Life before Jesus: 1

Dear Tom:

Another Glorious day in the desert.

Boy that first cup of java tastes good.

I spent my first 40 years wandering in the world. Does that sound familiar? Life before Jesus was just that. I was a boat without an anchor. A ship without a rudder. When I left Port Isabel, Texas to Join the Airforce on September 7, 1960 I had no idea of what awaited me. I didn't go into the service out of duty or patriotism, I went to get away from a life leading nowhere and for the stupidest reason of all, a spat with my then girl friend and her family.

Texas A&M had offered me a full scholarship and had I not had this quarrel, I would be an Aggie Today. Instead, I am a Wolverine. Although it took me 7 years before I could enroll in College. I took some classes at the University of Maryland Overseas branch while stationed at Spangdahlem AFB in Germany.

Those intervening seven years were not wasted, I learned life's lessons, most of them , the hard way, by experience. I learned the minute I entered Lackland Air Force base that I was different from other people, I was a Mexican, even though my parents, grandparents, and great grandparents on both sides of the family had never set foot in modern day Mexico, due to the fact that they were in Texas before It became a republic and before Mexico existed as a modern nation. Lesson #1 was taught to me by a Nigger from New York, who found himself at the bottom of stairs in our barracks after he called me a dirty Mexican. According to the official report by the White MP's; he fell accidentally. The honest truth, I beat him up and threw him down the stairs. No one messed with me after that.

Lesson #2 was very similar, the instructor was my White staff sargent, who pulled me aside shortly after arriving at Spang and told me that as long as he was my boss, I would not get promoted. In retrospect, had I been promoted I would have stayed in the service, because I was having a ball. Beer and wine were cheap and so were the women. My three years in Germany were as the saying goes, WINE, WOMEN AND SONG. and I didn't do much singing, except when I won at poker.

We would start our poker games on Friday afternoon and play until Sunday, only stopping to eat and drink. Sleep was optional, You went to sleep when you ran out of money or everyone agreed to stop, only to resume later. My bank account was pretty full from the losers I played with. Playing poker for me was like stealing, not gambling. It became a vice that would eventually be my downfall. It became an obsession rather than a game. The scary part was that I would tell the dealer to give me a certain card and he would do just that. I know now who was dealing those hands. It sure wasn't luck as some people would say.

By the time I left Germany I had accumulated quite a bit of money and had spent a lot more. I traveled all over Europe and owned my own car, something only officers did, because the airman's salary was only $125.00 per month and half of that went to my mother in Texas.

Well, I have to close now and get breakfast going
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Jose -

Thanks for the beginnings of Before & After Jesus - or whatever title you finally decide to give your finished capsule memoir. I've copied it to a file, & we can publish the finished product if & when you decide.

I don't want to impose an inappropriate political correctness, but let's change "Mexican" to "Mexican American" for the sake of accuracy; you're not a citizen of Mexico. If you must have slang, "Chicano" is relatively harmless, albeit dated - a 70's term. Also "Nigger" needs to become "black guy." A word that's not the least problematic in typescript will explode on publication, and the N word is about as explosive nowadays as the F word - despite the fact that black folks call one another by it.

Minor details aside, LBJ is an enjoyable, vivid, & engaging read. Please, sir, more!

You said something a while back about perhaps doing me harm back when we were school mates. None. But I've worried about the reverse being true. Some of us ragged & taunted you with vicious abandon when we were boys and had neither social nor moral conscience, and it shames me to remember that. So for past deeds of which you may have no recollection, for memory tends to be kind, I am truly sorry.

Forgive also what may be a sentimental sort of racism in reverse - but I think especially of you & Noe Galvan not merely as PI success stories, but as doubly admirable because you both managed to transcend the ingrained prejudice against "Meskins" in South Texas in order to succeed. It would have been so easy to give in to the bitter resignation of the oppressed, and just quit. You didn't & Lord only knows what gave you the power to rise above the historical & social forces that held & still hold so many down.

Until your next installment, then.

With affectionate respect,

Tom
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Tom

I used the terms Mexican and Nigger because of the time period they were used in, (1960) pre civil rights era. and those were the words we used towards each other that started the confrontation. I personally don't like Mexican-American, because it is a misnomer. The correct term should be American of Mexican descent, but that is even incorrect in my case, since my ancestors came from France and Spain. If anything I prefer Chicano, which I use everyday to identify myself to people from Mexico.

