzaldúa’s words illustrate how Mexicanness had to be reconfigured in specific contexts. In this sense, Mexicanness described a shared experience, a common denominator for people of Mexican origin in the United States as a whole, and in Smeltertown in particular. Mexican and U.S.-born Esmeltianos articulated an ethnic identity informed by the social, racial, and political climate they inhabited We Were One Hundred Percent Mexican

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daily. This Mexican identity was relational and situational, and in claiming a cultural citizenship to both Mexico and the United States — that is, a sense of belonging beyond legal constructions of citizenship — Esmeltianos reworked what it meant to be Mexican in a border city.40 The retention of certain aspects of Mexican culture was critical for Esmeltianos as they defined Mexicanness in their daily lives. The Spanish language stands out as one of the common factors. While English may have been required on some level to communicate with Anglo bosses, store owners, or teachers in American schools, Spanish remained the primary language for many Esmeltianos in the early twentieth century. According to the 1920 census, more than half of Smeltertown’s residents (52 percent) did not speak English.41 Yet literacy rates in Smeltertown were relatively high, with approximately half of Esmeltianos counted in the census indicating they could read and write, most likely in Spanish. This suggests that Spanish-language texts, like El Paso’s numerous daily papers, probably were a routine part of life in Smeltertown. The primacy of the Spanish language is reflected as well in the names residents gave to local landmarks, subbarrios, and locally owned businesses. Residents christened their neighborhoods with descriptive Spanish names like El Alto, El Bajo, Barrio Libre, La Calavera, and Barrio Alumbrado. They shopped and socialized at La Benefica, La Buena Fe, or El Buen Amigo, establishments in the Mexican-owned commercial district. The appeal of these Spanish-named spaces should not be underestimated. In addition to offering basic items and services and cheaper alternatives to the company store, these businesses were a link to a shared Mexican background. They sold Mexican specialty goods like menudo, pan dulce, and Spanish-language papers; provided spaces for social interaction among comadres and compadres; and extended credit and conducted business in a familiar language that facilitated a sense of trust rooted in a shared Mexican experience. By extension, the loss of language and the use of English over Spanish represented a challenge to Mexicanness, indicating that being Mexican was defined not only by how people subscribed to certain practices, but also by which practices they rejected. Work experiences, enrollment in American schools, and simple exposure to life in the United States increased the rate at which Mexicans acquired and used English in their daily lives. Whereas in the 1920 census only 16 percent of Spanish-surnamed Esmeltianos indicated that they spoke English, by 1930 a full 48 percent of Esmeltianos responded that they did.42 These trends were undoubtedly worrisome for an older generation

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of immigrant parents and elite exiles whose cultural orientation remained tied to Mexico and for whom the Spanish language was a discrete marker of Mexicanness. They also troubled the self-described gente decente, who lamented the tacky, lowbrow linguistic habits of the working classes. While the adoption of English represented cultural adaptation to life in the United States, speaking English or failing to speak “good” Spanish also marked one as less Mexican. Enriqueta Beard recalled how growing up, speaking English made her the target of schoolyard taunts. Her father, who learned English when he worked for two years with the railroad in Illinois, regularly read English and Spanish newspapers, and raised his children in a bilingual home. “My father spoke [English] in the style from over there,” Beard explained. “He spoke it . . . very Anglicized, very beautifully.” Yet she also remembered how the other kids in the neighborhood would make fun of her when she spoke English. Her father insisted that knowing English would serve her well in the future, but the childhood teasing probably stung deeply at the time. Of course, children teasing other children for being different is not a new phenomenon. However, this particular episode suggests that speaking English was what made Beard different, and it somehow made her and others like her a little less Mexican in the eyes (and ears) of their neighbors. The loss of Mexican identity certainly concerned many Esmeltianos, as their children began adopting American styles of dress and pastimes as well as acquiring English-language skills. Parents, the Catholic parish, and local educators took measures to ensure that their language and culture were not completely lost. The appearance of escuelas particulares resulted from the concerted efforts of an older generation to maintain Mexican customs and define the boundaries of Mexicanness in Smeltertown. The pedagogical methods and curricula of the Mexican-educated women who ran these preparatory schools reflected the cultural and social worldview of Mexico’s middle classes. Though one of the goals of the escuela particular was to teach basic English skills, much of the curriculum was conducted in Spanish and school activities focused on Mexican traditions and teachings. Employing methods of modern-day bilingual and bicultural education, the escuela particular helped to reinforce a sense of Mexican cultural identity in light of the powerful forces of formal Americanization and cultural adaptation that seemed to be pulling younger generations away from their Mexican roots. This may have been one reason why Melchor Santana Sr.’s father chose to send his son to María Mendoza’s and Amadita Lucero’s escuelas particulares. Santana’s father had come

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to Smeltertown from a railroad station in La Cruz, Chihuahua, and his son Melchor was born in Smeltertown in January 1920. Melchor’s mother died when he was very young, and his father, stepmother, and grandmother saw to it that he and his brothers were raised properly. Though we cannot be sure of their motives, the appeal of a Mexican and Catholic education may have played an important role in their decision to send Melchor to an escuela particular. Recalling his early school days, Santana explained: “[We] celebrated the Mexican holidays — Dieciséis de Septiembre and stuff like that. I remember the kids all had bikes. In those days they would put the verde, blanco y colorado [the green, white, and red] around the wheels, and little Mexican flags.”43 The reinforcement of Mexican patriotism was a clear benefit of these schools, particularly for the immigrant parents of U.S.-born children like Melchor. Given Smeltertown’s changing demographics, many of the youngsters were in fact citizens by birth. Yet Esmeltianos took pride in a shared Mexican heritage and celebrated Mexican national holidays, a practice common in other Mexican communities throughout the United States. Also, on some level, they probably feared that those practices were slipping away, even in their own families. Thus, the escuelas particulares and their activities provided a positive expression of mexicanidad, especially for a generation whose ties to Mexico had begun to fray. In addition to inculcating the Spanish language and Mexican patriotism, the escuela particular linked Catholicism and mexicanidad. One of the primary objectives of the escuelas was to prepare students for their First Holy Communion. The celebration marking this event in June 1924 illustrates how all of these elements became deeply interwoven. One of the events was a theatrical program, directed by Margarita Montoya, one of the teachers from a local escuela particular, and coordinated by the Inesitas, a parish devotional society. This show presented an interesting mix of song and dance performed by the members of the Inesitas and other children in the parish.44 The festivities also included a solemn offering to the Virgin of Guadalupe and a bilingual musical performance by the children, reflecting the intermingling of American and Mexican influences. But other elements of the program were not as blended. In addition to several English-language tunes, the audience was treated to “Yo Soy Pura Mexicana” (I am Pure Mexican). The selection and performance of this Spanish-language song and the prominent place of the Virgin of Guadalupe in the celebration were powerful Mexican cultural symbols. More important, the program suggests the important function the

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escuela particular served for immigrant parents who found themselves in México de afuera. By sending their children to escuelas that focused on lessons in Spanish, topics of Mexican history and culture, and preparation for Catholic sacraments, parents made a conscious choice about what features of their heritage all Mexicans should share. Smeltertown’s escuelitas and the Church worked in tandem as institutions wherein Esmeltianos crafted a new sense of Mexicanness.

Performing a Border “Mexicanidad”: Culture, Catholicism, and Los Trovadores For many immigrants across the United States who faced the harsh realities of a new environment, the parish church was not only a place to meet religious obligations but also a critical source of material and cultural support and the site for community building.45 Historically, the relationship between the American Catholic Church and its Mexican followers was a precarious one, at times marked by suspicion, tension, and neglect. The lack of parish facilities, religious services, and clergy in Mexican barrios, particularly in the early twentieth century, are examples of a dismissive attitude on the part of the American Church.46 Yet for many Mexicans, Catholicism remained a cultural identity; while some accepted the charity and aid offered by Protestant churches, many continued to identify as Catholics.47 Such was the case in Smeltertown. The smelter parish was not just a place where Catholics attended Mass once a week. It was also a center for cultural and community activities, where parishioners fostered a sense of collectivity through social interaction. Religious holidays and celebrations, weekly bazaars, men’s and women’s devotional societies, and cultural events featuring music and plays united the parishioners on a regular basis and enabled people to gather as a community. One of the most significant components of Mexican religious life and participation was the devotional society. Men, women, and children belonged to a number of religious organizations such as the Altar Society, Caballeros del Sagrado Corazon (Men’s Sacred Heart Society), Madrinas de Maria and Hijas de Maria (Matrons and Daughters of Mary), Liga de Señoras de San José (Women’s League of San José), and Guadalupanas (a women’s devotional society of the Virgin of Guadalupe). In addition to their weekly meetings, the organizations’ members were active in the parish, organizing bazaars, fund-raisers, and musical programs. As in the workplace, local busi-

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nesses, and the public schools, Esmeltianos made the parish a central part of their social world, one where they could fashion their own sense of community to suit their situation in life and their needs. Los Trovadores (the Troubadours), a choral ensemble formed at the smelter church in the summer of 1930, offers a window on the critical role played by culture and the Catholic parish in defining mexicanidad in the lives of Esmeltianos. Father P. Juan Manubens organized and directed the group, consisting of approximately forty young men and women, in an effort to foster the musical abilities of the parish’s young people and to stimulate their “finer qualities.”48 Until then, many El Pasoans — both Anglos and elite Mexicans — had regarded Smeltertown and its residents with contempt. Recounting his first visit to the area as a missionary in 1912, the smelter parish’s Father Costa wrote that his guide pointed out Smeltertown as “the ‘Eye sore’ of El Paso” and that its working-class residents were looked down upon even by the Americanized “pochos” as being “not even worth a dime.”49 In reflecting on the class and racial fissures functioning in El Paso, Costa predicted in the Hoja Parroquial that the Trovadores would elevate the image of the parish in the city as a whole. To those who viewed working-class Smeltertown with disdain, believing its residents were only “capable of knowing how to pass illegal liquor across the river and how to shoot at law enforcement officers,” the Trovadores would not only counter the dominant image of Mexicans in Anglo eyes, but they would also redeem working Esmeltianos in the opinion of elite Mexicans.50 After making their debut at a dinner show at a parish hall in Alamogordo, New Mexico, on September 28, 1930, the Trovadores were hailed by the Diocese of El Paso’s newspaper, Revista Católica, as “true musical artists.”51 The troupe’s repertoire included a variety of pieces, sung in four-part harmony, many of which were written or adapted from lyrics by Father Costa and published in the Hoja Parroquial. A number of the songs were religious pieces, while others were decidedly secular. For example, “Xochimilco” described the happy scenes at the Xochimilco plaza in Mexico City, filled with street vendors, flowers, and couples laughing; “Los Borrachos” was a funny tune from the point of view of some inebriated fellows.52 Perhaps the most interesting numbers were those that addressed questions of identity, patriotism, and nationality. “El Inmigrante” (The Immigrant) speaks longingly of the homeland left behind, expressing the pain and sorrow of leaving Mexico and of knowing (or at least fearing) that one will not return. “El Inmigrante”

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Los Trovadores, date unknown. University of Texas at El Paso Library, Special Collections Department, ms 349, Luz and Lorenzo Perales Smeltertown Photographs.

appeared in the Hoja Parroquial in October 1928, well before the formation of the Trovadores.53 It eventually became one of the group’s regular pieces. The song’s chorus alone reveals a feeling of heartfelt emotion and profound sadness: México querido Patria de mi amor de ti me despido con llanto y dolor.

Beloved Mexico Country that I love I bid you farewell with sobs and pain.

Inspired by a Catalan poem by Jacinto Verdaguer of the same name and by the “tender and sentimental” music to which he set these words, Costa arguably expressed his interpretation of the sadness Mexican immigrants experienced. These were, after all, his lyrics. His position as a spiritual and community leader and his own experiences in emigrating to the United States from his native Spain, however, did afford him a measure of insight into the feelings of his parishioners. He was certainly aware that Smeltertown was largely composed of immigrants for whom the pain of leaving their homeland was still present in the late 1920s and early 1930s. The fact that the song was published various times in the Hoja Parroquial, and that Costa received

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many requests from within and outside the parish for the lyrics, suggests it struck a chord deep within the people who heard it.54 Furthermore, the significance of the Trovadores’ songs lies not only in the lyrics, but also in the performance. María Herrera-Sobek explains that canciones-corridos (songs that combine the more emotionally based themes of love and loss found in the traditional canción and the narrative, heroic tales, and structure of the corrido) reveal “the varied emotions of men and women who leave their country for a foreign land. The spectrum of emotions — joy, sadness, homesickness, regret, happiness, love, anger, hostility, hate, surprise, astonishment, hurt, disbelief, eagerness, optimism, pride and humiliation — is wide and vivid.”55 The performance of these songs among Mexicans also fosters a sense of shared experience — of immigration and loss, of adaptation and change — with which the listeners strongly identify. When the Trovadores — a group comprised of both U.S.- and foreign-born Mexicans — sang “El Inmigrante,” it took on a more symbolic meaning. Although the lyrics were not the troupe’s own, one cannot underestimate the impact of a Mexican group performing such an emotionally charged song for a Mexican audience. In singing lines such as “Cruel fate, hateful politics / Make me suffer,” the young men and women of the Trovadores tapped into the emotions that their grandparents, parents, and they themselves felt on a personal level. These feelings of displacement were further complicated by physical proximity to their homeland. Beyond their mere entertainment value, the Trovadores represented an important way in which Mexicans in the smelter parish and in the barrio as a whole experienced mexicanidad in their everyday lives. The appeal of the troupe extended beyond the smelter parish. Due to the increasing fame of their musical abilities, and perhaps in no small measure to the popularity of songs like “El Inmigrante,” the Trovadores received numerous invitations to perform at events sponsored by citywide mutual aid societies and on local radio stations. On October 13, 1930, they made their El Paso–wide debut at Liberty Hall, the city’s municipal performance hall and one of the largest and best venues in the region; they sang during the Literary and Musical Night sponsored by Liga Cuauhtemoc No. 187 and other leagues of the Alianza Hispano Americana.56 The troupe was invited to appear at Liberty Hall by the Sociedad de la Buena Prensa (Society of the Good Press) of the Sacred Heart Catholic Parish in South El Paso. This annual event, according to Father Costa, was one “of the most beautiful [events], under the direction of the finest of the Mexican community of El Paso.” On the night of the performance, the hall was filled with “people of the best classes of Mexican society, 172

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the majority of whom are Catholic, from every parish in the city.” A month later the Mexican consul general invited the Trovadores to sing at a Christmas charity event sponsored by the consulate, the Alianza Hispano Americana, and various other Mexican mutual aid societies in El Paso.57 Costa’s emphasis on the refinement of the audiences betrays his own class consciousness; more important, the praise bestowed by these members of the upper crust shows how the working-class group had come to embody the kind of respectable mexicanidad that Mexican elites had worked so hard to cultivate. The Hoja Parroquial does not mention the political affiliation or inclinations of the singers, nor does it indicate the extent to which Smeltertown residents as a whole participated in the activities of the various mutual aid societies; interviews and other sources offer even less insight into this question. Yet the troupe’s performances provided a means of defining and negotiating Mexicanness in Smeltertown and El Paso generally. By taking part in events sponsored by area mutual aid societies, the Trovadores and members of the Smelter parish emphasized their cultural and emotional ties to Mexico and had become part of a wider project to preserve the legitimate image of Mexican identity in the border region. Certainly the Trovadores served as a means of asserting and celebrating a Mexican identity in Smeltertown and the city as a whole. However, mexicanidad was always situated in an American context and was understood in relation to what it stood against. The project of making an official Trovadores banner, and the subsequent ceremony to bless it in November 1930, illuminates how Esmeltianos articulated a Mexican identity in relation to their Anglo neighbors. To raise funds for the purchase of the standard, the troupe sought patrons from within the smelter parish as well as the broader community. In addition to the Spanish-surnamed individuals appearing on the list of supporters, an equally significant number of influential Smeltertown Anglo individuals had signed up to be padrinos and madrinas: Mr. and Mrs. Tom Courchesne (the owner of the limestone quarry in Smeltertown), Mr. and Mrs. William Alkire (a smelter supervisor), Mr. and Mrs. E. M. Bray (the proprietor of the Smelter Store), and Mr. and Mrs. E. B. Jones (the smelter purchasing agent and later the superintendent of the Smelter School District), all of whom had long been supporters of the smelter church and community.58 The final result was a two-sided banner that emphasized the troupe’s cultural allegiances. On one side the banner was gold and white, emblazoned with the Trovadores’ motto: “Fides, Patria y Amor” (Faith, Country and Love). Lest there be any question about the “country” to which this motto referred, We Were One Hundred Percent Mexican

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the reverse side bore the red, white, and green of the Mexican flag.59 Anglo patronage notwithstanding, the standard, which accompanied the troupe to all its performances, denoted a clear articulation of difference from the Anglos and a visual representation of the sense of self espoused by its members, the primary audiences it entertained, and ultimately the desire to promote a positive example of Mexican identity and culture. The dedication of the standard similarly reflected how residents’ mexicanidad came to be defined vis-à-vis their Anglo neighbors. Held at the playground at the smelter parish, the formal ceremony had something for everyone. Father J. P. Smith of St. Patrick Cathedral offered a few words of welcome and a blessing, in English, for the benefit of the Anglo patrons seated in the first few rows. A second priest, Father P. Hector Secondo, spoke to the crowd in Spanish, extending praise and support for the musical directors, the musicians, and the “large Spanish-speaking population that practically filled the spacious patio in the Church.”60 The event concluded with performances by the El Paso Brick Company band and the Trovadores, who sang three songs including “El Inmigrante Mexicano.”61 Like the Mexican Players at the Padua Hills Theater in southern California examined by historian Matt García, the ceremony and the singers’ performance that day provided an opportunity for limited but meaningful intercultural exchange between Mexicans and Anglos in a working community where de facto residential segregation and a racially stratified workforce characterized daily interactions between Mexican laborers and the Anglo managerial and supervisory staff.62 To be sure, power relations remained intact. The event also suggests how Mexicans constructed a sense of Mexican identity in conversation with the racial and power hierarchies that operated in a border city and their neighborhood, and how the meanings of that mexicanidad were viewed from different perspectives. Anglo clergy and patrons may have simply enjoyed listening to the talented Trovadores, and perhaps they would have donated to the troupe in any case to support the arts. But it is equally likely that their patronage relied on the troupe presenting a positive image of Mexican youth, one that was palatable and consistent with their worldview. Through their music and professionalism, these young men and women had elevated the image of working-class Mexicans in the eyes of their Anglo supporters. Ironically, that respectability came in the form of an acclaimed chorus that performed songs like “El Inmigrante” for Mexican mutual aid societies and organizations, and bore a banner celebrating Mexican patria. The ensemble garnered praise from Anglo

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patrons but also allowed Mexicans to articulate a positive Mexican sensibility, one that celebrated their immigrant experience, patriotism, and Catholicism on their terms. While songs such as “El Inmigrante” helped to raise the profile of the Trovadores as examples of positive mexicanidad, other pieces spoke more directly to the cultural blending that the members of the chorus experienced in their daily lives. “El Paso, Texas, Where Sunshine Spends the Winter,” written by Father Costa as a gift to the Smelter Vocational School and published in the Hoja Parroquial in November 1930, was a significant departure from the Trovadores’ traditional fare. First, it was written and (apparently) performed in English. More important, rather than representing a sense of mexicanidad rooted in a Mexican past, it addressed in a creative way the blending of cultures that occurred on the border in general and in Smeltertown in particular. The song describes El Paso as the place “Where will and work two races mold” and tells of how “a Sheperd in the North” with a “bewitching . . . blond and red complexion” and “a Fairy in the South” with her “luxuriant . . . tresses and dark eyes . . . both found the border on a glorious morn / And the love nest was hung to rear two nations . . . ‘The Pass’ was born!”63 These lyrics are intriguing on a number of levels. Father Costa recounted in an almost mythical way the creation of the border region, naturalizing the categories of “American” and “Mexican” and glossing over not only the border’s origins in conflict and conquest, but also the fundamental power dynamics Mexicans confronted in the border city. In this song, the border is not contested or questioned. Instead, it is a place where cultures and people interact, forming a “love nest” in which Anglos and Mexicans cohabitate. It is a place where a degree of cultural retention occurs, and where Mexicanness is articulated and expressed in discrete and socially acceptable ways. Here Mexicans retain their customs, most notably the Spanish language, with pride: Long live, cause of my joy! Long live, dowry of Spain! Her customs we retain with her rich tongue. In connecting language to the “dowry of Spain,” however, Costa consciously (and perhaps strategically) linked working-class Mexicans with the more refined sensibilities of the Mexican elite and a European heritage. Thus, his song demonstrates the contributions of Mexican-origin people in the devel-

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opment of the region but at the same time packages Mexicanness in a nonthreatening way, appealing to the Anglos of El Paso who already viewed Mexicans as deadly and diseased, and, with the onset of the Great Depression, as foreigners draining the city’s economy. When the Trovadores first performed this song to commemorate the Feast of Our Lady of Lourdes on February 11, 1931, they were undoubtedly met with applause first and foremost for their musical ability. But perhaps their performance said something more significant. Being on the border transformed their sense of Mexicanness. It was more than a simple affiliation with their country of origin. It was a product of their place on the border, and their understanding of Mexican identity took on a new meaning in relation to the dividing line.

“Brothers in Race and Religion” In the activities of the smelter parish and the performances of the Trovadores, Esmeltianos had begun to construct a new meaning of Mexicanness. Blending elements of national and ethnic pride, shared language, and a common experience with Catholicism provided a foundation on which Esmeltianos reconfigured what it meant to be Mexican in a U.S. city. Although many Esmeltianos encountered the mixing of cultures in their daily lives, the process of defining mexicanidad could also be highly contentious and not everyone agreed on which elements took precedence. In the mid-1920s, the tension between the Mexican government and the Catholic Church revealed cracks in the foundation of a mexicanidad that combined religion and nationalism. The Cristero Rebellion that began in 1926, in which many Catholics in Mexico took up arms against the government in defense of their church, marked the pinnacle of clashes between Church and state. In the late summer and early fall of that year, and for several years thereafter, Esmeltianos were forced to choose what was more important: a Mexican national identity, as evidenced by support of the local fiestas patrias, or a Mexican cultural identity, determined, in large part, by the practice of Catholicism. For generations, the Catholic Church had symbolized wealth and power in Mexico, and one of the goals of the Mexican Revolution was to wrest that power away. Beginning with the new constitution in 1917, the government attempted to substantially curb the influence and financial strength of the Church through a variety of anticlerical measures. The constitution nationalized all Church property and forbade public forms of worship outside churches. It placed the control of Church buildings and the authority to build 176

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new churches in the hands of the government. The government also expelled foreign clergy, required priests to register with and be licensed by the state, and gave the states the right to limit the number of clergy within their jurisdictions. Priests and other religious figures were forbidden from holding public office, from forming political parties, and from using their position to comment on or disseminate information regarding the actions of public officials. Furthermore, the constitution secularized marriage and education.64 While these measures were meant to limit the Church’s influence, they were rarely enforced until President Plutarco Elías Calles assumed office in the 1920s.65 Tensions between Church and state grew. On July 31, 1926, in response to Calles’s attempts to enforce the 1917 laws on a national level, Archbishop José Mora y del Río suspended all religious services in the country, and, as one historian wrote, “the Catholic Church in Mexico virtually ceased to exist as an ecclesiastical entity.”66 Armed confrontations between federal troops and Cristeros (supporters of the Church) raged through central Mexico between 1926 and 1929, with people resorting to violence “to resist the godless government in Mexico City.”67 The conflict had a profound effect on Mexican communities throughout the United States. Border cities like El Paso, McAllen, and Brownsville in Texas, Tucson, and San Diego — as well as cities farther removed from the border with large Mexican populations like San Antonio and Los Angeles — became havens for clergy and Mexican Catholics. Bishops, priests, and nuns who fled to these cities to escape persecution became involved in the lives of their adopted parishes by forming missions to serve Mexican barrios.68 In border cities like El Paso, the diocese relaxed residency requirements, which allowed practicing Catholics to cross the border to receive sacraments after Masses were suspended in Mexico. Mexican Catholics obtained more permanent relief in barrios throughout the United States. More than 150,000 found exile in Los Angeles alone, a number that doubled by 1929.69 The numbers of marriages and baptisms exploded, and parochial school enrollments skyrocketed as exiles made their way into local parishes.70 U.S. Mexican parishes held public processions in honor of Our Lady of Guadalupe, renamed their churches “Cristo Rey,” organized protests, and formed youth clubs like the Acción Católica Juventud Mexicana/Juventud Católica Femenina Mexicana (acjm/jcfm or Mexican Catholic Action) that were “designed to inculcate the Mexican Catholic religious heritage among Chicano youth” in support of their oppressed brethren.71 In many respects, the Cristero Rebellion served to galvanize the Mexican Catholic community in the United States We Were One Hundred Percent Mexican

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(composed of both Mexican refugees and Mexican Catholics already living there) and “became an integral part of the identity of the Mexican immigrant community.”72 Against this backdrop of violence and persecution of the Catholic Church in Mexico, mutual aid societies in El Paso and the Mexican consulate began preparations for the annual celebration of Dieciséis de Septiembre (Mexican Independence Day). The events were wildly popular among mexicanos de afuera. The elaborate festivities included the traditional grito (cry of independence), food, dances, and games. Given the worsening situation for the Church in Mexico, El Paso diocesan officials and clergy expressed grave concern over the lure of the celebration for Mexican Catholics. Father Costa was particularly vocal on the subject. In the months leading up to the holiday, he wrote in the Hoja Parroquial of the unholy deeds committed against the Church in Mexico and warned Esmeltianos that the bishop of El Paso strictly prohibited Mexican Catholics from reading Spanish-language newspapers such as El Continental and El Sol because of their anti-Catholic politics.73 In August 1926, Costa encouraged his parishioners to support a boycott by El Paso Catholics of Mexican goods and services and to avoid going to Juárez and spending money in Mexico. In all of these admonitions, he stressed not only their obligations as Catholics, but as Mexicans as well. He called on “Catholics on the American side to support the boycott and in this manner help our brothers in race and in religion [emphasis mine], oppressed under the yoke of a tyrannical government.”74 As members of a common race and religion, Mexican Catholics, and specifically, Mexican Catholics in El Paso and Smeltertown, had to stand up against the tyranny of the Mexican government. In writing these words, Costa made a direct correlation between Catholicism and mexicanidad. The parishioners of Smeltertown, he asserted, had an obligation to defend their persecuted brothers and sisters in Mexico, because it was Mexicanness, in the form of their Catholicism, which bound them together. On August 1, 1926, following the call of Pope Pius XI, the smelter parish took up the battle for Catholicism in Mexico through its Rogativos por Mexico (Public Prayers for Mexico). A flyer inserted in the Hoja Parroquial for that week rallied parishioners to the cause, calling on them to fight the “anarchic and Masonic Calles regime” in the name of Cristo Rey — Christ the King.75 The Rogativos consisted of an elaborate series of five religious activities: a general Holy Communion by the various devotional societies, prayers after the three regular masses, a sung High Mass, the adoration of the Blessed Sacrament, and the saying of the rosary.76 According to the next Hoja Parroquial, partici178

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pation in the Rogativos was enormous. Father Costa had never seen such a turnout — more than eight hundred people received Communion in one day, at least one-third of whom had not been to confession in years. Moreover, he wrote, so many people attended the three masses that they could not all fit inside the church.77 For the members of the parish, their religion was an important factor in their identity, and their observance of the Rogativos demonstrated it. For the residents of Smeltertown, it appears that the defense of their church and their faith contributed significantly to how they defined themselves as Mexicans; in this instance, they seemed to choose Catholicism over Mexican nationalism, or strict support of the government, as the key determinant of Mexicanness. Not all Esmeltianos agreed with Father Costa’s stance on the fiestas patrias. Costa’s stern and prolific writings on the subject in the pages of the Hoja Parroquial suggest that he was responding to genuine dissent among some members of the parish and neighborhood — and that dissent was more than a whisper. As September 16 neared, some members of the smelter community defied the dictates of the parish priest and attempted to participate in the fiestas patrias. On a Saturday evening in early September, the president of a group called the Junta Patriótica de Smelter had invited Costa to a meeting, ostensibly to allow him, in a friendly setting, to discuss his stand on the celebrations. According to Costa’s admittedly biased account in the Hoja Parroquial, the night turned into an “unfortunate incident” when, on his arrival, he was pitted against a Mexican consular representative and verbally ambushed by the crowd, the majority of whom disagreed with his position.78 In the end, the tables turned on the Junta’s president, and the consular representative promised to try come up with a program that was acceptable to the priest — one that the Church could tacitly endorse and still retain the dignity of its position. The program that Costa proposed, which emphasized religious celebration, would serve as “a unifying bond among all the factions of Mexicans of this place.”79 Subsequent editions of the Hoja Parroquial indicated that a compromise never materialized. This incident shows, however, that not everyone agreed with Costa that their Catholicism was incompatible with participation in patriotic events such as the fiestas patrias. Tensions continued to mount in the days leading up to September 16. From the pope down to Father Costa, the position of the Church was clear: good Mexican Catholics would stay away from the fiestas patrias. In the September 12 issue of the Hoja Parroquial, Costa sternly warned parishioners to abstain from participation in patriotic celebrations that had any connection We Were One Hundred Percent Mexican

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with the Mexican government. He reminded them of the pastoral letter read at all masses throughout the diocese stating that the Mexican government was “abusing and misinterpreting the patriotic sentiment of Mexicans in these days.”80 It was hypocritical to celebrate the independence of Mexico when the country failed to extend religious freedoms to its citizens. More important, he argued, the boycott of the fiestas patrias would not be a rejection of mexicanidad, or of Mexican pride or love of homeland. “The Catholic Church does not recognize such festivities, not because Catholics are unpatriotic,” he explained, “but rather as a sign of protest and because the persecuted holy Catholic Church is in mourning.”81 In reality, he maintained, the boycott would demonstrate a love of country — a sign of solidarity with compatriots fighting for the Church in Mexico. Mexican Catholics were patriotic, Costa maintained; their patriotism was defined in religious terms. The parishioners of the smelter church celebrated Mexico’s independence with another round of Rogativos for the Catholics of Mexico on September 13, 14, and 15, ending with a general Holy Communion on the morning of the sixteenth. The city of El Paso and the Mexican consulate went through with their plans for the fiestas patrias. The accounts of former Esmeltianos were silent on the aftermath — largely because many of the people interviewed for this study were small children when all of this occurred. Yet the parish newsletter provides evidence that the conflict arising between various factions in Smeltertown remained a sore subject. In the days following the Dieciséis de Septiembre, several of the parish’s devotional societies took action against members who had disobeyed the Church’s directives. The Hijas de María expelled two of its members for attending the festivities and required another member who had appeared at an associated dance to either clean the church building for one month or resign from the society. Other groups took similar disciplinary action against members who had participated in patriotic festivities and related events.82 Disobedience had consequences, and the expulsion and punishment of rebellious devotional society members represented a clear line about who was, and who was not, truly Mexican in the eyes of Father Costa and some of the smelter parishioners. Such harsh sanctions should be understood on at least two levels. On one level, they were no doubt influenced by the hard line taken by the parish priest. Obviously, Costa had a great degree of authority — and was respected — in the community; it is likely that parishioners who were intimidated by him would not challenge his position. This may have influenced the severity of the actions taken against wayward members. On another level, 180

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Monsignor Lourdes Costa, date unknown. Photo courtesy of the Salvador Salas Family Photograph Collection, El Paso.

these actions reflect the views of church members who disagreed with Costa. Although there is no firsthand account of how the parishioners themselves felt about the fiestas patrias, their sentiments can be inferred from their reactions to the events surrounding the celebrations in 1926. Even if the smelter priest had inflated the turnout for the Rogativos, a significant number of parishioners did attend the various masses and events protesting the Mexican government’s treatment of the Catholic Church. For many, their Catholic affiliation trumped any national loyalty, and their Mexicanness derived from We Were One Hundred Percent Mexican

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their support of the Church. For others, like the members of the Junta Patriótica de Smelter, devout patriotism — taking such forms as the celebration of Mexican Independence Day — defined Mexicanness; these individuals were willing to risk their membership in Catholic organizations over it. This rift continued for several months, though time eventually assuaged tensions between the various factions. In 1927, the issue of the fiestas patrias arose again, but this time some parishioners were able to reconcile competing ideas of Mexicanness in an interesting compromise. In August, the Liga Católica Mexicana’s regional delegation in El Paso formed the Comité Patriótico in an effort to bridge the wide gap that the fiestas patrias had wrought between the different strains of thought in Mexican El Paso the previous year.83 Composed of several prominent Mexicans in the city, the Comité sought to find a middle ground between Mexican patriotism and Mexican Catholicism, so Mexican Catholics could celebrate the fiestas patrias without a conflict of conscience.84 In the “Manifesto del Comité Patriótico de la Colonia Mexicana de El Paso, Texas,” published in the Spanish-language paper El Diario and reprinted in the Hoja Parroquial in the early fall of 1927, its authors pointed to the discrete religious nature of the struggle for Mexican independence in an attempt to recast the history of Mexico in order to demonstrate that the fight for religious freedom was not merely consistent but indeed synonymous with the celebration of Mexican independence. They denounced the efforts of the Mexican government, through its consular agents, to lure the Mexican people with sweet words and false promises into betraying their patria.85 The members of the Comité proposed to fight fiesta con fiesta (celebration with celebration) — to sponsor their own fiestas patrias against those organized by the Mexican consulate. The purpose, they emphasized, was not to divide, and they denied the charge that their failure to participate in the previous year’s activities had made them less patriotic. “It was said then that we were not patriots, because we did not want to be first ‘Mexicans before Catholics,’” the manifesto proclaimed. “Now we are going to show them that we can be both things, with none losing and all winning; for that reason, though it be with tears of blood, we too will honor the heroes of Independence, but without making a mockery of the liberty which they gave us, without departing from the path that their examples have laid out for us.”86 The Comité’s expression of patriotism inextricably tied to Catholicism appealed to Father Costa and probably to the many parishioners who had struggled to reconcile their religious and political affinities. Costa gave his full endorsement of the Comité’s proposal, declaring: “I expect that all of my parishioners comply this year as 182

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Catholics and as Mexicans [emphasis mine] in commemorating the anniversary of the independence of their country.”87 On September 11, he announced that the smelter church’s only activity to celebrate the holiday would be a Mass on September 16 and encouraged his parishioners to partake of the Comité’s celebrations.88 This compromise must have been a welcome relief to many Esmeltianos after the conflicts of the previous year. At least in this instance, they could find common ground for their sometimes contradictory identities.

Being Mexican in Smeltertown When I interviewed Melchor Santana Sr. in 1995, he fondly recalled growing up in Smeltertown. He shared his memories of his days at María Montoya’s and Amadita Lucero’s escuelas particulares and riding his bike around the neighborhood, the red, white, and green ribbons woven into the spokes of his wheels spinning in a whirl of color as he sped along the dirt roads of the barrio. Some evenings, he accompanied his grandmother, illuminating her path with a small kerosene lamp, when she visited friends in the neighborhood — friends she knew from her hometown or neighboring villages in Mexico. As he recounted his experiences, he recognized the many contradictions that filled his life story in this border community. While he proudly emphasized that “we were the first generation Americans,” he also noted the pervasiveness of Mexican influences in the social and cultural lives of Esmeltianos, commenting that Smeltertown was a “Little Mexico” north of the Rio Grande. “That was the funny thing,” he said, referring to the very public displays of the community’s Mexican heritage during his childhood. “It was the United States, but nobody said anything.”89 As it turned out, Esmeltianos had plenty to say about what it meant to be Mexican in a U.S. border city in the first three decades of the twentieth century. In a period when the boundaries of two sovereign nations became increasingly rigid markers delineating more than simple national membership, what it meant to be Mexican was a hotly contested battle waged on many levels. While El Paso’s political and economic elite cast the growing numbers of Mexicans in their city as treacherous revolutionaries and transmitters of disease, Mexican political exiles, Mexican Americans of the “better classes,” and even the Mexican government sought to redeem the image of Mexicans, with an eye to retaining political and emotional ties to home. For Esmeltianos, the smelter parish became a place where they crafted a positive definition of mexicanidad in direct conversation with both. The local parish and the We Were One Hundred Percent Mexican

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neighborhood escuelitas became important community spaces where parents could trust that their children would receive a proper Catholic and Mexican education, and where they could see their heritage valued in the proud musical performances of the Trovadores. It was also a place where religious, class, national, and ethnic identities collided, and where they discovered that mexicanidad rarely fit into neatly defined categories. For Esmeltianos, mexicanidad remained under construction. Its foundation not only lay in their past experiences and their attachment to language, culture, and region; it was also intimately connected to their present location and the geographic, economic, political, and racial context of Smeltertown. Against the backdrop of revolution and mass migration, of Mexican nationalism and Catholicism, Esmeltianos carefully constructed a new sense of what it meant to be Mexican in a U.S. border city. If the bricks of their cultural edifice were language, patriotism, and sometimes Catholicism, the mortar that held it all together was a community’s daily practices. In the end, Esmeltianos crafted their own sense of Mexicanness somewhere between practiced identities and state identities. Like the stone grotto on the side of the little San José del Rio parish, sometimes the walls were uneven and far from perfect, but they were molded with care and conscious attention.

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5 She Was Very American And there was more than once that we were told [by our mother] that we were in America, we were not in Mexico. So we had to do our homework. She knew all the [patriotic] songs . . . in English. I mean, she taught us the “Star Spangled Banner,” “The Eyes of Texas,” “America the Beautiful,” and all that . . . and one of her favorites was “Moonlight in the Rockies.” So she was very, very much Americanized even though she . . . came to the country when she was about eleven. — manuel perales, 2002

My paternal grandmother, María de la Luz Luján Perales, had actually just turned nine when she arrived in Smeltertown in early 1917. Born in Parral, Chihuahua, on November 21, 1907, Luz boarded a train in Allende and headed north with her parents and younger siblings — her three brothers José, Angel, and Francisco and baby sister Paz. Their destination was Ciudad Juárez and eventually El Paso, where her father had secured a job at the smelter. For the Luján family, the move to El Paso and Smeltertown was rooted in economic necessity and a desire to escape the uncertainty caused by the Mexican Revolution. Luz’s father had worked at an asarco-owned mining property in Avalos, Chihuahua, and with the growing violence of revolution raging around them, life was becoming increasingly unsafe. This fear was undoubtedly palpable for the Luján children, too young to comprehend the abstract political issues at play but old enough to know something was deeply wrong. At times, the fighting came so close that the family was forced to scramble for safety in nearby canals or ditches. As scary as these moments were, the move to El Paso must have been equally frightening and confusing for Luz and her brothers. Crossing the border by car on February 22, 1917, the entire family except for little Paz was ushered into the immigration office to bathe and have their bodies, clothing, and possessions “disinfected” according to immigration procedures of the day. The smell of the chemicals — kerosene, as Luz remembered it — seared their nostrils and burned itself onto their memories.

The family found temporary lodging in a small apartment on Ninth Street in Chihuahuita. Settling into their final destination — a two-room, companyowned apartment in El Alto — probably brought a sense of relief all around. A new life in Smeltertown required some getting used to, but it was a setting where much around them was familiar. The bustling Mexican social world made by Esmeltianos provided a sense of security and familiarity for the Lujáns as they established their homes and lives in El Paso.1 As familiar as life in Mexican Smeltertown could be, the Lujáns also found themselves adapting to living in the United States. The children attended the local escuela del padre (parochial school), a place where their parents knew they could receive a good Catholic education in their native language. However, the school also introduced the Luján children to a new language — English — and to different symbols of national identification. Soon the family welcomed two new members, brothers Manuel and David, a reflection of the shifting demographics that saw a growing number of Smeltertown’s residents born in the United States. In this changing community, Mexican-born children like Luz and her siblings began to see themselves in a different light. As they came of age, they increasingly participated in American pastimes, watched the latest American movies, and engaged in a distinctly American consumer culture. More significant, they moved on from the escuelitas to the American public schools, where they received daily messages about the importance of accepting American value systems, customs, and habits that would make them into “productive citizens.” In 1924, Luz Luján entered the Smelter Vocational School, a decision that would transform how she saw herself in ethnic, national, and gendered terms, and how she viewed her community and her place in it. In addition to learning what it meant to be racially and culturally Mexican in the context of a U.S. border city, Luz began to lay claim to an American identity too, demanding access to all of the privileges she had been taught could be hers. With exposure to Smeltertown’s public school system, young Esmeltianos continued to reimagine their cultural Mexican identity within an American setting. This chapter examines how schools provided the spaces where Smeltertown’s students, and more specifically, its young women, became involved in an American world and created a women-centered community in a place more often marked by the masculine labor performed at the smelter. Influenced by both their immigrant families and American institutions and culture, Smeltertown’s young women crafted an identity that blended elements from both worlds, revealing the “cultural coalescence” many immigrant chil186

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dren experienced. As targets of concerted Americanization efforts so popular at the turn of the century, Mexican women in Smeltertown encountered the systematic imposition of “American ways” through social and educational services, including the county-run schools and most notably the Smelter Vocational School. Regarded as the transmitters of culture and values, women had the discrete responsibility of maintaining respectable American households and reproducing and rearing good American workers. To this end, home economics courses became an integral part of the day and evening curricula of the Smelter Vocational School. The school taught dressmaking and other domestic arts that could translate into jobs for seamstresses, maids, cooks, and nannies in Smeltertown and in the border city as a whole. Through its financial sponsorship of the Vocational School, the smelter worked hand in hand with the public school system to reform and control the Mexican population. The lessons thus imparted the ideology of self-improvement, implicitly and explicitly shaped by a belief in racial difference. Not only did the company and the state serve their own interests by facilitating the reproduction of a trained male and female labor pool, but they also reinforced the racial structure of the border city of El Paso and Mexicans’ place in it. But how the students received, interpreted, and used the lessons imparted at these schools was another matter. The Mexican women in Smeltertown took the formal and informal teachings of Americanization imposed by Progressive Era educators/reformers, employers, and popular culture and not only adapted them to their lives and experiences, but also used the language of Americanization to empower themselves and their community. The Vocational School provided Smeltertown women with educational opportunities that might never have been available otherwise, as well as enabling them to forge friendships in discretely female communities. The school thus offered women social, cultural, and political spaces that permitted them to challenge the gendered boundaries imposed by their immigrant parents. Through their participation in school-sponsored social activities, exposure to coed gatherings, and experimentation with fashion, young Esmeltianas began pushing the rules established by their immigrant parents, who struggled to understand and deal with their children who “get so different here.”2 In addition, the working-class women of the Smelter Vocational School deftly maneuvered through the rhetoric of Americanization and Anglo middle-class respectability and turned it to their advantage. Rather than solely reinforcing social, racial, and economic hierarchies, Americanization programs in Smeltertown armed their Mexican charges with the tools to proclaim their She Was Very American

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own brand of Americanism, as well as the rights and services they demanded as citizens. Esmeltianas participated enthusiastically in the civic activism and philanthropy that created new opportunities for single women, wives, and mothers, allowing them to claim ownership of their community and have a distinct hand in defining its ethnic and cultural parameters. By “becoming American” in Smeltertown, these women challenged the power exerted by the smelter and the state, confronted a system that labeled them as racially inferior, and insisted on access to the privileges bestowed upon citizens in a border setting.

