THE VOICE OF MEXICO
Despite the popularity of visiting Mexico, the tourist does not really see Mexico any more than a tourist of the United states sees this country. Commercialism epitomizes all contacts and impressions. The border towns and industrialized areas of Mexico have only two classes of people to show - rich or poor - and little in the way of basic culture.
Along with my little brother (240 pounds), I spent two years in the state of Sonora in Northern Mexico, in the Yaque country, 200 miles south of the border. Our mining operation was centered in the mountains at 6000 feet near where the Yaque River changes course 90 degrees from south to west. During that time, we built 24 miles of road and three air strips. We prospected all over the state of Sonora and Chiuhuaua by jeep, airplane and "charanga." We drove a diesel Caterpillar-type tractor 124 miles overland, pulling a carryall loaded with fuel and flew 800 hours over all of Mexico down as far as Acapulco. During this time we had many adventures and worked with many fine people. I was called "Julio" and my brother was called "Gordo."
I can say from this experience that the real Mexico speaks to you through its people, the beauty of the country, and the call of adventure in a frontier land. In this area, it was not necessary to speak their language; in most cases, the fundamental nature of activity made speech unnecessary. In other cases, if you could not get an abstract idea across with your limited Spanish, you just waited until an interpreter happened by.
There were many different kinds of people with whom we lived. I will describe a few:
a. There was Manuel, the mine foreman, who, when asked to verify the validity of a statement or a condition, would say "Look like." Another expression he used to denote an abundance of something was to say it was "too much." This was a literal translation of the Spanish "Mucho – Mucho," which means "a lot" or "very much." You can readily see how much interpretation was needed when, after asking how much silver was in the new mine of Julio, he answered, "Too much."
One time, as we were entering an old mine shaft, someone shouted, "Bivaro" – snake. Everyone stood still and listened. Manuel just pulled out his 22 pistol, located the snake, and shot its head off.
Another time, we were climbing a steep trail over large rocks. On an exposed piece of granite, Manuel suddenly turned and pointed to what appeared to me to be a polished surface saying "lion." He had seen a lion track on the rock. Manuel had a 22 rifle with which he shot doves – (La Paloma") – on the wing. It was a Winchester style rifle and the trigger did not work. It was fired by completing the loading cycle with the breach lever.
One time we failed to make our takeoff and careened, in half flight, into a forest of trees. We came to a halt with both wings torn off and the fuselage broken off behind the passenger compartment. While we were all yelling, "Cut the switches!" – "Let's get out of here!" – "What happened?" Manuel silently bowed his head and said "Thank you, Lord."
b. Then there was Pepe, the local mining engineer. The only word I ever heard Pepe say was "Bueno."
c. Then there was old Charlie Mays, the old-time aviator who flew during the Mexican Revolution and during the Border Patrol days. He was an American and Mexican citizen and enjoyed privileges on both sides of the border. He flew all over central Mexico, Arizona, Colorado and Texas without a map and maintained his position by memory and by reference to major mountain ranges. Charlie was approximately 65 years old, weighed about 65 lbs. and was so thin and dry his false teeth wouldn't even stay in his mouth.
Charlie had a bad heart and was grounded in the United states. He had to keep his airplane in Mexico and did charter flying in Mexico for the citizens of both countries. Charlie was the oldest Bellanca dealer in the United states and his flying demonstrations always sold the airplane.
One day, I had occasion to go to Batuc, but had never been there before. I asked Charlie about the landing field. He said, "you can either go in down-hill and up-wind or up-wind and down-hill. I always go in 'down-wind and up-hill," he said, "and when I come to the hill, then slow down to 50 miles, use full flaps, pull up the nose, and slip her around." When my brother, who could not fly, rode with Charlie, he felt it was good insurance to crank up the gear himself to conserve Charlie's heart.
Then we had the experiences of the trail. There was the Arriero who would sing songs as he drove the burros and would run up and down the burro train shouting "Burro! Hah," keeping them in line and keeping them moving. To see him lash a 200 pound pack on a burro with a rope, and to know that there were unprotected fresh eggs within the pack was an experience. When the pack train was ready to go, there would be shouts of "Listo" – (We are ready – Let's go) – "Burro! Hah!"
Then there was Jose Domingo Alvarado Zunigo, Inspector of Mines, an immense man with a mouth full of teeth, three of the most prominent in front being of gold! He would periodically show up and state that he had evidence of illegal ore shipments, but that he would be glad to use his influence in Hermasillo to obtain a permit which would validate the reported infraction if we wished to fly him over to that city. We both knew it was a shakedown to get a flight to the capital, where he was politicking for a port in his district.
Then there were the reports of rich ore bodies and lost Spanish mines. All lost mine stories are the same. The old Yaqui Indian, on his death bed, describes the location to his recent benefactor and gives him a map.
All reports of old Spanish mines are the same. They are fabulously rich, but have been caved in by the Franciscan Monks when the government order to seize the mines was announced, and it would take considerable digging to get to the rich ore. In the words of Manuel, "They trow it down!' and "the gooda stuff is on the bottom."
There were many visits to old mines, new mines, lost mines, no mines, etc. but with always the hope of striking it rich on the next one.
After contracting Typhoid, Malaria, Pneumonia, a Strep infection and depletion of capital all at the same time, I was forced to leave Mexico. Not withstanding all hardships and lack of fruition of plans, I can still hear the voice of Mexico calling me back to look for the "Gooda stuff on the bottom."
