Voices From The Past

The Finest Blades Of Steel

I'm not sure how I feel about ghosts.  Elderly Cajun family members certainly taught me that they believed in them.   I don't see dead people, but I do sometimes hear the voices of the past in places I've been and things I've read.  More importantly, I feel things I cannot explain, real events that I would have had no way of have knowing.  San Elizario, Texas was one of those places where this proved to be true.  It was there that we met an elderly man who had the keys to the chapel.  He took us on a tour and told us a lovely tale about how the angels came to be painted inside the church.

Now, I've heard similar stories over the years and found them equally charming, but probably didn't place much stock in them being true.  This gentleman refused any offer of payment for his tour, but did steer us to place a donation in the locked box at the chapel  After that first visit to San Elizario, I did a little research on the history of the area and fell asleep dreaming about what I'd learned and seen.  I thought that the history would make a good story.

We went back the next day for some more exploring and hoping to ask some questions of our former tour guide.  This is a very small town.  The kind of place where everyone knows everyone.  Each person we met denied that Don Ignacio lived there, and certainly each was puzzled our claim that he had unlocked the doors to certain buildings.

Weeks later, upon returning home I went to the Library of Congress to look at old Depression era photographs of San Elizario, and to find any books that held keys to the history of the area.    I kept finding references to a Don Ignacio, who had died long before I was born.  Descriptions of him were eerily exact to the man we met.

I never finished writing about that town.  I just couldn't see how it's past would be relevant to today.  Now I know better.  Over fifteen years later, I begin again.

Fifty-Three Slain in Seventy-two hours in Ciudad Juarez, Mexico

Understated History

The Finest Blades Of Steel

There's a marker in San Elizario. It's one of those politically correct governmental historic markers, the kind that often white-wash history.  It simply reads:

"Resentment over private control of the salt lakes of this region, often called the Guadeloupe Lakes, in 1877 led to the El Paso Salt War which entailed the loss of many lives and much property."

I guess it depends on who is paying for such Centennial markers as to how much truth gets told.  Just like it depends on who is writing the history textbooks as to which version of the story, or even if the story is told at all, is presented to future generations.

San Elizario, Texas

The Finest Blades Of Steel

"I am a blade of the finest steel;

I'll crusade for God or die,

come woe or wounded.

Tho' I love the sound of the battle's clamor,

And could claim notoriety and stardom when I win

It is to my Master I'll only be true;

Now tell me, compadrazgo, who are you?"

~Jerilee Wei

Today, as I read the headlines, I know that it will take more than blades of the finest steel to win the war for the streets of Tiburcio and the rest of the neutral zone in the Juarez Valley. The locals call the area, "El Valle de la Muerte" (The Valley of Death). For them this is nothing new, because history is simply repeating itself with a modern day twist. It's time the rest of the world knew it.

So, today I dust off an old unfinished manuscript, since the time has come to write their story. I'm ready to fight this battle with the most powerful sword of all -- the power of words. Don Ignacio and Senora Carlotta Arguellas will lead my army, but it will take readers like you to help bring them alive. I hope you enjoy the process that helps me to write.

Today it is all about the back story, the hidden history of a border town near El Paso, Texas. Years ago, for three days, my husband and I sat in the cab of a commercial truck over a three day weekend -- trapped in a dirty and somewhat dangerous truck stop waiting for his delivery destination to re-open for business. Desperate for some mind diversion, a flyer touting the historic allure of three nearby old Spanish missions seemed like our only chance for entertainment.

What happened that day inside the Presidio Chapel of San Elizario still haunts us today. After meeting an elderly man in the parking lot who claimed to be the chapel caretaker, he gave us a tour of the chapel, using a key to open the door.  We spent about an hour listening to his guided tour of that mission chapel and the surrounding area. Wanting to know more, we came back the next day to ask him some more questions, only to find out virtually no one there knew of the old man or had ever seen him. There were no guided tours, official or otherwise according to several locals that we stopped.

Once home again, with my curiosity getting the best of me, I began a journey looking into the history of that town. The results were shocking. Even greater than that back story, is what is happening in that and other border towns today.  Is this same turf battle happening all across America today with most of us looking the other way?


Crime Is Destroying Border Towns