Early Lessons Early on, Luz Luján learned crucial lessons that would determine the path her life would take in the United States. Luz’s mother died while her children were still young, and as the oldest child and the oldest daughter, Luz assumed the role of caregiver to her siblings.3 Accepting her responsibilities as the doting “mother hen,” she probably learned from a very early age the kinds of duties and expectations that fell on the women of the household. Fortunately for Luz, who exhibited a lifelong passion for learning, these obligations at home did not prevent her from attending school. The Lujáns had enrolled all of their children in the escuela del padre. Like the popular escuelas particulares run by several neighborhood women, the parochial school under the direction of Kika Meléndez and later Sipiana Hernández provided Spanish-based instruction. These institutions helped to reinforce and inculcate Mexican culture and customs in the largely immigrant Mexican neighborhood. Yet a closer look reveals how the parochial school also presented an introduction to American laws and customs. Father Costa issued stern warnings in the Hoja Parroquial about county-mandated compulsory school attendance for children between the ages of seven and seventeen, which probably contributed to the relatively high enrollments among Esmeltianos in the 1920 and 1930 censuses. By sending their children to the escuela del padre, Mexican parents complied with county attendance requirements and established their first formal relationship with the American education system.4 Though we do not know the extent to which teachers followed a county-approved curriculum, symbols such as the American flag appear to have played a prominent role in the education of Mexican girls at the smelter parochial school. The photograph of young girls holding an American flag (opposite) leaves unanswered many questions concerning what they were taught about their new home. Nevertheless, it is a 188

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Mexican girls with American flag, date unknown, from Luz Luján Perales’s photograph collection. Some Mexican children attended the escuela del padre, including Luz (wearing the eyelet dress, far right). American symbols like the flag were key elements of Americanization efforts. Perales Family Personal Collection.

poignant image of how early the messages and symbols of Americanization were introduced. While Luz’s love of education, the arts, and community service certainly had root in her personality, it found expression in and was transformed by her experiences in American schools. From the beginning, Luz was an excellent student; her spotless attendance record in the 1922–23 academic year suggests that if her perfect attendance could not be attributed to her affinity for school, someone at home was seeing to it that she attended every day. This fact is particularly striking considering her role as the family’s caregiver after her mother’s death. According to her monthly report cards, she was already an “A” student at the El Paso County “Smelter School,” the elementary school for the Smelter School District.5 Luz’s exposure to concerted Americanization efforts had increased considerably from her days at the escuela del padre. As county school reports indicate, the Smelter School was an important tool for transforming Mexican children. With an enrollment of 324 students in 1924 (only 10 of whom were not of Mexican origin), “the work of the school resolv[ed] itself into Americanization, stressing English.”6 The public county school was thus a significant departure from the Mexican-focused escuelas She Was Very American

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particulares and parochial school run by Mexican teachers. In addition to introducing American subjects and formal instruction in the English language, the Smelter School’s Anglo teachers further underscored the importance of the Americanization project. In 1923, at the end of her seventh year in school, Luz had received high marks in all of her classes including reading, spelling, writing, arithmetic, history, and civics.7 Her report card indicates that she was promoted to junior high beginning in the fall of 1924, though in all likelihood it was a promotion to the Smelter Vocational School. Over the years, Luz took summer classes at El Paso High School in the city’s school district, earning both praise as “an excellent pupil” and a few credits in typing, English, and Spanish, though she never attended the high school full time.8 Instead, she enrolled in the Vocational School, an experience that notably enhanced her educational and social development.

Americanization, the Public School System, and the Smelter Vocational School Formal Americanization programs emerged at the turn of the century, an outgrowth of the Progressive Era’s general trend toward reform. In an effort to deal with the mass migration of millions of seemingly unassimilable immigrants from Southern and Eastern Europe, reformers in large cities pushed for programs and institutions to help make these immigrants more American in demeanor, behavior, and culture.9 In the Southwest, the presence of large numbers of so-called dirty Mexicans living in squalid conditions with no knowledge of American standards of cleanliness raised the concerns of reformers, politicians, and philanthropists alike. Various state and private agencies, especially public schools and religious organizations, sought to eradicate the “Mexican problem” by working to assimilate these immigrants into American culture and society.10 El Paso’s Mexican population became a target for these efforts, not only through the public school system, but also through centers such as Chihuahuita’s Mexican ymca, the Lydia Patterson Institute (a Protestant-run facility that offered educational and social activities and opportunities for Mexican men of South El Paso), and the Rose Gregory Houchen Settlement House (another Protestant-organized center that included a short-lived boardinghouse, as well as longer-lasting institutions like a kindergarten and a nearby clinic for Mexican women). Also a part of the Americanization project were vocational schools, which emphasized the acquisition of skills in trades, as well as hygiene, civics, and citizenship. Educa190

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tors recognized the opportunity to use these schools to ultimately transform the region’s Mexican immigrant population into clean, industrious members of the American workforce. One of the most powerful forces of Americanization operating in Smeltertown was the Smelter Vocational School. Founded on plant property with the financial support of the smelter in 1923, the school’s primary focus was to train boys and young men in industrial and related trades. The link with the smelter was clear from its inception, as were the benefits the smelter and county school system reaped from the arrangement. According to the El Paso County Schools annual, La Acequia, the boys’ vocational school was a “Vestibule School,” a designation given to schools whose specific function was to train future employees for work at a related industrial firm.11 The smelter and the neighboring Southwestern Portland Cement plant contributed funds to purchase equipment for the Vocational School, and the smelter donated a building on asarco property for its use. Students received half a day of training in the electric, machine, carpentry, and auto repair shops. Miguel Carrasco Sr., the school’s director, told the El Paso Herald Post that the instruction was intended to provide real-world experience that would serve the trainees in the future. “Out here . . . we don’t give a whoop [sic] for grades. A boy might make a 98 in there on the drafting table, and not be able to make anything from his design.”12 This training was both classroom-based and practical; the initial twenty-two young men enrolled in the school were put to work immediately building the tool room, work benches, drawing tables, and blackboards.13 According to the Herald Post article, “If a desk, a table, a chair, a machine is needed, it is made right on the spot by pupils. They can make anything — a telephone, even, if necessary.”14 The young men also learned to make furniture that could be used in their own homes. One newspaper praised the skills and ingenuity of former student Lorenzo Perales Sr., who spent hours in the school’s woodshop carefully crafting furniture to outfit the home he would share with his new bride, Luz Luján.15 Perhaps the most significant indicator of the usefulness of their training, Vocational School students furnished free labor to the El Paso County School System. For instance, they built the forms and poured the cement foundations for Zach White Elementary School outside of Smeltertown and constructed equipment for several other county schools. Angel Luján and Melchor Santana Sr. said their vocational training was put to use in welding metal into children’s merry-go-rounds and making iron molds for cement water fountains, which Santana joked looked more like giant birdbaths, but served their primary function nonetheless.16 She Was Very American

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Paternalism, on the part of both the smelter and school administrators, infused the motives and assessment of the Americanization project at the heart of the Smelter Vocational School. In this sense, the school mirrored the aims and methods of countless schools across the Southwest, where students could expect an education not only in racially segregated facilities, but also one expressly designed to track them into a specific position on the economic ladder.17 County school administrators in 1924 praised Carrasco’s impressive results at the Vocational School. They commended him for taking young boys and men and turning their “idleness to industry.” “They are absorbing English along with their training in shop,” the administrators raved, “and are developing laudable ambitions for useful citizenship.”18 They also wrote that several students, after their exposure to vocational trades, expressed interest in pursuing further education, some in engineering. “It is a satisfaction to the School Board, the Superintendent, and the instructor to see what has been accomplished with the boys at the Smelter Vocational School,” La Acequia stated, “not in what little training of trade work they have received, but in the interest that has been awakened in the boys to study and become something worth while.”19 In 1932, asarco officials commended the school for providing an invaluable service to the company. In an article reprinted in the Vocational News, a newspaper for area vocational schools, Brent N. Rickard, general manager of the smelter, declared: There is no question in the minds of those living in this vicinity as to the merit of the work performed by this school. The pupils have been benefited in many ways. They have become imbued with higher ideals, they are making better citizens than they would have been without all this training. All of the boys who have attended the school have secured better paying work as mechanics’ helpers than they would have had had they gone to work as unskilled labor. The graduates of this school are much sought after by the industries in this locality as well as by the railroad repair shops of the Southern Pacific and Texas & Pacific lines. . . .20 This comment indicates the direct relationship between vocation, labor, and Americanization in the minds of school administrators and smelter officials. It makes clear that a key benefit of the Vocational School was the production of skilled workers for asarco, the Southern Pacific, and other industries in the area. The workers themselves gained better-paying jobs (albeit jobs as helpers, not as assistants or skilled tradesmen, as noted in Chapter 3). But 192

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Rickard also refers to the loftier goals and ideals Americanization programs sought to cultivate, and the degree to which they were inextricably linked. Although school officials make reference to “citizenship,” they assert that the citizenship is “useful.” In this case, the boys were becoming good, Americanized workers. As Rickard notes, they were “better citizens” because of their industrial training. Though school officials and publications used the term “citizenship” frequently, the goal was not necessarily naturalization. Rather, as used in the context of the Smelter Vocational School, “citizenship” meant instruction in American ways of living and being. To be sure, vocational schools like the one in Smeltertown operated under the assumption that its students were racially different and culturally deficient. The selection of Miguel Carrasco as its director, however, mitigated the harshness of its mission and more than likely shaped how students experienced Americanization. Carrasco, a native of the Chihuahuita barrio in South El Paso, attended Aoy Elementary and other area grammar schools. He became an electrical apprentice for the El Paso Electric Company and took a correspondence course on electrical railways. After studying at the University of Texas at Austin and Texas a&m University, he earned his vocational certification and was responsible for opening the Smelter Vocational School. Carrasco’s main interests were the improvement of his students and the dissemination of necessary skills. He told the El Paso Herald, “What we go on is what a boy can actually do. Results . . . that’s what we’re after.”21 In addition to serving as director of the Vocational School, he organized Smelter Boy Scout Troop No. 10, helped to form the Smelter Community Center Association out of which evolved a small theater and orchestra, and served as president of the smelter chapter of the League of United Latin American Citizens (lulac). The lulac News praised Carrasco as “one of our truly great members” for all his work for the benefit of “a great number of the less fortunate members of our Race.”22 In many ways, Miguel Carrasco was the ideal choice to direct the school, as he represented the best of both worlds. As an educator and member of lulac, a group that at this time supported assimilation as the means for Spanish speakers to succeed in the United States, Carrasco served the stated goals of the Vocational School. “Carrasco is building character, he’s building community spirit,” an El Paso Herald Post article exclaimed. “He’s doing it without any horn blowing ‘chip on the shoulder spirit’ with the idea of getting credit for his work. He doesn’t even know he’s doing something out of the ordinary.”23 But it was in his capacity as instructor and mentor at the VocaShe Was Very American

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tional School that he earned the greatest accolades. Former students praised Carrasco as “a good man” who was very smart and from whom they learned much.24 Students who had perhaps internalized some of the negative stereotypes ascribed to Mexicans described Carrasco as “a very tolerant man” who was patient in teaching “these burros aqui how to . . . keep track of the shop and do carpentry work.”25 For many, the Smelter Vocational School was one of the greatest opportunities in the community, and “El Maestro” (as Carrasco was known) played a significant role in encouraging them in their studies. Pedro Saucedo recalled that Carrasco would often help his students financially, giving them money from his own pocket; indeed, El Maestro helped send Saucedo’s brother to engineering school in Chicago.26 Of greater consequence was the fact that both the student body and the community believed that Carrasco genuinely cared for them and that their educational and professional development was of the utmost importance. He was so widely respected that, one article reported, people would call on him to help settle “grievances of [a] varied nature and [on] intimate family matters.”27 In 1939, the former Students Association and patrons of the Smelter Vocational School honored Carrasco as “Engineer, Educator, Gentleman — Builder of Men” for his work in the community; former students continued to honor him and his mentorship through the Vocational School at reunions.28 The image of Carrasco as mentor and friend thus shaped the exceedingly positive memories of the school.

Dressmaking from “A to Z”: Women and the Smelter Vocational School In 1924, the Smelter Vocational School added a girls’ school, marking the expansion of Americanization efforts in Smeltertown. Housed in a separate two-story building, the girls’ school served the same function as the boys’ counterpart — vocational training — but in sewing, dressmaking, and home economics. Like the male students, the young women, “all . . . over school age,” were “being trained to fit them for employment as experts in their line of work, toward which goal all of them are making rapid progress.”29 According to county school reports, the girls were taught dressmaking from the basics on up: The threading of hand and machine needles and the accurate making of ordinary stitches, steadily progressing stitch by stitch until they become adepts in the finest of hand and machine needlework, passing through the various stages of plain seams, hemming, tucking, pleat194

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ing, smocking, mitering corners, measuring, cutting, basting, fitting, etc., covering in their trade preparation training sewing and dressmaking “from A to Z,” or from patching to the making of gowns and other garments of the finest texture.30 Additionally, the young women took courses in history and geography, and were “drilled in English and mathematics,” as these subjects were specifically related to the art of dressmaking. For example, they learned enough arithmetic to adjust sewing patterns and the English terminology for the materials and tools of their craft.31 Students began applying their skills by making their own dresses and clothes for others. According to school officials, the Mexican women quickly learned not only dressmaking, but also the art of “good taste in dress.” Through this practical experience, “many of the girls [proved] themselves to be adepts by their ability to distinguish and harmonize the various shades of materials, due to the natural ingrown love of the colorful particular to their nationality.”32 By 1931, the girls’ school was offering training in a variety of areas. As one reporter for the El Paso Herald Post observed, the Smelter Vocational School was a veritable laboratory in the domestic sciences: “In the girls’ house — fitted up like a model home — Mrs. H. G. Oakes was showing the girls how to cook a meal, how to make beds, how to take care of a baby; and upstairs another class, under Mrs. C. Gryder, was making dresses. Real dresses, that the girls will wear.”33 In this decade, the young women in the Vocational School were combining “training in cooking and service to the community” by preparing lunch for two hundred students at the E. B. Jones Elementary School. They cooked and delivered “piping hot stews, soup or beans,” to the school, another practical application of their education.34 Like the boys’ school, the girls’ school provided practical training meant to foster “useful citizenship,” in part, meaning specific, useful labor for the Anglo community in Smeltertown and El Paso at large. Given the relative success in creating a male industrial workforce, it is not surprising that school officials would turn their attention to training women in employable skills. Historically, a woman’s unwaged work in the home has contributed vitally to her family’s survival, but economic necessity often required that Mexican women secure waged work to supplement the family income. This work outside the home often took the form of extended traditional household duties such as cooking, cleaning, and child care. In a border city, these positions were not just strongly identified as women’s work but, She Was Very American

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more specifically, as Mexican women’s work.35 As early as the 1890s, the El Paso economy was growing increasingly dependent on Mexican and Mexican American women to fill positions as maids, laundresses in private homes and professional laundries, and seamstresses in the city’s growing garment industry. As one El Paso woman noted, “Almost every Anglo American family had at least one, sometimes two or three servants: a maid and laundress, and perhaps a nursemaid or yardmen.”36 In 1920 alone, Mexican women constituted 76 percent of domestics and 92 percent of laundresses in the city.37 Likewise, Smeltertown’s women began filling these service jobs. Although, based on the 1920 and 1930 censuses, a relatively small proportion of women engaged in formal employment outside the home, of those who did, the majority were servants or laundresses either in private homes or in the smelter hospital. Given this demand for Mexican domestic labor, programs like the one offered by the Smelter Vocational School provided a valuable service to El Paso’s Anglo families and employers who desired well-trained, young Mexican women to work in their homes and factories. As a member of one of the first classes of young women to enroll in the girls’ program at the Vocational School, Luz undoubtedly received the kind of training that would have made her an ideal candidate for one of these service positions. In sewing classes, her close friend Carmen Martínez (Escandón) noted that Luz picked up skills very quickly and that she “was very apt to learn . . . what they gave her.”38 According to Carmen, the sewing teacher — Mrs. Gryder — took in projects from the Anglo wives of Smelter managers on which the students could practice their trade. The girls would make alterations and sew hems, and even made dresses and double-sided lined robes for which Mrs. Gryder charged five dollars.39 Whether the students got to keep some of this money, or simply gained the experience that came from providing tailoring services to their clients, is unclear; regardless, the young women were engaged in the practical application of their vocational skills. Luz and Carmen also learned how to pattern and sew their own dresses. In one family snapshot, Luz and Carmen posed for the camera in maid’s attire, with hats and aprons to match. More than seventy years later, Carmen did not remember when or why they had sewn those dresses, nor did any family member recall Luz having worked as a maid. Perhaps the uniforms, which appear appropriate for a formal affair, were merely a sewing exercise. Maybe they were used for an actual event that requested dressed servers. Given the stated mission of the Vocational School, it is quite possible that the young women had

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Luz Luján (Perales) and Carmen Martínez (Escandón) in maid attire, 1929. Perales Family Personal Collection.

sewn these uniforms for the purpose of wearing them for work. Whether or not Luz and Carmen were employed as maids, the message of Americanization and the roles of young Mexican women were evident, as was the school’s attempt to create a class of working women in Smeltertown.

Americanization and the Generation Gap In addition to being a place where the young women learned domestic trades and how to make their households more American, the Smelter Vocational School became a social space for young women; here they not only forged friendships with one another but also began to push the boundaries of the accepted gendered expectations of their parents’ generation. Many of Luz’s personal snapshots dating from the late 1920s portray the camaraderie and friendship developed through the Vocational School. Lorenzo Perales Jr. remarked how, in the albums of old photographs that were ever present in their home, his mother was always surrounded by friends, in particular, by the “ladies”— women she remained close to throughout her life and with whom she was often involved in teaching and social service endeavors. The Vocational School was also a place where young men and women could socialize in ways that were restricted in Mexican homes.40 Although men and women attended classes in separate buildings, students could gather before and after class, and during their breaks, to converse — unchaperoned — and strike up personal relationships. Ramón Salas recalled, jokingly, that the boys were always eager to make the trek up the hill to the girls’ building because the young women never wanted to come talk to them. It was in these unsupervised moments that Luz probably first met and spoke with Lorenzo Perales Jr., the handsome young man who excelled in carpentry at the boys’ school whom she would eventually marry. The school also provided a setting for social events and group activities, including picnics by the river. Sporting events became a popular pastime and served as a gathering place for Smeltertown students and older residents alike. Baseball, basketball, and football teams, sponsored by the Vocational School and the ymca, competed with other area teams. The ymca further facilitated social interaction and exposure to American culture through dances, the Boy Scout troop, and movies. Musical and theatrical activities especially drew Luz’s attention; in April 1924, she performed in the “Gypsy Cantata” at the El Paso County School Day celebration. Carmen remembered that Luz was “muy bien parecida” (very lovely) and won a Vocational School “beauty pag198

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eant.”41 In 1930, Luz and her close friends Carmen and Paula Holguin joined Los Trovadores, performing bilingual musical pieces at religious, social, and political events throughout the region. Clearly, these groups provided enjoyable diversions for participants and spectators alike. At the same time that young women remained under the watchful eyes of the school and their parents, the Vocational School — and the formal and informal activities that grew from it — also represented a space where they could carve out a little freedom from their family’s tight supervision. In addition to challenging gender conventions through coed activities, Esmeltianas used their education at the Smelter Vocational School to experiment with their physical appearance, particularly in their fashion choices and hairstyles. These young women had already begun to earn praise for their dressmaking abilities when they won first and second prizes for their handiwork in citywide competitions in 1924. Trained by the Anglo-American teachers at the school, and no doubt influenced by the images in magazines and films shown at the “Y,” young Esmeltianas emulated the fashions of the mid1920s and 1930s, revealing the convergence of identity, popular culture, and consumer trends. Using the dressmaking skills acquired at the Vocational School, many of them made their own clothing that reflected the popular styles of the day; hemlines revealed a bit more leg, topped by fur-trimmed coats and stylish hats. While some maintained their long hair, which they pulled back into braids or buns, others sported carefully coiffed bobbed hairdos. Artfully applied makeup — lipstick, powder, and eye shadow — rounded out the look. Luz’s studio portrait, taken in the late 1920s, reflects the strong influence of these popular styles. Esmeltianas were doing more than simply mimicking trends. Their adoption and adaptation of fashion and hairdos shows how they used the lessons imparted by their Vocational School benefactors to articulate their own sense of identity and place in American society. The mission of the Smelter Vocational School was to transform Mexican students into productive workers; as such, the skills it taught were intended to serve Anglo households and companies and to maintain a racialized, class hierarchy where Mexicans fit a distinctly lower position. How the students utilized these skills on their own time, however, was something else altogether. As scholars like Catherine Ramírez and Nan Enstad have shown, fashion and consumer activity have been critical sites where young, working-class, ethnic women have disrupted traditional notions of American citizenship, womanhood, and respectability. Though often dismissed as “tacky” imitation by mainstream middle-class She Was Very American

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Young women model their hats on the porch of the Smelter Vocational School, date unknown. Luz Luján (Perales) is seated on the railing at center. University of Texas at El Paso Library, Special Collections Department, ms 349, Luz and Lorenzo Perales Smeltertown Photographs.

Luz Luján (Perales) studio portrait, date unknown. Perales Family Personal Collection.

society, ethnic working-class fashion can be seen as a powerful statement of resistance, a means by which these young women expressed difference in racial and ethnic terms and subverted racial, gender, and class boundaries.42 By making and wearing clothes and styles considered the domain of respectable middle-class Anglo women, Esmeltianas challenged the expectations of Anglo society and confounded the social order that viewed them solely as domestic labor. Luz and Carmen may have sewn and possibly used their maid’s uniforms in ways intended by their instructors, but they also applied their skills and newfound expendable incomes to make fashionable and budget202

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friendly replicas of dresses appearing in magazines and movies. Their clothing could be utilitarian, but it also enabled them to look like the very American housewives they were taught to become. In this way, Esmeltianas’ use of fashion successfully challenged the social, racial, and class order Americanization programs sought to impose. Their dressmaking skills provided the opportunity for young working women of Mexican heritage to access the accoutrements of middle-class American culture and lay claim to an American sense of style. This rebellion, however small, met resistance. As Esmeltianas adopted American fashions, they found that Mexican traditions continued to hold sway over their lives. The proverbial “generational gap” often made for tensions between young women increasingly exposed to American culture and their Mexican-born parents. As Sabina Alva observed, chaperonage continued to play a major role in the upbringing of young people in Smeltertown into the 1920s. Mothers accompanied their daughters to community-sponsored dances and kept a vigilant eye while the young women danced with their male companions.43 Chaperonage was an issue for Los Trovadores as well. When the singers traveled to Alamogordo, New Mexico, Father Costa assured their families that at no time during the trip, nor during their brief stay in Alamogordo, would any of them be unsupervised.44 Parents were undoubtedly reluctant to let their children travel to begin with, let alone without the customary adult supervision. While chaperonage was not solely a Mexican tradition, for Smeltertown parents it represented a part of their heritage — enough so that their priest recognized it and addressed their concerns in print. In some cases, parents held fast to their insistence on chaperones and maintained control over all of their children’s activities. Carmen Escandón remembered tearfully begging her mother to allow her to go to a Halloween dance sponsored by the Vocational School, but her mother stood firm. Although Smeltertown’s youth were attempting to break away from the customs of their families, the generational influence of their parents sometimes won out. Conflicts regarding the prevalence of the flapper style and the behavior of women underscore the generational tensions between American-influenced children and their Mexican-born parents. Father Costa often used his influence as parish priest and his vehicle, the weekly Hoja Parroquial, to instruct young women about proper behavior. These sentiments were fueled not only by the doctrine of the Catholic Church, but also by the popular image of the increasingly independent — and in this border context, decidedly Americanized — woman. A poem written by Costa, titled “La Cristiana Coquetta” (The She Was Very American

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Coquettish Christian Woman), pokes fun at a young woman named Pepita who emulates the physical appearance of the flapper and in so doing makes a mockery of her faith and virtue. Pepita — with her painted lips and powdered face — represents the flirtatious modern “American” girl who derides her upright, churchgoing contemporaries. But in reality, Pepita’s “head is hollow or full of air.” Her short dresses reveal “turkey legs, dry ears of corn, knobby knees and all.” Pepita does not wear braids or long loose hair like the good girls do, but “instead, it is her hair, like horn or fang / makes devilish / her dark face.” The point of this poem, beyond ridiculing the “coquette,” was to make a clear statement about the correct appearance and behavior of the young Mexican ladies of the community. For, as Costa wrote, “If you conquer men, where is your victory?” The emphasis on physical attributes and the lack of morals associated with the flapper style were unseemly qualities for good, Catholic, Mexican girls.45 The publication of this poem is hardly surprising. The smelter priest often used his bully pulpit to express a wide variety of opinions and concerns and to exert his considerable influence over the lives of his parishioners. Though the poem does not appear to be directed at any specific Smeltertown women, the popularity of this new fashion at the Vocational School no doubt raised some red flags for Costa. These young women were making their own kneeskimming dresses, cutting their hair, and wearing facial powder and lipstick purchased with the wages earned outside their homes. Would they soon begin to behave like carefree flappers? Thus Costa considered it his duty to criticize and intercede. His critique did not go unnoticed, as the following week’s newsletter revealed. Though not an apology by any stretch of the imagination, Costa did indicate that he had received complaints about “La Cristiana Coquetta.” In particular, some women (mostly, he claimed, from downtown El Paso) said the priest could make fun of them all he wanted, but they would continue to wear makeup and short dresses, and style their hair “a la ‘bob’”; moreover, his verses insulted women.46 He dismissed the complaints and maintained his position, quoting scripture and stating, “in writing to the young ladies from Smelter [I] aim to prevent them from those ugly types, for here, thank God, the coquettish woman is extremely rare.”47 Whether or not the young women of Smeltertown took exception to the poem and to this characterization will probably never be known. The photographic evidence suggests that a number of them would have had some justification for finding fault with the priest’s assessment of the new style of dress. What is evident is that these young women were in a state of cultural transition, 204

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blending American styles and Mexican traditions, and simply trying to make sense of who they were and wanted to be in this border setting.

Mexican Maids and American Homemakers The lessons in Americanization were more than just economic. Both men and women received messages about the broader meaning of American manhood and womanhood. The Smelter Vocational School claimed success in instilling in men certain masculine qualities, including thrift, time management, and a strong work ethnic, ideals that were reinforced through on-the-job experiences. Likewise, the school was doing more than training Mexican maids; it was making American homemakers, emphasizing the kinds of skills and qualities that would produce clean, efficient American homes, and the critical roles that women played in that effort.48 By addressing the transmitters of culture and values — mothers and homemakers — reformers sought to change the very nature of immigrant families and get to the root of the supposed Mexican “problem.” To this end, the Vocational School also provided classes for adult women as a part of its far-reaching mission of Americanization. Americanization programs most often targeted women in general and wives and mothers in particular. An article written by Ruby Jane Simmons, home economics instructor at the school, and translated by Father Costa in the Hoja Parroquial in 1929, encouraged women to take part in the free classes, clubs, and workshops offered by the Smelter Vocational School. Simmons emphasized the importance of good management of the home and the crucial role that women played in running the household: “Who has a greater job than a mother, who cares for her children day and night every day? If they are sick, if they get dirty, if they do not eat at the appropriate time the adequate and necessary foods, if the boys are ill-behaved and the girls not very good, if they do not have success in their life and they are unhappy in love . . . the fault lies in the mother more than anyone else.” Given these immense obligations, it was the duty of educators to intervene. “If we want, then, to avoid such great responsibilities such as those that weigh over her,” Simmons explained, “it is necessary that the woman of the house use her time wisely . . . the key to all this is in the proper use of time, money and physical resources.”49 The school offered a number of adult classes specifically for mothers — among them, “Food for Children,” “Health Work with Children,” “Food Preservation,” and “Millinery”— and organized a “Mother’s Club,” whose role was not defined. The faculty at the She Was Very American

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Vocational School led the classes, but current students worked as volunteers helping to teach sewing and other skills, in many ways underscoring the efforts of Americanization because these classes were being led by the newly Americanized. By having young women from the neighborhood act as instructors, the project became more of a community effort and no doubt was less threatening. A number of students, including Carmen and Luz, volunteered their time and developed their talents at evening classes. There is no evidence of how widely these classes were attended or the degree to which the goals of Americanization or transformation were realized. However altruistic the endeavor seemed, the underlying intent was clear: the day-to-day methods used by Mexican wives and mothers in the home needed to become more American. Food and cooking represented another front in the battle over Americanization. In addition to her courses in dressmaking, Luz took the requisite cooking and food preparation classes offered at the Vocational School. Her carefully written recipes, which she kept in a plain black composition notebook, reveal some of the ways Americanization affected the household and attempted, at its root, to fundamentally alter the Mexican family.50 The first few pages of the cookbook are devoted to the basics — for example, notes on measures and conversions; later pages include a key for commonly used abbreviations like tablespoon, teaspoon, cup, and pound. A small chart at the bottom of page one includes notes taken during a nutrition course. Luz made painstaking entries on the prescribed caloric intake per day (2,400 calories), the types of foods that provide “Heat and Energy” (carbohydrates and fats, including butter, potatoes, and bread), foods that “Build and Repair” (proteins like lean beef, cheese, eggs, beans, and milk), and foods that provide vitamins and minerals.51 Following these notes are about eighty recipes for dishes ranging from salads and dressings to main entrees; to cakes, candies, and fudge; to preserves and jellies. The collection includes recipes for making “Pop Overs,” “Meat Loaf,” “Macaroni and Cheese,” “Boston Baked Beans,” and “Salmon Loaf with White Sauce #2.” Other dishes such as “Swiss Steak” “Canadian Meat Pie,” and “Veal Pie” would have certainly been more difficult to prepare on a limited budget, particularly for the Mexican families who subsisted on the relatively low wages paid to the workers at the smelter and surrounding industries. Many of the recipes and notations regarding nutrition are strikingly similar to those found in Pearl Idelia Ellis’s book, Americanization through Homemaking, from the Department of Americanization and Homemaking in the Covina 206

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City Elementary School system in California during the same period, demonstrating the widely accepted belief in the importance of food preparation in the Americanization process. Ellis explains that Mexican girls needed to have a “general knowledge of foods for regulating, building, and furnishing energy to the body, [and] also the methods of preparing, cooking and serving them.”52 She makes a distinct link between “undernourishment” and criminal activity, and places the responsibility for maintaining a healthy, law-abiding, physically and mentally alert family squarely on the the homemaker.53 The recipes passed on in southern California and El Paso represented an effort to transform the Mexican household into an American one, one meal at a time. The recipes in Luz’s cookbook are, if not entirely American, decidedly not Mexican. In fact, almost all of them are in English, and none is for what could be termed “Mexican” dishes. Many Spanish and Mexican recipes were handed down through oral tradition, with instructions to include “un poquito de . . . y un poquito de . . .” (a little bit of . . . and a little bit of. . .).54 This fact undoubtedly limited the extent to which such dishes would be documented in a book. Moreover, Luz’s cookbook grew out of the notebook she kept in class, where she probably copied recipes off a blackboard that were assigned by the instructor. But two of the salad entries represent a departure from the others, as they suggest how the author or the teachers at the Vocational School negotiated Mexican and American flavors. One recipe calls for “cooked carrots, English peas, chiles, celery, onions and pimentos,” and the other for “string beans, onions, celery, chile and pimentos.” These two entries are unlike the other recipes in the book in that they call for an ingredient used in Mexican cooking. Moreover, they suggest that although the lessons and mission of Americanization may have been intended in one way, their acceptance and practical application may have been entirely different. Women in the adult evening courses, as well as the young women in the day classes, may have written down the recipes as delivered but prepared them at home in ways that were appetizing to them and their families, adding their own touches and making the recipes their own. Another recipe, hidden in the later pages of Luz’s cookbook, stands out from the rest. The entry for “Dulce de arroz y almendras” (Sweet Rice and Almonds) is different for three reasons. First, this one was written in Spanish. The fact that it appears later in the book, following Luz’s attendance records for a dressmaking class she taught in the summer of 1933, indicates that it was probably one she acquired after finishing her homemaking classes. Second, while the earlier entries were copied in ink by a diligent hand, the recipe She Was Very American

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for sweet rice and almonds was jotted in pencil, perhaps written hurriedly after a casual conversation with a friend. And third, whereas most of the earlier recipes (with the exception of the salads) list ingredients with specific measures, where “all measurements must be level,” the later dish lists the ingredients only as “arroz, y almendras y canela, leche y azucar” (rice, almonds, cinnamon, milk, and sugar). There are no detailed instructions for preparation, as there are in the other recipes. For example, the directions for making a fairly simple potato salad are numerous, from peeling and cutting the potatoes, to boiling and draining them, to adding the various ingredients, with a final sentence noting, “This is made good also by the addition of celery, pickles or pimentos.” For the rice dish there are only two sentences: “Se remoja el arroz y se muele con las almendras” (Moisten the rice and grind together with the almonds) and “Pongas la leche a la lumbre y agregues el arroz” (Heat the milk and add the rice).55 It is not surprising that the earlier recipes are more formal and structured, while the one written in Spanish is informal and familiar. The American dishes handed down by instructors at the Vocational School were new, and so their preparation would not be familiar to many students, who might have never even eaten potato salad — thus the need for detailed instructions. Conversely, the recipe jotted in Luz’s native language was probably less formal for the precise reason that it was familiar. The recipes, separated by pages and spanning many years, reveal the cultural changes and adaptations that took place over the course of Luz’s life, and they suggest the ways in which American and Mexican cuisines and identity were negotiated in the pages of her cookbook. Luz integrated the “Americanized” dishes with the “Mexican” meals in her daily repertoire. For example, while she made tortillas and beans for her family on a regular basis, she also prepared American meals, displaying how she managed to incorporate the American-style cooking in personally appealing and appetizing ways. “Sundays were fried chicken,” her son Manuel fondly recalled with laughter, although she also “used to make the regulars, the Mexican staples, sopa, frijoles, papas” (soup, frijoles, potatoes).56 She made her children’s lunches, “and it was all the same thing,” said her son David. “If it was Monday, you might have some leftover chicken or whatever, and if it was Friday it had to be scrambled eggs and beans or scrambled eggs and green beans, or tuna, or salmon, but it was always like that.”57 According to her son Lorenzo Jr., “Her recipes were . . . universal. She didn’t cook just Mexican food all the time,” and the entire family, including his father, liked the variety of dishes she served.58 He remembered that his mother read 208

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English-language women’s magazines — perhaps another habit picked up at the Vocational School — scouring the pages for new recipes, including the recipe for turkey stuffing that her family uses to this day. David said: “Yeah, she used to cook all kinds of stuff. . . . I liked the way she used to make . . . meatloaf. . . . And she used to make . . . I think it was halibut, halibut fish in a sauce.”59 Luz’s expanding store of dishes reveals the influence of overt lessons of Americanization as taught in the Vocational School, but it also illuminates how Americanization occurred on a more subtle level. Luz adopted and adapted new recipes from leading women’s magazines of the 1950s and 1960s, combining them with Mexican dishes. In this fashion, she routinely sought to expand her family’s tastes in increasingly blended ways.

From Student to Teacher and Community Activist Luz’s experience as a student and volunteer teacher at the Smelter Vocational School fostered a lifelong interest in teaching. By 1925, she had completed the equivalent of two years in dressmaking at the Vocational School.60 She was subsequently hired by the school as an assistant to Mrs. Gryder, her former sewing instructor, making a small but significant wage.61 After completing her formal training, Luz took courses toward her vocational certification through the University of Texas. According to credit clips in her personal papers, by 1930 she had earned at least sixty hours of credit in “dressmaking methods” and supervised observation required by the Trade and Industrial Teacher Training Course under the Smith-Hughes Act.62 On February 12, 1934, she received her Vocational Teacher’s Temporary Certificate, which allowed her to teach evening classes in “Dressmaking, Sewing, and Household Service” in the state of Texas and, more specifically, in the Smelter School System.63 Even before receiving her official credentials, she taught “domestic science” at the smelter grammar school, evening classes at the Vocational School, and a summer course in dressmaking.64 Her composition book does not supply many details, though it does contain some notes on the “Making of a Lesson Plan” and brief directions on how to make an apron. The “shop lessons” were simple and practical: select a pattern and material, lay out the pattern, cut the material, baste the pieces together, then sew them. More to the point, they were designed to teach young women the art of sewing specific items for use in the home. Although it is unclear how long she taught at the Vocational School, teaching remained an important part of Luz’s life. Even after she married in She Was Very American

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1934 and moved from Smeltertown to nearby Buena Vista, she continued to teach sewing, knitting, and crocheting in the small house next to her home (called the “clubhouse”) and in the homes of other women she had known in Smeltertown.65 “She just had a knack for [teaching],” her son Manuel commented. “[It] just came natural.” According to Carmen, she and Luz loved to learn new crafts and improve on the techniques honed at the Vocational School; Luz’s sons said that she enjoyed being involved in “artistic” pursuits. The two women continued to take courses in various crafts, and Luz encouraged her friend to take up painting.66 Carmen remembered Luz as the kind of teacher who supported her students but was stern in her methods. When neighborhood ladies asked her to fix their hems, she would tell them: “No. I am going to show you how to cut them, so you can do it. I’m the teacher, but you don’t know.”67 If a student did a stitch incorrectly, she would have her undo it and try again. Luz took pride in her ability to teach these homemaking skills and in the training she had received at the Smelter Vocational School. As at the Vocational School, Luz’s volunteer classes offered more than just instruction in sewing or knitting. The arts and craft classes, taught in the homes of friends or in the “clubhouse” in Buena Vista, provided an important social and cultural space for women. According to Carmen, “That’s where we got together, see? And [the women] would get together, to pass the time . . . [to] teach the ones that didn’t know [how to sew].”68 Luz taught crochet classes at María Palacio’s mother’s home in the Pacific Park neighborhood, an area where a number of former Smeltertown residents had moved over time, especially following the dismantling of Smeltertown in the 1970s. Manuel Perales noted that his mother did not charge tuition for these classes, except maybe to ask one person to “bring the Kool Aid, and someone else to bring the cookies.”69 The women gathered in part for the lesson, but also for the chance to interact with their friends and former neighbors. “To me, it looked like a get-together,” Palacio recalled. “They had fun.”70 Small women’s cultural circles like the ones Luz organized could be found throughout the Southwest, where Mexican women drew not only on Anglo ideals of womanhood, but also on Mexican notions of respectability and traditions of female benevolence in an attempt to promote the moral uplift of the ethnic Mexican community.71 Luz’s gatherings were important indicators of the ways in which the lessons taught at the hands of Americanization agents were adapted by Mexican women to build their own sense of community entrenched in the ideals of

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home and family. Luz, who had once been the student of official Americanization programs, became the teacher, instructing other Mexican women in the methods she had learned at the Smelter Vocational School. But these new classes and sewing circles, as conducted by Luz and other women of Mexican heritage, also became spaces in which Mexican women created and celebrated community long after the Americanization project was abandoned and long after Smeltertown no longer existed. In addition to creating female social networks, graduates of the Vocational School used the language of self-improvement and female authority to apply their lessons in domesticity to social service in Smeltertown.72 Through the influence of Church and school, they moved beyond the realm of the home and worked in other ways for the betterment of the community. Enriqueta Beard said her mother Sabina Alva, Luz, Carmen, Paula Holguin, and a number of other women were all involved in service activities in Smeltertown. Ensuring that neighborhood children received proper food and nutrition, women like Holguin coordinated with asarco to distribute free milk to smelter residents.73 Luz worked closely with school officials in maintaining a list of the students who ate lunch at school and of the infants who received milk from the school, noting that they “all need food.”74 During the Christmas holidays, women organized to collect food for the poorest people in the neighborhood. Adequate health care was another critical concern, and to this end Holguin volunteered as an assistant to the Health Department nurse assigned to Smeltertown; she eventually went to work as a clerk at the E. B. Jones Health Center. During the Great Depression, Smeltertown women became involved in New Deal relief organizations to provide aid to needy families in the already-impoverished community. According to Beard, “My mother worked with the cwa [Civil Works Administration] when the Depression began. But Luz Luján was there, she was the director of that work. And Paula Holguin. They used to sew for the poor. They’d send a lot of fabric . . . the government that is, and so Luz . . . she was an instructor, and since she was very good at sewing and all, she directed . . . the seamstresses. . . . A lot of people worked there . . . it was a terrible depression, but the main one in charge there was . . . [Luz].”75 The women made numerous pieces of clothing to be distributed to people in Smeltertown; as a result, Beard joked, many neighborhood girls wore identical dresses. Women also energetically campaigned for community services like new playgrounds, better lighting, pavement, and sewage

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systems. Whether coordinating food and clothing drives or working through local health agencies, these Esmeltianas took their work seriously. In their view, they had a duty to help improve the lives of Smeltertown’s families. Esmeltianas branched out into all kinds of service, but they were especially drawn to issues that evolved out of their socially defined roles as caregivers and mothers. Even for women like Paula Holguin, who did not have children of her own, affairs pertaining to children defined their activism. Many took a strong interest in school activities, including the local Parent-Teacher Association (pta). Luz’s involvement in the pta, in fact, also afforded an outlet for her creative and artistic interests. Through the association, she helped to organize and produce various plays starring children in the community (her sons recalled productions of “Cinderella” and “Snow White” that she had helped to put on); she even organized skits starring parents to entertain the membership. In one such skit, Luz drafted one of the neighborhood men to play “Professor Renovalas,” a scientist who had invented a machine that would “rejuvenate” and transform the old women of the community into young girls.76 Produced in Spanish and English, these plays were a source of entertainment during meetings and a way for the female organizers to have fun. They may have had the added effect of making pta meetings more accessible to the predominantly Mexican residents, encouraging a more inclusive organization responsive to the community it served.77 Women graduates of the Vocational School thus used their training as American homemakers and mothers to benefit their neighbors as well as their own families. Arguably these women would have been involved in community activism regardless of their educational background. Indeed, a sense of female moral authority was not the sole domain of middle-class Anglo reformers. As historian Gabriela González has shown, middle-class Mexican women similarly used a “dual strategy of cultural redemption and female benevolence” to counter discrimination and provide crucial services to the Mexican community in Depression-era San Antonio.78 Esmeltianas may have found similar inspiration from the activities of Mexican elites who had established a strong influence in El Paso. Perhaps their Anglo teachers would have claimed that the lessons in domesticity imparted at the Smelter Vocational School had made Esmeltianas into model American mothers. More likely, however, the female graduates made their own brand of Mexican working-class maternalism, picking what was useful to them and rejecting what was not. Whatever the source, we cannot dismiss the importance of the Vocational School in the lives of these women. It may not have turned them into activists, but it gave 212

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Smelter Vocational School alumnae and Mrs. Gryder, March 1943. Pictured (left to right) are Paula Holguin, Luz Perales (with daughter Rosie), Mrs. Gryder (Vocational School instructor), Carmen Escandón (holding daughter Camelia), and Jesusita Martínez (with Carmen’s son, Ramiro Jr.). Perales Family Personal Collection.

them a women-centered space in which to create their own sort of workingclass domesticity — during and after their school years. Yet while Luz had become quite “Americanized” through her involvements with the Vocational School and encounters with the social and racial hierarchies of Smeltertown, her experience at a conference held in Pecos, Texas, in the 1950s revealed that, under some circumstances, Mexican Americans could never be Americanized enough. Through her work with the local pta chapter, Luz also served as a representative to the Trans-Pecos Association of the pta. According to her son Lorenzo Jr., Luz had traveled to the conference with the Courchesne School principal, Mrs. Anderson. On their arrival, however, Luz was not allowed to stay at the hotel where the conference was being held. Although her family did not know all the details, it is understandable that Luz would face anti-Mexican sentiments and segregation in Jim Crow Texas during this period. Nor was it known how Luz or Mrs. Anderson reacted to the situation. According to Lorenzo, Luz mentioned the incident to her family but understood the common practice of segregation in those days. She Was Very American

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Whether Luz accepted it as simply “how things were” or not, it was obvious that Americanization could only go so far. We do know that this episode did not curtail Luz’s participation in the pta or other community endeavors. When families began to settle in the Buena Vista area, recounted Lorenzo Jr., “My mother . . . tried to organize the people; [she] said, ‘Okay, let’s form a community center . . . and we’ll talk about what we need and see how we can get it done.’”79 Additionally, Luz made it a practice to visit neighbors and kept careful track of the dates of her visits, cooking or nutrition lessons taught, and any assistance they might need (whether it was help caring for small children or companionship for elderly neighbors).80 According to her sons, she made regular rounds throughout her neighborhood, hopping the bus to Smeltertown if necessary. She also helped to organize and coordinate local Boy Scout and Girl Scout troops. Sometimes her activities kept her so busy that she lost track of time. “Yeah, she was involved in a lot of stuff,” David recalled. “And one thing I remember when we’d get home from Courchesne School, we could smell the beans burning all the way from the bottom of the hill; it was because my mother forgot she had [things on the stove]!”81 Despite the fact that the beans burned on more than one occasion, her husband and family seem to have supported her various projects — and described them fondly. Luz remained active in her community well into the 1960s. This activist sensibility can surely be attributed to her outgoing personality, her enormous energy, and her lifelong interest in learning and teaching. In many ways, it can also be traced to the lessons of Americanization passed down by the Smelter School and the Smelter Vocational School, and reflects the constant negotiation and molding of those ideas into something specifically relevant in her life. One of the most revealing indicators of how Esmeltianos found empowerment from their vocational training was the formation of the Smelter Community Center Association in September 1936. Organized by Miguel Carrasco, the group consisted of Vocational School graduates (Luz served as the second vice president) who sought “the general welfare and betterment of the people of the community.”82 The association operated out of the E. B. Jones Elementary School, and many of its activities took place on the school’s premises. Although its board of directors was entirely Anglo, including E. B. Jones, namesake of the Jones School, all of the officers were Mexican or Mexican American. The stated goal of the center was to work in concert with the school and school board, but its interests focused on the Mexican neighborhood. It sought to promote “wholesome entertainment, amusement and recreation 214

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for everyone, so that our people may enjoy life, health, and happiness and learn to make worthy use of their leisure time [emphasis mine].”83 More important, the association intended to improve the economic conditions of the community by encouraging participation in adult classes for homemakers and workers so that “they may increase [their] capacity and be self sustaining, useful and law abiding citizen[s].”84 The association especially directed its energies toward creating a safe and healthy environment for Smeltertown’s youth in an effort to curb the potential threat of juvenile delinquency. In early June 1945, it took up the issue of upgrading sanitation in Smeltertown, demanding “relief ” from the deplorable conditions allowed to persist in the neighborhood. A three-article exposé in the El Paso Herald Post, which included photographs of wastewater in the streets between homes and of children standing on a makeshift garbage dump located in a vacant lot next to the E. B. Jones School, raised serious concerns among association members and city and county leaders alike. The articles noted the lack of sewers and proper drainage, the attendant flies and smell exacerbated by the summer heat, and the overcrowded and dilapidated homes (many of which had no window or door screens). The Community Center Association sprang into action. “We are tired of living like pigs,” one member told the Herald Post. “We are going to clean up our town and nothing can stop us.” By June 8, county workers began clearing the garbage from the empty lot, and the association initiated talks with county officials and the El Paso Housing Authority about installing water and sewage systems, as well as a potential housing project. The association’s efforts drew upon a sense of community pride, but also the rights the residents possessed as good Americans. “Our children are coming home from the Army soon,” one member said, referring to the large numbers of Esmeltianos serving in World War II. “They will not want to come into their homes and live like we have to. They have been used to better things.” In all likelihood, it was not just wartime military service that taught Esmeltianos to become “used to better things,” but the very lessons of Americanism imparted by instructors at the Vocational School.85 The organization also formed a committee to establish a safe playground and recreation facility for children and teenagers living in Smeltertown. Francisco de Santos, president of the association, told the El Paso Times: “Most of the homes here do not have backyards, and as a result you will find children 10 years old hanging around barrooms and playing in the streets late at night.”86 Although Smeltertown did not have the problems with juvenile She Was Very American

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delinquency experienced by other neighborhoods in the city, de Santos explained, the playground would prevent youngsters in the community from going astray. The association petitioned the El Paso County Commissioners Court to institute a 10:00 p.m. curfew, acquired permission from the Smelter School Board to use the yard and auditorium at the E. B. Jones School as a base for their program, and requested floodlights to keep the area well lit during evening activities. In addition to a children’s merry-go-round, the recreation facility provided softball, volleyball, and boxing equipment, and Lupe Pineda, secretary of the association, organized girls’ activities. After the playground opened in May 1946, the Times pronounced it a grand success, with over three hundred children in attendance.87 As the paper reported, “You won’t find the children of Smeltertown playing in the streets these summer nights, subject to death by speeding automobiles. Nor will you find them in dark alleys or hanging around the corner taverns. The children are getting a new deal. They have a playground now.”88 The members of the Smelter Community Center Association did not merely repeat uncritically the language of Americanization. Instead, they saw themselves as advocates, transforming what had been messages imbued with condescension toward Mexicans into positive action for Smeltertown. More important, however, is the fact that the group used these words to express a real concern for developing and improving their own community: “our people.” In this, the association appears to have recognized their distinctiveness in Mexican terms at the same time that they used Americanization’s terminology and ultimate goals to demand services that would allow their children to have access to the kinds of activities that all American children should enjoy. By adapting the lessons and rhetoric of Americanization, ethnic Mexican Esmeltianos claimed the rights and privileges they had been taught could be theirs because they had, thanks to the Vocational School, “become” American.

