Laurel Anne Hill

Archives for October 2020

By

Laurel And Hidalgo: Part III

Welcome to the third episode of On the Hidalgo Treaty Road: the twisted path leading into and out of the Mexican-American War in the Nineteenth Century.

The Mexican half of my father’s family didn’t immigrate to California until sometime in the 1850s, or a little later, in the case of Great-Grandpa Emigdio Medina. By then, California had already “traded” the golden eagle of Mexico for Uncle Sam’s bald one. A war of US conquest, actually.

Great-Great Grandma Francesca, a Tejada by birth and an Orendain by marriage, made the journey as a widow with her two young daughters. All that happened long before the now-famous Orendain tequila existed, at least as a commercial product. Who knows what the Orendains served in Mexico way-back-when as the guys got together to boast, debate or commiserate? Several varieties of my family’s tequila are now available for sale on my side of the border. At my age, I rarely consume hard liquor. Still… When I die, do I really want any of the Orendains to give me a bad time?

“You mean, YOU devoured hundreds of bran muffins baked by the Swedish-English side of your family, but you never even tried one single sip of our unbelievably incredible tequila?”

Those of you familiar with my novels and short stories already know I recommend staying on the good side of spirit entities, particularly members of one’s family. I think I’ll take the proactive route now and avoid potential embarrassment in the future.

Which brings me to today’s actual subject: Mentioning two of the many books I read while researching to write my new YA/historical fantasy/magical realism novel about sixteen-year-old Catalina Delgado. If you’re wondering why I haven’t yet revealed my manuscript’s title, Sand Hill Review Press only recently accepted the book for publication. Now we’ve figured out the title: Plague of Flies: Revolt of the Spirits, 1846.

Hint for those of you drifting toward a semi-conscious state as you read: A revolt of spirits spells trouble.

Reference Book #1 in my bibliography: The Decline of the Californios: A Social History of the Spanish-Speaking Californians, 1846-1890 was first published by the Regents of the University of California in 1966. The copyright was renewed in 1994 by author Leonard Pitt. Please don’t confuse this Leonard Pitt with Leonard Garvey Pitts Jr.—the American commentator, journalist, novelist, and winner of the 2004 Pulitzer Prize for Commentary. Leonard Garvey Pitts Jr. was born in 1957. I don’t know the birth date of Dr. Leonard Pitt, but he was definitely older. The Decline of the Californios was not the first book I read about Alta California, nor was it the most informative, but it’s a good place to start the discussion.

As an aside, I love reading newspaper columns written by Leonard Garvey Pitts, Jr. He is amazing. On the other hand, I’ve heard Dr. Leonard Pitt (no “s”) has been criticized for his sometimes “romantic” portrayal of California’s Nineteenth-Century days. Yet Pitt (no “s”) describes the world he writes about according to his viewpoint and overall message to convey. True, his style of writing is almost too entertaining in places. Melodrama creeps with ease into the pages. Regardless, Pitt (no “s”) left me with a lot to ponder as I planned and wrote my novel. Thank you, sir!    

Which leads me to Reference Book #2 in my bibliography: Benjamin Madley’s An American Genocide: The United States and the California Indian Catastrophe, published in 2016. This is an excellent and compelling (if sometimes stomach-twisting) work of nonfiction for those ready to face the more horrific details of Nineteenth-Century California’s history. On a number of pages, I had to stop and go get a breath of fresh air or a drink of water before I could continue. Once I needed to put the book down for several days. And the most unsettling part? I truly believe Madley did NOT exaggerate the word-pictures he painted.

Turn to page 60 of An American Genocide. Dare to read how John Augustus Sutter (upon whose land the California Gold Rush began) fed the Native Americans effectively enslaved under his command. He fed his forced laborers a disgusting mess of offal and bran in long troughs, as if they were pigs. Read it! Go read it! Then enlist others to read the same. And Sutter did this when slavery was illegal in Mexico.

Of course, the needle on Sutter’s moral compass had lost some of its magnetism years earlier. He must have enjoyed spending money more than earning it. Threatened by creditors and imprisonment, Sutter had deserted his wife and children in Switzerland before heading for the New World, picking up a couple Hawaiian gals for his entertainment on his circuitous route to Alta California.

One might even claim that Yankees (Yanqui may be a Twentieth-Century spelling) only continued the dehumanization and abuse of Native Americans in Alta California begun by the Spaniards and Mexicans (and to a lesser extent, the Russians). As we all know from history and the daily news, two-tiered legal systems can and do light the grim pathway to the beating, sexual assault, torture and death of those in the lower tier. For your next instructive throw-up moment, turn to page 34 of An American Genocide. Carefully read the indented paragraph, the one explaining the fate of some Native American runaways recaptured by the Spaniards in Alta California. Let’s just say it involves the hide from a newly slaughtered and skinned calf.

One of Madley’s points, however, is that the USA took a giant step over the dividing line between murder and genocide. Their goal became extermination of Alta California’s Native American population. Between 1846-1873, that population dropped from 150,000 to 30,000. Less than 17,000 remained by 1880.