Choosing to Be American In a variety of ways, the women of Smeltertown negotiated their identities as American consumers, homemakers, and activists. On most days, American and Mexican cultural practices seemed to blend and intermingle with relative ease. Yet there were times when a claim to American citizenship and the privileges and protections it conferred did matter. The years that Luz and other Esmeltianas participated in American pastimes, learned how to make their 216

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households more like the models they saw at the Smelter Vocational School, and began coordinating community service projects throughout Smeltertown coincided with the nation’s descent into the Great Depression. As the United States found itself in the grips of a major economic crisis and unemployment rates soared, Mexicans throughout the country increasingly were forced to make critical choices about their national identity.89 Nationwide, immigration restrictionists, nativists, and even mainstream society viewed Mexicans as foreigners who were taking jobs that rightfully belonged only to “real” Americans and as liabilities on already taxed relief rolls, and pressed for their expulsion. The Immigration and Naturalization Service raided barrios in cities with significant Mexican populations, rounding up hundreds of individuals who simply appeared to be Mexican. By 1933 and 1934, these deportation dragnets had spread to cities far beyond the Southwest including New York and Boston; they also targeted the Mexican populations of Chicago, Detroit, and other midwestern cities where many Mexicans had established communities in the 1910s.90 Formal deportation of Mexican immigrants in the United States was but one element of the repatriation drives of the 1930s. Far more pervasive and effective were the “scare-head” campaigns that accompanied the raids. English- and Spanish-language media outlets reported potential raids, contributing to the general fear and uncertainty in the barrios. Worsening economic conditions, compounded by the increased hostility toward and discrimination against Mexicans regardless of their naturalization status or birthright, compelled far more to relocate of their own volition. Federal, state, and local authorities coordinated with Mexican consulates to provide rail passage to Mexicans unable to pay for the move. Estimates vary, but anywhere from 365,000 to 600,000 Mexicans and Mexican Americans voluntarily and involuntarily repatriated to Mexico during the Depression.91 This episode in American history reveals just how precarious Mexicans’ position in the United States could be. The deportations and mass exodus directly affected El Paso. In the early years of the twentieth century, the border city had been the busiest port of entry for Mexicans entering the United States. By the 1930s, it had become one of the main points of exodus through which repatriates flowed back to Mexico. According to newspaper estimates at the time, in the two-year period between 1931 and 1933, almost 65,000 made their way south through El Paso.92 As the Depression wore on, the hostility toward Mexicans — both Mexican nationals and U.S.-born — continued to escalate. Despite having welcomed and benefited from an open border policy, El Paso business, labor, She Was Very American

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and city leaders began to push for greater border restrictions, the dismissal of Mexicans from jobs that could go to unemployed American workers, and the exclusion of Mexicans from relief rolls. In this climate of crisis, it is no wonder that some Mexican Americans attempted to distance themselves from Mexican nationals by emphasizing their right to protection as U.S. citizens. Mexican American activist and labor organizer Charles Porras, for example, advocated restricting the hours of operation on the international bridge to stem the flow of Mexican women who competed with Mexican American women for jobs as domestics. Adopting a policy in line with groups like the League of United Latin American Citizens (lulac), he and others encouraged Mexican Americans in El Paso to show their loyalty and commitment to the United States by learning and speaking English rather than Spanish, as well as signing pledges of support for New Deal programs.93 Stories of repatriation and deportation drives in the 1930s were noticeably absent from the recollections of former Esmeltianos. Nevertheless, the atmosphere created during this crisis offers a significant backdrop for understanding how and why American ideals held such a powerful influence in the lives of individuals like Luz Luján. In its Americanization efforts, the Smelter Vocational School equipped its students with the promise of American identity at a time when Mexicans were increasingly forced to make choices about who they were and were not. Claiming a cultural and politicized American identity in this period of heightened anti-Mexican sentiment and hyper-Americanism was one way that graduates of the school could differentiate themselves from “those Mexicans” on the other side of the border who took jobs from unemployed “real Americans” and could forcefully assert their rightful place in American society. For students who were already U.S. citizens by birth, these events clearly demonstrated the connection between race and citizenship on the border. For Luz Luján, a Mexican citizen by birth but educated in the American public school system, the news of deportations may have been even more frightening. What did Luz think about what was going on around her? I can only speculate about the impact of such events. In learning about her experiences in the public schools and her success at the Vocational School, I believe that a part of her was deeply attached to her adopted country. Did she also think there was strategic value in choosing to be American? Active participation in New Deal activities like making dresses through the cwa perhaps enabled women like Luz to show their loyalty and commitment to their adopted country in public ways. More than seventy years removed, the

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language of Americanization espoused by the Vocational School appears to be nothing more than empty rhetoric and unfulfilled promises of inclusion. At the time, however, it affirmed a powerful ideal, allowing students to lay claim to an American identity and to firmly plant their roots in American soil. The U.S. entry into World War II brought with it the opportunity for Mexicans to prove their loyalty to the United States. Like their counterparts from barrios across the country, Smeltertown’s young men enlisted in military service. In the postwar era, acquiring formal citizenship through naturalization was a means by which to claim status as U.S. citizens. Although she immigrated to El Paso as a child, Luz did not officially become a U.S. citizen until 1947. While it is hard to understand exactly why she waited so long, the delay does suggest the nebulous role that nationality, citizenship, and the border played in her everyday life. In general, naturalization rates in El Paso remained low in the first half of the twentieth century, indicating that U.S. citizenship did not figure prominently in the lives of many of El Paso’s Mexican residents. Although the rate of naturalization among adults over twenty-one years of age in El Paso had increased by 1950, still only 30 percent of foreignborn whites had become U.S. citizens while 70 percent remained “aliens” or did not report their status.94 By the time she began the naturalization process, Luz had already been married to Lorenzo Perales (born in El Paso) for thirteen years and had given birth to five children. Growing up, the significance Luz placed on citizenship status was even less clear. According to her brother Angel, at one point after the Lujáns relocated to El Paso, they received word that the immigration office had flooded and they would have to return to the office to settle their paperwork. Despite the urging of their mother to report to the immigration office, their father simply said, “No, everything’s okay,” and never went back.95 None of the Luján clan, therefore, “fixed their papers” until much later in life. Yet according to her friend Carmen, acquiring U.S. citizenship became important to Luz. She and Luz began studying for the examination together, and their husbands (by this time, Carmen had married Ramiro Escandón, a mechanic at the smelter, and they lived next door to Luz and Lorenzo) took turns driving them to preparation classes at Aoy School in South El Paso. Carmen recalled that the instructors had instilled a great deal of fear about the test. The two women had studied intensely and passed the exam. Providing some insight into my grandmother’s pluck, Carmen later told me that Luz was disappointed that the interviewer had not asked harder questions.

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Once she became a citizen, Luz began teaching many of her friends and neighbors how to prepare for their own citizenship tests. An avid reader, she used her knowledge of politics and current events, as well as her notes and study materials, to help them study. Luz’s sons remembered their living room being converted to a makeshift classroom where her “students” came to learn the basics required for naturalization.96 David said that “she actually gave classes in things that . . . you need to know to pass your citizenship [test]. In fact, she was very handy with me and my twin [Manuel], in answering questions for [our] government classes. When we were going through Courchesne and E. B. Jones and El Paso High, she knew all the answers, and she was a library, a dictionary right there, with the answers [laughter].”97 Like the women’s sewing and knitting classes, Luz’s bilingual citizenship classes obviously served a valuable function: the training necessary to pass the requirements for naturalization. María Palacio said that students “were very attentive” as Luz explained the lessons in civics and the law. She recalled that another woman, Lupe Martínez, could sometimes be overheard teaching civics lessons and quizzing her neighbor in Smeltertown on the U.S. presidents.98 These courses became spaces in which the Mexican community was redefined, and they revealed how ideas of Americanization and citizenship were incorporated into the lives of Mexicans in Smeltertown and the surrounding area. The lessons shared by people like themselves, who had undergone a similar process, illustrate how things American and Mexican were continuously molded in practical and personal ways.

Being American, Border Style I never had the opportunity to really know my grandmother, Luz Luján Perales. My memories of her are of a frail, white-haired woman, confined mostly to a wheelchair or hospital bed in her later years. The living room of the house she and my grandfather shared — the one that had served as her makeshift classroom — was decorated with her elegant needlework, paintings, and craft projects. The Grandma Luz of my childhood seemed to be a stark contrast to the vibrant, raven-haired young woman who smiled back at me from the sepia-toned pictures that filled her photo albums. Sitting on the green vinyl couch poring over those images, I did not yet have the language or tools to understand the historical processes that shaped her life. I thought nothing of the mysteries and paradoxes hidden in those photographs of a young Mexican girl holding an American flag, the comely young woman in the flapper220

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esque attire, or the mother posed with other mothers outside their children’s school. To me, they were simply a visual record of my grandmother’s life. Years later, the same images have become windows into a far richer, more nuanced story. My grandmother Luz Luján Perales died in 1981, long before I began this project and years before I had the chance to ask her about her story. As I began to unravel the pieces of her life, I reached out to those who knew her best: her friends and family. In 2002, when my father and uncles reflected on their childhood years, it was clear to them that one of the things that stood out most about their mother was that she proudly claimed an American identity. According to my father, “She was American first. She was very American. She knew she was a Mexican American, verdad? [right?] But, you could tell that she took pride in the fact that she was an American citizen.”99 On one level, these memories must be understood through the lens of the present. As the pieces of Luz’s story came into sharper focus, it struck me that what I knew about her life in the past was fundamentally bound up in the way we think about nationality, citizenship, and borders in the present day, as well as what we knew of how her story ends. Her past allows us to understand who we as a family are today, revealing the intersecting story lines of memory and history. Although it is important to recognize that memory often serves present needs and that this claim to American identification functions to make current social and political distinctions, we must also understand what these ideas and processes meant in Luz’s own lifetime in their particular context. As a child and as a young adult, Luz received specific, practical, deliberate lessons in Americanization. She and hundreds of young Mexican-born men and women in Smeltertown were the products of a concerted Americanization project under the auspices of the Smelter School System, the Smelter Vocational School, and the “workshop” that was Smeltertown. On a daily basis they received messages about how their Mexican ways needed to be Americanized. Despite the negative tone of these lessons, students like Luz used the Vocational School to their advantage. Where school officials saw deficiency, Esmeltianas saw opportunity. Through the school, they found a way to create a women-centered world where they could engage in American pastimes and enjoy freedom beyond their parents’ control. They reinterpreted and crafted their own definitions of domesticity and respectability, empowering themselves to demand improvements and services that would make the lives of Esmeltianos more comfortable. But most of all, their experiences at the Smelter Vocational School taught them that in addition to being culturally and racially She Was Very American

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Mexican, they could be American. My uncle Lorenzo Perales Jr. perhaps best captured the complexity of Luz’s sense of self: “I think she considered herself an American. An American of Mexican descent, [if ] not of citizenship . . . she was living here legally. . . . Nowadays, you talk about legal or illegal, there are a lot that are not naturalized, but even though you’re not a citizen, you can still consider yourself American.”100

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PART III

Remembering Smeltertown

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6 The Demise of Smelter town We don’t like you Mayor Williams and Rosenblum. — Message spray painted on abandoned Smeltertown home, El Paso Herald Post, January 22, 1973

For Romelia Flores, Smeltertown had always been home. Her family had made its way there in the early decades of the twentieth century and found work at the smelter. Her father rented a piece of property from a private landowner on B Street in El Bajo for a mere twenty dollars a month, and there he established his home a short walking distance to work. As Flores recounted her memories of Smeltertown, it was evident that her connection to this place she called home ran deep. She told stories of her grandparents, who were rumored to have run a lucrative liquor-smuggling business from Smeltertown at the height of Prohibition; of church fund-raisers and neighborhood beauty queens; and of the families who had spent their entire lives building Smeltertown. Admittedly, conditions in the working-class barrio were far from ideal. Smeltertown historically lacked many of the amenities enjoyed by El Paso’s wealthier neighborhoods; as late as the 1960s, paved streets, streetlights, updated sewage systems, and regular sanitation services were a luxury reserved for other parts of town. There was also the matter of the smoke. “There was always pollution,” said Romelia’s brother Pedro. “There was always smoke coming out of that smokestack.”1 Yet over the years, residents managed to make their homes livable in spite of these conditions, and the pollution was simply a fact of life that Esmeltianos like Pedro and Romelia had learned to endure. In 1958 Romelia married and moved away from Smeltertown, but a few years later she returned to her family’s home on Willie Barraza Street (as B Street had been renamed in honor of a local boy who had died in World War II). For Romelia, raising her family in her childhood home made perfect sense; her neighborhood provided the comfort of the familiar and a connection to her family’s heritage and history. “I would have lived there forever,” she stated plainly.2

The peaceful life she described changed forever in 1970. El Paso’s city leaders and residents at large had grown increasingly concerned about the smelter’s emissions and their effect on the entire city. As El Paso expanded in the postwar years, the smelter that once sat on the far outskirts of town became enveloped in the growing border metroplex, and the smelter’s emissions dramatically compounded the problems associated with the city’s urban character. In 1970, the city of El Paso and the state of Texas filed suit against asarco for violating the 1967 Air Safety Code. It was not long before El Paso City– County Health officials discovered that air emissions were but a single element of the environmental dangers resulting from asarco’s centurylong enterprise. The smelting of copper, lead, and other ores generally releases toxic by-products into the environment, including lead, sulfur, arsenic, and cadmium. Scientific tests revealed the specific damage in Smeltertown. More than 100 children in the community had abnormal, and potentially lifethreatening, levels of lead in their bloodstreams. Based on medical reports from that time, 43 percent of the 223 people living within a 1.6-kilometer radius of the smelter exhibited lead blood levels that exceeded the limit of 40 micrograms per 100 milliliters. Four children were found to have lead blood levels of 80 to 90 micrograms per 100 milliliters — more than twice the maximum limit.3 Romelia Flores’s two-year old daughter Melba was one of the affected children, hospitalized with a lead blood count of 67. The suit filed by the city and state (joined by the Texas Air Control Board and the Center for Disease Control) quickly focused on lead exposure, with Smeltertown at its center. By the time all was said and done, asarco settled out of court with a number of the families for the payment of medical expenses, agreed to pay $80,500 for pollution violations and posted $30,000 against future violations, and pledged to install more than $750,000 worth of emissions control equipment.4 Beyond that, asarco and the city of El Paso decided to raze Smeltertown and to relocate its inhabitants to public housing projects throughout El Paso. By 1973, a community that had functioned as a virtual city within a city since the turn of the century existed no more. The very industrial processes that had brought it life had destroyed Smeltertown. The lead contamination crisis that erupted in Smeltertown in the early 1970s laid bare the serious environmental effects wrought by the mining and smelting industry over the course of its century-long run in the border city. Born out of the capitalist development of the American West, Smeltertown experienced the same fate as many other single-industry towns throughout the region that were exposed to the ecological hazards associated with met226

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als extraction and development.5 For the working-class Mexican barrio, the dangers in the air merged with the more common perils on the ground that resulted from years of neglect and declining urban conditions. Environmental justice scholars have shown how economically disadvantaged (often nonwhite) communities have suffered disproportionately from environmental hazards and how deeply embedded structural inequalities have contributed to the creation of a spatial landscape that places the poor and minorities in unhealthy areas. In this sense, as geographer Laura Pulido contends, environmental racism is not just about locating hazardous industries in poor, minority communities. Indeed, it is a much larger problem involving the fundamental ways in which race and class define urban space and determine how and in what ways people interact with the world around them.6 On its surface, then, the story of Smeltertown appears to provide a textbook case of environmental injustice in which Esmeltianos became pawns in a larger political drama involving corporate and city interests. According to sociologist Mary Romero, by recasting the larger issue of air pollution as one of lead poisoning, asarco and city officials who held the ultimate upper hand simply dismantled the affected area inhabited by a politically disenfranchised population. Company, city, and health officials had the power to define the problem, and, operating out of a sense of paternalism and economic self-preservation, they became the sole architects of the solution — the residents had no input. In the end, Romero contends, “a powerless Chicano community was unable to defend itself from compelling economic interests, assisted by outside experts.”7 Recounting the demise of Smeltertown through the prism of environmental justice provides a powerful narrative, but it tells only one part of the story. This chapter examines the competing visions of Smeltertown that came to a head in the lead contamination controversy and the complicated, sometimes contradictory reactions of city officials, company management, and Esmeltianos. Although it may be easy to paint in broad strokes the characters in this story — a heartless company, heroic city leaders, and the voiceless victims — to do so fails to capture the deeply conflicted historical relationships forged between them and ignores how those relationships and the changing political and economic context of late twentieth-century El Paso informed how each party ultimately responded to the environmental crisis. At the turn of the century, city and business leaders willingly entered into a devil’s pact, and in aggressively courting the smelting industry, they succeeded in making copper one of the “four C’s” of El Paso’s economy. Almost a century later, The Demise of Smeltertown

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copper’s luster had begun to tarnish. By the 1970s, the city found itself struggling to compete with other growing Sunbelt cities for business and tourism dollars. It also faced the nagging problem of the deplorable conditions in the city’s long-neglected barrios. For its part, asarco experienced continued growth and in the postwar period remained one of the largest industrial firms in town, but it also confronted changing local conditions and perceptions of its operations. To a great degree, the discovery of lead contamination was a day of reckoning that neither the city nor the company may have anticipated a generation earlier. The reports of the crisis in Smeltertown forced asarco, city, and health officials to respond swiftly to the allegations of lead contamination and environmental neglect, but also revealed how pursuing dreams for a copper future unwittingly wed the city to an industry that would one day be seen as a relic of the past. The city and the smelter were not the only ones facing the reality of changing times. Esmeltianos had entered into their own compact with the company, one that allowed them to live undisturbed in the smelter’s shadow. With mounting evidence of the extent of the contamination, it became obvious that Smeltertown’s days were numbered. However, Esmeltianos were hardly passive observers. This chapter reintegrates Esmeltianos as actors in the drama that unfolded following the discovery of lead contamination, exposing the powerful and poignant ways that place mattered in the lives of Smeltertown’s residents. In their accounts of the events surrounding the discovery of lead, Esmeltianos argued that their children’s health was important, but so was preserving the place that had been their home for generations. The city’s intervention aroused the suspicion of residents who had always turned to the smelter for their basic needs. Ironically, instead of casting blame on the company, many residents staunchly defended asarco despite the proof of widespread lead contamination and its claims to priority of location. Their reaction did not occur in a vacuum. Though most Esmeltianos saw their stance as a homegrown response to their specific circumstances, the struggle over Smeltertown must also be viewed against the political and social climate of the 1960s and 1970s. The flourishing Chicano movement on college campuses and in communities across the country recognized the barrio as an incubator of cultural pride and its place as a defense against discrimination. As such, Chicano activists nationwide worked to save barrios from demolition and improve conditions while preserving and celebrating their historic and cultural integrity. At the same time, Esmeltianos’ appeals to themes of selfdetermination, homeowner rights, and the rejection of municipal intrusion 228

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into their lives echoed the claims of conservative suburbanites, if for radically different reasons.8 These influences mixed in Smeltertown to varying degrees. In the end, residents may not have responded in the ways one might expect, but they assertively injected themselves into the public debate concerning the fate of their neighborhood. They cooperated with company officials, doctors, lawyers, and city representatives, but they also emphatically expressed their opposition to relocation. Although the cards may ultimately have been stacked against them, Esmeltianos struggled to find acceptable alternatives within their limited range of choices and fought to have their voices heard. Business interests, health concerns, and a community’s will converged in Smeltertown, creating a complicated situation in which all sides seemingly had the welfare of the community at heart. In the end, the city and the company destroyed the very community they claimed to be saving.

Postwar Boom, Postwar Decline El Paso’s early boosters would surely have been proud of all their city had become by the middle of the twentieth century. In just a few short decades El Paso had grown from a frontier town to one of the premier metropolitan centers of the Sunbelt. Thanks to its position as a railroad, mining, and smelting hub, and particularly to the prominence of firms like asarco, by the early 1900s El Paso outpaced regional competitors such as Albuquerque, Phoenix, and Tucson and rightfully claimed the distinction of being the “industrial center of the Southwest.”9 The infusion of private capital and federal dollars allowed El Paso to continue to grow in size and stature following the close of World War II. The escalation of Cold War tensions and subsequent development of the so-called military industrial complex facilitated the rapid expansion of defense and military spending in cities across the Southwest. El Paso’s Fort Bliss had always been an important military installation, and by the start of World War II it was the largest army base in the country. In 1957, it became the U.S. Air Defense Center, dedicated to antiaircraft artillery training and missile development. Also the home of Biggs Air Force Base (today Biggs Army Airfield) and the William Beaumont Army Medical Center, El Paso won the distinction of being “America’s Number One Army Town.”10 This postwar expansion not only made the military the city’s largest employer (combining enlisted and civilian personnel), but it also injected millions of dollars into the local economy through salaries, local contracts, and the purchasing power of active-duty and retired military personnel. The Demise of Smeltertown

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This military buildup brought thousands of people to the border city, adding to the postwar population boom. Following a significant drop in the 1930s, owing in large measure to the Depression and the repatriation of Mexicans through El Paso’s port of entry, El Paso’s population increased at a steady pace. The 1950 census reported more than 130,000 residents, making El Paso the seventy-sixth largest city in the nation. By 1960, when the total had more than doubled, it broke into the top fifty largest U.S. cities. Consequently, residential and commercial construction exploded, as did the city’s physical boundaries. In the early 1950s, El Paso annexed twenty-eight square miles to the west, expanding toward the border with New Mexico. This acquisition permitted the development of eight new neighborhoods on the city’s western edge.11 The fact that these new residential and commercial areas absorbed the smelter into the city’s core would prove to be a crucial factor in how local officials and citizens viewed the smelter smokestacks and their effect on air quality. The city of El Paso also looked eastward, incorporating more than forty square miles in the lower valley, including the rural areas in and around Ysleta. With the completion of major infrastructure and road construction connecting the far corners of the sprawling city, the political and business communities believed El Paso’s star was clearly on the rise. Although the military quickly assumed its place as the city’s largest employer, El Paso continued to rely on industry and manufacturing as cornerstones of its economy well into the twentieth century. asarco remained one of the most prominent industries and employers in town, having experienced its own postwar growth. In 1948 the smelter added a zinc plant to its copper and lead operations, thereby maintaining its position as the largest custom smelter in the world. By midcentury, the plant sat on more than sixty acres of prime land within the newly defined boundaries of town and was a true global enterprise, processing 600,000 tons of ore annually from mines in Mexico, South America, Africa, and Eastern Europe. To be sure, copper was still one of the celebrated “big C’s” of the border economy, contributing more than $25 million each year to the local economy.12 The operations of the Phelps Dodge refinery on the city’s east side also continued apace. While copper remained a critical element of El Paso’s economic base, the Chamber of Commerce continued to push for greater manufacturing capacity as a means of economic expansion. In the postwar years, clothing and petroleum manufacturing added a fifth c and a p to the “magic alliteration” of copper, cotton, cattle, and climate that had traditionally been mainstays of the regional economy.13 Clothing manufacturers like Levi Strauss and Farah established 230

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plants in the border city in the early part of the century, employing more than 100,000 workers and producing $50 million in jeans and sportswear by the early 1960s. El Paso was also home to petroleum refineries operated by Texas Company, Standard Oil of Texas, and McNutt Oil and Refining capable of processing 23,000 barrels of oil per day piped into the city from the Permian Basin and New Mexico. Headquartered in the border city, El Paso Natural Gas Company and El Paso Natural Gas Products supplied natural gas, petroleum products, and gasoline to millions of consumers across the West.14 As they had a century before, civic boosters, political leaders, the business elite, and the local press maintained their policy of attracting manufacturing and industry to ensure the city’s continued success, guided by the firm belief that “what was good for El Paso business was good for El Paso.”15 El Paso’s boom soon began to show signs of slowing. With the exception of the garment industry, manufacturing growth in El Paso had stagnated by the end of the 1950s. By the latter decades of the twentieth century, even the clothing industry seemed to struggle. Thousands of Latinas worked in the various clothing manufacturing plants, earning low wages, receiving few benefits, and enduring harsh working conditions. In 1972, Farah was crippled by a strike of four thousand employees in the El Paso plant, coupled with a national boycott of Farah clothing. Though it settled with the Amalgamated Clothing Workers of America in 1974, the company — as well as the clothing industry itself — had taken a hard financial hit, leading to layoffs and plant closures.16 Economic shifts and contractions affected the area’s industrial firms too. Standard Oil consolidated its local operations and increased automation in the plant, resulting in the elimination of as many as 800 refinery and administrative jobs. The El Paso Natural Gas Products Company opted to move its product marketing and development operations to Odessa, Texas, eliminating another 1,500 jobs in the mid-1960s.17 Historically, manufacturing brought hundreds of jobs to the city, even if they tended to be largely lessskilled and lower-paying positions. By the second half of the century, even those jobs were increasingly hard to come by. Furthermore, El Paso boosters found themselves unable to compete with the aggressive recruitment practices of businesses in other southwestern cities. Civic leaders in Phoenix waged a vigorous campaign to attract high-tech industry to the Arizona capital. El Paso benefited greatly from the large military presence, but Phoenix successfully courted private-sector defense contractors and research and technology firms of the burgeoning space and computer age. Lured by business-friendly tax structures and labor laws, as well as a wellThe Demise of Smeltertown

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crafted local brand of modernity mixed with old western charm, high-tech firms like Motorola, Sperry Rand, Kaiser Aircraft and Electronics, and General Electric all located operations in the Arizona city. Phoenix bested El Paso at its own game, using the same tactics that had gained the border city notoriety decades earlier, and eventually eclipsed El Paso in size and importance.18 El Paso’s business leaders were obviously frustrated by the changing tide. In a 1963 report on El Paso politics, critics complained that in Phoenix “industrial scouts are met at the plane, entertained, offered free land, tax deals, and an electorate willing to approve millions in business backed bond issues,” while “El Paso does nothing.” “Unless we start hustling after new industry,” the report continued, “we’re going to wind up in serious trouble.”19 Beginning in the mid-1960s, El Paso once again appealed to its border location to attract manufacturing firms, promoting the advantages of the nascent twin plant programs. Companies like rca and General Motors outsourced their assembly operations to plants located across the border known as maquiladoras, allowing them to capitalize on the cheap Mexican labor that had always been a hallmark of the El Paso market. These new developments represented a late twentieth-century spin to a tried-and-true strategy of the city’s boosters. By the 1980s, Ciudad Juárez was the largest maquiladora center along the U.S.-Mexican border, giving new meaning to El Paso’s self-declared status as the gateway to Mexico.20

Smeltertown, ca. 1970 El Paso had clearly undergone significant economic and political transformations in the years following World War II. A lot had changed in Smeltertown, too. In the early decades of the twentieth century, Smeltertown had been a thriving city within a city, but by 1969 many of its original families had relocated to other parts of El Paso.21 By the time of the initial asarco suit in 1970, only slightly more than one hundred families lived in El Bajo and La Calavera. As residents became more financially mobile in the postwar era, many purchased homes in new housing developments in the rapidly expanding city. Some families moved when the plant expanded and eliminated company-owned housing on plant property in El Alto. Road construction projects to meet the growing city’s needs also had an impact on Esmeltianos. The expansion of a major four-lane truck route that is now U.S. Highway 85 forced out residents of El Bajo who lived on the old County Road. Many small businesses vanished with the residents. Becky and Joe Seañez, owners 232

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View of Smeltertown and County Road in the 1950s. The widening of County Road (U.S. Highway 85 or Paisano Drive) eliminated housing in Smeltertown. Photo courtesy of the El Paso County Historical Society.

of the Smelter Grocery and a little bar called “Joe’s Place,” were the last of the Smeltertown business owners.22 Though the Smelter Grocery saw a steady flow of customers throughout the day, it was a far cry from the time when Smeltertown had a bustling business district. The ymca chapter had closed before the 1970s, marking an end to another avenue for social and cultural interaction in the community. Though the physical face of Smeltertown had changed considerably, in the minds of its longtime residents much remained the same. Many still lived in the same houses their families had built in the early twentieth century. Mrs. Antonio Stewart told the El Paso Times that she and her family lived in the home that her grandfather had built in 1909.23 Residents continued to pay rent for the property on which their homes were built, only now to Kemp and Solís Realty, the property manager for the new owners of the land in the area.24 Some families still paid as little as seven dollars for a 25-foot by 80-foot plot.25 To asarco and city housing officials, Esmeltianos were not homeowners but renters; but for the residents themselves, their right to their homes transcended legal definitions of real estate ownership. The fact that many of them had lived there for generations translated to ownership, and the emotional bonds formed over years of social and familial interactions grounded residents in Smeltertown. In 1972, Catalina Alonzo, who had lived there for more than twenty years, told the El Paso Times that “I like the people here . . . when I leave I can keep the house unlocked, because nobody steals from anyone.”26 Other families who had lived in Smeltertown even longer echoed these sentiments. Ruben Escandón, a lifelong resident of La Calavera, believed that the longevity of many families contributed to a strong sense of community. “There were some new families, but very few,” he recalled. “In La Calavera there was a man there who had been there thirty years, and he was considered one of the newest families there!”27 Many old-timers had a deep loyalty to asarco and the community they had helped to build. Stories of grandfathers and fathers emigrating from Mexico to work in the smelter, of wives and children preparing and delivering food to workers, and of successive generations finding better positions and pay were common among Smeltertown’s residents. “The love for Smeltertown stems mostly from people who have lived there for generations,” explained one newspaper reporter. “Some who were born in Smeltertown are still living there, and most of their parents were also born and [have] died there.”28 Smeltertown was home, and Esmeltianos were unwilling to let it go without a fight despite the dangers that officials claimed existed. 234

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Environmental Hazards Revealed: A City Takes Note It was sulfur dioxide in the air, not lead, that first drew attention to asarco and Smeltertown. The original lawsuit stemmed from complaints by residents of nearby middle-class neighborhoods about the exhaust expelled from asarco’s smokestacks. Smoke was nothing new in the 1970s. Even in the early days, some recognized the problems associated with the noxious fumes that the smelter produced and raised concerns about their immediate effects. In debates over the location of a smelting operation near Hart’s Mill just outside of downtown El Paso in the 1880s, one city engineer argued that the proposed smelting works would prove disastrous. “The arsenic fumes would kill vegetation and animal life,” he emphasized, “and drive everybody away from the city.” Proponents squashed such assertions. One of the most vocal supporters contended that not only had he personally “grown fat while inhaling the said fumes” but pointed to similar industries operating within the city limits of Kansas City, St. Louis, and Denver. With aspirations to place El Paso on a par with these major industrial centers, the city council ultimately passed resolutions that allowed smelting firms to set up shop in the vicinity.29 As asarco became a permanent fixture in El Paso’s economy, industry writers again addressed the pressing question of the exhaust. One of them noted that “as the El Paso smelter is situated in a settled community, there is, of course, a smoke problem.” Although he did not mention how city dwellers felt about the smoke, he suggested that local cotton farmers remained wary of it, and they “have not been convinced of the value of smelter byproducts as fertilizers and insecticides.”30 Well into the middle of the century, El Pasoans complained about the “large quantities of colorless fumes — and at times, a yellowish, sulfur-filled, eye-watering smoke” that fouled the air in the growing city.31 At the turn of the century city leaders could not have anticipated the full ecological implications of their decision to court smelting, nor could they have known that a smelter on the edge of town would one day be at the center of it. Perhaps they were willing to gamble and overlook the smoke, so long as their economic plans continued to run apace. In either case, they placed their bets and did not turn back. Although the smelter had long enjoyed a favored status in El Paso for its vast contributions to the regional economy, it too began to find that a lot had changed over the last several decades. At the local and national levels, the tide seemed to be turning against industry generally and the negative effects it wrought on the environment. The publication of Rachel Carson’s wildly popular Silent Spring in 1962, the formation of citizens’ action groups and The Demise of Smeltertown

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grassroots environmental organizations across the country, the passage of federal clean air and water legislation, and the creation of the Environmental Protection Agency (epa) in 1970 all brought environmentalism into the mainstream national consciousness during the 1960s and 1970s.32 This shift in attitude toward pollution, industry, and the environment must certainly have made its way to El Paso, informing public opinion and policy. In response, asarco officials took a variety of steps to mitigate the pollution, particularly from exhaust, caused by its operations. In 1971, in the midst of the lead controversy, the El Paso Herald Post praised asarco’s efforts “to be a good neighbor.” “Long before air pollution became a topic for industry, government, and citizens,” the paper observed, “asarco had already defined the problem, and made great strides in environmental quality control.” In 1927, asarco established a department devoted to environmental quality in El Paso. By the 1970s, the department was staffed by a team of scientists and meteorologists who used sophisticated computer models and ground and air monitors to keep close tabs on sulfur dioxide emissions in order to determine if weather patterns warranted a curtailment of production. The smelter also constructed taller smokestacks in 1951 and 1967 to alleviate sulfur dioxide emissions (by releasing exhaust farther from the ground), and it was exploring ways of converting the sulfur dioxide by-product into usable commodities including elemental sulfur and sulfuric acid.33 Even as the investigation turned to ground lead contamination, asarco pointed to its long-standing measures to control lead emissions. Initially, lead had not been a major concern for health officials in El Paso. From its inception, the El Paso plant was home to a lead smelter, adding copper and zinc operations in 1911 and 1948, respectively. Thus lead was one of the smelter’s cash products, and the slag poured out from the plant contained very low quantities. As early as the 1910s, the smelter devised elaborate systems to ensure that little of this valuable commodity was lost in the smelting process. As investigations into air pollution continued, it became evident that those methods may not have been foolproof. Scientists discovered that lead was, in fact, among the contaminant particulate matter found in filters throughout El Paso. Ambient air and soil testing revealed lead in pockets all over the city, with significant concentrations in El Bajo.34 Despite the company’s efforts to limit fugitive particulate matter, scientists discovered toxic levels of lead dust, arsenic, zinc, and cadmium in the ground, on rooftops, and even on eating utensils in homes within a seven-mile radius of a giant smokestack. According to one Center for Disease Control (cdc) publication, tests conducted by 236

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various local, state, and federal agencies revealed that between 1969 and 1971 alone, the smelter had emitted more than 1,000 tons of lead, 560 tons of zinc, 12 tons of cadmium, and over 1 ton of arsenic into the atmosphere.35 On discovery of the first incidents of high levels of lead in the blood of two children at Smeltertown, city political and health officials moved quickly to find solutions to the problem. The presence of lead was of critical concern because of the long-term neurological effects of exposure to the element, particularly in children, whose developing bodies tended to absorb more lead than adults’. The testing of Smeltertown children for lead contamination began in 1972, two years after the initial air pollution lawsuit was filed. The confirmation of lead contamination in Smeltertown in 1972 evolved into an “emergency situation,” with political and medical officials buzzing around the community. Dr. Bernard F. Rosenblum, director of the city’s Health and Environmental District, immediately sought assistance from the federal government, the nascent epa, and the cdc in order to conduct extensive studies of the children in Smeltertown. El Paso’s Mayor Bert Williams declared a “medical emergency”: “The lead is getting into the school grounds and they are finding soil one inch, two inches, even three inches deep contaminated with lead. Lead poisoning is flowing through the blood of our city.”36 Williams quickly determined that the situation in Smeltertown required immediate medical attention in the form of testing and treatment for lead exposure. It also demanded critical examination of urban policy and the conditions in El Paso’s barrios. For years, the city had grappled with ways to deal with the legacy of El Paso’s racial geography that, well into the postwar period, remained largely intact. In their efforts to fashion a model American city at the turn of the century, El Paso’s elite relegated its vast Mexican population into segregated barrios that were left untouched by the region’s growing wealth. In later years, the Segundo Barrio and Chihuahuita neighborhoods in South El Paso drew some of the sharpest criticism. In 1950, the Saturday Evening Post pronounced the barrios “a serious menace to the community’s health and sanitation.” Populated by “backward” Mexican peons and “wetbacks,” the barrios suffered from severe overcrowding, the lack of adequate housing, and astronomical rates of disease and infant mortality.37 Even progressive journalist Carey McWilliams’s more sympathetic view of South El Paso in the Nation painted a bleak picture: Woefully substandard housing units where as many as ten families shared a single toilet and relied on a central hydrant for water, rampant disease, and a politically and economically disenfranchised population defined life in El Paso’s barrios.38 The Demise of Smeltertown

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While civic leaders might have been concerned with improving the material conditions of barrio residents, they definitely worried about how the existence of such “slums,” featured prominently in national magazines, affected the city’s ability to recruit business and tourists. Moreover, low-rent residential districts did not contribute much to the tax base. El Paso thus embarked on a “municipal renaissance” beginning in the late 1940s. Under the direction of a newly elected business-oriented mayor, the city tackled blight in South El Paso by demolishing, rather than improving or repairing, existing housing and other buildings. A substantial section of the offensive housing was torn down to make way for Paisano Drive, a major traffic artery connecting the soon-to-be annexed upper and lower valleys. Taking advantage of federal funds, the city also constructed two “slum replacing,” governmentsubsidized housing projects in South El Paso, with leaders “zealously exploring every avenue that will lead to further slum rehabilitation.”39 Responding to grassroots community organizing efforts in the 1960s, urban renewal projects began to address barrio problems on residents’ terms. Community groups like La Campaña por la Conservación del Barrio (The Campaign for the Conservation of the Barrio) drew on a sense of community pride not only to force largely absentee landlords and city officials to provide improvements and services, but also to prevent developers from turning South El Paso into an industrial zone. As a result, South El Paso benefited from a wave of improvements, including street paving and lighting and upgraded school facilities, parks, playgrounds, and health centers.40 This impulse toward urban renewal fundamentally informed how the city responded to the discovery of lead in Smeltertown. Like El Paso’s other barrios, Smeltertown had long been labeled as unsightly, unsanitary, and primitive. In June 1945, the El Paso Herald Post declared that “Smeltertown’s Smell and Dirt Shame El Paso,” pointing to the makeshift dump that sprouted in a vacant lot next to the E. B. Jones Elementary School, the lack of indoor toilets and water connections, and the presence of open sewage.41 The threearticle series, featured prominently on the front page of the newspaper, thrust Smeltertown into the spotlight, raising legitimate concerns about urban policy and El Paso’s barrios. The Smelter Community Center Association demanded improvements (as discussed in the previous chapter), but even in the 1940s County Commissioner Ord Gary recognized that the seriousness of the conditions required a fundamental reassessment of municipal services and infrastructure. “It is almost an impossible situation,” he told the Herald Post. “We can clear away the trash, but Smeltertown must have sewers and 238

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water before it will really be a fit place for people to live.”42 But rather than address potential sewage lines, the immediate response turned to alternative solutions; instead, county and company officials planned meetings with the El Paso Housing Authority to consider a potential housing project in Smeltertown. Twenty-five years later, the city noted that the impoverished conditions persisted in Smeltertown — some homes still had hard-packed dirt floors, some streets remained unpaved and had no streetlights, and Esmeltianos still relied on asarco for their water connections. The lead incident thus provided the chance to do something about a so-called blighted community. In court proceedings one physician commented that if residents remained in Smeltertown, numerous steps would have to be taken to ensure their health. Safety precautions should include dust control, but “it [the city] should also provide drainage; it should provide garbage collection; it should provide sewage disposal; all of these factors, as far as I’m concerned are important to their makeup and their health.”43 For the city, lead was only one of many problems in (and with) Smeltertown. City officials were by no means disingenuous about their concern over lead, but they could not hide their intention to explore public policy alternatives. In September 1970, months after the city and state filed their original petition in district court for a temporary injunction against asarco, but nearly two years before the lead contamination of Smeltertown residents was identified, the El Paso Times reported that the Upper Valley Improvement Association unanimously recommended Smeltertown as the top site for a low-income housing project, further supporting the city’s view that the barrio was in dire need of improvements.44 A report from the El Paso Chemical Laboratories (the firm conducting analyses for the Health and Environmental District) offered detailed short- and long-term actions to contain lead pollution in Smeltertown. The report suggested scraping six inches of dirt from the entire location and replacing it with lead-free dirt, as well as sealing unpaved streets with asphalt to control dust. With regard to living spaces, it recommended that residents frequently water their lawns and dust and vacuum their homes. It also advised washing vertical surfaces with an acidic solution and repainting walls and wooden fences with two coats of lead-free paint. Air-conditioning systems would eliminate the need for open windows and doors for ventilation, and refitting doors and windows would help create a better seal against particulate matter.45 The report, however, did not specify who was responsible for making such costly improvements. Ultimately, its proposed course of action went unheeded in favor of less expensive, more expedient measures. The Demise of Smeltertown

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In early 1972, Mayor Williams and other city officials explored the possibility of moving residents away from Smeltertown. Williams met with representatives from the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development about providing emergency public housing.46 Additionally, Williams and the El Paso Housing Authority (epha) began holding public meetings in Smeltertown to explain the procedures for acquiring public housing. At these meetings, city housing officials lauded the availability and quality of public housing and government assistance in relocating and encouraged residents to apply. Through the entire process, the city asserted that it was the concern for the medical emergency that drove policy making. Williams stated: “It’s easy to ignore the doctors, and say ‘no, I don’t want to move.’ Personally, I know these men are doctors and they are experts, and I am going to listen to them.”47 Nevertheless, the officials maintained that the move was not mandatory and the epha had no authority to condemn Smeltertown. At one of the meetings with residents, epha chairman Judge Woodrow Bean stated: “If you qualify, we can help you . . . the Housing Authority has no power to condemn Smeltertown. If you don’t want to move, you can stay.”48 Barney Koogle, one of the owners of property in El Bajo, also asserted that he had no intention of selling the land or evicting the residents. By October 1972, however, it became clear that relocation was the only option that property owners, the company, and the city would seriously pursue. The owners of the Smeltertown property told the El Paso Herald Post and the El Paso Times that asarco had made a tentative offer to purchase approximately ten acres of land for storing railroad siding and acid tanks.49 Eviction notices went out to all Smeltertown residents in late October, ordering them to vacate their homes by January 1, 1973.50 All the while, Mayor Williams and Woodrow Bean continued to assert that the epha would assist families in finding new residences and provide financial assistance for moving expenses. In actuality, few families qualified for federal housing, and none received moving funds from the City Relocation Office because their eviction was the result of a private, not a government, action.51

A Company Responds Throughout the controversy, asarco’s responses were marked by pragmatism and self-preservation. The company sought to limit its culpability for the contamination and prevent production from being halted, an alternative that would have been financially disastrous. Company lawyers, doctors, and man240

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agement asserted that the lead contamination could not be directly attributed to operations at the plant, claiming that any number of sources — leaded gasoline from cars and trucks on U.S. Highway 85, lead paint, and naturally occurring sources — could have contributed to the problem.52 In their response to the lawsuit, company officials alleged that the city could not state with full certainty the types of violations committed or the degree to which those violations affected the environment or individuals.53 In court affidavits, plant manager William Kelly stated that “the emissions [from asarco] are not such as to constitute health hazards to the men and women working or living at and around the asarco plant and no health hazard has resulted from these over many years and the content of these emissions is much less at the boundary of the property than it is at the working and living areas of the plant.”54 Company officials pointed to asarco’s existing emissions control and abatement equipment, arguing that the company had been an industry leader in terms of environmental control standards. Initially, local perception seemed to be in asarco’s favor. The El Paso Herald Post praised the company for its longtime commitment to environmental quality, noting the “many millions of dollars . . . invested in applied research and equipment” over the previous decades.55 Kelly told the Texas Air Control Board: “I can honestly say that the efforts and progress made at this plant over the years are outstanding by industry standards and I doubt anyone would seriously challenge this on the facts.”56 Although it is true that asarco made significant investments in equipment and research at the local and corporate levels, the degree to which the company had done everything in its power to control emissions and test for pollution remains debatable. On the one hand, its environmental policy required the plant to curtail production in the event of changing weather patterns that would blow particles and smoke toward the city. This alleviated some problems, but asarco officials admitted in court proceedings that plumes from the smokestacks blew into uninhabited areas of Ciudad Juárez anyway; because they could not “communicate with the jackrabbits and rattlesnakes,” they deemed it safe to continue operations most days.57 With regard to monitoring in Smeltertown, asarco senior meteorologist Colin Guptil admitted that the barrio had not been targeted for air monitoring and that detection equipment had been removed after only three months in 1969. “It just never occurred to me to put those things [filters] in Smeltertown,” he testified.58 Beyond the El Paso case, a 1980 report by the U.S. Senate Committee on Environment and Public Works revealed that company officials knew that sulfur dioxide and lead concentrations in areas surrounding other asarcoThe Demise of Smeltertown

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owned smelters were at toxic levels. In letters to ranchers near the East Helena, Montana, smelter, they advised against pasturing animals on this land, indicating they were aware of the danger posed to horses and other livestock that grazed on contaminated grass.59 At the El Paso trial, when asked whether or not the presence of lead at even higher levels in Smeltertown might not also pose a danger to people living near the smelter, especially children who played outside, Kenneth Nelson, asarco’s director for environmental sciences, testified that “the likelihood of a child eating that much dirt is very small.”60 Clearly the company was aware of the potential hazards, although it may not have always done everything in its power to prevent them. In addition to denying claims that it alone had contributed to the pollution problem in Smeltertown, asarco grounded its defense in property rights and zoning laws. The company maintained that it had “priority of location” dating back to 1887. In short, asarco had been at that site for nearly one hundred years and its location could be justified legally. Esmeltianos were not included among the legal residents of the property in question because it was, and always had been, an industrial zone and Esmeltianos did not own their property outright, but merely rented it. Plant manager Kelly stated: “It is a well known fact that at the time of construction of the plant, as well as some time thereafter, there were no residential dwellings in close proximity to the plant other than those on company property [Upper Smeltertown].”61 Although the company and Smeltertown had maintained a close relationship for decades, and the smelter had benefited for nearly a century from the steady pool of laborers that Smeltertown provided, when push came to shove, company officials not only distanced themselves from the community, they effectively erased it from the landscape. At the same time, asarco could not ignore the charges or the bad publicity. As harsh as their position seemed, company officials were probably personally concerned about the health of the families of workers who had rendered faithful service to the smelter for generations. The company may have armed its legal defense, but at the same time it provided and paid for all medical care of Smeltertown residents related to lead. These efforts recalled the paternalism that had framed the long relationship between the company and Esmeltianos. Early in the case Kelly said publicly that asarco was fully prepared to shut down operations if children’s health was in jeopardy, although he still believed the lead came from soil and paint unrelated to smelter operations.62 asarco’s company physician, Dr. James McNeil, conducted his own widespread testing of Smeltertown children at the com242

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pany’s expense. With the help of Mary García, the company nurse, and Gloria Peña, a field nurse independently contracted for the lead testing, the asarco medical team canvassed Smeltertown collecting blood samples, making appointments at the company clinic or with other pediatricians and specialists around town, transporting children to these various appointments, and arranging for X-rays.63 To further bolster its public image, asarco took out a full-page advertisement in El Paso newspapers titled, “You Have a Right to Know the Facts about Smeltertown.” In the ad, the company acknowledged the crisis but assured readers that “there is every indication that the health of the children involved has not been impaired by the exposure to lead” and that precautionary “medical surveillance of the children is continuing.”64 More than presenting simple facts, the ad tried to quell a city’s fears. It explained that “pollution, in general, is a highly emotional issue” and “unfortunately, emotionalism can sometimes obscure the facts. . . . Not emotionalism, but cool heads and hard work are what is needed now. We’re supplying all we can of both of them.”65 It assured readers that the lead contamination was confined to the Smeltertown area and was not a threat to the city as a whole. The company also pointed out that it was lead in the soil, not in the air, that had contaminated the bloodstreams of the children in Smeltertown. Since the lawsuit was essentially an air pollution case, asarco officials traded on a technicality that might absolve them from blame. If the strategy did not convince all El Pasoans, it was enough to persuade the editorial boards of local newspapers. Following the resolution of the original air pollution lawsuit, an editorial in the El Paso Times stated: We think that an industry which came to El Paso and built a plant miles from the center of town, many years ago, has been unnecessarily attacked [emphasis mine] merely because it was in public view and the City and tabc [Texas Air Control Board] had no knowledge of how to proceed against fumes from cars, emissions from other industrial plants and the air pollution which blows over from Juárez. Or a weather inversion for that matter. We do regard asarco as a “fine corporate citizen.” We think it was a spite move on the part of the City and the tabc and that the resultant publicity has hurt our city.66 Of course, the newspapers had long been cheerleaders for El Paso business generally and the smelter specifically. In their opinion, asarco had been made a scapegoat, and the results could have far-reaching economic consequences. The Demise of Smeltertown

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Defending Their Home: Esmeltianos Respond Although company and city officials immediately sought to remedy the lead situation in Smeltertown, both sides approached it as a policy issue that could be handled neatly and quickly. City housing authorities, after seeing the houses inhabited by working-class residents, assumed that Esmeltianos would prefer to leave the barrio and move into newly built apartments in low-income housing projects. What both company and city officials failed to understand was that, despite the comparatively impoverished and polluted conditions, Esmeltianos maintained a strong attachment to the place they and their families had made their home. For them, community was not a spatial designation; rather, it was fundamentally defined by the social networks, relationships, and institutions they had forged over many years that provided a system of support and survival, a sort of “urban village” on the banks of the Rio Grande.67 As observed in the New York Times, “For all its shabbiness and acrid atmosphere, a visitor senses a genuine spirit of community united by blood, the Spanish language and old if not firmly planted roots.”68 And although Smeltertown may have been “a grimy feudal kingdom spread beneath the company castle,” as one El Paso Times reporter noted, “for the people who live there it is a way of life.”69 From the moment medical testing began to the day the last Smeltertown family left the site forever, Esmeltianos played an active role in demanding an equitable resolution to the lead crisis that would not only help their children, but also save their neighborhood. Initially, residents cooperated with both city and company testing efforts. Gloria Peña, who had just returned to El Paso from a tour of duty in Vietnam, believed the fact that she was Mexican American and did not dress in the typical nurse’s uniform helped to establish trust with Smeltertown residents.70 The families greeted her warmly when she arrived at their homes to collect samples or pick up the children for a doctor’s appointment. She recalled: “I did not ever encounter anger or non-compliance, lack of cooperation. They were right there, they kept their appointments, they showed up. They would offer me Cokes when I came over. They were very hospitable.” She was “not regarded as an enemy to disprove anything that would be in their favor.”71 Peña thought the residents also trusted her because of their long-standing relationship with asarco. The fact that the company paid all of their medical expenses fostered cooperation — families with limited economic resources did not have to scrape up the money for expensive lab work, doctors’ fees, and, in some cases, weeklong hospital stays for treatment. In their estimation, there was no reason to distrust the company’s motives. asarco had 244

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provided for their needs in the past, and the medical care it made available in this case was just another example of the relationship residents had brokered with the smelter generations before. Although residents cooperated with the testing, they questioned the validity of the health hazard claims. High blood lead content (as opposed to lead poisoning) did not have any clinical or outwardly visible symptoms, so many parents could not understand the urgency in subjecting their children to medical tests and treatments for a malady they could not see. Romelia Flores did not remember her daughter Melba showing any signs of illness — she was a healthy, “chubby” baby. In fact, she remembered, none of the children appeared to be sick: “I never saw one of those kids sick — not one. And they’re grown now, with their own families.”72 Similarly, Cecilia Márquez, who had two of her six children hospitalized, told the New York Times that “we can see our kids are healthy.”73 The dangers of lead made little sense to native-born Esmeltianos who had lived on the site for generations. In their minds, years of exposure should have made them ill long before 1972. Yet many of them had lived there all their lives without incident; furthermore, blood tests confirmed that the lead levels were not elevated in the adult population. Romelia Flores said, “And me? I’ve been living there all my life and they did not find one trace of lead in my blood.”74 Becky Seañez was of the same opinion: “Maybe it is true . . . about the lead. But we always lived there, and nothing ever happened to us.”75 They also found it difficult to comprehend how the world they had lived in for so many years could have caused these mysterious, unseen conditions. It was true that pollution and noise made for a far from desirable living situation, but they were facts of life that Esmeltianos had known for generations. They were also a part of the shared experiences and day-to-day life that defined the community in relation to the rest of the city. By framing their memories of Smeltertown in a way that emphasized strength and survival, rather than victimization, Esmeltianos drew on their historical claims to craft a positive sense of self that tied them to a place marked by modest conditions and pollution. Ruben Escandón, a lifelong resident of La Calavera, admitted: “I think [the residents] knew the danger was there, as far as the health hazard. I remember I used to see my grandma . . . she used to get out a handkerchief [to cover her face as a filter] and you’d see a lot of people like that. They probably knew there was something in the air.”76 Residents remembered having to sweep frequently to get rid of the fine layer of gray dust that had settled on everything from the front steps to the flowers in their gardens and smelling The Demise of Smeltertown

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the strong odor of sulfur that came from the smokestacks at scheduled intervals. Being able to survive under these conditions was something that distinguished longtime residents. María Palacio, who left Smeltertown in 1965, recalled that “they [outsiders] used to come from downtown, they couldn’t stand it. But we couldn’t smell it anymore, nor hear the noise of the smelter ’cause we were used to it. And we didn’t even cough! They did, but we didn’t [emphasis mine].”77 The fact that Smeltertown’s longtime residents had lived there for generations and become familiar with the smoke and noise differentiated them from outsiders. Being able to endure the harsh living conditions was not only a source of pride but also identified them as Esmeltianos. Many longtime residents saw lead as simply an excuse to get rid of the community so the land could be developed for other purposes. Romelia Flores and her brother Pedro recalled that rumors of demolishing Smeltertown were not new in the 1970s, though it was unclear who had a vested interest in seeing the residents leave. Pedro said, “That’s what they wanted — they wanted to move the people out of there. Everybody knew that.”78 Romelia added that long before 1972, asarco officials called meetings regarding relocation. “So I guess they knew something was wrong way back, because there were always meetings.”79 At the time, a number of residents maintained that ulterior motives of the city drove the effort to relocate Smeltertown residents, not the health of the children. Cecilia Márquez observed: “I think the mayor is doing this for political reasons. The city never bothered to do anything in this area until about a week before they went to court.”80 Joe Seañez agreed, telling the El Paso Times: “We have needed help in Smeltertown before and no one ever helped us. Now everybody wants to get into the act and are using us for political reasons. . . . We want to be left alone and ignored like we were before.”81 Andrés Bustillos Jr. similarly argued that it was the “people upstairs” (i.e., people living in the wealthier districts in El Paso) that started complaining, but it was Smeltertown that would be most affected. According to Bustillos, “Judge Bean, he came over and said that it was for our own health and we should accept the fact . . . that Smeltertown should move.” In Bustillos’s opinion, it was the financial deal making that was at the heart of the controversy: “Before we knew it,” he said, “the land was taken out from under us, and Mr. Kemp and Mr. Koogle got paid for it, and everyone had to get out.”82 Similarly, Ruben Escandón asserted that, once the decision to sell the property had been made, Smeltertown’s fate was sealed. “The houses were there but [the residents] knew at one time or another the company would say, ‘Hey, you’ve got to move because that’s my property.’”83 In the end, Bustillos com246

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mented, it was mostly a political and financial maneuver to the advantage of city officials and the men who held the titles to the property, but not to the people of Smeltertown. “Lead was just an excuse to get them off the land,” he concluded.84 The perception among Esmeltianos of high-level political maneuvering underscores the extent to which, even as late as the 1970s, Mexican Americans remained alienated from the city’s political process. As it had for generations, political and economic power rested in the hands of the city’s prominent business elite, many of them connected to old, established families — almost all of them of Euro-American descent. Indeed, at the time of the lead contamination controversy, El Paso had elected only one Mexican American mayor, Raymond Telles (1957–61), despite the fact that Mexicans had always constituted a numeric majority in the border city.85 The second, Ray Salazar, would not take his seat for almost twenty years. Mexican American representation was similarly rare or absent on the city council, school board, and county commissioners court.86 To be sure, El Paso’s Mexicans had historically engaged in the political process through the ballot box, and in particular, in their support of the Democratic Party. By the 1960s, with the emergence of the Chicano movement, Mexicans had begun to make important strides toward political parity both in El Paso and throughout the Southwest. However, structural factors such as the institution of nonpartisan and at-large elections and complicated voter registration procedures worked to limit the extent to which Mexicans in El Paso could fully participate in city governance and make their voices heard on matters affecting their communities.87 Although Esmeltianos’ voting patterns and allegiances remain unknown, what is clear from their comments is that they had little faith that elected officials heard, understood, or even cared about Smeltertown’s plight. In addition, Esmeltianos became increasingly concerned about the intrusion of outsiders — doctors, lawyers, and members of the media — into their community and were deeply offended by the disparaging public representations of La Esmelda. Many complained that these groups inaccurately portrayed Smeltertown as “dirty” and their homes and community as substandard. Adolpho Mier, a resident of fifty years, told the New York Times: “What we want is to be left alone. . . . Instead we are disgraced when television cameras come in here and take pictures of only the worst houses.”88 Romelia Flores resented the assumption that Esmeltianos lived in dirty, primitive conditions. Housing officials touted the newly built apartments as a significant improvement over the current housing in Smeltertown, especially because the new The Demise of Smeltertown

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apartments had showers and other amenities. Flores emphatically asserted: “We did! We had showers, whatever. We lived in a poor community, but like my father always said, ‘It’s one thing to be poor, it’s another thing to be lazy! . . . I lived in a very good home.”89 Residents made their homes comfortable by planting gardens, painting fences, and adding other improvements. Many of them, though modest, had modern conveniences such as refrigerators, latemodel automobiles parked in the driveway, and television sets in the living room.90 Although some residents who had moved to low-income apartments admitted that their new living space was an improvement over the homes they left in Smeltertown, it is evident, based on interviews and newspaper reports, that many Esmeltianos saw the move to public housing as a step backward — from homeowner to renter. As local parish priest Father Robert Getz told the El Paso Times in early 1972, “These people don’t find the prospect of renting very appealing. They consider themselves homeowners, and it has taken on a certain distinction for them.”91 Joe Seañez stated plainly: “We don’t want to live in apartments . . . if they move us, let them move us all as a community. Or why don’t they divide the money from the lawsuit among us? Put this in large print: nobody ever died here of lead poisoning.”92 Residents were understandably suspicious of the city’s seemingly recent concern for the Smeltertown community. Esmeltianos had received few benefits from El Paso, so they were surprised at its sudden attention. It was asarco that had always taken care of their needs, which helps to explain why so many residents defended the company against city and health department allegations. Despite the evidence of environmental pollution, asarco workers and their families believed the city was trying to shirk its responsibility, having failed to provide basic services to Smeltertown. For example, it was the city, not the smelter, that had allowed the school board to close E. B. Jones Elementary School in Smeltertown instead of renovating its sewer.93 A survey report compiled by Joe Seañez, a business owner, asks: “How come we never existed in the minds of City administration when we needed help in the past, saying it was private property? Lights, sewer, lights in the park, grading streets, paving, police protection, health and sanitation problems were ignored. Now all of a sudden the officials are concerned about our personal problems, using the word pollution, and really meaning politics to win a big suit and money against [asarco]. Are they really concerned about the people?”94 Silverio Rodríguez, a retired company employee and longtime resident, accused the city of suing asarco so that it could line its pockets with the one-million–dollar fine. “asarco has always done more for us than the 248

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city,” Rodríguez told the El Paso Times. “asarco cleaned the dirt, and sprayed a plastic compound on the ground. What has the city done?”95 In the end, many residents felt that asarco was being “stabbed in the back” by the city, which had benefited from the jobs, money, and recognition the smelter had brought to El Paso and the region.96 But there were more practical reasons for supporting the company. At the same time they defended their corporate benefactor, smelter workers feared plant closures and layoffs if the city won its injunction against the company. These consequences were tangible in ways that claims of lead contamination were not, especially in a city where good jobs were hard to find. Into the 1970s, weekly wages in El Paso averaged $98 per week compared to the $261 average in Phoenix, and Mexicans still disproportionately filled the ranks of semiskilled and unskilled labor.97 Keeping the smelter open thus became a top priority for the Mexican American workers who relied on the pay and benefits they had fought hard to earn. The United Steelworkers of America (uswa) union at asarco, as well as the Mine, Mill, and Smelter Workers union before it, had always supported safe working conditions. In February 1972, local uswa president Juan Aranda issued a statement that while “asarco workers are 100 percent behind the control of pollution of all kinds in El Paso,” they hoped “the authorities will study the situation carefully and will not act summarily but dispassionately while the company takes the immediate steps to correct the situation. We hope the plant will not be shut down.”98 Cecilia Márquez, whose husband worked for asarco, worried about the immediate effects a plant closure would have on their six children. “What are we going to live on, food stamps, welfare?” she said in an interview with the El Paso Times. “They aren’t going to hurt asarco either. They’re going to hurt the workers. You can ask anybody else in this town, and they’ll tell you the same.”99 Workers, then, found themselves forced to choose between potential health hazards and their paychecks; as a result, like smelter workers in other places, numerous asarco employees were able to look past environmental problems when jobs were at stake.100 For some, however, company loyalty and attachment to place factored in as well. According to one newspaper account, not one of the asarco employees still residing in Smeltertown in March 1972 had requested public housing assistance, perhaps suggesting the strong ties they felt to their homes and to the company.101 Additionally, Andrés Bustillos Sr., who had worked for asarco for thirty-four years and lived in Smeltertown for more than fifty, initiated a campaign to galvanize the community against relocation. At a press conThe Demise of Smeltertown

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Texas Air Control Board meeting at Liberty Hall, May 15, 1970, attended by community members and asarco employees, regarding the smelter’s sulfur dioxide emissions. Well before the discovery of lead contamination, workers were concerned about clean air as well as their jobs, as evidenced by their signs. Photo courtesy of the El Paso Times.

ference at his home, Bustillos defended the company, accusing city officials and the mayor of being “opportunists” who were “pushing condemnation of Smeltertown as a desperate political move.”102 Pointing to what he viewed as the city’s disregard for workers and the working class, Bustillos stated: “All this talk of asarco polluting the air started in the wealthy neighborhoods of Coronado and Kern Place. . . . These people started it, so why doesn’t the city go bother those people instead of coming to this poor neighborhood.”103 Whether acting out of self-preservation or company loyalty, workers had a vested interest in supporting the company regardless of its role in the environmental crisis. Bustillos’s assertion about the origins of the lawsuit reveals how issues of class, race, and property ownership became entangled in the lead controversy. Esmeltianos opposed to relocation observed that although initial complaints about asarco’s pollution came from the wealthier and predominantly Anglo neighborhoods in town, it was only the working class and primarily Mexican community of Smeltertown that drew investigation and negative media attention. The key distinction, in their minds, was that people living in middle-class Anglo neighborhoods owned their property and thus had political clout, whereas Esmeltianos held no legal title to the land on which their homes rested, regardless of their claims to the place their ancestors had built almost a hundred years before. The fact that they were of the working class and Mexican only made matters worse for them. Romelia Flores asked rhetorically, “And why didn’t they ever find that people in Kern Place [also suffered from lead contamination]? Because that’s where the rich Anglos lived.”104 Her brother Pedro pointed out that the property in El Bajo was privately owned, and that asarco eventually brokered a deal to purchase that property and dispose of the lead problem by moving the residents out. “That’s what they [wanted],” he explained. “If you had your property, you didn’t have to move. But they bought it, so [they said], ‘Come on everybody, let’s go.”105 For decades, the company, private landholders, and the city permitted Smeltertown residents to inhabit the land around the smelter, contributing to a spatial geography that put Esmeltianos at a distinct disadvantage. The compelling power of property rights, which intimately shaped how both the company and the city approached resolution of the contamination crisis, all but guaranteed that residents in Smeltertown remained disenfranchised in the process. The connection between environmental hazards and socioeconomic status and race, in actuality, is not so clear-cut. Scientific testing revealed that 252

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pockets of lead could be found all over El Paso, but they were especially concentrated in El Bajo. Topography and wind currents also affected pollution concentrations. El Paso’s winds usually blew out of the west and northwest, which carried the particles from the smokestacks away from the smelter and Smeltertown. On windless days, dust fell directly below the smokestacks, which explains the extensive contamination found in the area immediately surrounding the smelter. Decades later, epa, University of Texas at El Paso, and Texas Department of Health studies identified high concentrations of lead and arsenic in the ground within a three-mile radius of the smelter, an area that encompassed residential areas including Kern Place. In a somewhat ironic twist of fate, wind patterns and its location in an arroyo protected neighboring La Calavera from the high lead concentrations that pervaded the rest of Smeltertown. These realities made little difference at the time to the Mexican community, which felt besieged by what it deemed to be politically and racially motivated outside interests. Though the proverbial cards were stacked against them, these power inequalities did not stop Esmeltianos from making a concerted effort to save their homes. The different methods employed by grassroots groups reflects the political divide between an older generation for which appeals to property rights remained central and one energized by the dynamic activism that became the hallmark of the 1960s. For example, Bustillos Sr. and his son contacted attorneys from outside El Paso with the hope that something could be done to claim property rights for the Esmeltianos. Bustillos Jr. was a student at the University of Texas at El Paso when the Chicano movement gained full swing on campus and when calls for self-determination from Mexican-origin people across the Southwest and from student groups taking over buildings on campus rang loudly. The young man wrote letters to congressmen and sought help from like-minded individuals and groups such as Mexican American youth organizer Corky Gonzales and MEChA (a Chicano student organization).106 Others, like Joe Seañez, found inspiration in a different place. As a longtime business owner, Seañez drew on a sense of proprietorship rooted in the legacy of habitation to organize his neighbors against the relocation project. He and others formed a separate committee to work through available legal avenues that might enable the residents to remain in Smeltertown. At one Sunday night meeting in March 1972, with approximately 80 percent of the remaining residents in attendance, Esmeltianos voted overwhelmingly to “fight to stay in Smeltertown” regardless of the city’s or the company’s actions. Seañez told reporters, “We don’t want to move and we don’t want The Demise of Smeltertown

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anyone to condemn Smeltertown.”107 His committee was not trying to discount the seriousness of the health situation, nor did it wish to prevent those families who wanted to leave from doing so. It simply hoped to ensure the rights of those who wished to stay. Unlike the Bustilloses, Seañez and his committee rejected assistance from political organizations such as MEChA, maya (a Mexican American youth organization), and Project Bravo (a social service organization that helped low-income families in El Paso).108 Although the Bustillos and Seañez committees used different approaches, they shared the same goal: the preservation of their homes and their community. While the discovery of lead contamination initiated organized efforts to block demolition, it also exposed divisions in Smeltertown between longtime residents — with a strong sense of loyalty to the place and to the company — and more recent arrivals. Although the majority of families had lived in the community for more than twenty years and were descendants of Smeltertown pioneers, a small number of families had moved into the area since the 1960s.109 Many of the older families believed that the newer residents, some of whom were recent immigrants from Mexico, had been lured by the promise of large financial settlements. As Cecilia Márquez told the El Paso Times, “They are from Mexico and someone has promised them new houses or something. That’s why they are complaining.”110 According to Bustillos Jr., the newcomers simply did not have the same loyalty to asarco that the more established families did, which made it easier for them to join lawsuits against the company as an easy way to “get ahead.”111 But not everyone had such strong opinions. Some, like Hortencia Aguilar, accepted assistance from the city and the epha in securing a subsidized apartment, perhaps recognizing the advantages of moving to a newer place.112 Court records show that more than thirty private lawsuits were brought against the company on behalf of individual residents, though it is not clear how long those residents had lived in Smeltertown. Although it is unknown to what extent these differences led to real conflict between neighbors, what is evident is the complex web of interests at stake for residents. Even for Esmeltianos, there could be no simple solution.113 In the end, however, the community failed to sway the city and the company. As the final eviction notices went out, it became certain that the remaining residents would have to leave. Property rights and the “priority of location,” asserted by asarco from the beginning, prevailed; Esmeltianos were merely renters without any right to the land on which they had lived for

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generations. To get around this fact, Seañez’s committee made an offer to Barney Koogle to purchase the Smeltertown property and redistribute it in a cooperative arrangement. Father Getz wrote asarco plant manager Kelly that if asarco purchased the Smeltertown property, contained the pollution, and resold it to residents, “they [the residents] would then become property owners and taxpayers who could demand lights, paving, sanitation and other things from the city, or compensation for their property.”114 Koogle turned down the offer because, he reasoned, “the City would never go along with such a sale. The land is zoned industrial, and always has been. The streets are not dedicated and the area would not be given adequate services.”115 In May 1972, Seañez and Smeltertown residents even petitioned Mayor Williams and the city council to change Smeltertown to a residential zone.116 This example illustrates the great obstacles they faced in trying to save their community. The decision, whose impact would be felt most profoundly by the Esmeltianos, had already been made by those individuals who would feel its effect the least. In short, as Roberto Flores said, “They kicked us out of town.”117 Even after receiving the eviction notice, many residents refused to go quietly. Becky Seañez remembered that her husband Joe, who was a “stubborn” man, intended to stay in Smeltertown until they were able to move to a place where they could build a new home and store. “My husband was very opposed to it [relocation]. . . . He didn’t want to move out, and he said he was going to stay there until he felt that he could get another place that he would be able to afford, and then he would see about moving out. And they were pushing us pretty hard . . . but they said we could stay until the very last.”118 The Seañezes were, in fact, one of the last families to leave Smeltertown — they had no neighbors, yet people still came back to stop by their store, illustrating how a few local businesses continued to function as important community spaces until the end. By Christmas 1972, eight or ten families still remained, despite the impending January 1 deadline. According to one newspaper account, although the barrio was practically a ghost town, these last few families still decorated their homes with lights and tinsel to celebrate the holidays.119 Relocation was financially and emotionally difficult for many Esmeltianos. The majority received no funds to help with moving expenses, and families were not compensated for the improvements they had made to their rented property over the years. Becky Seañez said that she and her husband never received any recompense for their home, store, or tavern. Joe insisted on tak-

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Esmeltianos’ parting words, January 22, 1973. Many residents blamed city and health officials, particularly Mayor Bert Williams and El Paso City– County Health Department director Bernard Rosenblum, for destroying Smeltertown. Photo courtesy of the El Paso Times.

ing everything — all building materials and fixtures — declaring: “I’m going to tear everything down. I’m not going to leave anything.”120 Many former residents recounted the sense of sadness and loss they had felt on leaving their old community. Romelia Flores was one of them: “When I moved I cried for I don’t know how long. I cried and cried.”121 Sabina Alva, who was born in Smeltertown in 1905 and relocated to the Sunset Heights neighborhood shortly before the lawsuits were filed, tearfully remembered having to move 256

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from her home to another part of town away from family and friends.122 Like many older residents of Smeltertown, she feared living someplace new and worried about money. Additionally, many of the older residents had never driven a vehicle or taken the bus — everything they needed had been right there in Smeltertown. Thus, the move created the pressure of having to adjust not only to a different neighborhood, but also to a different way of life. In a poignant postscript, relocation was also hard on family pets. Cats got left behind, and Becky Seañez’s youngest son, Freddy, had to drag their dog from the house. The dog escaped and hid under a woodpile, where he died. “It was sad . . . even the dog didn’t want to go,” she said.123 The relocation had profound effects on the nature of community and on the collective memory of former residents. For many, losing Smeltertown meant losing a sense of family. With relatives, friends, and former neighbors dispersed around town, life would never be the same as it was in La Esmelda. As Ruben Escandón explained, “Even now, you talk to some of the older people . . . some of them say if they hadn’t been forced to move they would be there still. That’s how much they loved living there.”124 Even outsiders like nurse Gloria Peña recognized the deep sense of loss. “This is the beauty of our language, because when you say ‘community’ it doesn’t have the same impact on us as if you say ‘comunidad’,” she observed. “That’s what Smeltertown had. Everybody knew everybody, and you know they were really tight.”125 For many former residents, this strong community bond could not be replicated once the physical community of Smeltertown ceased to exist. According to Bustillos Jr., relocation was a devastating blow to many inhabitants of the barrio: “It wasn’t a matter of moving from one location to another physical location, it was about losing values that at that time were very precious. We might have been poor. We might have been working for one company, asarco. But we had values within ourselves . . . respect, there was helping . . . that’s what killed a lot of the older folks. It was not that they couldn’t get used to the idea of the bus or the neighborhood they moved to . . . there was nobody there they could trust.”126 In an attempt to perpetuate the sense of community lost when Smeltertown was razed, former residents have gathered on a weekend every August for an annual reunion, where grandparents, uncles, and aunts pass down stories about life in La Esmelda. And friends and family sadly unite at the funeral of a loved one they remember and respect — in part, because “eran de La Esmelda” (they were from Smeltertown). In this way, though the physical place no longer exists, the community persists in the collective memory of those who lived there. The Demise of Smeltertown

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The Enduring Power of Place Today, little remains of the physical community of Smeltertown. A few storage buildings, overgrown weeds, and pollution-monitoring devices occupy the lots that were once home to a vibrant community. Herein lies the real irony of the lead contamination story: by 1973, Smeltertown was gone and its residents were dispersed, but the smelter remained open and fully operational. For the next twenty-six years, asarco continued to operate as it had for years, though its vaunted reputation and position as a “fine corporate citizen” had taken a serious blow. It was not until the decline of world copper prices in 1999 that the smelter halted production and the company mothballed the facility, keeping only a skeleton crew on board. Ten years later, the smelter sat silently on the bluff, atop a century’s worth of hardened black slag. Freight trains still pass regularly on the two railroad trestles that cross overhead, but they no longer stop to deposit their enormous loads of ore in the asarco unloading yard, their haunting whistles echoing across the desert mesas. Several families still live in La Calavera, protected by geography and land ownership from the events that brought Smeltertown’s demise. From this hidden community, a narrow road winds its way up a hill to the gates of the small, hidden Smeltertown Cemetery. A fine layer of black soot, expelled from asarco’s smokestacks a short distance from the entrance, covers the plots located just inside the gate. Brightly painted cement markers, wooden crosses warped by time and the elements, and a few expensive marble and mosaic tile headstones mark the final resting places of generations of former residents. Amid the quiet rustling of the dry mesquite branches and the distant sound of the traffic along Interstate 10, the Smeltertown Cemetery is one of the last physical relics of the once-thriving community and the residents who lived in the shadow of the smokestacks. The sign above the elaborate metal gates —“Smeltertown Cemetery, 1882–1970”— provides a sad but fitting epitaph for a community that is no more. From the beginning, Esmeltianos realized that their relationship with the smelter was inherently unequal. The power held by the company played out in spatial terms. The spaces made available to the smelter’s Mexican employees and their families were markedly different from those enjoyed by the company’s predominantly Anglo managers. Over time these differences translated into drastic inequities that not only placed a minority community in harm’s way, but also allowed the company and city to absolve themselves from having to address very real issues of poverty, services, and public health. In the end, Esmeltianos found themselves in a dangerous paradox. By claiming property 258

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rights rooted in their historic ties to place and their rejection of municipal intrusion, they fought to save a place that seriously threatened their health. The alternative, in their minds, was equally disastrous. For generations, residents had made the most of their situation, forging a community and a sense of self that derived from myriad personal, daily contacts and rituals that anchored them to this place. It was in the context of building their own community that they found a meaningful measure of control over a relationship that was largely out of their control. For company, city, and health officials, dismantling Smeltertown was the only viable option. It was also painfully evident that issues of race and class, as well as Esmeltianos’ position as renters, were deeply embedded in the debates over what to do about the condemned barrio, and these were the factors that would ultimately shape both the company’s and the city’s responses. While their ultimate decision provided an expedient solution to an environmental crisis and a problematic urban policy for these outside parties, it was hardly painless for the people most affected by the decision — the Esmeltianos themselves. Yet the powerful memories of place remain. As architectural historian Dolores Hayden eloquently reminds us, “Urban landscapes are storehouses for . . . social memories” that “frame the lives of many people and often outlast many lifetimes.” Even places long since demolished retain powerful social meaning for the former inhabitants. “Places make memories cohere in complex ways. People’s experiences of the urban landscape intertwine the sense of place and the politics of space.”127 Long after the last resident moved away and the last home was demolished, Esmeltianos continue to maintain a strong attachment and investment in remembering Smeltertown in very specific ways. In these memories, Smeltertown is not a dreary place exposed to years of environmental degradation and benevolent neglect by its corporate benefactor and the city. Instead, these memories conjure a happier, simpler time, when people knew one another, when folks could leave their doors unlocked or borrow a cup of frijoles from their neighbors. The positive memories of place have obscured an often painful past, and former Esmeltianos willfully and consciously replaced memories of labor struggle, transience, racial discrimination, and pollution with ones that emphasized the bonds of family and friends, dignity and survival. In the words of Romelia Flores, when people share their happy recollections of old friends and neighbors, schoolyard antics and lost loves, “it is like Smeltertown alive.”128

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EPILOGUE

Finding Smelter town

For more than a decade, the smelter that once pumped copper through the veins of a border city’s economy has lain dormant. In early 1999, facing declining world copper prices, Asarco halted operations at its El Paso plant and reduced its workforce to a maintenance crew in what was billed as a temporary shutdown to last at least three years. News of the closure was a blow to the city, whose sense of identity had long been associated with the economic stability and prosperity that the smelter had provided. Its effects reverberated across every level of the El Paso economy. On a practical level, the closure meant the loss of 370 jobs that came with generous pay and benefits, jobs that had, in the words of the El Paso Times, “transformed poor men and women into middle-class families.”1 Although some workers like Rogelio Carlos Jr. had put in enough time to retire on a company pension, others found themselves facing the reality of having a distinct skill set and precious few options. Contractors working on assorted smelter projects lost work too. The city’s utility companies lost the substantial revenues generated by their single largest consumer of water and electricity. Charitable organizations such as the United Way similarly pointed to Asarco and its employees as the biggest supporters of their campaigns, and the closure meant a sizable drop in donations.2 The loss was more than economic. The silencing of the smelter was described as a death in the family, and, for many, the sadness was heartrending. The last whistle sounded on February 8, 1999 — for 112 seconds, one for each year of the smelter’s existence — marking the end of an era. Workers stood by steeljawed; some fought back tears. “I was trying to be [as] unemotional as I could be,” David Rodríguez told the El Paso Times. “But when it started blowing, something in my heart died.”3 Mothballing the El Paso plant was not enough to help the international corporation as it faced the troubles wrought by a changing global market, and in 2005 Asarco filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection. Financial woes, however, seemed to be the least of its problems. A lot had changed

since the Smeltertown lead contamination case in the 1970s, and certainly since the days when city boosters worked feverishly to put El Paso on the mining map. In the intervening years, environmental consciousness entered the mainstream. El Pasoans became more aware of the health and environmental consequences of smelting operations and grew increasingly intolerant of the air pollution they attributed to the smokestacks located in the middle of their city. While Asarco maintained its position that the pollution plaguing the ever-growing border metroplex could not be blamed solely on smelter operations, their claims did little to change public opinion and perceptions. News stories about the connections between smelting and environmental hazards hammered home the point. The Environmental Protection Agency (epa) blamed the corporation for lead and arsenic pollution at more than forty sites across the country.4 Locally, studies conducted by the epa, the University of Texas at El Paso, and the Texas Department of Health continued to find high concentrations of lead and arsenic in the ground within a three-mile radius of the smelter. In the summer of 2002, the epa identified El Paso as a potential Superfund site and named Asarco as the “possible responsible party for thirty-five contaminated sites” around the city. As of July 2008, Asarco’s bill for cleaning the affected neighborhoods neared $24 million.5 In August 2001 the federal Agency for Toxic Substances and Disease Registry and the Texas Department of Health published the results of their joint study of the incidence of multiple sclerosis (ms) among former students of Mesita Elementary School, located in Kern Place, and Smeltertown’s E. B. Jones Elementary. The study, which found a disproportionate number of cases among people who attended Mesita in the 1940s, 1950s, and 1960s but no cases among their sample of E. B. Jones students, made no direct link to environmental factors but recommended ongoing research into a possible correlation between metals exposure and ms.6 Reports in the New York Times of a 1998 epa memorandum claiming that the El Paso smelter illegally burned hazardous waste under the guise of copper recycling operations did not help matters.7 The connection between pollution and Asarco, many contended, was as plain as the behemoth smokestack that jutted prominently into their city skyline. By the end of the decade, copper prices appeared to resume an upward climb. Rumors of a reopening surfaced, giving renewed vigor to the debate over Asarco’s past economic contributions, the potential return of several hundred jobs to the border city, the company’s long litany of environmental misdeeds, as well as the industry’s place in El Paso’s future. In Febru262

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ary 2008, the three-member Texas Commission on Environmental Quality (tceq) board unanimously approved Asarco’s air quality permit renewal, a decision that would help pave the way for the financially ailing company to resume smelter operations. But the city was deeply divided over the smelter’s comeback. In the months leading up to the tceq hearing, both sides engaged in a war of words over Asarco’s plans. In September 2007, two groups of concerned El Pasoans converged at different spots near the smelter to voice their positions. At the smelter’s entrance, approximately one hundred men, women, and children sporting blue T-shirts bearing the slogan “Let’s Get to Work!” and the company logo gathered to film a company-sponsored commercial touting the “new, well-paying” jobs that the reopening would bring. A few hours later, in a vacant lot across from the smelter, a much larger group in white T-shirts and calling itself the “Faces of El Paso” posed for a picture to be sent to Texas governor Rick Perry as a show of opposition to the facility’s air permit application. The image would stand, organizers believed, as a powerful message that “while the Asarco smelter is a part of our city’s past, it must not be part of our future.”8 The city was truly torn. In late 2007, an El Paso Times poll found that half of El Pasoans supported the smelter reopening. Proponents pointed to the jobs, and some accused city leaders of engaging in a “political witch hunt” against Asarco.9 For its part, the company maintained that its operations would fully comply with current air quality standards. In the El Paso Times, a smelter official accused the city of using outdated scientific data, “misinformation and scare tactics” against “a long-standing community member and economically viable business partner.”10 Elected officials from municipal to state levels, environmental groups, and concerned residents felt otherwise. In striking contrast to the days when El Paso’s politicos offered all sorts of financial inducements to smelting operations willing to locate in town and the newspapers praised the grandeur of the smelter stacks, at the turn of the twenty-first century Asarco received no such love from city leaders or newspaper editorial boards. In a guest column titled “El Paso’s Future Has No Place for Asarco,” El Paso mayor John Cook explained: “The 800-foot Asarco smokestack is a historical monument to the past. Copper smelters are not the centerpieces for modern American cities.”11 A video on the city of El Paso’s website, created by city staff in coordination with legal counsel, acknowledges the company’s contributions to El Paso’s history, but argues that the smelter belongs only to history. Others point to more than Asarco’s questionable environmental record as a reason for its obEpilogue

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solescence. One El Paso Times columnist condemned the smelter for violating “El Paso’s ugly code,” proclaiming that the only solution was to “tear it down because it’s real ugly.”12 “There is more than just a health concern regarding a permit renewal so Asarco can resume its operations,” a Times editorial contended. “That big, dirty copper refinery, located near our downtown, our university and thousands of El Pasoans, is a blight. We don’t want such an operation here. This is no longer the age of smokestacks and what they belch.”13 Another editorial urged readers to continue opposing the reopening: “Keep up the fight,” it proclaimed, “until this poison-spewing dragon loses its head for good. Go away, Asarco.”14 Whereas the smelter had once been a source of the city’s pride and prestige, over time it had become something akin to an embarrassing family member — the one to whom you are bound through common blood and history, but that you would rather not have to be seen with in public. On February 4, 2009, the news that many anticipated and others dreaded finally came. Asarco became the latest casualty in the global financial crisis that began in late 2007, announcing its plans to abandon efforts to reopen and instead demolish the El Paso smelter. The headline running across the front page of the El Paso Times that morning sounded the death knell: “Asarco Is Done.” The company’s sudden decision stunned the city, though it should not have been a complete surprise. Anyone monitoring the copper futures market, which had declined more than 50 percent since October 2007, might have seen it coming. In addition, while the floundering economy played a critical role in the company’s resolve, the smelter’s continuing environmental problems likely helped to seal its fate. In a letter to the tceq regarding the commission’s decision to grant Asarco’s 2008 permit renewal, the epa raised serious concerns about the condition of the smelter’s facilities following what had effectively been a nine-year shutdown and questioned the plant’s ability to comply with current clean-air standards. The agency reportedly would have voided the tceq’s permit, requiring the smelter to begin the permit process anew. Though Asarco officials claimed that the permit question did not affect their ultimate decision, the laundry list of costly mandatory renovations would certainly have been a formidable undertaking for a company already facing hard times.15 The sudden news met with elation from city and state leaders, environmental groups, and residents who had fought so hard against the industry deemed responsible for many of El Paso’s environmental woes. When informed of the company’s decision during a city council meeting, Mayor Cook 264