Madley’s book was the last one I read during my ongoing research which I’d begun around 2005. Only 7-9% of my DNA is indigenous. An American Genocide made that 7-9% scream within 100% my brain. But even the 91-93% non-indigenous part of my DNA duplicated orders and posted them in my gray matter. Finish your novel, Laurel. Your country—supposedly somewhat civilized—slaughtered thousands upon thousands of real people. Innocent people. Men. Women. Children. Babies on cradleboards. WRITE.

And so I have written. Did my ancestors dictate my choice? Frankly, I’m not sure. My desire for personal sanity certainly contributed.

By

Laurel And Hidalgo: Part II

Welcome, readers, to the second episode of On the Hidalgo Treaty Road: the twisted path leading into and out of the Mexican-American War in the Nineteenth Century. Once again, I’m focusing on good old California.

Raise your hand if you can define the word, “Californios.” Do I detect some uncertainty out there? Do words stumble out of your mouths? No problem. My mouth stumbles and bumbles like it was going out of style.

I went online and found all sorts of definitions for “Californios,” some based on ignorance, some on snobbery, some on political correctness, and others on the actual geography of what was once called Alta California, which extended way beyond California’s current borders. For purposes of this blog, let’s just call “Californios” those Mexican citizens living in what is now US California between the time Mexico declared independence from Spain in 1810 until it ceded Alta California to the US in 1848. If my simplistic (and inaccurate) working definition blasts smoke out your ears, shake your head in dismay and mentally substitute your words for mine. I’m cool with that.

Today’s subject is General Mariano Guadalupe Vallejo, one of California’s most distinguished citizens in the 1800s. Definitely a Californio by my working definition or yours. In a time when the Mexican government’s poor choice of Alta California governors and lack of support pissed off the Californios, Vallejo and others realized a powerful country (such as Britain or the US) could ultimately annex their territory. Vallejo favored the US. Plenty of others didn’t. Hold that thought.

When I fell and broke my hip at work in 2006—on my way to give a safety lecture about slips, trips and falls—I ended up stuck in a hospital for a few days. My physician pinned my hip in place, so to speak, which meant minor surgery instead of major. There were only so many times I could hobble out to the nursing station to chat. My husband, David, brought me Alan Rosenus’ award-winning biography of General Vallejo to read, to keep my mind occupied and my nurses sane.

General Vallejo wasn’t what we in the US today would classify as a “general.” You know, like General Colin Powell or President Eisenhower. I believe Vallejo’s top military rank was colonel of cavalry. He did, however, become commandant general and military governor of Alta California. Now that’s a mouthful. Thus, he became known as General Vallejo. Hold onto that thought, too.

The landowner-peon relationship on most of the 19th Century Mexican-California ranchos has bothered me for ages, ever since I learned too many of the servants had a status far too close to slaves—despite the fact Mexico abolished slavery in 1829. Additional research on General Vallejo, however, helped me to identify with him and his parents in one way. Didn’t most of us as youths try to push the limits? Don’t we as parents want our kids to behave as we think they should? According to more than one source, the Catholic Church unofficially excommunicated Vallejo as a young man for refusing to turn over a banned book—likely by Voltaire—to a local priest. Imagine the horrified expressions on his parent’s faces! In comparison, me hiding my library copy of Peyton Place from my mom back in 1959 didn’t even come close.

I’ve incorporated the juicy Voltaire possibility into my latest novel (a book under consideration by my publisher), if only in the background. A single quote from Voltaire affects the life of my protagonist, Catalina Delgado.

Which reminds me, Catalina’s grandfather has taught her to read, a skill that many in early California—particularly women—didn’t have. (When I hold up the audience-response placard, please shout “boo.”) To be fair, whether or not wives in Mexican California could read, they had half-way decent property rights when compared to their US counterparts at the time. Remember, a lot of US laws originated from British ones. Under “coverture,” US women back then lost all control over their property and money once they married. In the US, coverture was discarded only state-by-state. The final US sackful of coverture didn’t hit the legal trash can until 1880.

Excuse me, I digress. Back to the Hidalgo Treaty Road.

Enter the “Bear Flaggers” in 1846: Mostly a rag-tag bunch of “Yankees” (that is, from various parts of the US) who wanted to claim Alta California for the US. They created their own flag, one picturing their rendition of a California bear—a feeble attempt on the level of early elementary school art.

Remember that first thought I told you to hang onto? Many of the Californios knew General Vallejo’s positive feelings toward the United States. Apparently, a fair number of the Bear Flaggers didn’t. Or they let their leaders whip up their emotions into a rabid froth. Recall that second thought you’re holding, the one about Vallejo’s true title? The Bear Flaggers probably thought a “general” would have a stash of military weapons they could confiscate and use against Mexican soldiers.

If only Google had existed.

The Yankees should have done their homework, then approached Vallejo for his advice on annexation, worked with him. Instead they captured and tortured him, threatened and scared his entire household. Either some of the Bear Flaggers weren’t the brightest candles in the dining room chandelier, or their leaders had already decided to confiscate the lands of all Californios for themselves—and to exterminate most of California’s remaining Native American population in the process.

At any rate, I bet a lot of Californios mumbled “We told you so,” when hearing the news about Vallejo’s imprisonment. But that’s for another entry.

Respectfully yours,

Laurel Anne Hill
Author and Former Underground Storage Tank Operator