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said he wanted to shout “Whoopee!,” calling it the best news he had heard in his tenure as mayor. “My vision for this administration has always been to achieve an asarco-less city,” he told reporters.16 State senator Eliot Shapleigh, one of the smelter’s most vocal political opponents, hailed it a “fantastic day,” and leaders from neighboring Ciudad Juárez and New Mexico echoed these sentiments. The surprising report was exactly what local community and environmental groups had longed to hear. “I’m happy this is taking place,” Juan Garza, one of the organizers of the grassroots group Get the Lead Out, told an El Paso Times reporter. “I’ve only ever wanted to protect our kids in school and my kids from having to breathe Asarco’s emissions.”17 To be sure, environmental health and safety are vital issues in the world we live in today, and it is easy to see how Asarco’s demise represented an important environmental victory for borderlands residents. Yet complicated issues like these rarely have simple conclusions. While many cheered the death of the smelter, others experienced a profound loss. Some lamented the elimination of its high-paying jobs at a time of economic uncertainty, but for others the sorrow was rooted in something much deeper. The day after Asarco’s announcement, the El Paso Times ran a poignant story about Smeltertown, reminding readers that for some, Asarco’s closure was a sad ending to a story that stretched back generations. Times reporter Ramón Rentería interviewed Viviano Villalobos, an eighty-year-old resident of La Calavera, who grew up beneath the shadow of the smokestacks and worked for Asarco for almost forty years. From his perspective, the possibility of seeing the smokestacks he had always known come tumbling down was not a sign of positive change, but rather the destruction of an important part of his world. “Asarco is my life,” he explained tearfully.18 At the Buena Vista Grocery store down the road from the smelter, retired workers, many of them with Smeltertown roots, shared their own mixed feelings about the smelter that had provided good jobs and benefits, had paid for children’s college educations, and still paid excellent pensions. Asarco’s closure and potential demolition also conjured up fond memories of the good old days in Smeltertown, which had been demolished thirty years before. “Losing” Asarco brought memories of their lost community to the surface. As former Esmeltianos and employees reminisced, reader comments posted on the online version of the El Paso Times story revealed just how divisive the issue of Asarco had become. The comments spanned a wide spectrum of opinion, although many were simply ad hominem insults and thinly concealed nativist attacks. Others, however, raised serious questions at the Epilogue

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heart of the battle over Asarco’s place in history and memory. Challenging the view of one smelter supporter, a reader wrote: “I guess you don’t care about the environmental and health damages because you and your family were getting paychecks from the beast. How do you square the damages to the earth and the children with your conscience? Or was conscience weeded out during the brainwashing given to you by your beloved smelter?”19 Another reader wrote: “[In my opinion], nostalgia for Smeltertown, its company store mentality and its use of humans and natural resources, ranks with nostalgia for coal mining (deep and strip), uranium mining, etc. All of these industries preyed on poor populations who were desperate for a living, no matter what kind of nightmare that living was.”20 These impassioned responses came from a powerful place, a view that the smelter’s environmental degradation was simply unconscionable and that, like so many other corporations, Asarco had manipulated and duped not only its workers, but also the entire city. As compelling as these arguments may have been, they failed to appreciate that there might be another, equally compelling perspective. Former Esmeltianos made their own forceful case for why memories of Smeltertown were more than uncritical nostalgia. As one reader explained, “The people that grew up there, that worked there, that died there were members of a community that has ceased to exist. It was [a] unique town in many ways and when the last of the ancianos [elders] die then it will exist only in memories and become a ghost town.”21 The battle over Asarco, to be sure, was a struggle over the environment. It was also very much a battle over history and who gets to own it. As this reader reminds us, it is easy to derisively dismiss affection for Asarco and Smeltertown as the simple nostalgia of a naive people when it is not your history that has been erased. For Esmeltianos, the sense of loss was real. It was as real as the death of a family member, as the smokestack that — in 2009 — still pierced the sky, and as the experiences that defined their families’ history in the border city. This exchange lays bare the ultimate importance of Smeltertown, the community whose origins and decline remain intimately connected to the very same problems and promises in the environmental debate. Understanding the story of Smeltertown seems like the obvious first step in making sense of what Asarco has meant to the city and region in both positive and negative terms, and why people still retain such a strong connection to place that for some may have been a “nightmare” existence. Yet finding the historical Smeltertown is not so simple. In the current appeals to clean air and land,

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Smeltertown is present, though it is rarely mentioned by name. Having become synonymous in the public’s memory with lead contamination, corporate malfeasance, and environmental degradation, the story of its existence and demise is the ultimate cautionary tale for a city grappling with the dangers of extending its unhealthy relationship with an industry belonging to the past, not the future. Indeed, when one guest columnist in the El Paso Times chided readers for having “forgotten about Smeltertown” and “the fates of the children with severely elevated levels of arsenic and lead in their blood from Smeltertown’s school,” he reinforced a specific version of Smeltertown, frozen in time and space.22 Erased from the landscape and a city’s history, Smeltertown and the smelter that simultaneously sustained and brought its decline are the things of previous centuries and are to be buried there. In this sense, Smeltertown is a ghost that haunts El Paso and its dreams for the future. The new story that El Paso is writing for itself at the turn of the twentyfirst century has no place in it for the relics of the past. There is, however, a problem with finding Smeltertown only at the moment of its last breath and with tucking it safely away. Generations of Esmeltianos knew that Smeltertown was always more than the sum of its worst parts. Smeltertown’s story matters — not just for the lessons it imparts about pollution, corporate interests, and crafting meaningful public health and environmental practices. It teaches us vital lessons about the vast changes that took place in the borderlands at the turn of the twentieth century. With the arrival of the railroad, mining, and smelting industries in the 1880s, the entire U.S. Southwest and northern Mexico became a corporate frontier, fundamentally linked by corporate interests and a shared economic destiny. Its story forces us to reconsider El Paso’s past and put it into a wider context. El Paso was not just the dusty “Wild West” outpost that local and regional historians too often emphasize. El Paso was also the nexus of vast transnational and transborder capitalist industries, a critical railroad, mining, and smelting hub through which capital in the form of ore, money, and labor poured into the United States. Asarco played a critical role in El Paso’s development. By incorporating a major copper smelter in El Paso, it established the city’s place of importance in a larger industrial zone that spanned the continent. It provided thousands of skilled and unskilled jobs to its largely Mexican workforce, as well as the opportunity for the creation of a stable, permanent community of workers who were an integral part of the industrial development of the region. While the smelter’s industrial activity might arguably be a thing

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of the past, Smeltertown’s history is not. The problem is that the two have become so interconnected in the public memory that it is hard to separate one from the other. Other versions of Smeltertown do exist. Several fiction writers have used Smeltertown as a lens through which to examine larger themes of loss, agency, and empowerment among Chicanos in the United States. In the process, they reveal a richer, more textured version of Smeltertown that privileges a community’s dignity and survival, shedding some light into what this community meant to the people who called it home. Set in Smeltertown in its closing days, the novella Rain of Scorpions, written by renowned Chicana writer and El Paso native Estella Portillo Trambley, explores the quest for belonging in the midst of conflict and natural disaster. Originally published in 1975 and revised and reprinted in 1993, Rain of Scorpions tells of the community as it grapples with the impending relocation. The story opens in the small grocery store owned by Papá At, a wise elderly man who regales patrons with tales of man’s spiritual connection to nature and of the adventures of the Indio Tolo who fought the white man’s conquest and whose soul resides in a mythical green valley. Fito, a young Vietnam veteran who lost his leg in the war, returns to his home in Smeltertown, disillusioned and embittered by the lack of economic opportunities available to Chicanos and by the system that permits the exploitation of the working poor. In both versions, Fito urges Esmeltianos to leave Smeltertown en masse as a sign of community solidarity and protest of the company’s plans to destroy their home. The question is, Where will they all go? Inspired by Fito’s plan and Papá At’s stories of the green valley, a young boy named Miguel and his buddies embark on a journey into the caves of the nearby mountains, where the Indio Tolo was said to have left a map to the green valley, a place where the Esmeltianos could rebuild their lives as a community instead of being scattered across town. A severe rainstorm causes a break in a nearby retention dam, flooding Smeltertown and creating mudslides with thousands of dead scorpions (the “rain of scorpions” of the title). As a result, the community must turn its attention away from relocation to the immediate concern that the missing boys have been buried in the mudslide. To the relief of Esmeltianos, the boys return unharmed with the mysterious map. The next day, they take the map to Papá At, who deciphers the cryptic message. The green valley, he explains, is not a physical place, but a place of peace and a sense of belonging that resides within. In the end, residents are unable to save their community, but they are enriched by the deeper connection to the earth, life’s mysteries, and the self.23 268

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Rain of Scorpions takes the reader on a fantastical journey, but it also makes a compelling case for the ways in which Smeltertown exists separately from the physical realm on a profoundly personal and emotional level. In the original version, Smeltertown is a dead-end town, a “stinking hole,” and many of the characters seemed resigned to their fate, beaten down by poverty and the oppressive grind of laboring at the smelter as well as the futility of everyday life.24 In the revised edition, Esmeltianos are empowered and emboldened by their frustrations with the company and the generations of abuse it has heaped upon residents and workers. They are angry that the company would seek to destroy the community to which they are emotionally connected out of economic expediency and a self-serving desire to do away with the evidence of environmental neglect. The relocation plan, on top of being another example of corporate greed, threatens something more precious. “But to the barrio people of Smeltertown, the decisions of the dinosaurs were a deathblow,” Portillo Trambley writes. “The breakup of the town was the breakup of their spirit, their identity, their very soul. They could not say it, but they sensed it; their hearts told them an abyss would grow in their lives. What would happen to longtime friends and loved ones? The people were confused, apprehensive, lost, angry, vulnerable. These chaotic feelings threatened their self-respect.”25 Feelings of powerlessness inspire action to reclaim a sense of dignity. Fito proposes that the community take charge of its destiny and move as a group to shame the company for its uncaring treatment of Esmeltianos. When talk at the local bar turns to Asarco’s plan to tear down Smeltertown, one man tells young Miguel: “Bastards! Let them try. Listen, kid, I have a shotgun . . . [I’ll shoot the bosses] if I have to. This is my town. Nobody makes me leave.”26 But it is Miguel who can truly see what Smeltertown means and who is best able to express what will be lost if it is destroyed: “Smeltertown was like a giant mudhole. He realized this, but to him it was also as beautiful as the green valley where nature gods lived. He thought of the poison, of being poor. These things were not as important as the good things about the barrio.”27 In his mind, Smeltertown is a place worth fighting for because it is the repository of family and kinship and the sweet memories of home. It is the site of a people’s history, their dignity and sense of community. Carlos Nicolás Flores’s short story “Smeltertown” tackles similar themes of loss and the desire to connect to one’s past. Written in 1984, “Smeltertown” is the tale of Américo Izquierdo, a young man who grew up in El Paso and who is visiting his family with his young bride, Jovita. Américo envies the closeness of Jovita’s South Texas family. He feels completely disconnected Epilogue

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from his own kin (“a family of strangers”) and his hometown, and were it not for his wife’s insistence, he would never go back. The only connection he feels is to Smeltertown, where his mother was raised. Before returning home, Américo and Jovita decide to make a trip to Smeltertown. Américo explains his connection: Every time I see Mount Cristo Rey, I feel something special. I feel a tenderness a pilgrim might feel for the Holy Land. . . . my mother once told me that she and la abuela [grandmother] made annual pilgrimages to the top of Mount Cristo Rey. When I lived in El Paso, there were times I felt so desperate and full of hatred that I drove out here, along this highway, just to see all this. It calmed me. There were also times I felt I didn’t belong among the gringos, that I didn’t belong in El Paso, period. Then I remembered that my mother was a part of all this, the river, the mountains, and I felt that I did belong here, no matter what the gringos thought.28 Américo and Jovita drive along the highway looking for Smeltertown, only to realize that it is gone: “They looked around as they passed a slag-covered ridge beyond which rose the complex of metal buildings overshadowed by smokestacks. They did not see anything. No wooden shacks, no grocery store, no cars or people, no church.”29 Although “it had merely been the wretched town where his mother had grown up with la abuela,” the loss of Smeltertown, Américo’s touchstone and calming place, is palpable. Retracing his childhood footsteps in search of his grandmother’s street and other landmarks in his memory, Américo realizes that “all of it was dead — Smeltertown, la abuela, Tía Rosaura, and even his mother, the little girl. . . . He stood in the graveyard of a past, his Mexican past.”30 Entering the ruins of the old Smeltertown church, Américo finds a shard of stained glass bearing the Virgin Mary’s face. In his search for Smeltertown, fragments of glass, and of his memories, are the only things that remain. The characters in these stories illuminate the deep-seated human need to connect to people and places. For former Esmeltianos and their descendants, the desire to re-create Smeltertown takes on even greater importance. Finding an exact replica of the old community is impossible and probably not the point anyway. Instead, former residents remake Smeltertown into what they need it to be in the moment. This has happened every year since the mid-1980s when former Esmeltianos gather for their annual reunion. The 270

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weekend is filled with activities — a golf tournament, an evening of dancing to “the oldies”— capped off by a Sunday afternoon bazaar, complete with food, music, and games, at the Santa Teresita Catholic Chapel in El Paso’s Buena Vista neighborhood, where many former Esmeltianos have moved over the years. The events have provided former Esmeltianos —“old timers” and “baby boomers” from the El Paso area as well as from across the country — the opportunity to catch up with old friends, to remember the past, and to celebrate the place and the bonds that unite them. Among many others, Alberto and Enriqueta Beard said they enjoyed the music and the familiarity of old friends.31 These reunions enable participants to celebrate the best that Smeltertown represented in their lives. Federico Miranda, who traveled from Orange County, California, to attend the 1993 reunion, said: “Smeltertown was a wonderful place. We were carefree. There weren’t any hassles. . . . I can honestly say it was the best time of my life.”32 The reunion allowed Emma Reyes, who lived in Smeltertown until 1954, to recall happy memories of growing up in La Esmelda, when the scent of freshly baked Mexican sweet bread wafted through the narrow, familiar streets. “The whole town smelled so good when the churros were being made,” she said. “It would cover up some of the smell of the smelter.”33 For Angelina Sarabia Rivers, who now lived in Albany, New York, the reunion offered the opportunity to remember a way of life long gone. “Life was really simple back then,” she said. “It’s something you just can’t find today.”34 In recent years, differences over the arrangements led to a split among reunion organizers, with two disparate groups sponsoring separate events: a Smeltertown–Buena Vista reunion and an E. B. Jones–Courchesne Alumni Reunion.35 The splintering of reunion activities is a reminder of the fragile nature of memory and how memories embody conflict as much as consensus. Despite the differences in how they claim the past, the reunion organizers and attendees share a common goal: to commemorate their now-extinct neighborhood, to celebrate the shared experiences and ties that bound them together over generations, and to reify a sense of community that transcended physical boundaries and was rooted in something deeper, something that continues to exist long after the physical community disappeared. Making a special trip to the 1993 reunion from her home in Milwaukee, Ramona Sosa succinctly expressed the importance of the gathering in the minds of former residents: “We don’t have a place we can return to. There is no neighborhood. It was taken away from us when they tore it down twenty years ago. Now everybody is all over the place. That’s why these reunions are so important. It’s Epilogue

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like rebuilding Smeltertown, even if it’s just for one night.”36 Sosa’s words home in on what makes the reunions such a powerful articulation of community. Smeltertown did not just fade away, nor was it disbanded with their consent. It was “taken away” and residents had little say in the matter. The Smeltertown they rebuild serves the present need to commemorate friendships and family bonds, a community’s resiliency, and a people’s pride and dignity in their own way and on their own terms. It also reveals how for many residents, physical location was only a part — and not even the most important part — of what made Smeltertown home. Despite the fact that in some circles Smeltertown has come to symbolize a bygone era, it has found new life in the most modern of places: the Internet. The Smeltertown–Buena Vista committee has gone online to supply information about reunion activities and sell advance tickets, list contacts, and furnish a page where former residents can share their photographs with a “virtual” Smeltertown community. The “Familia Cortez” webpage administered by Miguel Cortez serves as a way to keep his kin up-to-date on family news; more broadly, it acts as an online archive and repository of Smeltertown’s history. Cortez, who was born and raised in Smeltertown, has created an interactive space where former residents can share stories and photographs of La Esmelda and reconnect with long-lost friends. The regularly updated site contains links to stories about Asarco’s environmental troubles and the Texas Department of Health’s ms study involving E. B. Jones alumni, as well as to the official Smeltertown–Buena Vista Reunion website; it most recently posted information about a documentary film project initiated by the son and grandson of Smeltertown pioneers. In establishing the website, Cortez hoped to collect stories and provide a place were people could reminisce about the “good old days.” More important, he wanted to create a space where a community could make sense of its collective past. As he explains in one of his blog entries: My interest in my roots and those individuals that I grew up with in Smeltertown is more than just reminiscing about my youth. While those memories are still vivid when it comes to events that molded me, I think of the lessons learned as a town. I am trying to get others that came from Smeltertown to write down or just post anything that comes to mind here. Make it a bucket of Smeltertown memories that anyone with an interest can come back and pick through in their own quest for identity.37 272

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The image of a “bucket of memories” is beautifully evocative. Visitors can pick and choose from the information people offer, sort through the old images for a familiar face, and select or reject the stories that reinforce, challenge, revise, or alter their own memories. In the process, they gain a better understanding of themselves through the fragments of experience others share. The Smeltertown found here is thus an ongoing process, an ever-evolving and living entity that changes form and meaning with each new entry. Admittedly, the Smeltertown conjured up in memory is often steeped in sentimentality and nostalgia. Many remember the barrio as a place where people left their doors unlocked and neighbors looked out for one another. “Yeah, it was like a big happy family there in Smeltertown . . . everybody knew everybody, everybody took care of everybody, and . . . they helped each other out,” Melchor Santana Sr. fondly remembered.38 Becky Seañez said, “I miss the neighborhood, the good old times. Everything was so simple.”39 In 1995, Adolfo Mata Jr. shared with me a poem that his aunt, María Mata Torres, had written about her memories growing up in Smeltertown. Titled “La Vieja Esmelda” (The Old Smeltertown), this poem is a lyrical and poignant elegy to the Smeltertown Torres knew, and the one where Mata himself spent his “best years . . . growing up” and “going to E. B. Jones School.” Addressed to “Mi Esmelda querida” (my beloved Smeltertown), Torres wrote: Mi Esmelda querida Viejo barrio arrabalero Serás solo una leyenda En los años venideros.

My beloved Smeltertown Old barrio on the outskirts of town You shall only be a legend In the years to come.

De mis primeros amores Tu fuiste mi fiel testigo También de mis decepciones Que compartiste conmigo.

Of my first loves You were my loyal witness And also of my deceptions Which you shared with me.

Tu iglesita y su campanario Donde íbamos a rezar Tus callejas de barro Que andábamos sin cesar.

Your church and bell tower Where we used to go to pray Your dusty, narrow streets That we walked unceasingly.

Tu planta de cemento La piedrera de Courchesne Arriba los altos puentes Por donde camina el tren.

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La Ladrillera y su Puente Que cruza el Rio Bravo Donde los enamorados Platicaban alegramente.

The brick plant and its bridge That crosses the Rio Bravo Where the lovers Talked happily together.

Tan sólo te quedaron Y su gigante tronerón Son recuerdo del pasado.

All that is left to you And its giant smokestack Are memories of the past.40

Tus calientes hermosas noches Tu luna y sus resplandores Y los muchachos alegres Cantando en los callejones.

Your warm, beautiful nights Your moon and its beams And the happy children Singing in the streets.

Tus estrellas tan brillantes En tu cielo claro azul Fueron hermanos paisajes De mi tierna juventud.

Your stars so bright In your clear blue sky Were kindred companions Of my tender youth.

Tu nieve y tus fríos vientos Tus polvaderas color de miel Como olvidar todo esto Si son parte de mi ayer.

Your snow and cold winds Your honey-colored duststorms How can I forget all of this If they are a part of my yesterday.

Solo quedan tus testigos En tu panteon de arrabal Todos los seres queridos Que allí descansan en paz.

Only your witnesses remain In your cemetery on the hill All the beloved people That rest there in peace.

Tu Cristo en la montaña También se quedó llorando Fija su triste Mirada A su pueblo desolado.

Your Christ on the mountain Has also been left crying He casts his sad gaze On his desolate town.41

These elegant verses present an idealized version of La Esmelda, one fundamentally shaped by its physical absence and the passage of time. Although the prominent landmarks of Torres’s home were the loud, dusty, and smelly industries that ran at full steam, Torres found beauty there too. In her memories, she lovingly conjured up happy images of her Smeltertown: the place that was her confidant and companion, filled with children singing in the streets, young lovers who stole secret conversations on the bridge near the water’s 274

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edge, and the people who traveled the streets daily. Her reference to “honeycolored duststorms” perhaps best epitomizes her desire to find something beautiful in what would seem to be a less-than-ideal setting. However much her verses are tinged by the rose-colored glasses of time, Torres’s sense of loss is real, as is the need to keep Smeltertown alive. It is not just her own “yesterday” that must not be forgotten, but that of generations of Esmeltianos. The words of Torres’s poem, as well as many of the stories shared by former Esmeltianos, are strikingly devoid of conflict; they consciously leave out experiences that are too painful, difficult, or uncomfortable to mention. In this way we are reminded that history and memory are two different things. As historian David Blight elaborates: If history is shared and secular, memory is often treated as a sacred set of absolute meanings and stories, possessed as a heritage or identity of a community. Memory is often owned, history interpreted. Memory is passed down through generations; history is revised. Memory often coalesces in objects, sites, and monuments; history seeks to understand contexts in all their complexity. History asserts the authority of academic training and canons of evidence; memory carries the more immediate authority of community membership and experience.42 While memories of Smeltertown tell us that it was one harmonious family, seemingly lacking in conflict, racism, environmental and occupational hazards, history reveals otherwise. Residents built homes on property they never legally owned. Workers faced occupational hazards and dangers, as well institutional constraints on their advancement and pay and discrimination from their foremen and Anglo coworkers. Esmeltianos were also subject to the racial hierarchy that determined residential, occupational, and social mobility, and their lives intersected with a larger social world that viewed their homes and lifestyles as inferior. Separation and power, based on race, class, and citizenship, shaped their experiences in significant ways. As a trained historian, I knew these things to be true in my head. As the granddaughter of proud smelter men and Vocational School graduates who grew up with my own set of hand-me-down memories, my heart wanted to make sense of these stories, which were for many people equally true. It would be easy to dismiss the positive memories of place, but it would also be a terrible mistake. If instead we examine the history of memories, we gain a greater understanding of how such stories are created and why they matter for a people largely erased from history. In this we see the inherent Epilogue

275

political nature of memory and history. Because Esmeltianos have been excluded from history, memories are all they have to connect them to the past and to make themselves known in the present. Exchanged at the family picnic or on a lazy Sunday afternoon, the stories Esmeltianos tell about their former community not only reveal that that community was based in deeper connections, but also represent a conscious effort by individuals to make sense of their collective past and to convey to a generation that never knew — and will never know — the “historical” Smeltertown, what it meant to be from La Esmelda. Memory and history might be distinct, but they are intimately linked, and “the quest for memory is the search for one’s history.”43 What things are being remembered, by whom, and in what context are essential to defining what eventually becomes “historical truth.” The former Esmeltiano/a telling his/her story to a grandchild makes discrete choices about what exactly to say and what to leave unspoken. Nonetheless, these choices represent a truth to the individual and, by extension, to the people who hear the story. As historian John R. Gillis states, “Memories help us make sense of the world we live in; and ‘memory work’ is, like any other kind of physical or mental labor, embedded in complex class, gender and power relations that determine what is remembered (or forgotten), by whom and for what end.”44 These choices of memories arguably reveal more about the worldview of the individual than any government document ever could. Every omission, every inclusion, every detail is there for a purpose. Perhaps the narratives presented in this book are overly idealized versions of the past, but they are important remnants of Smeltertown. The need to remember the past and preserve it in personal ways creates a historical memory that is socially constructed and relevant to a particular group.45 History is more than the recording of events past. It helps define a community, and it transmits the culture and identity of that community to future generations. The personal narratives and memories that the Esmeltianos tell commemorate their shared experiences; they give them an identity, a point of origin, and a legacy for their descendants. Smeltertown is not dead, an inanimate specimen in a science project that can be examined in isolation from its natural environment. It is a living, breathing, changing place that exists in the stories people tell about it today. It shifts and transforms to serve the needs of the people who hold it in their memories. The act of remembering and the process of creating a collective memory are inherently political, and collective memory serves as a way “in which groups, peoples, or nations construct versions of the past and employ them for self-understanding and to win power in an ever-changing present.”46 In 276

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re-creating Smeltertown, former residents engage in the politically charged process of rewriting themselves into a local, regional, and national narrative intent on erasing and forgetting an industrial past. Residents in the 1970s fought political, medical, and corporate outsiders to preserve their homes and way of life — outsiders, they believed, who did not understand their strong historic and personal attachment to their humble barrio. Remaking their community through memories and reunions and in virtual space redeems Smeltertown from the past. In the same way that residents at the turn of the twentieth century created a vibrant social world out of what they had been given to fulfill their needs at the time, in the years since its physical decline, Esmeltianos celebrate the beauty and dignity they found in their daily lives. The stories they share tell us what was lost, and they tell us about the strength of community bonds in a place that seems, by history’s standards, to have little worth remembering. My journey to find Smeltertown began years ago, first as a child in the backseat of a Gran Torino watching for the red and white smokestacks to appear on the horizon and later as an academically trained historian, armed with the tools of my trade. What I found was actually many different Smeltertowns, each beautifully complex, frustratingly messy, and always far from complete. I discovered that Smeltertown was a place made and remade into what people needed it to be: blighted neighborhood, relic of a bygone era, beloved home, and connection to history. The journey continues.

Epilogue

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Notes Note: Unless otherwise indicated, all translations of Spanishlanguage sources are the author’s.

ABBREVIATIONS

AFPC ASARCO Retired Employee Archives EPH EPHP EPP EPPL EPT EPVF GEP GEPSC HP

Aguilar Family Personal Collection, El Paso American Smelting and Refining Company, El Paso Plant, Secured Retired Employee Archives, El Paso El Paso Herald El Paso Herald Post El Paso Post El Paso Public Library, Border Heritage Center, El Paso El Paso Times El Paso Vertical File, Border Heritage Center, EPPL Greater El Paso, MS 556, El Paso Chamber of Commerce, EPPL Greater El Paso and Southwestern Commerce, El Paso Chamber of Commerce, MS 556, EPPL Hoja Parroquial de Smelter, AFPC

INS

Immigration and Naturalization Service, Correspondence Files, Series A: Subject Case Files, Part 2: Mexican Immigration, 1906–20, Microcopy 365, UTEP Library

IOH

Institute of Oral History, UTEP

PFPC SP

UTEP

Perales Family Personal Collection, El Paso Auditor’s Annual Report on the Financial Affairs of El Paso County, August 1, 1925 to December 31, 1926, MS 101, Shipman Papers, Southwest Collection, EPPL University of Texas at El Paso

INTRODUCTION

1 At the time, the surgeon general determined that a level of 40 micrograms per 100 milliliters constituted “undue lead absorption.” Dale L. Morse et al., “El Paso Revisited: Epidemiological Follow Up of an Environmental Lead Problem,” Journal of the American Medical Association 242 (August 24, 1979): 739–41. Today, anything above 10 micrograms per deciliter is considered an abnormal lead level for children under the age of five. See 〈 http://www.cdc.gov/nceh/lead/faq/about .htm 〉 (August 13, 2007). 2 “Meeting of EPHA, Smeltertown Is a Stand-off,” EPT, March 28, 1972. 3 Richard White and John M. Findlay, quoting historical geographer D. W. Meinig, in Power and Place in the North American West (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1999), x. On the social construction of space, see Henri Lefebvre, The Production of Space, trans. Donald Nicholson-Smith (Cambridge, Mass.: Wiley Blackwell, 1992). 4 Setha M. Low, On the Plaza: The Politics of Public Space and Culture (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2000), 33. 5 Thomas Bender, Community and Social Change in America (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 1978). 6 Ross Chambers, Room for Maneuver: Reading [the] Oppositional [in] Narrative (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991). Sociologist Michel De Certeau also provides an instructive way of thinking about how people develop tactics for navigating power in their daily lives. See De Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life, trans. Steven F. Rendall (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002). 7 On the capitalist transformation of the West, see William H. Lyon, “The Corporate Frontier in Arizona,” Journal of Arizona History 9, no. 1 (Spring 1968): 1–17; William G. Robbins, Colony and Empire: The Capitalist Transformation of the American West (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1994); and William Cronon, Nature’s Metropolis: Chicago and the Great West (New York: W. W. Norton, 1991). 8 John Mason Hart, Empire and Revolution: The Americans in Mexico since the Civil War (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002), 139. For a history of ASARCO, see Isaac F. Marcosson, Metal Magic: The Story of the American Smelting and Refining Company (New York: Farrar, Straus, 1949), and Horace D. Marucci, “The American Smelting and Refining Company in Mexico, 1900–1925” (Ph.D. diss., Rutgers University, 1995). 9 Leon C. Metz, one of El Paso’s most popular and prolific historians, is viewed by many El Pasoans to be the authority on local history. He has written numerous monographs highlighting El Paso’s western past and the gun-slinging characters who inhabited the area. See, e.g., his Desert Army: Ft. Bliss on the Texas Border (El Paso: Mangan Press, 1988); El Paso Chronicles: A Record of Historical Events (El Paso: Mangan Press, 1993); John Wesley Hardin: Dark Angel of Texas (El Paso: Mangan Press, 1996); Shooters (El Paso: Mangan Press, 1976); Robert McKee: Master Builder of Structures beyond the Ordinary (El Paso: Robert and Evelyn McKee Foundation, 1997); Pat Garrett: The Story of a Western Lawman (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1973); Border: The U.S. Mexico Line (El Paso: Mangan Press, 1989); Turning 280

Notes to Pages 1–5

10

11 12 13

14 15

16

Points in El Paso, Texas (El Paso: Mangan Press, 1985); and City at the Pass: Illustrated History of El Paso (Woodland, Calif.: Pemberton Press, 1969). He also has written occasional columns on El Paso history for the El Paso Times. Gilbert G. González and Raúl A. Fernández, A Century of Chicano History: Empires, Nation, and Migration (New York: Routledge, 2003). On the influence and power of transnational mining, see Sam Truett, Fugitive Landscapes: The Forgotten History of the U.S.-Mexico Borderlands (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 2006). Gilbert G. González, Culture of Empire: American Writers, Mexico, and Mexican Immigrants, 1880–1930 (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2003), 6. Hart, Empire and Revolution, 152. For a broad overview of the history of Chicana/o communities in the United States, see Albert Camarillo, Chicanos in a Changing Society: From Mexican Pueblos to American Barrios in Santa Barbara and Southern California, 1848–1930 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1979); Thomas E. Sheridan, Los Tucsonenses: The Mexicans of Tucson, 1854–1941 (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1986); George J. Sánchez, Becoming Mexican American: Ethnicity, Culture, and Identity in Chicano Los Angeles, 1900–1945 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993); Gabriela Arredondo, Mexican Chicago: Race, Identity and Nation, 1916–1939 (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2008); Gilbert G. González, Labor and Community: Mexican Citrus Worker Villages in a Southern California County, 1900–1950 (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1994); Matt García, A World of Its Own: Race, Labor, and Citrus in the Making of Greater Los Angeles, 1900–1970 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2001); Zaragosa Vargas, Proletarians of the North: A History of Mexican Industrial Workers in Detroit and the Midwest, 1917–1933 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993); Sarah Deutsch, No Separate Refuge: Culture, Class, and Gender on an Anglo-Hispanic Frontier in the American Southwest, 1880–1940 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987); David Montejano, Anglos and Mexicans in the Making of Texas, 1886–1986 (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1987); and Arnoldo DeLeon, Ethnicity in the Sunbelt: Mexican Americans in Houston, rev. ed. (College Station: Texas A&M Press, 2001). Mario T. García, Desert Immigrants: The Mexicans of El Paso, 1880–1920 (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1981). Pablo Vila, Crossing Borders, Reinforcing Borders: Social Categories, Metaphors, and Narrative Identities on the U.S.-Mexico Frontier (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2000). For the historical tensions between Mexican Americans and Mexican immigrants, see also David Gutiérrez, Walls and Mirrors: Mexican Americans, Mexican Immigrants, and the Politics of Ethnicity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995). A detailed history or analysis of Smeltertown is absent from important works of El Paso history. C. L. Sonnichson’s Pass of the North: Four Centuries on the Rio Grande (El Paso: Texas Western Press, 1968) makes no mention of even the Anglo community at Smelter Hill and Smelter Terrace. Wilbert Timmons’s El Paso: A Borderlands History (El Paso: Texas Western Press, 1990) briefly mentions Smeltertown at various points throughout his sweeping narrative but offers no in-depth discussion. Smeltertown is also absent from Cleofas Calleros’s El Paso Then and Now (El Notes to Pages 5–7

281

17 18 19 20 21

22 23

24

Paso: American Printing Company, 1954), a surprising omission considering his great contributions to the writing of Mexican history in El Paso. Richard White, Remembering Ahanagran: A History of Stories (New York: Hill and Wang, 1998), 4. David W. Blight, “Historians and ‘Memory,’” Common-Place 2, no. 3 (April 2002), 〈 http://www.common-place.org/vol-02/no-03/author/ 〉 (July 16, 2008). Dolores Hayden, The Power of Place: Urban Landscapes and Public History (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1995). Stuart Hall, “Introduction: Who Needs ‘Identity’?,” in Questions of Cultural Identity, ed. Stuart Hall and Paul duGay (London: Sage Publications, 1996), 2. On the concept of mexicanidad as a strategic defense against discrimination for Chicago’s Mexicans, one that embodied elements of nationalism, ethnic identity, and lived experiences, see Arredondo, Mexican Chicago. Vicki L. Ruiz, From Out of the Shadows: Mexican Women in Twentieth Century America (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 50. On the emotional and social impact of community loss, see Herbert J. Gans, The Urban Villagers: Group and Class in the Life of Italian-Americans (New York: Free Press, 1962). Similarly, a special issue of the Journal of American History (“Through the Eye of Katrina,” December 2007) deals with the devastation of New Orleans in 2006. “ ‘Asarco’ Name Change Announced,” EPT, May 16, 1975, “Smelting Industry,” EPVF.

CHAPTER ONE

1 Richard H. Vail, “El Paso Smelting Works — I,” Engineering and Mining Journal 98, no. 11 (September 12, 1914): 465–68, and “El Paso Smelting Works — II,” Engineering and Mining Journal 98, no. 12 (September 19, 1914): 515–18. 2 Capt. E. H. Simons, “Cement Plant Made Cement for Dam,” SP. 3 Manuela Vásquez Domínguez, interview by author (Spanish), May 29, 2002, tape recording, El Paso. 4 On the impact of U.S. investment in Mexico, see John Mason Hart, Empire and Revolution: The Americans in Mexico since the Civil War (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002), and Gilbert G. González, Culture of Empire: American Writers, Mexico, and Mexican Immigrants, 1880–1930 (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2003). 5 W. H. Timmons, El Paso: A Borderlands History (El Paso: Texas Western Press, 1990), 1–3. 6 Antonia Castañeda, “Sexual Violence in the Politics and Policies of Conquest: Amerindian Women and the Conquest of Alta California,” in Building with Our Hands: New Directions in Chicana Studies, ed. Adela de la Torre and Beatríz Pesquera (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), 15–33; Ramón Gutiérrez, When Jesus Came, the Corn Mothers Went Away: Marriage, Sexuality, and Power in New Mexico, 1500–1846 (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1991); Lisbeth Haas, Conquests and Historical Identities in California, 1769–1936 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996). 282

Notes to Pages 10–25

7 David Weber, The Spanish Frontier in North America (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1992), 77–78. 8 Timmons, El Paso, 74. 9 Ibid., 81. 10 Ibid., 83. For the accommodation of Euro-American business interests to Mexican society, see Deena González, Refusing the Favor: The Spanish Mexican Women of Santa Fe, 1820–1880 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), and David Montejano, Anglos and Mexicans in the Making of Texas, 1836–1986 (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1987). 11 See Deena González, Refusing the Favor. For the shifting social relations and structuring of narratives, see Raúl A. Ramos, Beyond the Alamo: Forging Mexican Ethnicity in San Antonio, 1821–1861 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2008). 12 Timmons, El Paso, 161. 13 Ibid., 103–33. 14 Ibid., xix. 15 U.S. Bureau of the Census, Fifteenth Census of the United States, 1930 Abstract of the Census, Population, Table 14: “Population of Cities Having, in 1930, 100,000 Inhabitants or More” (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1933), 24. 16 James M. Day, “El Paso: Mining Hub for Northern Mexico, 1880–1920,” Password 24, no. 1 (Spring 1979): 24. 17 “Making the Rounds with El Paso — El Paso Trade Territory,” GEP 1, no. 1 (November 1919): 17. 18 Edward A. Leonard, Rails at the Pass of the North, Monograph 63 (El Paso: Texas Western Press, 1981), 36. 19 Hart, Empire and Revolution, 33–34, 128; George J. Sánchez, Becoming Mexican American: Ethnicity, Culture, and Identity in Chicano Los Angeles, 1900–1945 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993), 21–22. 20 Leonard, Rails at the Pass, 30, 41. 21 Hart, Empire and Revolution, 122–23. 22 “El Paso: What It Is; Why It Is the Chief Gateway to Mexico,” GEPSC 2, no. 3 (April 1921): 18; “El Paso Bids for Business of the Southwest,” GEP 1, no. 1 (November 1919): 20; “Review of Industrial Activities in El Paso during the Year 1919, and Report on the Meeting of Southwestern Open Shop Association,” GEP 1, no. 4 (March 1920): 85. 23 “Making the Rounds with El Paso,” 17. 24 John Sneed, “Frontier Village Now Big City: El Paso People Love Their Town,” GEPSC 2, no. 1 (March 1921): 5; Dr. Hugh Crouse, “With Every Natural Resource Plus Climate El Paso Becomes Not Only Great Tourist Point, but Stands Out in the Nation as a Health Resort,” GEP 1, no. 4 (March 1920): N.p. 25 Crouse, “With Every Natural Resource Plus Climate”; Sneed, “Frontier Village Now Big City”; “Here’s What a New El Pasoan Says We Are; Let’s Get Busy,” Chamber of Commerce News 1, no. 9 (January 1923), MS 557, El Paso Chamber of Commerce, Southwest Collection, EPPL. 26 “El Paso: What It Is,” 18. Notes to Pages 25–29

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27 28 29 30

31 32 33

34 35 36

37 38

39 40 41 42 43 44 45

46

284

“El Paso Welcomes Mexico’s Trade,” GEP 1, no. 7 (July 1920): 11. “El Paso: What It Is,” 19; “Making the Rounds with El Paso,” 17. “El Paso: What It Is,” 19. Silvestre Terrazas, “Reaching the Mexican Consumer by Advertisements That Take into Account Latin Psychology and Mexican Trade Customs” (text of speech), GEP 1, no. 5 (April–May 1920): 8. On at least one occasion, the monthly publication of the El Paso Chamber of Commerce, GEPSC, ran stories in Spanish and English singing the praises of the city. “El Paso: What It Is,” 18–19. Jack Danciger, “Go to Mexico, Old Boy, Grow Up with the Mexicans,” GEP 1, no. 7 (July 1920): 8. Frank H. Knapp, “El Paso, Growing Factory Center, Has Requisites for Success,” GEPSC 2, no. 5 (November 1921): 4. Mexican smelter worker strikes in 1913 are addressed in Chapter 3. On the 1919 El Paso Laundry Workers’ Strike, see Mario T. García, “The Chicana in American History: The Mexican Women of El Paso, 1880–1920: A Case Study,” Pacific Historical Review 49, no. 2 (May 1980): 315–37. H. S. Hunter, “Big Industrial Future for El Paso Is Seen,” EPH, October 12, 1927, “El Paso — Business,” EPVF. “All Boundary Posts on Mexican Border from Coast to Coast Made by El Paso Foundry and Machine Company,” GEP 1, no. 5 (April–May 1920): N.p. “Local Brick Plant Turns Out 100,000 Bricks a Day and Every One Is Being Used,” GEP 1, no. 4 (March 1920): N.p.; Hunter, “Big Industrial Future for El Paso Is Seen.” D. A. Bandeen, “Courchesne Quarry Pioneer Industry,” and Simons, “Cement Plant Made Cement for Dam,” both in SP. “Two Pioneers Blazed Trail for Industry,” El Paso Evening Post, May 30, 1928, “Cement Industry,” EPVF. According to W. H. Timmons (El Paso, 195–200), the U.S. Congress appropriated the dam in 1905 to control flooding and provide water and power to New Mexico and West Texas; it was completed in 1916. Among the biggest lobbyists were, not coincidentally, Alfred Courchesne and Felix Martínez, two of the owners and local officers of Southwestern Portland Cement. GEP 1, no. 4 (March 1920): 47. “Making the Rounds with El Paso,” 16. Charles Longuemare, “Treasures of Metal,” EPT, December 27, 1888. “The Smelter Question,” EPT, March 19, 1887. I thank Patricia Worthington of the El Paso County Historical Society for locating and sharing this clipping. Day, “El Paso: Mining Hub,” 24–25. “El Paso School of Mines Takes First Rank with Mining Institutes of the Land,” GEP 1, no. 3 (January 1920): 29. Cleofas Calleros, “El Paso — Then and Now: City’s Earlyday Smelters Played Vital Role in Area’s Colorful History,” EPT, ca. February 1956, “Smelting Industry,” EPVF. Mary Antoine Lee, “A Historical Survey of the American Smelting and Refining Company” (M.A. thesis, UTEP, 1950), 3–16; “Article on El Paso Smelter Prompts

Notes to Pages 29–33

47

48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55

56

57 58

59 60 61 62 63 64

65

Interesting Reminiscences,” Engineering and Mining Journal, January 5, 1929, 18, Dudley Collection, folder no. 59, “Mining File, Smelters, American Smelting and Refining,” EPPL; Horace D. Marucci, “The American Smelting and Refining Company in Mexico” (Ph.D. diss., Rutgers University, 1995), 45–46. Date cited in Mary Antoine Lee, “A Historical Survey.” There are conflicting dates on the opening of the smelter — ranging from 1885 (“AS&R,” EPH, October 14, 1930, “Smelting Industry,” EPVF) to September 1887 (“Big Smelter Largest of Its Kind,” EPT, April 25, 1954, “Smelting Industry,” EPVF). James M. Day (“El Paso: Mining Hub”) places the date as August 29, 1887. Marucci, “American Smelting and Refining Company,” 46; “El Paso: Mining Hub,” 23 (quotation). Day, “El Paso: Mining Hub,” 24. Chris P. Fox, “El Paso Smelter Anniversary,” Password 22, no. 4 (Winter 1977): 186. Irwin Unger and Debi Unger, The Guggenheims: A Family History (New York: Harper Collins Press, 2005), 69–80. “El Paso Smelting Firm Founded on Man’s Ambition to Make Sons Rich,” EPHP, September 2, 1936, “Smelting Industry,” EPVF. Marucci, “American Smelting and Refining Company,” 75. Ibid., 99. Julie Puentes, “Villa, the Mining Industry, and the American Smelting and Refining Company,” History Seminar Paper, 1971, Special Collections Department, UTEP Library, El Paso. ASARCO, “Thirteenth Annual Report of the American Smelting and Refining Company, December 31, 1911,” Jackson Business Library, Stanford University, Stanford, Calif.; Isaac F. Marcosson, Metal Magic: The Story of the American Smelting and Refining Company (New York: Farrar, Straus, 1949), 21 (quotation). Marcosson, Metal Magic, 21. “Smelter Here Is the Largest Customs Plant in the World,” EPP, October 24, 1929, and “AS&R 30 Affiliated Companies Operate in U.S., Mexico,” EPH, October 14, 1930, both in “Smelting Industry,” EPVF. Calleros, “El Paso — Then and Now: City’s Earlyday Smelters.” Patrick Rand, “The Federal Smelter,” Password 22, no. 3 (Fall 1977): 109–15. Cleofas Calleros, “Search for Historical Pictures of Earlyday Smelters Continues,” EPT, May 7, 1953, “Smelting Industry — ASARCO History,” EPVF. “History of the EP & SW System, Taken from Southern Pacific Bulletin,” “Railroads — Southern Pacific,” EPVF. “Copper Became Fourth ‘C’ in 1930,” EPT, January 30, 1950, “Industries — Nichols Copper Company,” EPVF. “El Paso Becomes ‘Copper Capital of the Southwest’” EPT, January 23, 1930; “Nichols Plant Means $40,000,000 Yearly to the City,” EPH, August 7, 1929; and “Nichols Copper Refinery to Add Millions to City Wealth,” EPT, August 8, 1929 — all in “Industries — Nichols Copper Company,” EPVF. The other “C’s” were cotton, cattle, and climate. El Paso Chamber of Commerce, Notes to Pages 33–38

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66

67 68 69

70

71

72 73

74 75

76

77

78 286

“El Paso: A Brief Review Published Annually by the El Paso Chamber of Commerce,” n.d., “Chamber of Commerce,” EPVF. “Big Smelter Largest of Its Kind,” EPT, April 25, 1954, “Smelting Industry — ASARCO,” EPVF. Today a full-service institution with research dollars in the millions, the University of Texas at El Paso still retains a connection to the past. Its mascot, “Paydirt Pete,” and logo prominently featuring a miner’s pickaxe are reminders of the school’s mining origins. May H. McGhee, “Smelter Pays Heavy Taxes to County,” SP. EPT, special insert, July 31, 1929. “Million Dollar Payroll for El Paso’s Smelter,” EPH, October 18, 1927; “Smelter Here Is Largest Customs Plant in World,” EPP, October 24, 1929; and “World’s Largest Customs Smelter Is Located Here,” EPT, October 25, 1931 — all in “Smelting Industry — ASARCO,” EPVF. On the haciendas and poor Mexican campesinos, see Hart, Empire and Revolution, 17–22; George J. Sánchez, Becoming Mexican American, 20–24; and Manuela Vásquez Domínguez, interview. Yolanda Chávez Leyva, “Cruzando la Linea: Engendering the History of Border Mexican Children during the Early Twentieth Century,” in Memories and Migrations: Mapping Boricua and Chicana Histories, ed. Vicki L. Ruiz and John R. Chávez (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2008), 71–92; Eithne Luibhéid, Entry Denied: Controlling Sexuality at the Border (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2002). Mario T. García, Desert Immigrants: The Mexicans of El Paso, 1880–1920 (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1982), 38–44. “Circular and Instructions Replacing Department Letters 5/23 and 26–1917,” April 1918, reel 7, frame 0003, INS; Commissioner General of Immigration to Mr. E. J. Fangall, Vice President and General Manager, Fullers Earth Co., Cleveland, November 14, 1917, reel 7, frame 0378, INS. [Illegible name] to W. B. Wilson, Secretary of Labor, July 29, 1918, reel 7, frame 0740, INS. U.S. Department of Labor, Bureau of Immigration, “Annual Report of the Supervising Inspector, District 23 Comprising Texas (Except District 9) Headquartered in El Paso,” 1919, 707. On the construction of immigration law and the specific lived experiences of the borderlands, see Mae M. Ngai, Impossible Subjects: Illegal Aliens and the Making of Modern America (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2004); S. Deborah Kang, “The Legal Construction of the Borderlands: The INS, Immigration Law, and Immigrant Rights on the U.S.-Mexico Border, 1917–1954” (Ph.D. diss., University of California at Berkeley, 2005); George J. Sánchez, Becoming Mexican American, 50–51. J. A. Happer, “Washington Department: Immigration,” GEP 1, no. 4 (March 1920): 57. For the debate on the extension of exemptions for Mexican labor, see House Committee on Immigration and Naturalization, Hearings on the Temporary Admission of Illiterate Mexican Laborers, 66th Cong., 2nd sess., January 30, February 2, 1920 (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1920), 26–28. Ngai, Impossible Subjects, 67.

Notes to Pages 38–41

79 Gunther Peck, Reinventing Free Labor: Padrones and Immigrant Workers in the North American West, 1880–1930 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 42. 80 García, Desert Immigrants, 52. On the Aguascalientes workers, see INS, reel 7, frames 0718–19, 0721–25. 81 García, Desert Immigrants, 51–62. 82 These figures are based on a random 10 percent sample of all employee cards, except the cards of workers who had a start date after 1960. The records were stored in several file boxes and sorted alphabetically. I selected every tenth card to collect the sample. There are 1,389 total records in this data set. ASARCO Retired Employee Archives. I am especially grateful to Simón Elizondo Weffer and Marilyn Espitia for their assistance in methodology and in the analysis of this material. 83 These figures are based on a separate data set, consisting of all ASARCO employees who resided in Smeltertown. The 2,764 employees in this set include any workers from the 10 percent sample who listed an address in Smeltertown. 84 José “Corona” Luján, interview by the author (Spanish), March 8, 1995, tape recording, El Paso; Rogelio Carlos Jr., interview by author, August 15, 2000, tape recording, El Paso. 85 ASARCO Retired Employee Archives. 86 Constance Neville Rickard White, interview by Michelle G. Benavides (transcribed by D. Mike Whitehead), March 12, 20, 1996, tape recording and transcript #923, IOH, 2–3; “AS&R 30 Affiliated Companies Operate in U.S., Mexico,” EPH, October 14, 1930. 87 White, interview, 21. 88 Richard Griswold del Castillo, La Familia: Chicano Families in the Urban Southwest, 1848 to the Present (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 1984), 40. See also Albert Camarillo, Chicanos in a Changing Society: From Mexican Pueblos to American Barrios in Santa Barbara and Southern California, 1848–1930 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1979), 12–13. 89 Melchor Santana Sr., interview by author, March 25, 1995, tape recording, El Paso. 90 Ramón Salas, interview by author, August 18, 1995, tape recording, El Paso. 91 Carmen Escandón, interview by author (Spanish), May 7, 2002, tape recording, El Paso. 92 Sabina Alva, interview by author (Spanish), March 11, 1995, tape recording, El Paso. 93 Enriqueta and Alberto Beard, interview by author (Spanish), July 26, 2000, tape recording, El Paso. 94 On the racial remaking of cities with historic Mexican populations, see William Deverell, Whitewashed Adobe: The Rise of Los Angeles and the Remaking of Its Mexican Past (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004), and Douglas Monroy, Rebirth: Mexican Los Angeles from the Great Migration to the Great Depression (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999). 95 J. A. Escajeda, “San Elizario Was First County Seat,” SP, 9. 96 García, Desert Immigrants, 155–57; Escajeda, “San Elizario Was First County Seat.” 97 Owen White, Out of the Desert: The Historical Romance of El Paso (1923), quoted in García, Desert Immigrants, 15. Notes to Pages 41–46

287

98 Timmons, El Paso, 169–83. 99 EPT, April 14, 1883, quoted in David Dorado Romo, Ringside Seat to a Revolution: An Underground Cultural History of El Paso and Juárez, 1893–1923 (El Paso: Cinco Puntos Press, 2005), 216. 100 EPT, January 14, 1885, quoted in Romo, Ringside Seat, 216. 101 García, Desert Immigrants, 130–31. 102 On education for Mexicans in the U.S. Southwest, see Guadalupe San Miguel Jr., “Let All of Them Take Heed”: Mexican Americans and the Campaign for Educational Equality in Texas, 1910–1981 (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1987); Gilbert G. González, “The System of Public Education and Its Function within the Chicano Communities, 1920–1950” (Ph.D. diss., University of California at Los Angeles, 1974); George J. Sánchez, Becoming Mexican American, 87–107; and García, Desert Immigrants, 110–26, and “Americanization and the Mexican Immigrant, 1880–1930,” Journal of Ethnic Studies 6 (Summer 1978): 220–34. 103 García, Desert Immigrants, 110–11. 104 Peck, Reinventing Free Labor, 45–46. 105 Shawn Lay, War, Revolution, and the Ku Klux Klan: A Study of Intolerance in a Border City (El Paso: Texas Western Press, 1985). 106 Erika Lee, “Enforcing the Borders: Chinese Exclusion along the U.S. Borders with Canada and Mexico, 1882–1924,” Journal of American History 89, no. 1 (June 2002): 62; Timmons, El Paso, 187–88; Romo, Ringside Seat, 198–201. 107 Romo, Ringside Seat, 203–5. 108 Timmons, El Paso, 218; Romo, Ringside Seat, 213. 109 García, Desert Immigrants, 65–84. 110 Ibid., 134–35; Romo, Ringside Seat, 214. On the Mexican elite in El Paso during the Mexican Revolution, see Victor Macías González, “Mexicans ‘of the Better Class’: The Elite Culture and Ideology of Porfirian Chihuahua and Its Influence on the Mexican American Generation, 1876–1936” (M.A. thesis, UTEP, 1995). 111 Frederick Ober, Travels in Mexico and Life among the Mexicans (1884), quoted in Timmons, El Paso, 182. 112 Ralph E. Herron, “The Lure of Juárez and El Paso as It Strikes the Eye and Ear of the Tourist,” GEP 1, no. 3 (January 1920): 37. 113 Vicki L. Ruiz, From Out of the Shadows: Mexican Women in Twentieth Century America (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 35–38. 114 City Plan Commission, “The City Plan of El Paso Texas,” 1925, 14, MS 506, Southwest Collection, EPPL. 115 Ibid., 49–50. 116 Ibid., 51. 117 Lucy M. Peterman, “Life in the Valley of Heart’s Desire,” SP. 118 Sneed, “Frontier Village Now Big City,” 5. CHAPTER TWO

1 José “Corona” Luján, personal notebook, 3–5, n.d., José “Corona” Luján Personal Papers, in author’s possession. 288

Notes to Pages 46–57

2 Sabina Alva, interview by author (Spanish), March 11, 1995, tape recording, El Paso; Alberto and Enriqueta Beard, interview by author (Spanish), July 26, 2000, tape recording, El Paso; Anonymous, interview by author, April 2, 2002, tape recording, El Paso; Rogelio Carlos Jr., interview by author, August 15, 2000, tape recording, El Paso; María Palacio, interview by author, April 12, 2002, tape recording, El Paso; Manuela Vásquez Domínguez, interview by author (Spanish), May 29, 2002, tape recording, El Paso; Ismael De Anda, “The Smelter Vocational School and Its Influence over the Smelter Community,” manuscript, n.d., De Anda Family Personal Papers, El Paso. 3 Becky Seañez, interview by author, tape recording, March 28, 1998, El Paso; Beard and Beard, interview; Ramón Salas, interview by author, August 18, 1995, tape recording, El Paso; Melchor Santana Sr., interview by author, March 25, 1995, tape recording, El Paso; José Lerma, interview by author (Spanish), March 27, 1998, tape recording, El Paso. 4 On the ways in which power is played out in public spaces, see Setha Low, On the Plaza: The Politics of Public Space and Culture (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2000). 5 James Allen, The Company Town in the American West (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1966), ix–x, provides a classic, if overly positive, study of the company town. For recent examinations of the social and labor dynamics of singleindustry communities, see José Alamillo, Making Lemonade out of Lemons: Mexican American Labor and Leisure in a California Town, 1880–1960 (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2006); Matt García, A World of Its Own: Race, Labor, and Citrus in the Making of Greater Los Angeles, 1900–1970 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2001); Laurie Mercier, Anaconda: Labor, Culture, and Community in Montana’s Smelter City (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2001); Elizabeth Jameson, All That Glitters: Class, Conflict, and Community in Cripple Creek (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1998); Maria Montoya, “Creating an American Home: Contest and Accommodation in Rockefeller’s Company Towns,” in Memories and Migrations: Mapping Boricua and Chicana Histories, ed. Vicki L. Ruiz and John R. Chávez (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2008), 13–43; Linda Gordon, The Great Arizona Orphan Abduction (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1999); Jacquelyn Dowd Hall, James Leloudis, Robert Korstad, Mary Murphy, Lu Ann Jones, and Christopher B. Daly, Like a Family: The Making of a Southern Cotton Mill World (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1987). 6 Mario T. García, Desert Immigrants: The Mexicans of El Paso, 1880–1920 (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1982), 133. 7 D. A. Bandeen, “Courchesne Quarry Pioneer Industry,” SP; De Anda, “The Smelter Vocational School,” 4. 8 Mary Antoine Lee, “A Historical Survey of the American Smelting and Refining Company” (M.A. thesis, UTEP, 1950), 57–58. 9 Chadwyck-Healey, Inc., Sanborn Fire Insurance Maps, El Paso, May 1898, August 1900, December 1934, Library of Congress, Geography and Map Division, 1983, microfilm #534, UTEP. 10 Mary Antoine Lee, “A Historical Survey,” 56. Notes to Pages 58–63

289

11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25

26 27 28 29 30

31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38

290

De Anda, “The Smelter Vocational School,” 9. Mary Antoine Lee, “A Historical Survey,” 58–59. Palacio, interview. De Anda, “The Smelter Vocational School”; Chadwyck-Healey, Inc., Sanborn Fire Insurance Maps. De Anda, “The Smelter Vocational School,” 6. Angel Luján, interview by author, May 5, 1995, tape recording, El Paso. Pedro Saucedo, interview by Bill V. Abilez (translated and transcribed by Abilez), November 30, 1976, tape and transcript #265, IOH, 3. De Anda, “The Smelter Vocational School,” 7. “Old Smelter Hospital Opened Here in 1894,” EPHP, February 17, 1976. Mary Antoine Lee, “A Historical Survey,” 62. Angel Luján, interview. Saucedo, interview, 1–2. Jesús Gutiérrez, interview by Mario Galdos and Virgilio Sánchez (Spanish), February 26, 27, 1980, tape #568, IOH. De Anda, “The Smelter Vocational School,” 7. Andrés Bustillos Jr., interview by author, March 27, 1998, tape recording, El Paso; Becky Seañez, interview. According to Mary Antoine Lee (“A Historical Survey,” 54), in the early years, residents paid rent to the D. Storm Co. on behalf of the primary landholders, A. Courchesne and D. F. Stewart. Santana Sr., interview; R. M. Metcalfe, “Map of El Paso, Texas and Ciudad Juárez, Chihuahua and Vicinity,” n.d., map #202, EPPL. Anonymous, interview. Lerma, interview. Alva, interview. According to a contract agreement belonging to Melchor Santana Sr., when the county widened Highway 85/County Road in 1955, it paid him $2,184 for the house. Santana and his wife retained the right to salvage the materials by a specified date. He said they used those materials to build a house on property in El Puente Colorado (Buena Vista). “They bought us outhouse and all!” Santana Sr., interview. Domínguez, interview; Carlos Jr., interview. Carmen Escandón, interview by author (Spanish), May 7, 2002, tape recording, El Paso. Constance Neville Rickard White, interview by Michelle G. Benavides (transcribed by D. Mike Whitehead), March 12, 20, 1996, tape and transcript #923, IOH, 20. Anonymous, interview. Beard and Beard, interview. Alva, interview. Beard and Beard, interview; José Jiménez Sr., interview by author (Spanish), December 17, 1995, tape recording, El Paso. Ruben Escandón, interview by author, March 26, 1998, tape recording, El Paso; José “Corona” Luján, interview by author (Spanish), March 8, 1995, tape record-

Notes to Pages 63–75

39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53

54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65

66 67

ing, El Paso; Alva, interview; Saucedo, interview; De Anda, “The Smelter Vocational School.” Santana Sr., interview. Palacio, interview. Santana Sr., interview; Jiménez Sr., interview. José “Corona” Luján, interview. Palacio, interview. Jiménez Sr., interview. Gutiérrez, interview. José “Corona” Luján, interview. García, Desert Immigrants, 79–80. Alva, interview. Beard and Beard, interview. Alva, interview. Domínguez, interview. Palacio, interview. Father Beaudoine to Caroline Boone, Border Representative, National Catholic Welfare Conference, May 26, 1923, Cleofas Calleros Collection, manuscript #231, box 4, folder 3, Special Collections Department, UTEP Library, El Paso. In this letter, Beaudoine, pastor of the smelter parish, declared that the YMCA was “exerting a most pernicious influence” in the community, and he feared that other Protestant groups would soon make inroads among his Mexican parishioners, who he complained were only “nominally” Catholic. Alva, interview; Saucedo, interview, 5; Santana Sr., interview. Salas, interview; Angel Luján, interview. José “Corona” Luján, interview. Paula Monarez Díaz, “Smeltertown native put town, community at top of his list,” EPT, August 7, 1993. Salas, interview. “Smelter School,” La Acequia (El Paso County Schools annual, 1924), 23, EPPL. Santana Sr., interview. José “Corona” Luján, interview. Jiménez Sr., interview; Saucedo, interview, 1. “Injury Fatal to E. B. Jones after Accident,” EPT, April 6, 1937, EPVF. De Anda, “The Smelter Vocational School,” 13. Andrés Ortíz, interview by Virgilio Sánchez (Spanish), August 3, 1978, tape #444, IOH; see also Anonymous, interview; Carlos Jr., interview; José “Corona” Luján, interview; and Salas, interview. Anonymous, interview. On escuelas particulares, see Linda Gordon, Great Arizona Orphan Abduction (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2001), 39–40. On moral uplift/cultural education, see Gabriela González, “Carolina Munguía and Emma Tenayuca: The Politics of Benevolence and Radical Reform,” Frontiers: A Journal of Women’s Studies 24, nos. 2–3, Gender on the Borderlands (Spring 2003): 220–29. Notes to Pages 75–83

291

68 Santana Sr., interview. 69 Jiménez Sr., interview; Alva, interview; Domínguez, interview. 70 Panfilo Dueñez, interview by author (Spanish), June 12, 1996, tape recording, Anthony, Tex.; “Smeltertown Children Get Playground,” EPT, June 2, 1946. 71 Alva, interview. 72 Sister M. Lilliana Owens, Rev. Carlos Pinto: Apostle of El Paso, 1892–1919 (El Paso: Revista Católica Press, 1951), 124. 73 HP #20, 22 June 1924; HP #28, September 7, 1924. 74 Manuel Gamio, Mexican Immigration to the United States: A Study of Human Migration and Adjustment (1930; reprint, New York: Dover Publications, 1971), 117; Antonio R. Soto, The Chicano and the Church: Study of a Minority within a Religious Institution (Denver: Martel Associates, 1975), Special Collections, UTEP. 75 Owens, Rev. Carlos Pinto, 124. 76 HP #149, January 1, 1927. 77 Ibid.; HP #1, January 4, 1931; HP #1, January 6, 1929; HP #1, January 1, 1928. 78 Prisciliana Torres Rentería, a resident of nearby Buena Vista, discussed her involvement with the Methodist Church, also suggesting the presence of nonCatholics in wider Smeltertown. Rentería, interview by Sarah E. John, transcribed by Georgina Rivas (Spanish), 27 May 1982, tape and transcript #746, IOH. 79 HP #1, ca. 1924. 80 Ibid. The original newspapers are extremely fragile — because the paper is so brittle, part of this page was broken off. 81 HP #15, February 8, 1924. 82 Carmen Escandón, interview. 83 HP #59, April 5, 1925. 84 Father Lourdes Costa to Sister Lilliana Owens, n.d., quoted in Owens, Most Reverend Anthony Schuler, S.J., D.D.: First Bishop of El Paso and Some Catholic Activities in the Diocese between 1915–1942, Jesuit Studies Series (El Paso: Revista Católica Press, 1953), 389. 85 Father Lourdes Costa, “Los Esmeltianos,” n.d., José “Corona” Luján Personal Papers; Costa to Owens, quoted in Owens, Most Reverend Anthony Schuler, 389. 86 “Pilgrimage to Mount Cristo Rey to Close Holy Year Celebration,” Western American, April 27, 1935, “Sierra de Cristo Rey,” EPVF; Owens, Most Reverend Anthony Schuler, 390. 87 Alva, interview; “E.P. Priests Toil with Pick and Shovels in Building Mountain Pilgrimage Trail,” EPHP, January 27, 1936, “Sierra de Cristo Rey,” EPVF. 88 Though much of the work was voluntary, Ramón Salas said the students were paid $1.50 per day to assist the professional surveyors. 89 “Pilgrimage to Mount Cristo Rey to Close Holy Year Celebration.” 90 Owens, Most Reverend Anthony Schuler, 394. 91 HP #45, December 25, 1924. See also HP #96, December 25, 1925; HP #147, December 19, 1926; and HP #199, December 18, 1927. 92 HP #86, October 18, 1925. 93 HP #67, May 31, 1925. 94 Mary Antoine Lee, “A Historical Survey,” 54–55. 292

Notes to Pages 83–91

CHAPTER THREE

1 María Palacio, interview by author, April 12, 2002, tape recording, El Paso. 2 Though no one seems to know why, my grandfather Manuel Gonzales was the only member of his family to end his last name with s instead of z. 3 ASARCO Retired Employee Archives. 4 Army Discharge Papers, Manuel Gonzales Personal Papers, El Paso. 5 ASARCO, Retirement Papers, Manuel Gonzales Personal Papers, El Paso. 6 Palacio, interview. 7 On race and masculinity, see Gail Bederman, Manliness and Civilization: A Cultural History of Gender and Race in the United States, 1880–1917 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995); Katherine Benton-Cohen, “Docile Children and Dangerous Revolutionaries: The Racial Hierarchy of Manliness in the Bisbee Deportation of 1917,” Frontiers: A Journal of Women’s Studies 24, nos. 2–3 (2003): 30–50; and Lawrence Glickman, “Inventing the ‘American Standard of Living’: Gender, Race, and Working Class Identity, 1880–1925,” Labor History 34, no. 2 (1993): 221–25. On the interplay between race, whiteness, and manliness in labor stratification and conflict, see Katherine Benton-Cohen, Borderline Americans: Racial Divisions and Labor War in the Arizona Borderlands (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2009); Linda Gordon, The Great Arizona Orphan Abduction (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2001); David Roediger, The Wages of Whiteness: Race and the Making of the American Working Class, rev. ed. (New York: Verso, 2007); Neil Foley, The White Scourge: Mexicans, Blacks, and Poor Whites in Texas Cotton Culture (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999); and Philip J. Mellinger, Race and Labor in Western Copper: The Fight for Equality, 1896–1918 (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1995). 8 “Summary of Manufacturing Census of El Paso, 1920, Arranged by Classes of Products,” GEPSC 2, no. 5 (November 1921): 5. 9 These totals were listed under “other races.” The 1930 census was the only one to count Mexican as a race, and given El Paso’s population and racial composition, it is likely that a vast majority of those listed as racially “other” were of Mexican origin. U.S. Bureau of the Census, Fifteenth Census of the United States, 1930, vol. 4: Occupations by States, Reports by States, Table of Gainfully Employed Males by General Division (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1933), 1587. 10 Victor S. Clark, Mexican Labor in the United States (1908), republished in Carlos E. Cortes, ed., Mexican Labor in the United States (New York: Arno Press, 1974), 467. 11 House Committee on Immigration and Naturalization, Hearings on the Temporary Admission of Illiterate Mexican Laborers, 66th Cong., 2nd sess. (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1920), 18–19. 12 Frank H. Knapp, “El Paso, Growing Factory Center, Has Requisites for Success,” GEPSC 2, no. 5 (November 1921): 4. 13 Clark, Mexican Labor, 496. 14 Ibid., 512. 15 Ibid., 471. 16 On the proletarianization of Mexican workers, see Marvin D. Bernstein, The Mexican Mining Industry, 1890–1950 (Albany: State University of New York, 1965); Notes to Pages 97–104

293

17 18 19 20 21 22 23

24 25

26 27

28

29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36

294

Johnathan C. Brown, “Foreign Born and Native Born Workers in Porfirian Mexico,” American Historical Review 98 (June 1993): 786–818; Michael J. Gonzales, “U.S. Copper, the State, and Labor Conflict in Mexico, 1900–1910,” Journal of Latin American Studies (October 1994): 650–81; Michael Snodgrass, Deference and Defiance in Monterrey: Workers, Paternalism, and Revolution in Mexico, 1890–1950 (Cambridge, U.K.: Cambridge University Press, 2003); William E. French, A Peaceful and Working People: Manners, Morals, and Class Formation in Northern Mexico (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1996). Senate Committee on Foreign Relations, Investigation of Mexican Affairs, 66th Cong., 2nd sess., 5 February 1920, 1466. Clark, Mexican Labor, 493. Ibid., 481. Ibid., 470. Ibid., 470–71. French, A Peaceful and Working People, 54. R. F. Manahan, “Mining and Milling Operations of the American Smelting and Refining Company in Mexico, 1899–1949,” Special Collections Department, UTEP, 29. John Bailey, interview by Robert H. Novak, January 24, 1974, tape and transcript, #115, IOH. See Michael J. Gonzales, “U.S. Copper, the State, and Labor Conflict,” and Samuel Truett, Fugitive Landscapes: The Forgotten History of the U.S.-Mexico Borderlands (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 2006). Mario T. García, Desert Immigrants: The Mexicans of El Paso, 1880–1920 (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1982), 69, 86–88. Yolanda Chávez Leyva, “Faithful Hardworking Mexican Hands: Mexicana Workers during the Great Depression,” Perspectives in Mexican American Studies 5 (1995): 63–77. The Dillingham Commission, also known as the U.S. Immigration Commission, was a congressional committee appointed to investigate the social, economic, occupational, educational, and living conditions of immigrants in the United States. Collected between 1907 and 1911, its detailed data were published in fortyone volumes. García, Desert Immigrants, 90–91. Clark, Mexican Labor, 511–12. García, Desert Immigrants, 91–101. Quoted in ibid., 104. Sabina Alva, interview by author (Spanish), March 11, 1995, tape recording, El Paso. Rogelio Carlos Jr., interview by author, August 15, 2000, tape recording, El Paso. Richard H. Vail, “El Paso Smelting Works—I,” Engineering and Mining Journal 98, no. 11 (September 12, 1914): 465. Richard H. Vail, “El Paso Smelting Works—II,” Engineering and Mining Journal 98, no. 12 (September 19, 1914): 516.

Notes to Pages 104–11

37 Jesús Gutiérrez, interview by Mario Galdos and Virgilio Sánchez (Spanish), February 26, 27, 1980, tape #568, IOH. 38 Rodolfo Candelaria, interview by Oscar Martínez, August 5, 1976, tape and transcript #414a, IOH. 39 ASARCO Retired Employee Archives. These figures are based on the 10 percent sample of employee cards with a start date prior to 1960 (see Chapter 1, n. 82). 40 On repatriation generally, see Francisco E. Balderrama and Raymond Rodríguez, Decade of Betrayal: Mexican Repatriation in the 1930s (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1995). On repatriation in El Paso, see Manuel Bernardo Ramírez, “El Pasoans: Life and Society in Mexican El Paso, 1920–1945” (Ph.D. diss., University of Mississippi, 2000), 137–61. 41 Vail, “El Paso Smelting Works — I,” 465–66. 42 Anonymous, interview by author, April 2, 2002, tape recording, El Paso. 43 José Jiménez Sr., interview by author (Spanish), December 17, 1995, tape recording, El Paso; José Hidalgo, interview by Mario Galdos (Spanish), October 9, 1979, February 21, 1980, tape and transcript #733, IOH, 14. 44 Panfilo Dueñez, interview by author (Spanish), June 12, 1996, tape recording, El Paso. 45 Vail, “El Paso Smelting Works — II,” 518. 46 Anonymous, interview. 47 Personal conversation with Ruben Escandón, March 18, 2002, notes, El Paso; Andrés Gómez, interview by Virgilio Sánchez and Mario Galdos (Spanish), August 2, 1979, tape #637, IOH. Escandón worked at ASARCO for a short time in the 1960s and described working in the converters. 48 According to plant manager Larry Castor, early on the furnaces were made of regular brick, which had to be replaced frequently because of the exceedingly high temperatures required in the smelting process. Since it was too expensive to transport the large number of bricks needed to El Paso, the plant appears to have made its own. This practice changed sometime in the late 1920s, as by the 1930s no employees were assigned to this department. Personal conversation with Larry Castor, April 1999, El Paso. 49 Mario T. García, “Border Proletariats: Mexican Americans and the International Union of Mine, Mill, and Smelter Workers,” Mexican Americans: Leadership, Ideology, and Identity (New Haven: Yale University Press), 196. 50 Jesús Perales, immigrant identification card, no. 8023, PFPC. 51 Andrés Ortíz, interview by Virgilio Sánchez (Spanish), August 3, 1978, tape #444, IOH. 52 ASARCO Retired Employee Archives. 53 Ibid. “Straw boss” is defined in Hidalgo, interview, 14. 54 ASARCO Retired Employee Archives. On the cards themselves there is a space to indicate department, occupation, and foreman. This information was derived from the names listed on those cards. 55 Anonymous, interview. 56 Ortíz, interview. Notes to Pages 112–19

295

57 Humberto Silex, interview by Oscar Martínez (Spanish), April 28, 1978, tape and transcript #505, IOH, 2–3. 58 Julio Hernández, interview by Virgilio Sánchez and Mario Galdos (Spanish), March 17, 1980, tape #602, IOH. 59 Carlos Jr., interview. 60 In the 1940s the percentage rose to nearly 20 percent of new employees, suggesting that Mexican nationals were used to fill labor shortages during World War II. Most of these workers were hired as contractors and were paid according to productivity rather than a regular wage. In the 1950s, Mexican nationals comprised about 14 percent of new employees. 61 Candelaria, interview. 62 Gutiérrez, interview. 63 Dueñez, interview. 64 Anonymous, interview. 65 Alberto and Enriqueta Beard, interview by author (Spanish), July 26, 2000, tape recording, El Paso. 66 Gordon, Great Arizona Orphan Abduction, 61. 67 Alva, interview. 68 Ibid. Alberto Beard’s father also worked dumping slag manually. As a hobby, Alberto made miniature replicas of the machinery used at the smelter and sometimes gave them as gifts to coworkers as retirement presents. 69 Gutiérrez, interview. 70 Gómez, interview. 71 Beard and Beard, interview. 72 Alva, interview. 73 Hidalgo, interview, 21–23. 74 Carlos Jr., interview. 75 Gutiérrez, interview. 76 Hidalgo, interview, 24. 77 Carlos Jr., interview. 78 Silex, interview, 14–15. 79 Dueñez, interview. 80 Gutiérrez, interview. 81 Anonymous, interview. 82 Gutiérrez, interview. 83 Candelaria, interview, 26–27. 84 Ibid., 17–18. 85 Carlos Jr., interview. 86 Jiménez Sr., interview; Hidalgo, interview, 16. 87 Anonymous, interview. 88 Pedro Saucedo, interview by Bill V. Abilez (translated by Abilez), November 30, 1976, transcript #265, IOH, 7. 89 Anonymous, interview. 90 On strikitos and other forms of informal work resistance, see A. Yvette Huginnie, 296

Notes to Pages 119–31

91 92 93 94

95 96

97 98 99 100 101 102 103

104 105 106 107 108

“ ‘Strikitos’: Race, Class, and Work in the Arizona Copper Industry, 1870–1920” (Ph.D. diss., Yale University, 1991). In 1903, some 3,500 men participated in the Clifton-Morenci strike, which quickly became identified as a “Mexican” cause. The increasingly hostile stalemate was broken by a massive flood in June 1903. See Gordon, Great Arizona Orphan Abduction, 209–45. Mexican strikers — real and perceived — were among the 1917 Bisbee “deportees,” a vigilante drive in which nearly 1,200 men were forcibly removed for their alleged affiliation with the Industrial Workers of the World. See Benton-Cohen, Borderline Americans. Mellinger, Race and Labor in Western Copper, 135–38. García, “Border Proletariats,” 179. Ibid., 180–81. Ibid., 181–86; Anonymous, interview; Candelaria, interview, 26; Silex, interview; Ceferino Anchondo, interview by Humberto Ceniceros, November 25, 1977, tape and transcript #490, IOH. Gómez, interview; Carlos Jr., interview. Historian David Gutiérrez shows how questions of citizenship plagued the drive to organize California farmworkers into the 1960s. See his Walls and Mirrors: Mexican Americans, Mexican Immigrants, and the Politics of Ethnicity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995), 196–99. García, “Border Proletariats,” 191–92. Anonymous, interview. García, “Border Proletariats,” 189–90. Phelps Dodge refinery and the cement plant also agreed to these terms. Jiménez Sr., interview; Candelaria, interview, 26; Hernández, interview. Hidalgo, interview, 15. Quoted in García, “Border Proletariats,” 195–96. On the Great Depression and the larger trajectory of Mexican activism, see Yolanda Chávez Leyva, “Faithful Hardworking Mexican Hands”; George J. Sánchez, Becoming Mexican American: Ethnicity, Culture, and Identity in Chicano Los Angeles, 1900–1945 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993); and David Gutiérrez, Walls and Mirrors. On World War II as a watershed moment for Mexican American activism, see Maggie Rivas Rodríguez, Mexican Americans and World War II (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2005), and Emilio Zamora, Claiming Rights and Righting Wrongs in Texas: Mexican Workers and Job Politics during World War II (College Station: Texas A&M University Press, 2009). Paul Espinosa’s excellent documentary film, Los Mineros (1992), about the labor struggles of ethnic Mexican miners in Arizona, also suggests that it was not until after the war that Mexicans found success in their labor organizing efforts. Candelaria, interview, 25. Dueñez, interview. Candelaria, interview, 28. ASARCO Retired Employee Archives. Lizabeth Cohen, Making a New Deal: Industrial Workers in Chicago, 1919–1939 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 160–63; 60 (quotation). Notes to Pages 132–37

297

109 110 111 112 113

114 115 116 117 118 119 120

121 122 123

124 125 126

127 128 129

130 131 132 133 298

Gutiérrez, interview; Saucedo, interview, 6. Gutiérrez, interview. Palacio, interview. Anonymous, interview. See José Alamillo, Making Lemonade out of Lemons: Mexican American Labor and Leisure in a California Town, 1880–1960 (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2006), 99–119; 117 (quotation). Beard and Beard, interview. Melchor Santana Sr., interview by author, March 25, 1995, tape recording, El Paso. Saucedo, interview, 3. Dueñez, interview. Program, ASARCO Twenty-Five Year Club, 25th Annual Meeting, April 5, 1975, “Smelting Industry,” EPVF. Program, ASARCO Twenty-Five Year Club, 47th Annual Meeting, April 12, 1996, in author’s possession. Ramón Rentería, “Death in a Family: Company Closing Leaves Current Workers Facing Uncertain Future, Remembering Multi-generational Contributions to Asarco,” EPT, February 7, 1999; José María Lerma, interview by author, March 27, 1998, El Paso; Carlos Jr., interview. Gutiérrez, interview. Palacio, interview. José “Corona” Luján, interview by author (Spanish), March 8, 1995, tape recording, El Paso; Angel Luján, interview by author, May 5, 1995, tape recording, El Paso; Saucedo, interview, 2; Lerma, interview. Each remembered making about 75 cents for 18 holes, plus lunch. This practice started in the 1910s and continued well into the 1930s and 1940s, as evidenced in the range of ages of the interviewees. In the 1910s and 1920s, the caddies in Smeltertown even organized community dances. Angel Luján, interview; Gutiérrez, interview; Carlos Jr., interview. Dueñez, interview; Ortíz, interview. U.S. Bureau of the Census, Manuscript Census, Fourteenth Census of Population, Population Schedules, 1920, microcopy #625, and Fifteenth Census of Population, Population Schedules, 1930, microcopy #626 (Washington, D.C.: National Archives and Records Administration); Palacio, interview; Alva, interview. Alva, interview; Carlos Jr., interview; Ortíz, interview. Ortíz, interview; Lerma, interview; Beard and Beard, interview; Alva, interview. Prisciliana Torres Rentería, interview by Sarah E. John, transcribed by Georgina Rivas (Spanish), May 27, 1982, tape and transcript #746, IOH, 8; Palacio, interview. Dueñez, interview. Prisciliana Torres Rentería, interview, 8. Ibid., interview, 10. ASARCO Retired Employee Archives.

Notes to Pages 137–46

134 Carlos Jr., interview. According to Carlos, this woman washed respirators. Enriqueta and Alberto Beard’s son Efraín also remembered this woman. The Beards said there were other women who retired from ASARCO after long service.

CHAPTER FOUR

1 HP #17, June 1, 1924. 2 HP #28, September 7, 1924. 3 For an excellent discussion of how Mexican identity and a situational sense of nationalism served to unify diverse groups of Mexicans in a hostile setting, see Gabriela Arredondo, Mexican Chicago: Race, Identity, and Nation, 1916–1939 (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2008). 4 Michael C. Meyer, William L. Sherman, and Susan M. Deeds, The Course of Mexican History, 7th ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2003), 479–84. 5 W. H. Timmons, El Paso: A Borderlands History (El Paso: Texas Western Press, 1990), 210. 6 Sabina Alva, interview by author (Spanish), March 11, 1995, tape recording, El Paso. 7 Timmons, El Paso, 213. 8 David Dorado Romo, Ringside Seat to a Revolution: An Underground Cultural History of El Paso and Juárez, 1893–1923 (El Paso: Cinco Puntos Press, 2005), 82–86 (quotation, 83). 9 Timmons, El Paso, 212. 10 Romo, Ringside Seat to a Revolution, 209. 11 José “Corona” Luján, interview by author (Spanish), March 8, 1995, tape recording, El Paso; Alva, interview; Angel Luján, interview by author, May 5, 1995, tape recording, El Paso; Panfilo Dueñez, interview by author (Spanish), June 12, 1996, tape recording, El Paso. 12 Enriqueta and Alberto Beard, interview by author (Spanish), July 26, 2000, tape recording, El Paso. 13 Angel Luján, interview. 14 Meyer, Sherman, and Deeds, The Course of Mexican History, 483. 15 Ibid., 507–11. 16 See Benjamin H. Johnson, Revolution in Texas: How a Forgotten Rebellion and Its Bloody Suppression Turned Mexicans into Americans (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 2005). 17 Alan Knight, Counter-Revolution and Reconstruction, vol. 2 of The Mexican Revolution (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1986), 342–45; Timmons, El Paso, 221; Raúl R. Reyes, “The Santa Isabel Episode, January 10, 1916: Ethnic Repercussions in El Paso and Ciudad Juárez,” Password 42 (Summer 1997): 55–75. 18 Romo, Ringside Seat to a Revolution, 220–21. 19 Ibid., 219. 20 Alexandra Minna Stern, Eugenic Nation: Faults and Frontiers of Better Breeding in Modern America (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005), 59. Notes to Pages 146–59

299

21 22 23 24 25

26 27 28

29

30 31

32

33

34 35 36 37

38

300

Ibid., 61. Romo, Ringside Seat to a Revolution, 235–37. José “Corona” Luján, interview. Stern, Eugenic Nation, 58. See Natalia Molina, Fit to Be Citizens? Public Health and Race in Los Angeles, 1879–1939 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006); Stern, Eugenic Nation; and Nayan Shah, Contagious Divides: Epidemics and Race in San Francisco’s Chinatown (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001). Romo, Ringside Seat to a Revolution, 231. Quoted in ibid., 234. Douglas V. Meed, “Murder in Smeltertown,” Password 42, no. 4 (Winter 1997): 177. It is important to note that the article contains no endnotes or references, blurring the line between history and fiction even further. This biographical information appears on the dust jacket of one of his books. See Douglas V. Meed, Soldier of Fortune: Adventuring in Latin America and Mexico with Emil Lewis Holmdahl (Houston, Tex.: Halcyon Press, 2003). Meed, “Murder in Smeltertown,” 179 (quotation). See William E. French, A Peaceful and Working People: Manners, Morals, and Class Formation in Northern Mexico (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1996); Gabriela González, “Carolina Munguía and Emma Tenayuca: The Politics of Benevolence and Radical Reform, 1930s,” Frontiers: A Journal of Women’s Studies 24, nos. 2–3, Gender on the Borderlands (Spring 2003): 220–29; Margaret Chowning, Wealth and Power in Provincial Mexico: Michoacán from the Late Colony to the Revolution (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1999); and Leticia Garza-Falcón, Gente Decente: A Borderlands Response to the Rhetoric of Dominance (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1998). Nicolás Kanellos, “A Socio-Historic Study of Hispanic Newspapers in the United States,” in Recovering the U.S. Hispanic Literary Heritage, ed. Ramón Gutiérrez and Genaro Padilla (Houston: Arte Público Press, 1993), 110. Ibid., 116. See also Magdalena L. Barrera, “Of Chicharrones and Clam Chowder: Gender and Consumption in Jorge Ulica’s Crónicas diabólicas,” Bilingual Review 29, issue 1 (2008): 49–65. García, Desert Immigrants, 223. González, “Carolina Munguía and Emma Tenayuca,” 204. George J. Sánchez, Becoming Mexican American: Ethnicity, Culture, and Identity in Chicano Los Angeles, 1900–1945 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993), 113. Ana María Alonso, “US Military Intervention, Revolutionary Mobilization, and Popular Ideology in the Chihuahuan Sierra, 1916–1917,” in Rural Revolt in Mexico and US Intervention, ed. Daniel Nugent (San Diego: Center for U.S.-Mexican Studies, University of California San Diego, 1988): 207; Melchor Santana Sr., interview by author, March 25, 1995, tape recording, El Paso; Alva, interview. U.S. Bureau of the Census, Manuscript Census, Fourteenth Census of Population, Population Schedules, 1920, microcopy #625, and Fifteenth Census of Population, Population Schedules, 1930, microcopy #626 (Washington, D.C.: National Archives and

Notes to Pages 160–65

39 40

41

42

43 44 45 46

47

Records Administration). In the 1920 census, of Spanish-surnamed individuals, 2,068 were listed as “alien,” 17 as “naturalized,” and 879 as U.S. citizens by birth. An additional 10 had the designation “(pa),” likely indicating first papers. In 1930, 1,521 were listed as “aliens,” 1,256 as U.S. citizens, and only 1 as “naturalized.” Gloria Anzaldúa, Borderlands/La Frontera (San Francisco: Aunt Lute Books, 1999), 62. Arredondo, Mexican Chicago. See also Renato Rosaldo and William V. Flores, “Identity, Conflict, and Evolving Latino Communities: Cultural Citizenship in San Jose, California,” in Latino Cultural Citizenship: Claiming Identity, Space, and Rights, ed. William V. Flores and Rina Benmayor (Boston: Beacon Press, 1997), 57–96, and Eric V. Meeks, Border Citizens: The Making of Indians, Mexicans, and Anglos in Arizona (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2007). U.S. Bureau of the Census, Manuscript Census, Fourteenth Census of the Population, Population Schedules, 1920, microcopy #625 (Washington, D.C.: National Archives and Records Administration). U.S. Bureau of the Census, Manuscript Census, Fifteenth Census of Population, Population Schedules, 1930, microcopy #626 (Washington, D.C.: National Archives and Records Administration). Santana Sr., interview. HP #17, June 1, 1924. John Bodnar, The Transplanted: A History of Immigrants in Urban America (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1985), 148–68. For the relationship between Chicanos and the Catholic Church, see Roberto Treviño, The Church in the Barrio: Mexican American Ethno-Catholicism in Houston (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2006); Gilberto Hinojosa, Introduction to Mexican Americans and the Catholic Church, 1900–1965, ed. Jay P. Dolan and Gilberto Hinojosa (Notre Dame, Ind.: Notre Dame University Press, 1994); Manuel Gamio, Mexican Immigration to the United States: A Study of Human Migration and Adjustment (reprint, New York: Dover Publications, 1971); Antonio R. Soto, The Chicano and the Church: Study of a Minority within a Religious Institution (Denver: Martel Associates, 1975), Special Collections, UTEP; Lawrence J. Mosqueda, Chicanos, Catholicism, and Political Ideology (Lanham, Md.: University Press of America, 1986); and Gina Marie Pitti, “To Hear about God in Spanish: Gender, Church, and Community in Bay Area Mexican American Colonies, 1942–1970” (Ph.D. diss., Stanford University, 2003). In his chapter on religion in Los Angeles, George Sánchez suggests that the process of becoming Mexican American involved the eventual conversion from Catholicism to Protestantism. But Lawrence Mosqueda (Chicanos, Catholicism, and Political Ideology, 59) argues that “historically to be Mexican is to be Catholic — not necessarily in belief but at least culturally, i.e. baptism, fiestas, etc.,” and that Mexican Americans tended to retain their Catholicism despite the efforts made by Protestant churches to convert them. On the ways in which Mexicans accepted social services from Protestant organizations, if not their proselytizing, see Vicki L. Ruiz, “Confronting America,” From Out of the Shadows: Mexican Women in Twentieth Century America (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 33–50. Notes to Pages 165–69

301

48 Bylaws of the Smelter Choral Group, Los Trovadores (Spanish), 1930, 5, PFPC. 49 Father Lourdes Costa, “Los ‘Esmeltianos,’” n.d., in author’s possession. Translated from the original Spanish by the author. 50 HP #33, September 21, 1930. 51 Quoted in HP #42, October 19, 1930. 52 Words by Father Lourdes Costa, music by Isidro Molas, published in HP #37, September 14, 1930. A translation of “El Sant Dilluns” by Father Costa, music by Franz Otto, was published in HP #45, November 9, 1930. 53 HP #41, October 7, 1928. 54 HP #4, January 26, 1930. On the cultural significance of Mexican corridos (narrative folk ballads) and Tejano and Mexican American music generally, see Americo Paredes, With a Pistol in His Hand: A Border Ballad and Its Hero (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1958); María Herrera-Sobek, Northward Bound: The Mexican Immigrant Experience in Ballad and Song (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1993); Manuel H. Peña, The Mexican American Orquesta: Music, Culture, and the Dialectic of Conflict (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1999); Manuel H. Peña, The Texas Mexican Conjunto: History of a Working Class Music (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1985); and Steven Loza, Barrio Rhythm: Mexican American Music in Los Angeles (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1993). 55 Herrera-Sobek, Northward Bound, xxii. 56 HP #42, October 19, 1930. 57 HP #46, November 16, 1930; HP #50, December 14, 1930. 58 HP #45, November 9, 1930. 59 HP #44, November 2, 1930. 60 HP #46, November 16, 1930. 61 This is more than likely the same song as “El Inmigrante.” 62 Matt García, A World of Its Own: Race, Labor, and Citrus in the Making of Greater Los Angeles, 1900–1970 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2001). 63 HP #47, November 23, 1930. 64 Meyer, Sherman, and Deeds, The Course of Mexican History, 521–22; Ransom Patrick Cross, “Hands across the Border: The Role of the Catholic Church on the Border in Assisting Mexican Catholics during the Religious Crisis in Mexico, 1926–1929” (M.A. thesis, UTEP, 1994), 3–7; Mosqueda, Chicanos, Catholicism, and Political Ideology, 53–55; Dolan and Hinojosa, Mexican Americans and the Catholic Church, 138–39. 65 Mosqueda, Chicanos, Catholicism, and Political Ideology, 53. 66 Cross, “Hands across the Border,” 19. 67 Meyer, Sherman, and Deeds, The Course of Mexican History, 565. 68 Cross, “Hands across the Border,” 31; Dolan and Hinojosa, Mexican Americans and the Catholic Church, 139. 69 Dolan and Hinojosa, Mexican Americans and the Catholic Church, 184. 70 Cross, “Hands across the Border,” 31. 71 Dolan and Hinojosa, Mexican Americans and the Catholic Church, 184–87, 200. 72 Ibid., 188. 302

Notes to Pages 170–78

73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89

HP #115, May 9, 1926; HP #129, August 15, 1926. HP #29, August 11, 1926. HP insert, August 1, 1926. Ibid. HP #128, August 8, 1926. HP #133, September 12, 1926. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. HP #135, September 26, 1926. HP #181, August 14, 1927. Ibid. HP special insert, August 1927. Ibid. HP #181, August 14, 1927. HP #185, September 11, 1927. Santana Sr., interview.

CHAPTER FIVE

1 Angel Luján, interview by author, May 5, 1995, tape recording, El Paso; José “Corona” Luján, interview by author (Spanish), March 8, 1995, tape recording, El Paso; Manuel Perales, interview by author, December 29, 2002, tape recording, El Paso. For immigration inspection and delousing procedures at the El Paso port of entry, see David Dorado Romo, Ringside Seat to a Revolution: An Underground Cultural History of El Paso and Juárez (El Paso: Cinco Puntos Press, 2005), 223–44. 2 Vicki L. Ruiz, “The Flapper and the Chaperone,” From Out of the Shadows: Mexican Women in Twentieth Century America (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998); Douglas Monroy, “ ‘Our Children Get So Different Here’: Parents and Children in Mexico de Afuera,” Rebirth: Mexican Los Angeles from the Great Migration to the Great Depression (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999). 3 Manuel Perales, interview; Lorenzo Perales Jr. and David Perales, interview by author, July 26, 2003, tape recording, Tempe, Ariz. 4 HP #82, September 13, 1925. 5 According to La Acequia, the El Paso County School Annual, the Smelter School District was comprised of the Smelter [Elementary] School and the Smelter Vocational School. In the elementary school, the “scope of the work is primary, intermediate and departmental,” and “the course of study of the El Paso City schools is followed in its entirety.” “Smelter School,” La Acequia (El Paso: El Paso County School Annual, 1924), EPPL, 23. The school was later renamed E. B. Jones Elementary for E. B. Jones, the purchasing agent for the smelter, justice of the peace, and longtime school board member and chairman. “Injury Fatal to E. B. Jones after Accident,” EPT, April 6, 1937, 3, EPVF. 6 “Smelter School,” La Acequia, 23. Notes to Pages 178–89

303

7 Luz Luján, monthly report card, 1923, PFPC. 8 Luz Luján, report cards, 1927–28, 1929, PFPC; Jesús José “Jay” Perales, interview by author, December 30, 2002, tape recording, El Paso. 9 For a general discussion of the Progressive Era, Americanization, and settlement houses, see Richard Hoffstadter, The Age of Reform: From Bryan to FDR (New York: Alfred Knopf, 1955); Robert H. Wiebe, The Search for Order, 1877–1920 (New York: Hill and Wang, 1967); Paul Boyer, Urban Masses and the Moral Order in America, 1820–1920 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1978); Peggy Pascoe, Relations of Rescue: The Search for Female Moral Authority in the American West, 1874–1939 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1990); and Jane Addams, Twenty Years at Hull House (New York: Penguin Books, 1998). 10 For the Americanization of Mexican immigrants generally, see David Montejano, Anglos and Mexicans in the Making of Texas, 1836–1986 (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1987); Mario T. García, Desert Immigrants: The Mexicans of El Paso, 1880–1920 (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1981); George J. Sánchez, Becoming Mexican American: Ethnicity, Culture, and Identity in Chicano Los Angeles, 1900–1945 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993), and “ ‘Go After the Women’: Americanization and the Mexican Immigrant Woman, 1915–1929,” in Unequal Sisters: A Multicultural Reader in U.S. Women’s History, 2nd ed., ed. Vicki L. Ruiz and Ellen Carol DuBois (New York: Routledge, 1994), 284–97; and Vicki L. Ruiz, From Out of the Shadows: Mexican Women in Twentieth Century America (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998). 11 “Smelter School,” La Acequia, 26. 12 “A School Where They Don’t Give a Hoot for Grades,” EPH, February 14, 1931, “County Schools,” EPVF. 13 “Smelter School,” La Acequia, 26. 14 “A School Where They Don’t Give a Hoot for Grades.” 15 “Newlyweds Move into Home Furnished Completely with Handiwork of Groom,” n.d., PFPC. 16 Angel Luján, interview; Melchor Santana Sr., interview by author, March 25, 1995, tape recording, El Paso. 17 For an overview of educational challenges for ethnic Mexican, African American, Asian American, and Native American children in the Southwest, see Vicki L. Ruiz, “Tapestries of Resistance: Episodes of School Segregation and Desegregation in the Western United States,” in From the Grassroots to the Supreme Court: Brown v. Board of Education and American Democracy, ed. Peter F. Lau (Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press, 2004), 44–67. 18 “Smelter School,” La Acequia, 26. 19 Ibid., 27. 20 Vocational News, April 22, 1932, 1, PFPC. 21 “A School Where They Don’t Give a Hoot for Grades.” 22 LULAC News 5, no. 8, November 1938, 55, Benson Latin American Collection, University of Texas at Austin. I thank my dear friend Gabriela González for sharing these newsletters, which she found in the course of her own research. 304

Notes to Pages 190–93

23 EPHP article, reprinted in LULAC News 5, no. 8, November 1938, 55. 24 Santana Sr., interview; Angel Luján, interview; Panfilo Dueñez, interview by author, June 12, 1996, tape recording, El Paso; Ramón Salas, interview by author, August 18, 1995, tape recording, El Paso. 25 Pedro Saucedo, interview by Bill V. Abilez (Spanish), November 30, 1976, tape and transcript #265, IOH, 1; Angel Luján, interview. 26 Saucedo, interview, 2–3. 27 LULAC News 6, no. 8, August 1939, 33. 28 Ibid. 29 “Smelter School,” La Acequia, 25. 30 Ibid. 31 Ibid. 32 Ibid. 33 “A School Where They Don’t Give a Hoot for Grades.” 34 Vocational News, April 22, 1932, 4. 35 Yolanda Chávez Leyva, “Faithful Hardworking Mexican Hands: Mexicana Workers during the Great Depression,” Perspectives in Mexican American Studies 5 (1995): 63–77. 36 Quoted in Mario García, “The Chicana in American History: The Mexican Women of El Paso, 1880–1920: A Case Study,” Pacific Historical Review 49, no. 2 (May 1980): 326. 37 Ibid. 38 Carmen Martínez Escandón, interview by author (Spanish), May 7, 2002, tape recording, El Paso. 39 Ibid. 40 For the changing courtship rituals in Mexican immigrant communities, see George J. Sánchez, Becoming Mexican American, 129–50, and Richard Griswold del Castillo, La Familia: Chicano Families in the Urban Southwest, 1848 to the Present (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 1984). 41 On the importance of beauty pageants in Mexican American working communities, see José Alamillo, Making Lemonade out of Lemons: Mexican American Labor and Leisure in a California Town, 1880–1960 (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2006), 96–97. 42 Catherine Ramírez, “Crimes of Fashion: The Pachuca and Chicana Style Politics,” Meridians 2, no. 2 (2002): 1–35; Nan Enstad, Ladies of Labor, Girls of Adventure: Working Women, Popular Culture, and Labor Politics at the Turn of the Twentieth Century (New York: Columbia University Press, 1999). For further discussion on how Mexican Americans challenged race, class, and gender conventions through fashion and consumerism, see Vicki L. Ruiz, From Out of the Shadows and “ ‘Star Struck’: Acculturation, Adolescence, and Mexican American Women, 1920–1950,” in Unequal Sisters: A Multicultural Reader in U.S. Women’s History, 3rd ed., ed. Ruiz and Ellen Carol DuBois (New York: Routledge Press, 2000), 346–61; Luis Alvarez, The Power of the Zoot: Youth Culture and Resistance during World War II (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008); and Elizabeth Escobedo, “The Pachuca Panic: Sexual and Notes to Pages 193–202

305

43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50

51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60

306

Cultural Battlegrounds in World War II Los Angeles,” Western Historical Quarterly 38, no. 2 (Summer 2007): 133–56. For more general discussions of race, class, and consumerism, see Robin D. G. Kelley, Race Rebels: Culture, Politics, and the Black Working Class (New York: Free Press, 1994); George Lipsitz, Rainbow at Midnight: Labor and Culture in the 1940s (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1994); and Kathy Peiss, “Making Faces: The Cosmetics Industry and the Cultural Construction of Gender, 1890–1930,” in Ruiz and DuBois, Unequal Sisters, 324–45. Sabina Alva, interview by author (Spanish), March 11, 1995, tape recording, El Paso. HP #39, September 28, 1930. HP #17, April 22, 1928. HP #18, April 29, 1928. Ibid. Ruiz, From Out of the Shadows, 33–50; George J. Sánchez, “Go After the Women.” On food and Americanization, see HP #40, October 6, 1929. Donna R. Gabaccia, We Are What We Eat: Ethnic Food and the Making of Americans (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1998); Pearl Idelia Ellis, Americanization through Homemaking, Department of Americanization and Homemaking, Covina City Elementary Schools (Los Angeles: Wetzel Publishing Co., 1929); Prosperity and Thrift: The Coolidge Era and the Consumer Economy, 1921–1929, Library of Congress American Memory Historical Collections for the National Digital Library, 〈 http://memory.loc.gov/gc/amrlg/lg350005.gif 〉. For the ethnic and cultural significance of food, cooking, and cookbooks more generally, see Hasia Diner, Hungering for America: Italian, Irish, and Jewish Foodways in the Age of Migration (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2001); Janet Theophano, Eat My Words: Reading Women’s Lives through the Cookbooks They Wrote (New York: Palgrave, 2002); Valerie J. Matsumoto, Farming the Home Place: A Japanese American Community in California, 1919–1982 (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1993); and Fabiola Cabeza de Baca Gilbert, The Good Life: New Mexico Traditions and Food (Santa Fe: Museum of New Mexico Press, 1982). Luz Perales cookbook, 1928–29, PFPC. Ellis, Americanization through Homemaking, 19. Ibid., 19–31. Cabeza de Baca Gilbert, The Good Life, vi. Luz Perales cookbook. Manuel Perales, interview. Lorenzo Perales Jr. and David Perales, interview. Ibid. Ibid. Certificate of Luz Luján, PFPC. It is not clear if this is her diploma from the Smelter Vocational School. The card, signed by Margaret Stedman (in charge of the women’s school) and E. B. Jones (signing above the line specified for “Local Director of Industrial Education”) has a blank space in which “two years” is

Notes to Pages 203–9

61 62 63 64 65

66 67 68 69 70 71

72

73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80

written in, though it is a space where the number of hours should be indicated. Furthermore, the date is 1925, despite the fact that Luz enrolled in 1924. Carmen Escandón, interview. Credit slips of Luz Luján, PFPC. Vocational Teacher’s Temporary Certificate of Luz Luján, February 12, 1934, PFPC. “Many Hold Jobs; Doing Work Well, Vocational News, April 22, 1932, 4; Luz Perales cookbook. Alberto and Enriqueta Beard, interview by author (Spanish), July 26, 2000, tape recording, El Paso; María Palacio, interview by author, April 12, 2002, tape recording, El Paso; Carmen Escandón, interview. Carmen Escandón, interview. Ibid. Ibid. Palacio, interview; Manuel Perales, interview. Palacio, interview. Gabriela González, “Carolina Munguía and Emma Tenayuca: The Politics of Benevolence and Radical Reform,” Frontiers: A Journal of Women’s Studies 24, nos. 2–3, Gender on the Borderlands (Spring 2003): 220–29. Pascoe, Relations of Rescue. The “cult of domesticity” was a largely middle- and upper-class ideal. Women were the caregivers in the home, responsible for child rearing and maintaining the virtues of piety, purity, and charity within the family; as such, they claimed a female moral authority in the home and in society as mothers. In the case of Americanization programs, a revised notion of this ideal existed in the sense that while immigrant women were expected be good wives and mothers, they were specifically being trained to work outside their own homes — most likely in the homes of Anglo families. Moreover, as Pascoe explains, although some women’s settlement houses in the West helped to challenge racial hierarchies, and although ethnic women who became “native helpers” were able to retain some of their own cultural and community values as they learned the arts of “true womanhood,” they were still never fully equal to their white instructors. “Una Vida Ayudando” (A Life of Service), Anthony Times, April 4, 1976, EPVF. Luz Perales, notes, n.d., PFPC [emphasis in original]. Beard and Beard, interview. Jesús José “Jay” Perales, interview; Manuel Perales, interview; Lorenzo Perales Jr. and David Perales, interview. For the drive to bring more Mexican parents into PTAs, see Gabriela González, “Carolina Munguía and Emma Tenayuca.” Gabriela González, “Carolina Munguía and Emma Tenayuca,” 204. Lorenzo Perales Jr. and David Perales, interview. It is not clear from her notes whether this was part of a larger community or city project sponsored by a particular organization. The fact that she kept detailed

Notes to Pages 209–14

307

81 82 83 84 85

86 87 88 89 90 91

92 93 94

95 96 97 98 99 100

notes indicates that it most likely was. Her sons recalled her involvement with Project Bravo, a social service organization in the city of El Paso. The exact organization, however, is less important here than the fact that she was so involved in her community generally. Lorenzo Perales Jr. and David Perales, interview. “Smelter Group Forms League,” EPT, September 29, 1936, “Smeltertown,” EPVF. Smelter Community Center Association, pamphlet, n.d., “Smeltertown,” EPVF. Ibid. “Smeltertown’s Smell and Dirt Shame El Paso; Residents Demand Relief,” EPHP, June 7, 1945; “Smeltertown Residents Live among Flies, in Darkness, and Surrounded by Filth” and “Smeltertown Group Confirms Article,” EPHP, June 8, 1945. “First Full-Time Playground in Smeltertown Is Planned,” EPT, February 17, 1946. “Smeltertown Children Get Playground,” EPT, June 2, 1946. Ibid. George J. Sánchez, Becoming Mexican American, 209–26. Francisco Balderrama and Raymond Rodríguez, Decade of Betrayal: Mexican Repatriation in the 1930s (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1995), 55. Camille Guerin-Gonzales, Mexican Workers and American Dreams: Immigration, Repatriation, and California Labor, 1900–1939 (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 1996), 94; Rodolfo Acuña, Occupied America: A History of Chicanos, 3rd ed. (New York: Harper Collins, 1988), 202; Mae Ngai, Impossible Subjects: Illegal Aliens and the Making of Modern America (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2004), 72. Manuel Bernardo Ramírez, “El Pasoans: Life and Society in Mexican El Paso, 1920–1945” (Ph.D. diss., University of Mississippi, 2000), 154. Chávez Leyva, “Faithful Hardworking Mexican Hands.” U.S. Bureau of the Census, Fourteenth Census of the United States, Population Abstracts (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1923), 360, and Seventeenth Census of the United States, Vol. 2: Characteristics of the Population, Pt. 43: Texas (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1952), 43–101. Angel Luján, interview. Manuel Perales, interview; Lorenzo Perales Jr. and David Perales, interview. Lorenzo Perales Jr. and David Perales, interview. Palacio, interview. Manuel Perales, interview. Lorenzo Perales Jr. and David Perales, interview.

CHAPTER SIX

1 Romelia Flores, Pedro Flores, and Roberto Flores, interview by author, tape recording, March 27, 1998, El Paso.

308

Notes to Pages 214–25

2 Ibid. 3 At the time, the surgeon general determined a level of 40 micrograms per 100 milliliters as constituting “undue lead absorption.” Today, anything above 10 micrograms per deciliter is considered an abnormal lead level for children under the age of five. See 〈 http://www.cdc.gov/nceh/lead/faq/about.htm 〉 (August 13, 2007). On the various medical findings in the Smeltertown case, see Bernard F. Rosenblum et al., “Epidemiological Notes and Reports: Human Lead Absorption — Texas,” Center for Disease Control, Morbidity and Mortality Weekly Report 22, no. 49 (December 8, 1973): 405–7; Rosenblum et al., “Epidemiological Notes and Reports: Follow Up on Human Lead Absorption — Texas,” Morbidity and Mortality Weekly Report 23, no. 18 (May 4, 1974): 157–59; Phillip J. Landrigan et al., “Epidemic Lead Absorption near an Ore Smelter: The Role of Particulate Lead,” New England Journal of Medicine 292, no. 3 (January 16, 1975): 123–29; Rosenblum et al., “Lead Health Hazards from Smelter Emissions,” Texas Medicine 72 (January 1976): 44–56; and Dale L. Morse et al., “El Paso Revisited: Epidemiological Follow Up of an Environmental Lead Problem,” Journal of the American Medical Association 242 (August 24, 1979): 739–41. 4 U.S. Senate Committee on Environment and Public Works, “Six Case Studies of Compensation for Toxic Substances Pollution: Alabama, California, Michigan, Missouri, New Jersey, and Texas,” report prepared under the supervision of the Congressional Research Service of the Library of Congress, 96th Cong., 2nd sess., June 1980, Committee Print, 422–28. 5 Laurie Mercier, Anaconda: Labor, Community, and Culture in Montana’s Smelter City (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2001); Alan Derickson, Workers’ Health, Workers’ Democracy: The Western Miners’ Struggle, 1891–1925 (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1988); Larry D. Lankton, Cradle to Grave: Life, Work, and Death at the Lake Superior Copper Mines (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991); Lynn Page Snyder, “The Death-Dealing Smog over Denora, Pennsylvania: Industrial Air Pollution, Public Health Policy, and the Politics of Expertise, 1948–1949,” Environmental History Review 18 (Spring 1994): 117–39; Katherine G. Aiken, “ ‘Not Long Ago a Smoking Chimney Was a Sign of Prosperity’: Corporate and Community Response to Pollution at the Bunker Hill Smelter in Kellogg, Idaho,” Environmental History Review 18 (Summer 1994): 67–86. 6 Laura Pulido, “Rethinking Environmental Racism: White Privilege and Urban Development in Southern California,” Annals of the Association of American Geographers 90 (March 2000): 12–40. For a general overview of environmental justice studies, see Robert D. Bullard, ed., Confronting Environmental Racism: Voices from the Grassroots (Boston: South End Press, 1993); Richard D. Lazarus, “Pursuing ‘Environmental Justice’: The Distributional Effects of Environmental Protection,” Northwestern University Law Review 87 (1993): 793–857; Kendall E. Bailes, ed., Environmental History: Critical Issues in Comparative Perspective (Lanham, Md.: University Press of America, 1985); Andrew Hurley, Environmental Inequalities: Class, Race, and Industrial Pollution in Gary, Indiana, 1945–1980 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina

Notes to Pages 225–27

309

7

8

9 10

11 12 13 14

15 16

17 18

19 20

310

Press, 1995); and Thomas H. Fletcher, From Love Canal to Environmental Justice: The Politics of Hazardous Waste on the Canada-U.S. Border (Peterborough, Ont.: Broadview Press, 2003). Mary Romero, “The Death of Smeltertown: A Case Study of Lead Poisoning in a Chicano Community,” in The Chicano Struggle: Analyses of Past and Present Efforts/ National Association for Chicano Studies, ed. Theresa Córdova, John A. García, and Juan R. García (Binghamton, N.Y.: Bilingual Press, 1984): 26–41 (quotation, 37). Becky M. Nicolaides, My Blue Heaven: Life and Politics in the Working Class Suburbs of Los Angeles, 1920–1965 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2002); Robert O. Self, American Babylon: Race and the Struggle for Postwar Oakland (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2005); Thomas J. Segrue, The Origins of the Urban Crisis: Race and Inequality in Postwar Detroit, rev. ed. (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2005). Bradford Luckingham, The Urban Southwest: A Profile History of Albuquerque, El Paso, Phoenix, and Tucson (El Paso: Texas Western Press, 1982), 21. Ibid., 75–76. El Paso’s military installations were crucial components of national defense. During World War II, Biggs Air Force Base trained B-17 and B-24 bomber crews; during the Cold War, it was a part of the U.S. Strategic Air Command. W. H. Timmons, El Paso: A Borderlands History (El Paso: Texas Western Press, 1990), 250. “Big Smelter Largest of Its Kind,” EPT, April 25, 1954, “Industries — American Smelting and Refining Co.,” EPVF. El Paso Chamber of Commerce, “El Paso: A Brief Review Published Annually” (August 1957), “Chamber of Commerce,” EPVF, 1. “Manufacturing: Growth in El Paso Indicates Importance of Industry to Community Expansion during Decade,” El Paso Today 14, no. 7 (October 1962): 1, MS 557, El Paso Chamber of Commerce, EPPL; Patricia Reschenthaler, “Postwar Readjustment in El Paso, 1945–1950,” Southwestern Studies 6, no. 1 (1968): 14. Reschenthaler, “Postwar Readjustment in El Paso,” 4. On the Farah strike, see Laurie Coyle, Gail Hershatter, and Emily Honig, “Women at Farah: An Unfinished Story,” in Mexican Women in the United States: Struggles Past and Present, ed. Magdalena More and Adelaida R. Del Castillo (Los Angeles: Chicano Studies Research Center Publications, University of California, 1980); Emily Honig, “Women at Farah Revisited: Political Mobilization and Its Aftermath among Chicana Workers in El Paso, Texas, 1972–1992,” Feminist Studies 22, no. 2 (Summer 1996): 425–52. Mark T. Miles, “A History of El Paso Business and Industry,” El Paso Chamber of Commerce pamphlet, n.d., “Business — History,” EPVF, 12. Luckingham, The Urban Southwest, 80–94. On Phoenix in the postwar era, see Andrew Needham, “Power Lines: Urban Space, Energy Development, and the Making of the Modern Southwest” (Ph.D. diss., University of Michigan, 2006). Quoted in Luckingham, The Urban Southwest, 84. Miles, “A History of El Paso Business,” 13–14. For an example of an American

Notes to Pages 227–32

21

22 23 24

25 26 27 28 29 30

31 32 33 34

35 36 37 38 39 40

corporation’s use of maquiladoras in Ciudad Juárez, see Jefferson Cowie, Capital Moves: RCA’s 70-Year Quest for Cheap Labor (New York: New Press, 2001). Given their ethnic and socioeconomic background and the impact of such factors on mobility, it is likely that Smelter Terrace residents relocated before the lawsuit. See Pulido, “Rethinking Environmental Racism.” Becky Seañez, interview by author, tape recording, March 28, 1998, El Paso. Allen Pusey, “Smeltertown, U.S.A.: They Still Want to Call It Home,” EPT, March 28, 1972. According to Mary Antoine Lee, D. F. Stewart and A. Courchesne were the primary owners of the property in El Bajo, and the residents paid rent to the D. Storm Co. Lee, “A Historical Survey of the American Smelting and Refining Company” (M.A. thesis, UTEP, 1950), 54. By the 1970s, the two primary property holders were John Kemp of Kemp and Solís Realty (who owned half interest in 1.46 acres) and L. H. Barney Koogle (who shared half interest with State National Bank in 8.45 acres). “Smeltertown Residents Are Asked to Move,” EPHP, October 30, 1972. Andrés Bustillos Jr., interview by author, tape recording, March 27, 1998, El Paso; Becky Seañez, interview. Pusey, “Smeltertown, U.S.A.: They Still Want to Call It Home.” Ruben Escandón, interview by author, tape recording, March 26, 1998, El Paso. Bert Salazar, “Families Want to Stay: Smeltertown Still Home,” EPT, March 22, 1972. “The Smelter Question,” EPT, March 19, 1887, El Paso County Historical Society, El Paso. E. H. Robie, “El Paso Smelter,” Engineering and Mining Journal 59 (November 24, 1928), MS 606 Dudley Collection, “Mining File — Smelters, American Smelting & Refining,” EPPL, 828. Reschenthaler, “Postwar Readjustment in El Paso,” 13. John Opie, Nature’s Nation: An Environmental History of the United States (New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1998), 413–16, 437–38. “Largest Custom Smelter Plans Multi Million Plant,” EPHP, April 26, 1971. Jesús Reynoso, conversation with the author, March 23, 1998. Reynoso, program manager for the Air Quality Program with the El Paso City-County Health and Environmental District, had been with the agency since 1968 and had participated in the ASARCO pollution investigation. Center for Disease Control, “Weekly Report for Week Ending December 8, 1973,” Morbidity and Mortality Weekly Report 22 (December 14, 1973). Minutes of a task force meeting called by the EPA, March 21, 1972, retired files, El Paso City-County Health and Environmental District, El Paso, 2. George Sessions Perry, “The Cities of America: El Paso,” Saturday Evening Post, February 4, 1950, 58. Carey McWilliams, “The El Paso Story,” Nation, July 10, 1948, 46. Perry, “Cities of America: El Paso,” 58. Timmons, El Paso, 251.

Notes to Pages 232–38

311

41 “Smeltertown’s Smell and Dirt Shame El Paso; Residents Demand Relief,” EPHP, June 7, 1945; “Smeltertown’s Residents Live among Flies, in Darkness and Surrounded by Filth,” EPHP, June 8, 1945; “Mounting Heaps of Garbage Gather in Smeltertown: Nurse Is ‘Angel of Mercy,’” EPHP, June 9, 1945, 1–2. 42 “Smeltertown Group Confirms Article,” EPHP, June 8, 1945, 1. 43 Quoted in Romero, “The Death of Smeltertown,” 32. 44 “Pick Smeltertown as Housing Area,” EPT, September 23, 1970. 45 El Paso Chemical Laboratories Report Sheet, February 14, 1972, retired files, El Paso City-County Health and Environmental Health District, El Paso. 46 Seth Kantor, “Mayor Asks More Aid for Housing: Will Move Families from Polluted Areas near Smelter,” EPHP, March 21, 1972. 47 Ibid. 48 “Meeting of EPHA, Smeltertown Is a Stand-off,” EPT, March 28, 1972. 49 “Smeltertown Residents Are Asked to Move,” EPHP, October 30, 1972; “Eviction Notices Go Out to Smeltertown Families,” EPT, October 28, 1972. 50 “Eviction Notices Go Out to Smeltertown Families.” 51 “Last Smeltertown Residents Left without Moving Funds,” EPT, January 5, 1973. 52 “Defense Motion for Summary Judgment,” City of El Paso and State of Texas v. American Smelting and Refining Company, #70-1701, 41st District Court, El Paso County. 53 Affidavit of William Kelly, City of El Paso and State of Texas v. American Smelting and Refining Company, #70-1701, 41st District Court, El Paso County, May 22, 1970. 54 Ibid. 55 “Largest Custom Smelter Plans Multi Million Plant.” 56 Statement of William Kelly to Texas Air Control Board, City of El Paso and State of Texas v. American Smelting and Refining Company, #70–1701, 41st District Court, El Paso County, May 6, 1970. 57 Deposition of Colin Guptil, senior meteorologist at ASARCO, October 23, 1971, retired files, El Paso City-County Health and Environmental District, El Paso. 58 Allen Pusey, “Pollution Monitoring Idea ‘Never Occurred,’” EPT, April 6, 1972. 59 U.S. Senate Committee on Environment and Public Works, Six Case Studies of Compensation for Toxic Substances Pollution, 421. 60 Ibid., 422. 61 Statement of William Kelly to Texas Air Control Board, #70–1701. 62 Jane Pemberton, “ASARCO Ready to Close Plant If Children’s Health Endangered,” EPHP, February 29, 1972. 63 Gloria Peña, interview by author, tape recording, April 20, 1998, El Paso. 64 ASARCO, full-page advertisement, “You Have a Right to Know the Facts about Smeltertown.” EPHP, April 21, 1972. 65 Ibid. 66 “The ASARCO Suit,” EPT, May 13, 1972. 67 Sociologist Herbert J. Gans defines an “urban village” as a settlement in which immigrants or other ethnic groups attempt “to adapt their nonurban institutions and cultures to the urban milieu.” See Gans, The Urban Villagers: Group and Class in the Life of Italian Americans (New York: Free Press, 1962), 4. 312

Notes to Pages 238–44

68 Robert A. Wright, “Polluted Town Doesn’t Want to Move,” New York Times, May 17, 1972. 69 Allen Pusey, “Smeltertown U.S.A.: Buildings in Shadow of Stack Their Home,” EPT, March 26, 1972. 70 Peña, interview. 71 Ibid. 72 Romelia Flores, Pedro Flores, and Roberto Flores, interview. 73 Wright, “Polluted Town Doesn’t Want to Move.” 74 Romelia Flores, Pedro Flores, and Roberto Flores, interview. 75 Seañez, interview. 76 Ruben Escandón, interview. 77 María Palacio, interview by author, April 12, 2002, tape recording, El Paso. 78 Romelia Flores, Pedro Flores, and Roberto Flores, interview. 79 Ibid. 80 Wright, “Polluted Town Doesn’t Want to Move.” 81 Salazar, “Families Want to Stay.” 82 Bustillos Jr., interview. 83 Ruben Escandón, interview. 84 Bustillos Jr., interview. 85 On Mayor Telles, see Mario T. García, The Making of a Mexican American Mayor: Raymond Telles of El Paso (El Paso: Texas Western Press, 1998). 86 Oscar Martínez, The Chicanos of El Paso: An Assessment of Progress (El Paso: Texas Western Press, 1980), 16. 87 Ibid., 32–33. 88 Wright, “Polluted Town Doesn’t Want to Move.” 89 Romelia Flores, Pedro Flores, and Roberto Flores, interview. 90 Peña, interview. 91 Allen Pusey, “Smeltertown U.S.A.: With All the Problems They Still Want to Stay,” EPT, March 28, 1972. 92 Wright, “Polluted Town Doesn’t Want to Move.” 93 Pusey, “Smeltertown U.S.A.: With All the Problems They Still Want to Stay.” 94 “Report for Meeting of the People of Smeltertown,” March 27, 1972, AFPC. 95 “Smeltertown Workers Oppose Move: Accuse E.P. Mayor of Playing Desperate Politics,” EPHP, March 30, 1972. 96 “Report for Meeting of the People of Smeltertown.” 97 Luckingham, The Urban Southwest, 117; Martínez, The Chicanos of El Paso, 10. 98 “ASARCO Controls Demanded,” EPHP, February 26, 1972. 99 Pusey, “Smeltertown U.S.A.: Buildings in Shadow of Stack Their Home.” 100 For union struggles to balance environmental safety and the need for jobs, see Mercier, Anaconda, 181–207. 101 “Smeltertown Workers Oppose Move.” 102 Ibid. 103 Ibid. 104 Romelia Flores, Pedro Flores, and Roberto Flores, interview. Notes to Pages 244–52

313

105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113

114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128

Ibid. Bustillos Jr., interview. Salazar, “Families Want to Stay.” Ibid. “Report for Meeting of the People of Smeltertown.” Allen Pusey, “Smeltertown, U.S.A.: Smeltertown Residents Now Suspicious of City,” EPT, March 27, 1972. Bustillos Jr., interview. Pusey, “Smeltertown U.S.A.: With All the Problems They Still Want to Stay.” For the relationship between Mexican immigrants and Mexican Americans, see David Gutiérrez, Walls and Mirrors: Mexican Americans, Mexican Immigrants, and the Politics of Ethnicity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995); Pablo Vila, Crossing Borders, Reinforcing Borders: Social Categories, Metaphors, and Narrative Identities on the U.S.-Mexico Frontier (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2000). Father Robert Getz to William Kelly, March 30, 1972, AFPC. Allen Pusey, “Smeltertown, U.S.A.: It Appears Doomed, Either Now or in the Future,” EPT, March 29, 1972. Joe Seañez to Mayor Bert Williams, May 23, 1972, AFPC. Romelia Flores, Pedro Flores, and Roberto Flores, interview. Seañez, interview. Allen Pusey, “Smeltertown’s Last Christmas,” EPT, December 25, 1972. Seañez, interview. Romelia Flores, Pedro Flores, and Roberto Flores, interview. Sabina Alva, interview by author (Spanish), March 11, 1995, tape recording, El Paso. Seañez, interview. Ruben Escandón, interview. Peña, interview. Bustillos Jr., interview. Dolores Hayden, The Power of Place: Urban Landscapes and Public History (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1995), 9, 45. Romelia Flores, Pedro Flores, and Roberto Flores, interview.

EPILOGUE

1 Ramón Rentería, “Death in a Family: Company Closing Leaves Current Workers Facing Uncertain Future, Remembering Multigenerational Contributions to Asarco,” EPT, February 7, 1999. 2 Ramón Rentería, “Community Will Feel Impact of Shutdown,” EPT, December 1, 1998. 3 Megan Stack, “Asarco Begins Shutdown,” EPT, February 9, 1999. 4 Dan J. Williams, “Asarco Bankruptcy Feared,” EPT, July 14, 2002. 5 Flyer, “Buena Vista Community Meeting with EPA Officials to Discuss Asarco,”

314

Notes to Pages 252–62

6

7

8

9 10

11 12 13 14 15

16

17 18 19

August 29, 2002, in author’s possession; Diana Washington Valdez, “Asarco Clean Up Cost Reaches $23.6 million,” EPT, July 30, 2008. Agency for Toxic Substances and Disease Registry, U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, and the Texas Department of Health, “Abstract, El Paso Multiple Sclerosis Cluster Investigation, El Paso, El Paso County, Texas, August 2001,” 〈 http://www.atsdr.cdc.gov/elpaso/pubcom.html#abstract 〉 (August 4, 2008). Ralph Blumenthal, “Copper Plant Illegally Burned Hazardous Waste, E.P.A. Says,” New York Times, October 11, 2006, 〈 http://www.nytimes.com/2006/10/11/ us/11toxic.html?scp=1&sq=Asarco%20el%20paso&st=cse 〉 (August 4, 2008). “Asarco Reopening Controversy Continues,” 〈 KVIA.com 〉, updated September 7, 2007, 〈 http://www.kvia.com/Global/story.asp?s=7040575 〉 (October 4, 2007); Daniel Novick, Asarco Debate Shot through Lens, updated September 23, 2007, 〈 http://www.kfoxtv.com/news/14186196/detail.html?taf=elp 〉 (August 1, 2008); Get the Lead Out Coalition, “Where Will You Stand? Faces against Asarco, El Pasoans Take a Stand against Asarco with a community photograph,” press release, September 5, 2007, 〈http://gettheleadout.net/files/news_69.pdf 〉 (August 1, 2008). Darren Meritz, “Half of El Paso Wants Smelter Re-opened,” EPT, October 28, 2007. Brandi Grissom, “Asarco Consent Has Conditions; Cook Insists Fight Is Not Over,” EPT, February 13, 2008; Robert A. “Bob” Litle, guest columnist, “Asarco Fight Isn’t about Environment,” opinion page, EPT, November 3, 2007. John Cook, “El Paso’s Future Has No Place for Asarco,” opinion page, EPT, September 29, 2007. Joe Muench, “Asarco Violates El Paso’s Ugly Code,” opinion page, EPT, February 9, 2008. Staff, “Ugly Asarco,” opinion page, EPT, May 2, 2007. Staff, “Stop Asarco,” opinion page, EPT, January 12, 2008. Lawrence E. Starfield, Acting Regional Administrator, EPA Region 6, to Mark Vickery, Executive Director, TCEQ, [date stamped February 3, 2009], provided to KVIA-TV by State Senator Eliot Shapleigh’s office, posted February 4, 2009, 〈 http://www.kvia.com/Global/story.asp?s=9789915 〉 (March 16, 2009); Gustavo Reveles Acosta, “EPA Would Have Sought New Permit from Smelter,” EPT, February 5, 2009. Darren Cook, “ASARCO Will Not Reopen, Plant Set for Demolition,” 〈KVIA.com〉, posted February 3, 2009, 04:29 p.m., updated February 13, 2009, 05:48 p.m., 〈 http://www.kvia.com/Global/story.asp?s=9782268 〉 (February 18, 2009). Diana Washington Valdez, “Smelter Closing, to Be Demolished,” EPT, February 4, 2009. Ramón Rentería, “Relics from the Past: Many Sorry ‘La Smelta’ Won’t Return,” EPT, February 5, 2009. Reader comment, “Many Sorry ‘La Smelta’ Won’t Return,” Post #18, posted February 5, 2009, 〈 http://www.topix.net/forum/source/el-paso-times/TSF1HKB92BA8 SKU7P#c18 〉 (February 5, 2009).

Notes to Pages 262–66

315

20 Reader comment, “Many Sorry ‘La Smelta’ Won’t Return,” Post #25, posted February 5, 2009, 〈 http://www.topix.net/forum/source/el-paso-times/TSF1HKB92BA8 SKU7P/p2 〉 (February 5, 2009). 21 Reader comment, “Many Sorry ‘La Smelta’ Won’t Return,” Post #23, posted February 5, 2009, 〈 http://www.topix.net/forum/source/el-paso-times/TSF1HKB92BA8 SKU7P/p2 〉 (February 5, 2009). 22 Robert Grieves, “Debate Ongoing, but Asarco Must Not Be Allowed to Reopen Smelter,” opinion page, EPT, April 5, 2008. 23 Vernon E. Lattin and Patricia Hopkins, “Crafting Other Visions: Estella Portillo Trambley’s New Rain of Scorpions,” in Rain of Scorpions and Other Stories, by Estella Portillo Trambley, rev. ed. (Tempe, Ariz.: Bilingual Press/Editorial Bilingue, 1993), 1–14. 24 Estella Portillo Trambley, Rain of Scorpions and Other Writings (Berkeley, Calif.: Tonatiuh International, Inc., 1975), 112. 25 Trambley, Rain of Scorpions and Other Stories, rev. ed., 114. 26 Ibid., 120. 27 Ibid., 118. 28 Carlos Nicolás Flores, “Smeltertown,” in North of the Rio Grande: The Mexican American Experience in Short Fiction, ed. Edward Simmen (New York: Penguin Mentor Books, 1992), 403. 29 Ibid. 30 Ibid., 409. 31 Albert and Enriqueta Beard, interview by author, July 26, 2000, tape recording, El Paso. 32 Paula Monarez Díaz, “Old Memories Help Rebuild ‘La Smelda,’” EPT, August 7, 1993. 33 Ibid. 34 Ibid. 35 An announcement of the E. B. Jones–Courchesne Alumni Reunion activities ran in the EPT, July 31, 2002. In addition to coordinating its own weekend activities, the Buena Vista–Smeltertown organization raised money to help former Esmeltianos with medical expenses and awarded small scholarships to UTEP students who were descendants of former Smeltertown residents. Mary Ann Herold, The Buena Vista Story: A Community Empowers Itself (El Paso: Southwestern Publishers Group, 2002). 36 Díaz, “Old Memories Help Rebuild ‘La Smelda.’” 37 Miguel Cortez, Familia Cortez Website, 〈 http://familiacortez.com/wordpress/? page_id=19 〉 (August 7, 2008). 38 Melchor Santana Sr., interview by author, March 25, 1995, tape recording, El Paso. 39 Becky Seañez, interview by author, March 28, 1998, tape recording, El Paso. 40 This stanza has only three lines. 41 María Mata Torres, “La [Vieja] Esmelda,” n.d., typed poem, in author’s possession. I am especially grateful to Adolfo Mata Jr. for sharing this poem and for his permission to reprint it here. 316

Notes to Pages 266–74

42 David W. Blight, “Historians and ‘Memory,’” Common-Place 2 , no. 3 (April 2002), 〈 http://www.common-place.org/vol-02/no-03/author/ 〉 (July 16, 2008). 43 Pierre Nora, “Between Memory and History: Les Lieux de Memoire,” Representations, Special Issue: Memory and Counter-Memory, no. 26 (Spring 1989): 8, 13. 44 John R. Gillis, “Memory and Identity: The History of a Relationship,” in Commemoration: The Politics of National Identity, ed. John R. Gillis (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1994), 3. 45 Nora, “Between Memory and History,” 13–24; Natalie Zemon Davis and Randolph Starn, Introduction to Representations, Special Issue, 2–3. 46 David W. Blight, “Historians and ‘Memory.’”

Notes to Pages 275–76

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Index African Americans, 50, 51, 74 Agency for Toxic Substances and Disease Registry, 262 Aguascalientes, Mex., 36, 42, 44, 75, 97; smelter at, 35, 104 Aguilar, Hortencia, 254 Air pollution, 1, 142, 225, 226–27, 230, 232, 235–37, 241–46, 252, 262, 311 (n. 34) Air Safety Code of 1967, 1, 226 Alamillo, José, 138 Alcohol bootlegging and smuggling, 145, 154, 155–56, 170, 225 Alianza Hispano Americana, 172, 173 Alkire, William, 173 Alonso, Ana María, 164 Alonzo, Catalina, 234 Alva, José, 44–45 Alva, Sabina, 155, 203, 211; ASARCO and, 110, 124, 125; Catholic Church and, 85, 88, 89; as child in Smeltertown, 74, 84, 164; early years in El Bajo, 70, 72; Mexican businesses and, 77, 80; Mexican Revolution and, 153–54; migration to Smeltertown, 44–45; Smeltertown destruction and, 256–57; women’s outside work and, 143–44 Amalgamated Clothing Workers of America, 231 American Federation of Labor, 109, 132 Americanization of Mexicans, 54; community life and, 215–17, 220; cooking

and food, 206–9; girls at school, 188–90, 194; Mexican resistance to, 163, 164, 167; women, 170, 185, 186–88, 190–93, 198–211, 213, 214, 221–22, 307 (n. 72). See also Smelter Vocational School Americanization through Homemaking (Ellis), 206–7 American Smelting and Refining Company (ASARCO): Anglo management, 2, 43, 50, 59, 63–68, 143, 151, 258; Anglo workers, 43, 105, 112, 114–15, 118–19, 122, 126–31, 132, 136, 275; author’s family connections to, 8–9, 10, 97–99, 115, 118, 146–47, 185, 275; boys working for, 113–14, 143; brick plant, 114–18, 295 (n. 48); company stores, 3–4, 57, 68–69, 90, 134; corporate paternalism, 59, 69–70, 90–91, 105–6, 137–42, 192, 211, 242, 244–45; development of in El Paso, 5, 12, 34–38, 42–46, 62, 229, 230; dumping molten slag, 67, 122–23, 124, 125, 296 (n. 68); El Bajo, relationship to, 70, 71, 73; and employee advancement, 115, 123–24, 127–28, 129, 134, 136; employee records, 10, 140–41, 145–46, 287 (nn. 82–83), 295 (nn. 39, 54); foremen, 115, 118, 120, 123, 128–29, 130, 131, 295 (n. 54); and labor strikes, 9, 31, 115, 131–32, 133, 134–35, 138, 144, 147; and labor unions, 13, 119, 121, 130, 131–36, 147, Index

319

249; lawsuit against for air pollution, 1, 226, 232, 235, 237, 242, 311 (nn. 21, 34); machinists, 97, 122, 123, 124, 129, 146–47; manual labor, 97–99, 111, 113, 114–19, 123, 124–25, 141, 147, 296 (n. 60); mechanics, 115, 124, 127–28; Mexican American vs. immigrant workers of, 108, 121, 133–34, 136, 296 (n. 60); Mexican mining ventures, 22, 35–37, 42, 44, 105–6, 185, 230; Mexican Revolution and, 105–6, 155, 157–58, 159; and Mexican women workers, 145–46, 299 (n. 134); and Mexican worker loyalty, 135–36, 137–42, 234, 244, 248–49, 252, 254; Mexican workers, 40–45, 69–70, 97–100, 105–6, 109, 110–31, 132–48, 151, 155, 287 (nn. 82–83); Mexican workers concerned about their jobs, 249–52, 261; Mexican workers with multiple family members, 97–99, 123–24, 141; names and abbreviations, 17; newspaper of, 140; pollution and, 1, 2, 225, 226–27, 228–29, 230, 232, 235–37, 241–46, 248–52, 262–64, 266, 311 (nn. 21, 34); possible reopening of smelter, 15, 262–64; reassignment of workers, 113, 119–20, 121–23; retirement and, 9, 71, 97, 98, 114, 124, 140–41, 146, 261, 265; and safety and accidents, 68, 87, 125–26, 129, 137, 249; and sights, sounds, and smells of smelter, 4, 56, 61, 67, 142, 235, 245–46; smelter closure, 97, 258, 261–62, 263–66; Smeltertown as company town of, 2, 3–4, 12, 59–60, 61–70, 91, 93, 234, 242; Smeltertown destruction and, 3, 15, 226, 227, 228, 240, 246–47, 248, 252, 254–55, 257, 258, 259; Smelter Vocational School and, 84, 90, 139–40, 187, 191, 192; and transience and turnover of workers, 120, 121–22; and wages, 118–19, 134. See also Copper smelting; Lead con320

Index

tamination; Lead processing; Race; Smokestacks of smelter Anaconda Copper Company, 43 Anglo community of Smeltertown, 50, 59, 70, 195, 196, 214, 281–82 (n. 16); churches and, 85; housing and conditions, 63–68, 69, 73, 258; Los Trovadores and, 173, 174–75; medical care and, 68; schools and, 81, 82–83; Smeltertown as company town and, 91, 93; and teachers at Vocational School, 190, 199, 212–13 Anzaldúa, Gloria, 165 Aoy, Olivas, 49 Aoy Elementary School, 49, 193, 219 Apaches, 26 Apraiz, Manuel, 126 Aranda, Juan, 249 Archibald, F. W., 126 Arizona, 35, 37, 38, 106, 107; CliftonMorenci strike, 131, 296–97 (n. 90) Arsenic, 123, 226, 235, 236–37, 253, 262, 267 ASARCO. See American Smelting and Refining Company Asarco. See American Smelting and Refining Company Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe Railroad, 21, 27, 28, 48, 61–63, 90–91 Athletics, 81, 138 Austin, T. S., 63 Avalos mine, 42, 119, 185 Barraza, Willie, 71, 225 Baseball, 76, 81, 138, 198 Battle of Juárez, 154, 155, 157, 159 Bean, Woodrow, 1, 240, 246 Beard, Alberto, Jr., 123–24, 139, 271, 296 (n. 68), 299 (n. 134) Beard, Alberto, Sr., 123–24, 139, 296 (n. 68) Beard, Enriqueta, 44, 84, 271; ASARCO and, 125, 299 (n. 134); as child in

Smeltertown, 45, 58, 74, 77, 80, 155–56, 167, 211. See also Alva, Sabina Bertrant, J. M., 149, 150 Biggs Air Force Base, 229, 310 (n. 10) Blight, David, 10–11, 275 Boy Scouts of America Troop 10, 81, 156, 193, 198 Bray, E. M., 90 “Bridgehead” project, 54 Briones, A., 135 Buena Vista, 48, 62, 147, 292 (n. 78); Esmeltianos relocating to, 8, 75, 97, 210, 214, 265, 271, 290 (n. 30) Bullion, 32 Bustillos, Andrés, Jr., 246–47, 253, 254, 257 Bustillos, Andrés, Sr., 249, 252, 253, 254 Cadmium, 226, 236–37 California Gold Rush, 26 Calleros, Cleofas, 33 Calles, Plutarco Elías, 177 Camino Real, 23, 25 Candelaria, Rodolfo, 112, 122, 128–29, 134, 136 Carlos, Alejandro, 71 Carlos, Bob, 141 Carlos, Gonzalo, 42, 43, 140, 141 Carlos, Rogelio, Jr., 42, 72, 126, 140; as ASARCO employee, 97, 110, 125, 129–30, 133, 141, 142, 146, 261, 299 (n. 134) Carlos, Rogelio, Sr., 126, 129–30 Carranza, Venustiano, 149, 157 Carrasco, Miguel, Sr., 81, 84, 139, 191, 192, 193–94, 214 Carson, Rachel, 235 Castor, Larry, 10, 295 (n. 48) Catholic Church, 80; in El Paso, 48, 50, 52, 85, 149, 170, 172–73, 174, 177–78, 180, 182; Esmeltianos and, 8, 57, 85–91, 149–52, 169–84, 291 (n. 53); First Holy Communion and, 83, 150, 168; Mexican communities and, 169,

177–78; Mexican government and, 152, 176–81; mexicanidad and, 13, 152, 301 (n. 47). See also San José de Cristo Rey Catholic Church Center for Disease Control (CDC), 226, 236–37 Chambers, Ross, 4 Chaperonage, 203 Chicago, Ill., 119, 194, 217 Chihuahua, Mex., 36, 45, 51, 134; Ahumada mine, 21; Allende, 42, 185; Avalos mine, 42, 119, 185; Camargo, 44; Casas Grandes, 24, 44; early trade with, 25; Jiménez, 75, 164; La Cruz, 75, 168; Mexican Revolution and, 152, 157, 164; mining in, 21, 26, 30, 32, 35, 42, 119, 141, 185; Parral, 8, 75, 185; Santa Barbara, 21, 105; Santa Isabel, 157; Santa Rosalía de Camargo, 42, 85, 164; Villa López, 75, 164 Chihuahuita. See El Paso, Tex. Children, 74; boys’ education, 191, 192; boys working, 113–14, 143; girls at home, 142–43; girls at school, 188–90, 194; lead contamination and, 1, 226, 228, 237, 242–43, 245, 267, 280 (n. 1), 309 (n. 3); Mexican Revolution and, 154, 155–56, 185; playgrounds for, 54, 84, 174, 215–16; Smeltertown schools for Mexicans, 81–86, 139 Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882, 50 Chinese immigrants, 30, 40, 50, 51 Cinco de Mayo, 69, 138 Ciudad Juárez, Mex., 138, 178, 185, 265; air pollution and, 241, 243; Chinese immigrants of, 50; current population, 61; El Paso and, 30, 53, 54; geographic location, 24, 25, 48; labor unions and, 132–33; as maquiladora center, 232; Mexican Revolution and, 153, 158; smelter employees from, 108, 121, 133 Civil Works Administration (CWA), 211, 218 Index

321

Clark, Victor S., 101 Clothing manufacturing, 230–31 Cohen, Lizabeth, 137 Comité Patriótico, 182–83 Confederación de Trabajadores Mexicanos (CTM), 132, 133 Congress of Industrial Organizations (CIO), 132 Cook, John, 263, 264–65 Coons, Benjamin Franklin, 27 Copper smelting, 39, 43, 67, 111, 114, 125; and copper mines in Mexico, 21, 26, 35, 36, 37, 106, 230; and copper prices 1990s to 2000s, 15, 258, 261, 262, 264; development of in El Paso, 15, 21–22, 23, 32–38, 42–44, 61, 227–28, 229, 230, 236, 267; pollution and, 226, 228, 235, 262, 263, 264; refineries for, 22, 37, 132, 230. See also Lead processing Cortez, Miguel, 272 Costa, Lourdes, 16, 85, 86, 131, 188; Cristo Rey project and, 88–89; Los Trovadores and, 170, 171–72, 173, 175, 203; Mexican government and Catholic Church and, 178–83; women and, 203–4, 205. See also Hoja Parroquial de Smelter County Road (now U.S. Highway 85), 61, 71, 72, 77, 90, 121, 232, 233, 290 (n. 30) Courchesne, Alfred, 284 (n. 38); El Bajo land and, 72, 75, 290 (n. 25), 311 (n. 24); limestone quarry and, 31, 63 Courchesne, Tom, 173 Courchesne Elementary School, 62, 81–82, 83, 139, 213, 214, 220 Covina City Elementary School system (California), 206–7 Cristero Rebellion, 176, 177 Cunningham, W. C., 126 Dances, 81, 198, 203, 298 (n. 123) Danciger, Jack, 30 322

Index

De Anda, Ismael, 67, 68 Delgado, Rito, 71 Deportation, 112, 135, 217–18, 230 De Santos, Francisco, 215–16 Díaz, Porfirio, 5, 22, 28, 34–35, 149, 152, 153 Dieciséis de Septiembre. See Mexican Independence Day Dillingham Commission, 107, 294 (n. 28) Dinsmore, Charles A., 33 Disease associated with Mexicans, 41, 151, 159–61, 176, 183, 185 Doerr, Kuno, 90 Domínguez, Manuela Vázquez, 22, 39, 72, 80, 84. See also Vázquez family Don Santiago. See Magoffin, James W. Dressmaking, 194–95, 196–98, 199, 202–3, 209–11 Duarte, Carlos, 126 Dueñez, Panfilo, 114, 145; as ASARCO employee, 123, 126, 127–28, 136; Smelter Vocational School and, 84, 123, 127–28, 139 Durán, Pedro, 71 Durango, Mex., 42, 44 East Helena, Mont., 36, 43, 242 E. B. Jones–Courchesne Alumni Reunion, 271, 316 (n. 35) E. B. Jones Elementary School, 8, 9, 189–90, 214, 216, 220, 273; establishment of, 82–83; location, 62, 85; sanitation and, 215, 238, 248; Smelter Vocational School and, 195, 303 (n. 5); study on MS and, 262, 272 E. B. Jones Health Center, 211 El Alto, 62, 72, 232, 242; businesses in, 144; gardens of, 67, 73–74; housing and conditions, 67, 71, 73–74, 142, 186; as Mexican part of Upper Smeltertown, 2, 67, 70, 91; village affiliation and, 76. See also Smelter Terrace

El Bajo: Catholic Church and, 85, 88; community culture of, 70–91; housing and conditions, 70–80, 225, 240; lead contamination and, 236, 253; as Mexican Lower Smeltertown, 2, 62, 70, 91; population, late 1960s, 232, 234; as privately owned property, 75, 225, 234, 240, 252, 290 (nn. 25, 30), 311 (n. 24). See also E. B. Jones Elementary School Elephant Butte Dam, 32, 284 (n. 38) “El Inmigrante” song, 170–72, 174, 175, 302 (n. 61) Ellis, Pearl Idelia, 206–7 El Paso, Tex.: air pollution lawsuit against ASARCO, 1, 226, 232, 235, 237, 242, 311 (n. 34); Anglo leadership of, 14, 24, 25, 45, 151, 159–61, 162, 183, 247, 252; Anglo professionals of, 27, 107, 108, 159; Anglos of, 46–47, 48, 49–52, 152, 154–55, 158, 165, 170, 175–76, 196; boosters, early twentieth century, 5, 12, 21, 23, 29, 32–33, 37, 52–53, 55–56, 100, 159–60, 229; as border town, 6–7, 12, 23, 28, 55–56, 61, 160, 162, 175, 177–78; building materials for, 22, 31–32, 63; Catholic Church and, 48, 50, 52, 85, 149, 170, 172–73, 174, 177–78, 180, 182; Chihuahuita, 41, 47, 48, 54, 158, 161, 186, 190, 193, 237; Chinatown, 50; copper smelting development in, 15, 21–22, 23, 32–38, 42–44, 61, 227– 28, 229, 230, 236, 267; deportation of Mexicans during Depression and, 112, 217–18, 230; disease associated with Mexicans and, 41, 151, 159–61, 176, 183, 185; early development of, 24–27; environmentalism in, 15, 235–36, 262–63, 265, 266–67; “Four Big C’s” defining economy of, 38, 227, 230, 285–86 (n. 65); as frontier town, 5, 27, 267, 280–81 (n. 9); as gateway to Mexico, 24, 29–30, 32, 217, 232, 284

(n. 30); industrial development of, 23–24, 27–32, 46, 60, 100, 230–32; labor unions of, 108–10, 132; Los Trovadores and, 170, 172–73, 174–75; Mexican elite, 51–52, 162–63, 170, 173, 175, 183, 212; Mexican migration to, first decades twentieth century, 6–7, 12, 39–45, 47, 49, 151; Mexican Revolution and, 6, 151, 152–57, 158, 159, 161, 162; Mexicans living in, 24, 45, 47–55, 56, 100, 157–61, 190, 210, 219, 237–39; Mexicans thought of as dangerous criminals and, 161–62, 183, 300 (n. 28); mutual aid societies of, 163, 172–73, 178; possible reopening of smelter and, 15, 262–64; public health and, 159–61, 237–40, 256; racial dynamics of, 45–55, 151, 157–61, 162, 170, 187, 237; railroad and, 5, 8, 12, 21, 22–23, 27–29, 32, 34, 37, 46; relocation of Smeltertown residents to, 3, 121, 210, 219, 226, 232, 256; road construction and Smeltertown, 1960s, 232, 233, 238; schools in, 48–50, 82, 190, 193; smelter closure and, 261, 263–66; Smeltertown, relationship to, 2, 4–5, 56, 60, 121, 225, 226, 227–28, 230, 238–39, 266–68; Smeltertown destruction and, 1, 3, 15, 226, 227, 228–29, 240, 246–47, 248–56, 259; Smeltertown histories and, 7, 281–82 (n. 16); Smeltertown location and, 48, 61–63; tourism and, 29, 32, 52–53, 160, 228, 238; U.S. Army and, 229–30, 231; World War II and, 229, 310 (n. 10). See also American Smelting and Refining Company; Lead contamination; Lead processing; Mexican workers; Segregation El Paso and Northwestern Railroad, 28 El Paso and Southwest System railroad, 37 El Paso Brick Company. See International Brick Company Index

323

El Paso Central Labor Union, 109, 132 El Paso Chemical Laboratories, 239 El Paso County Commissioners Court, 216 El Paso County Elementary School. See E. B. Jones Elementary School El Paso County Historical Society, 161 El Paso County School System, 191, 198 El Paso Electric Company, 193 El Paso Foundry and Machine Company, 31 El Paso Herald Post, 89, 134, 215, 236, 238, 241; Smeltertown destruction and, 225, 240; Smelter Vocational School and, 191, 193, 195 El Paso High School, 82, 190, 220 El Paso Housing Authority (EPHA), 1, 215, 239, 240, 254 El Paso Mining Journal, 33 El Paso Natural Gas Company, 231 El Paso Natural Gas Products, 231 El Paso School Board, 49 El Paso Smelting Works, 21–22, 34 El Paso Times, 38, 47, 243; boosters, early twentieth century, 21, 32, 37; smelter closure and, 97, 261, 263, 264, 265; “smelter men” and, 97, 141, 142; Smeltertown community life and, 81, 244; Smeltertown conditions and, 215–16, 234, 239; Smeltertown destruction and, 1, 240, 246, 248, 249, 254, 267 Emergency Immigration Act of 1921, 30 Engineering and Mining Journal, 111 English language, 130, 166–67, 175, 207, 209, 218; schools and, 83, 186, 189–90, 192 Enstad, Nan, 199 Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), 236, 237, 253, 262, 264 Escajeda, J. A., 46 Escandón, Carlos, 80 Escandón, Carmen, 44, 73, 87, 196–99, 202, 203, 206, 210, 211, 213, 219 324

Index

Escandón, Ramiro, 124, 219 Escandón, Ruben, 234, 245, 246, 257 Escuela del padre, 83, 186, 188–89 Escuelas particulares, 144, 183, 188, 189–90; Mexican culture and, 83–84, 167–69 Esmeltianos: American identity of, 150–51, 183, 185, 186–88; Anglo community of Smeltertown and, 66–69, 82–83; as ASARCO employees, 42–45, 69–70, 97–100, 110–31, 132–48, 287 (nn. 82–83); author’s family connection to, 7–9, 10, 14, 97–99, 146–47, 185, 275, 293 (n. 2); barrios and subbarrios of Smeltertown and, 75–76; campaign against relocation of, 1–2, 15, 229, 249–52, 253–55, 259, 277; Catholic Church and, 8, 57, 85–91, 149–52, 169–84, 291 (n. 53); community culture of, 2–4, 6, 11, 12–14, 16, 57–61, 70–93; company stores of Smeltertown and, 3–4, 57, 68–69, 90, 134; defined, 16; fiction of, 268–70; forced relocation of, 3, 210, 226, 240, 246, 248, 254–57; housing for, 64–65, 67–68, 70–80, 142, 186, 225, 239, 240, 247–48; lack of political power of, 247, 252, 255; lead contamination and, 1, 228, 236–37, 239, 244–45, 246, 247, 248; medical care for, 68, 244–45; memories of Smeltertown, 7, 9, 10–11, 57–60, 74, 91, 93, 257, 259, 265–67, 271–77; Mexican culture and, 83–84, 138, 150, 151–52, 164, 165–67, 168–69; Mexican, as non–U.S. citizens, 165, 300–301 (n. 38); Mexican Revolution and, 153–57, 159; migration to Smeltertown, 22, 42–43, 44, 47, 49, 75–76, 99–100, 110, 167–68, 185–86; poetry of, 273–75; pollution in Smeltertown and, 2, 61, 142, 225, 226–27, 228–29, 241, 245–46, 266; relationship to homes in Smeltertown, 234, 242, 244, 246–47, 248, 254–55, 258–59, 275;

relocation of, postwar, 121, 210, 219, 232, 290 (n. 30); reunions, 7, 9, 15, 270–72, 316 (n. 35); sanitation and, 67, 70, 72; schools for, 81–86, 139, 188–90; smelter closure and, 261, 265–66; Smeltertown destruction and, 1–3, 15, 226, 227, 228–29, 240, 246–52, 253–57, 258–59, 265, 267, 272; village affiliation and, 75–76, 164, 165, 183. See also Children; El Alto; El Bajo; Escuelas particulares; Labor strikes; Labor unions; La Calavera; Los Trovadores; Mexican women; Smelter Vocational School Fall, Albert, 51 Farah, 230, 231 Federal Copper Company, 37 Fiction of Smeltertown, 15, 268–70 Fierro, Benito, 57, 77 Fitzgerald, C. C., 37 Flores, Carlos Nicolás, 269 Flores, Melba, 226, 245 Flores, Pedro, 225, 246, 252 Flores, Roberto, 255 Flores, Romelia, 225, 226, 245, 246, 247, 248, 252, 256, 259 Fort Bliss (Texas), 26, 86, 157, 158, 229 Fox, Chris P., 133 French, William E., 105 Galveston, Harrisburg, and San Antonio Railroad, 28 García, Mario T., 6, 47, 106 García, Mary, 243 García, Matt, 174 Gardens, 67, 73–74 Gary, Ord, 238–39 Garza, Juan, 265 Get the Lead Out, 265 Getz, Robert, 248, 255 Gillis, John R., 276 Globe Mills, 31 Golf, 81, 143, 298 (n. 123)

Gómez, Andrés, 125, 131, 133 Gonzales, Corky, 253 Gonzales, George, 57 Gonzales, Luis A., 135 Gonzales, Manuel, 8, 97–99, 146–47, 293 (n. 2) Gonzales, María Isabel, 8, 97, 98 González, Gabriela, 212 González, Gilbert, 5 González, Julia, 99, 143, 144 González, Macario, 97, 113 González, Marciano, 97, 98, 99, 138, 140, 143, 144 González, Román Gómez, 41 González family, 9, 97–99, 141, 293 (n. 2) Great Depression, 107, 112, 119, 132, 135, 176, 211, 217–18, 230 Greater El Paso, 29, 55 Greater Southwest, 53 Great Silver Convention, 33 Gryder, C., 195, 196, 209, 213 Guaderrama, Juan, 161 Guaderrama, María, 161–62 Guaderrama, Mariana, 161–62 Guaderrama family, 81, 161–62 Guggenheim, Daniel, 35 Guggenheim, Meyer, 34 Guggenheim family, 5, 34–35, 51 Guptil, Colin, 241 Gutiérrez, Jesús, 57, 76, 143; as ASARCO employee, 69, 70, 112, 122–23, 124–25, 128, 131, 137, 138, 141 Hall, Stuart, 13 Happer, J. A., 41 Hart, John M., 28 Hart, Simeon, 27 Hayden, Dolores, 11, 259 Hernández, Julio, 119, 134 Hernández, Sipiana, 188 Herrera-Sobek, María, 172 Herron, Ralph E., 53 Hidalgo, José, 113, 125, 130, 134 Index

325

Hoja Parroquial de Smelter, 86–87, 88, 149, 188, 292 (n. 80); Los Trovadores and, 170, 171, 173, 175; Mexican government and Catholic Church and, 178–80, 182; women’s behavior and, 203–4, 205 Holguin, Paula, 199, 211, 212, 213 Holy Family Catholic Church, 52 Huerta, Victoriano, 157 Immigration Act of 1917, 30, 40 International Brick Company, 31, 57, 62, 63, 81, 123, 138, 174 International Smelter, 37 International Union of Mine, Mill, and Smelter Workers (IUMMSW), 115, 119, 132, 133, 134, 135, 249 Interstate 10, 7, 48, 61, 258 Islas, Carlos, 126 Japanese immigrants, 30, 51 Jiménez, José, Sr., 76, 82, 83, 113, 130, 134 Johnson-Reed Act of 1924, 30 Jones, E. B., 173, 214, 303 (n. 5), 306–7 (n. 60) Junta Patriótica de Smelter, 179, 182 Kansas City Consolidated Smelting and Refining Company, 33, 34, 61, 115 Kelly, William, 241, 242, 255 Kemp and Solís Realty, 234, 246, 311 (n. 24) Knapp, Frank H., 30–31, 101 Koogle, Barney, 240, 246, 255, 311 (n. 24) Ku Klux Klan (KKK), 49–50 La Acequía, 191, 192 Labor Advocate, 108–9, 132 Labor strikes, 109; at ASARCO smelter, 9, 31, 115, 131–32, 133, 134–35, 138, 144, 147; Clifton-Morenci strike, 131, 296–97 (n. 90); clothing manufactur326

Index

ing and, 231; women laundry workers, 31, 99 Labor unions: anti-Mexican feeling in, 109–10, 132; at ASARCO smelter, 13, 119, 121, 130, 131–36, 147, 249; Mexican Americans vs. immigrants and, 133–34, 297 (nn. 96, 103); Mexican workers and, 31, 99, 108–10, 131–36, 231, 297 (n. 103) La Calavera, 8, 62, 232, 234, 265; housing and conditions, 72–73, 75; lead contamination and, 245, 253, 258 La Campaña por la Conservación del Barrio (The Campaign for the Conservation of the Barrio), 238 “La Esmelda.” See Esmeltianos Laguna Addition. See La Calavera La Unión Occidental Mexicana, 163 “La Vieja Esmelda” (The Old Smeltertown; poem), 273–75 Lea, Tom, 158, 160, 161, 162 Lead contamination: ASARCO and, 1, 226, 227, 228, 236–37, 239–43, 249, 252, 253, 262, 265, 267; Esmeltianos and, 1, 228, 236–37, 239, 244–45, 246, 247, 248; Smeltertown destruction and, 1, 3, 15, 226, 227, 246–47, 252, 254, 258. See also Children Lead processing: ASARCO and, 22, 34, 35, 39, 113, 123, 124, 226, 230, 236; first smelter in El Paso and, 21, 32, 33–34, 285 (n. 47) League of United Latin American Citizens (LULAC), 193, 218; newspaper of, 193 Lee, Mary Antoine, 66, 68, 74, 91, 290 (n. 25), 311 (n. 24) Lerma, José, 58, 72, 141 Levi Strauss, 230 Lice, 160–61. See also Typhus Liga Católica Mexicana, 182 Limestone quarries, 31–32, 63, 72, 75, 87, 173 Longuemare, Charles, 21, 32

López, Alberto “Beto,” Sr., 81 López, Carlos, 71 López, Leonor, 146 Los Angeles, Calif., 6, 29, 177 Los Trovadores, 88, 170–76, 184; concert in New Mexico, 170, 203; mexicanidad and, 14, 173, 174–75; official banner for, 173–74; songs of, 170–72, 175, 302 (n. 52); women members of, 199, 203 Low, Setha M., 3 Lower Smeltertown. See El Bajo Lucero, Amadita, 84, 167, 183 Luján, Angel, 67, 69, 81, 156, 185, 191, 219 Luján, David, 186 Luján, Francisco, 185 Luján, José “Corona,” 42, 63, 76, 77, 149, 155, 160; as child in Smeltertown, 57, 82; coming to Smeltertown, 165, 185 Luján, Luz, 191; as author’s grandmother, 8, 14, 220–21; coming to Smeltertown, 185–86; cooking and food, 206, 207–8; early schooling, 188–90; formal citizenship of, 219–20, 221, 222; as member of women’s community, 210–14, 216–17, 307–8 (n. 80); Smelter Vocational School and, 14, 144, 190, 196–203, 206–14, 218–19, 306–7 (n. 60); as teacher, 144, 209–10 Luján, Manuel, 186 Luján, Paz, 92, 160, 185 Luján family, 73–74, 185–86 LULAC. See League of United Latin American Citizens Lydia Patterson Institute, 190 Madero, Francisco, 152, 155, 157 Magoffin, James W., 25–26, 27 Manubens, P. Juan, 170 Márquez, Cecilia, 245, 246, 249, 254 Martínez, Carmen. See Escandón, Carmen

Martínez, Jesusita, 213 Martínez, Lupe, 220 Martínez, Willie, 71 Mata, Adolfo, Jr., 273 MAYA, 254 McNeil, James, 242 McNutt Oil and Refining, 231 McWilliams, Carey, 237 MEChA, 253, 254 Meed, Douglas V., 161, 162, 300 (n. 29) Meléndez, José Luján, 8, 42, 43, 44 Meléndez, Kika, 188 Memory: author’s, 7, 9, 146; of company store, 68–69; of El Paso, 5, 280 (n. 9); and history, 7, 10–11, 275–76; and loss of Smeltertown, 257; and nostalgia, 7, 68, 266; political nature of, 276–77; positive memories of place, 58, 76, 259, 275; recasting of, 67, 74, 129, 141, 147, 245–46; and reunions, 270–72; of Smeltertown by Esmeltianos, 7, 9, 57–58, 59–60, 266, 272–73; of Smeltertown by others, 265–67 Mendoza, María, 83, 167 Mesita Elementary School, 262 Methodist Church, 53 Mexican Americans: compared to immigrants, 17, 107; compared to immigrants, for work at smelter, 108, 121, 133–34, 136, 296 (n. 60); as foremen at smelter, 131; labor unions and, 31, 109, 132, 133–34, 297 (nn. 96, 103); middle class, 51, 52; Smeltertown as permanent community of, 3, 6; World War II service, 134, 135, 136 Mexican businesses in Smeltertown, 3, 57–58, 76–77, 80, 232, 234, 248, 253, 255–56 Mexican Central Railroad, 28, 36, 63, 105 Mexican food, 77, 80, 99, 143, 144; Americanization and, 206–9 Mexicanidad, 14, 152, 282 (n. 21); Catholic Church and, 13, 152, 167, 168–69, 170, Index

327

176–84, 301 (n. 47); Los Trovadores and, 14, 173, 174–75 Mexican Independence Day, 69, 84, 138, 163, 168, 178, 179–83 Mexican National Railroad, 21 Mexican Ore Company, 33 Mexican Revolution, 28, 30, 35, 40; ASARCO and, 105–6, 155, 157–58, 159; Catholic Church and, 176; El Paso and Smeltertown and, 6, 151, 152–57, 158, 159, 161, 162; gun smuggling during, 154–55; Mexican exiles from, 51–52, 162–63; Mexican migration and, 8, 22, 39, 123, 185; U.S. intervention in, 157, 158 Mexican songs, 171–72. See also Los Trovadores Mexican women: American identity of, 199–205, 218–19, 221; at ASARCO smelter, 145–46, 299 (n. 134); Catholic Church and, 85, 88, 89, 169, 180, 203–4; community activities of, 210–14; elite Mexicans and, 162; escuelas particulares and, 83, 144, 167–68, 183, 188; fashion and, 199–205; friendships, 210–11; laundry workers, 31, 99, 109, 143, 144, 196; as maids, 66, 107, 144, 196–98; Mexican Revolution and, 153–54; outside work and, 143–45; raising children, 142–43; as support for male smelter workers, 99, 100, 142–46. See also Americanization of Mexicans; Smelter Vocational School Mexican workers: border crossing at El Paso, 40, 160, 185; clothing manufacturing and, 231; deportation of, during Great Depression, 112, 135, 217–18, 230; in El Paso, 6–7, 21–22, 27, 30–31, 49, 56, 100, 101, 106–10, 293 (n. 9); illegal immigration, 41, 42; maquiladora centers for, in Mexico, 232; Mexican American vs. immigrant, 109–10, 133–34, 218, 254; 328

Index

Mexican Revolution and, 155, 157; in Mexico, 42, 44, 103–6; migration to U.S. southwest, 5, 6, 12, 22, 30, 39– 45; recruitment of, in El Paso, 41–42, 105, 106–7; wages compared with Anglos, 107–9, 118–19, 134; women, as maids, 66, 107, 144, 196–98, 218; women, as laundry workers, 31, 99, 109, 143, 144. See also American Smelting and Refining Company; Esmeltianos; Labor unions; Race; Railroads Mexico: Catholic Church and, 152, 176–81; early U.S. trade with, 25–27; El Paso relationship, 24, 29–30, 32, 177–78, 217–18, 232, 284 (n. 30); independence, 25; Mexicans in U.S. and, 163–64; mining in, 21, 22–23, 26, 30, 32, 33, 35, 42, 105–6, 119, 123, 141; poverty in, 22, 39; railroads and, 21, 28, 35, 104–5, 153; smelters in, 35, 42; U.S. industrialists and, 5–6, 12, 22, 23, 28, 30, 34–35, 39, 51, 103–6; U.S. military intervention in Mexican Revolution and, 157, 158; U.S. War with Mexico and, 26 Meyer Guggenheim Sons, 34, 35 Mier, Adolpho, 247 Mining: copper, 21, 26, 35, 36, 37, 106, 230; Gold Rush, 26; Mexican immigration and, 40; in Mexico, 21, 22–23, 26, 30, 32, 33, 35–37, 42, 44, 105–6, 185, 230; silver-lead ore, 21, 33, 34; in U.S. Southwest, 21, 37, 38, 105, 106, 131, 296–97 (n. 90) Miranda, Federico, 271 Mission Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe de los Mansos del Paso del Norte, 25 Monterrey, Mex., 35, 42, 43 Montoya, Margarita, 168 Montoya, María, 183 Mora y del Río, José, 177 Movies, 80, 88, 134, 186, 198 Multiple sclerosis (MS), 262, 272 Murillo, Chon, 57

Nation, 237 National Origins Act of 1924, 41 Native Americans, 26, 45 Naturalization, 165, 193, 217, 219–20 Navarro, Juan, 153 Neill, J. W., 37 Nelson, Kenneth, 242 New Deal, 211, 218 New Mexico, 31, 37, 51, 63, 86, 158, 230, 265; Los Trovadores and, 170, 203; Santa Fe, 25, 26; Socorro, 25, 32, 33 New York Times, 244, 245, 247, 262 Nichols Copper Refinery, 37 Oakes, H. G., 195 Oñate, Juan de, 25 Ormsbee, J. J., 63, 66 Orozco, Pascual, 152–53, 159 Ortíz, Andrés, 82, 115, 119, 143, 144 Overland Mail Company building, 46–47, 55 Paisano Drive. See U.S. Highway 85 Palacio, María, 66–67, 75, 76, 80, 138, 142–43, 144, 210, 220, 246 Parent-Teacher Association (PTA), 8, 212, 213, 214 Paso del Norte, 25, 26, 28, 48, 51, 52–53. See also Ciudad Juárez Password, 161 Pecos, Tex., 213 Peña, Gloria, 243, 244, 257 Perales, David, 208, 209, 214, 220 Perales, Jesús, 115, 118 Perales, Lorenzo, Sr., 8, 139, 191, 208, 219 Perales, Lorenzo, Jr., 198, 208, 213, 214, 222 Perales, Manuel, 185, 208, 210, 220, 221 Perales, María de la Luz Luján. See Luján, Luz Pereas, Rafael, 71 Perry, Rick, 263 Pershing, John J., 158

Peterman, Lucy M., 54–55 Petroleum refineries, 231 Phelps Dodge, 5, 37, 132, 133, 134, 230, 297 (n. 99) Phoenix, Ariz., 231–32, 249 Pineda, Lupe, 216 Pinto, Carlos, 85 Pius XI (pope), 178 Place, 9; and agency, 3, 59–60; as analytical device, 12, 13–14; attachment to, 234, 244, 258–59, 270, 277; and identity, 13, 16, 164; positive memories of, 7, 10, 58, 76, 259, 275; power of, 11, 259; social meaning of, 3–4, 58, 91, 93, 259. See also Memory Plan de San Diego (1915), 157 Plays, 88, 169, 212 Popular Dry Goods Company, 143–44 Porras, Charles, 218 Prieto, Pedro, 87 Progressive Era, 54, 158–59, 187, 190 Prohibition, 49, 154, 155, 225 Project Bravo, 254 Protestant Church, 48, 53, 80, 86, 190, 291 (n. 53), 292 (n. 78), 301 (n. 47) Pueblo Revolt (1680), 25 Puente Colorado, 75, 82. See also Buena Vista Puente Culumpio, 9, 153 Pulido, Laura, 227 Race: disease associated with Mexicans, 41, 159–61, 176, 183, 185; environmental hazards and, 227, 252–53, 258; illegal activities associated with Mexicans, 156–57, 161–62, 170, 183; labor unions and, 109–10, 132; Mexican workers vs. Anglos at smelter, 105, 112, 114–15, 118–19, 122, 126–31, 295 (n. 39); and stereotypes of Mexicans, 84, 100, 101–3, 104, 113, 114, 120, 124, 156–57, 162, 183, 190; wages according to, 107–9, 118–19. See also Segregation Index

329

Railroads, 50, 74; bringing ore to El Paso, 8, 21, 22–23, 37; El Paso, importance to, 5, 12, 27–29, 32, 34, 46; Mexican migrants’ use of, 22–23, 39, 44, 105; Mexican workers and, 40, 41–42, 43, 44, 45, 63, 101–3, 104, 105, 107, 132, 167; use at smelter, 21–22, 34, 113; U.S.–financed, in Mexico, 28, 35, 103, 153 Rain of Scorpions (Trambley), 268–69 Ramírez, Catherine, 199 Rentería, Prisciliana Torres, 144, 146, 292 (n. 78) Rentería, Ramón, 265 Revista Católica, 170 Reyes, Emma, 271 Rickard, Brent N., 43, 63, 192, 193 Rio Grande River, 7, 21, 32, 46, 153; Paso del Norte and, 25, 26; Smeltertown location and, 2, 9, 48, 61, 62–63, 70 Rio Grande, Sierra Madre, and Pacific Railroad, 28 Rivers, Angelina Sarabia, 271 Roberts, B. D., 126 Robinson, James, 132 Rodriguez, Ariteo, 57 Rodríguez, David, 261 Rodríguez, Eduardo, 126 Rodriguez, Nicardo, 57 Rodríguez, Silverio, 248–49 Rodríguez, Ventura, 87 Romero, Mary, 227 Romo, David Dorado, 154, 155 Romo, Rodolfo, 71 Rose Gregory Houchen Settlement House, 53–54, 190 Rosenblum, Bernard F., 225, 237, 256 Ruiz, Vicki L., 14 Sacred Heart Catholic Church (El Paso), 48, 85, 172–73 Saenz, Pablo, 44 St. Patrick Cathedral, 48, 52, 174 330

Index

Salas, Herlinda, 145, 146 Salas, Ramón, 44, 58, 81, 89, 198, 292 (n. 88) Salazar, Ray, 247 Salt War (1877), 46 San Antonio, Tex., 26, 29, 212 Sánchez, George, 163 Sánchez, Pancho, 125 San Elizario, Tex., 25, 46, 47 Sanitation, 67, 70, 72, 215, 225, 237, 238–39, 248 San José de Cristo Rey Catholic Church, 1, 9, 62, 80; ASARCO and, 87, 90–91; Cristo Rey project, 88–90, 292 (n. 88); escuela del padre, 83, 186, 188–89; Esmeltianos and, 8, 57, 85–91, 149–52, 169–84, 291 (n. 53); Hijas de María, 169, 180; Los Trovadores, 14, 88, 170–76; mexicanidad and, 13, 167, 168–69, 170, 176–84; Mexican Independence Day and, 178, 179–83; Our Lady of Immaculate Conception stone grotto next to, 149–50, 184; religious organizations of, 168, 169; Rogativos por Mexico (public prayers for Mexico), 178–79, 180, 181; women and, 85, 88, 89, 169, 180, 203–4. See also Hoja Parroquial de Smelter San José del Rio parish. See San José de Cristo Rey Catholic Church San Luis Potosí, 22, 35, 42 Santa Eulalia mine, 33 Santa Fe, N.Mex., 25, 26 Santa Fe International Bridge, 160 Santa Fe Railroad. See Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe Railroad Santana, Melchor, Sr., 44, 273, 290 (n. 30); as child in Smeltertown, 58, 72, 73, 75, 80, 83, 164, 165, 183; schooling of, 167–68; Smelter Vocational School and, 139, 191 Santa Rosalía Church, 48, 85. See also San José de Cristo Rey Catholic Church

Santa Teresita Catholic Chapel (Buena Vista), 271 Saturday Evening Post, 237 Saucedo, Pedro, 68, 69, 82, 131, 137, 139, 194 Seañez, Becky, 58, 232, 234, 245, 255–56, 273 Seañez, Freddy, 257 Seañez, Joe, 232, 234, 246, 248, 253–54, 255–56 Secondo, P. Hector, 174 Segregation, 213; churches and, 47–48, 50, 52, 85; in El Paso, 12, 24, 46–47, 48–50, 85, 151, 237; schools and, 48–50, 82–83, 84, 192; at smelter, 126–27, 134; in Smeltertown, 2, 3, 47, 50, 60, 68, 91, 174 Shapleigh, Eliot, 265 Sierra Blanca, Tex., 67 Sierra Mojada mine, 33 Silent Spring (Carson), 235 Silex, Humberto, 119, 127, 132 Simmons, Ruby Jane, 205 Smelter Boy Scout Troop No. 10. See Boy Scouts of America Troop 10 Smelter Community Center Association, 84, 193, 214–16, 238 Smelter School Board, 82, 216 Smelter School District, 81–85, 173, 189, 303 (n. 5) Smelter Terrace: as Anglo part of Upper Smeltertown (El Alto), 2, 63, 70, 74, 91, 281–82 (n. 16), 311 (n. 21); housing and conditions in, 63–68, 73; location, 62, 63; Mexican women working as maids in, 66, 144; schools and, 82–83. See also Anglo community of Smeltertown “Smeltertown” (Flores), 269–70 Smeltertown–Buena Vista reunion, 271, 272, 316 (n. 35) Smeltertown Cemetery, 62, 75, 258 Smeltertown residents. See American Smelting and Refining Company;

Anglo community of Smeltertown; El Alto; El Bajo; Esmeltianos; La Calavera; Mexican women; Smelter Terrace Smelter Vocational School, 89, 303 (n. 5); Americanization of Mexicans at, 14, 139, 186–88, 190–93, 194, 198–209, 212–13, 214, 218–19, 221–22; ASARCO and, 84, 90, 139–40, 187, 191, 192; boys’ education at, 143, 191, 192; cooking classes, 206–9; curricula for women, 187, 194–98, 205–6; director of, 81, 84, 139, 191, 192, 193–94; graduates, 8, 214, 275; graduates to smelter, 90, 123, 127–28, 139–40, 192; importance of, to Esmeltianos, 84–85, 139; location, 62; sports and cultural activities, 198–99; teaching at, 84, 209; women and, 143, 186–88, 190, 194–209; women graduates, 8, 144, 209, 212–13, 214, 306–7 (n. 60); women’s fashion and, 199–205 Smelting, 34, 61, 119; in Arizona, 35, 37, 107, 131, 296–97 (n. 90); in Mexico, 35, 42. See also American Smelting and Refining Company; Copper smelting; Lead processing Smith, J. P., 174 Smith-Hughes Act, 209 Smokestacks of smelter: as landmark, 8, 17, 59, 88, 92, 262, 263, 265, 266, 274, 277; pollution and, 1, 61, 142, 225, 230, 235, 236, 241, 246, 253, 258, 262, 264 Sneed, John, 55 Sociedad de la Buena Prensa (Society of the Good Press), 172 Socorro, N.Mex., 25, 32, 33 Soler, Urbici, 89 Sonora, 32, 106 Sosa, Ramona, 271–72 Southern Pacific Railroad, 21, 27, 28, 37, 41–42, 44, 48, 62–63, 131, 192 Southwestern Commerce, 55 Index

331

Southwestern Portland Cement Company, 22, 32, 62, 63, 109, 132, 143, 191, 284 (n. 38) Southwest International Miner’s Association, 33 Spanish language, 45, 130, 133, 208; Los Trovadores and, 174, 175; newspapers, 52, 152, 163, 166, 167, 178, 182, 217; as primary language for Smeltertown residents, 86, 166–67, 168; schools and, 49, 83, 168, 186, 188 Spanish rule of Mexico and Southwest, 24–25, 26 Standard Oil of Texas, 231 State School of Mines and Metallurgy, 33. See also University of Texas at El Paso Stephenson, Hugh, 25, 27 Stern, Alexandra, 160 Stewart, Antonio, 234 Storm, D., 47, 290 (n. 25), 311 (n. 24) Stormsville, 47, 48 Sulfur dioxide, 226, 235, 236, 241, 246, 250 Syrians, 51 Telles, Raymond, 247 Terrazas, Luis, 51 Texas A&M University, 193 Texas Air Control Board, 226, 241, 243, 250 Texas and Pacific Railroad, 28 Texas Bureau of Labor Statistics, 42 Texas Commission on Environmental Quality (TCEQ), 263, 264 Texas Company, 231 Texas Department of Health, 253, 262, 272 Texas Rangers, 157, 158, 161, 162 Texas Western College, 38, 91. See also University of Texas at El Paso Torres, María Mata, 273–75 Tourism, 29, 32, 52–53, 160, 228, 238 Towne, Robert Safford, 33, 34, 37, 42, 61 332

Index

Trambley, Estella Portillo, 268–69 Trans-Peco Association of the PTA, 213 Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo (1848), 26, 157 Twenty-Five Year Club, 140 Typhus, 41, 159, 160 U.S. Air Defense Center, 229 U.S. Army Air Corps, 123 U.S. Border Patrol, 40, 61, 160 U.S. Bureau of Immigration, 40 U.S. Department of Health, 211 U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development, 240 U.S. Department of Labor, 42 U.S. Geographic Board, 89 U.S. Highway 85, 61, 232, 233, 238, 241, 290 (n. 30) U.S. Immigration and Naturalization Service, 217 U.S. Immigration Commission. See Dillingham Commission U.S. Public Health Service, 159 United Steelworkers of America (USWA), 249 United Way, 261 University of Texas at Austin, 193 University of Texas at El Paso, 209, 253, 262, 286 (n. 66); College of Mines and Metallurgy, 33, 38; Oral History Collection, 10, 141 Upper Smeltertown. See El Alto; Smelter Terrace Upper Valley Improvement Association, 239 Urquidi, Fabián, 57, 77 Vásquez, Pedro, 126 Vázquez, Nicolasa, 80 Vázquez, Sabino, 22, 39, 80 Vázquez family, 22, 81 Vera, Porfirio, 77, 80 Verdaguer, Jacinto, 171 Vila, Pablo, 6

Villa, Pancho, 152, 153, 157–58 Villalobos, Viviano, 265 Villega, Librado J., 57 Virgin of Guadalupe, 25, 88, 168, 169, 177 Vocational News, 192 Ware, Domingo, 68 War of Texas Secession (1836), 26 White, Constance, 43, 73 White, Richard, 10 William Beaumont Army Medical Center, 229 Williams, Bert, 1, 225, 237, 240, 255, 256 Wilson, Woodrow, 157, 158 Women. See Mexican women Woodside, T. J., 126

World War I, 32, 39, 40–41, 112, 137 World War II: and ASARCO smelter, 97, 112, 137, 296 (n. 60); El Bajo street names and, 71, 225; El Paso development and, 229, 310 (n. 10); Mexican men and, 71, 97, 123, 134, 135, 215, 219, 225; Mexican workers and, 134–35, 136, 146, 296 (n. 60), 297 (n. 103); women and, 145–46 YMCA: in El Paso, 190; in Smeltertown, 9, 57, 80–81, 86, 198, 234, 291 (n. 53); sports and, 81, 198 Ysleta, Tex., 25, 46, 47, 55, 230 Zach White Elementary School, 191 Zinc, 230, 236–37

Index

333