On a personal level, I could not have been treated better by you or my class mates. Your father was an inspiration to me and a great teacher. As to what made me strive for excellence; It was the continued support and encouragement of E.W. Cateora, my father's boss and long time friend at Brazos fisheries. Also, the
knowledge from my parents, especially my mother, that the lands we were squating on, were our ancestoral lands that had been taken from our families.

Did you know that the land occupied by Southmost Community College in Brownsville was owned by my mother's family, The Rubios, and was given to the College by my Grandmother to build the first college there.

Also the cemetary in Port Isabel and the Lighthouse land was given to the Church and the State respectively by my father's family the Zuritas. When my father passed away at the young age of 69, my mother went to the church and wanted my father interred next to his mother. The church denied the request and mother called me in Michigan. I made one phone call to the diocese in San Antonio and spoke to the Bishop. reminded him that when the land was given to the church, it was conditioned upon all future family members being interred therin and If my father was not laid to rest with his family, I would take the land back. Within 24 hours of my message, my mother received a call from the priest in Port Isabel, that not only would he be allowed to be interred there, but he would also conduct the service in his church. The Catholic Church understands Power. They have been weilding it for centuries, much to the detriment of our people. More on that subject later.

No offense, no foul.

Love in His Name,

Jose
***

I had never experienced overt discrimination up to this time in my life. Growing up in Port Isabel had it's advantages. The childhood scars are not there and whatever remnants of it were left, have been washed away by my Savior. Not to say there wasn't covert discrimination. The first hint I had of covert discrimination was when I applied to enroll at U of M and requested a transcript of my High School grades. Down at the bottom in bold letters is this inscription: Standing in Class: First in class of 32. I suspected as much back then and I asked E.W. to challenge the school board, but the school board would not budge and J. B. was our official Valedictorian and I was left out in the cold. I guess the school wasn't ready to deal with the idea of a Mexican-American finishing at the top of the his or her class.

The military was an extension of my education. Besides learning that discrimination comes in all shades and colors, I also learned some very valuable lessons. The most important lesson I learned was to obey. Obedience is a valuable lesson everyone should learn sometime in their life. The second most important lesson is, the master is never wrong and if he is, don't tell him or others about it, because he will find out and make your life miserable. The master sargent, that is.

Prior to arriving in Germany I had read economic theory and was vaguely familiar with the law of supply and demand. It wasn't long before I began to apply this theory. My gambling gave me the ability to purchase, cigarettes, liquor and coffee on the base commissary. These three items were in great demand in Germany and throughout Europe at this time. A carton of cigarettes bought for $1.25 would sell off base from $10 to $12. A bottle of good kentucky bourbon purchased for $1.50 would fetch $8.00 and coffee bought for 80 cents a pound would sell for at least $5.00.

It doen't take a genius to figure out the math. The problem was that these items were rationed and G.I.'s were scared to sell them. But they had no problem selling their ration cards to get extra money. So, I purchased their cards for a nominal amount, made my purchases at the commissary and sold the goods off base. My prior self saw no problem with this scenario my new self would not even consider it. I don't know if it was illegal, but it was unconscionable and unethical.

Life was good in Germany and I really didn't want to return to the States. My tour ended on July 1, 1964. Not a very good time to return. The civil rights movement had turned things upside down and I was the wrong color applying for a job. I wasn't black enough and congress decided that Mexican-Americans were not minorities as defined in the Civil rights Act of 1964. So we went from being second class citizens to third class, or fourth if you count women. That eventually changed, but not soon enough to help me.

I had a very difficult time finding work in Texas, so I left for Michigan at the end of the Summer. Two days after arriving In Michigan, I was working at the Buick Motor Division production line. Most of the workers were white, a scattering of Blacks and no Hispanics. Here I was, the odd-ball again.

My military record and my H.S. grades saved me from a life on the production lines. Within a week I was pulled off the line, given a test and two months later, on Christmas eve. Dec 24, 1964, started my electrical apprenticeship. Saved again by the Grace of God.

Tom: I don't know if I'm boring you with all this, but it feels good to finally tell someone.

My book will go into much more detail.

I have to leave for now, my computer time is over, until tomorrow, God Bless you and your family.

Love, in His Name,

Jose Zurita
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Jose -

Your vigorously told tale is anything but boring.

I remember the PIHS 1960 Valedictorian dispute. I'd like to hide J. B. behind "an Anglo kid." No sense embarrassing him - not his fault you got screwed. One Mexican writer decided the best term to describe what it means a to be Mexican is "Pelado" - literally, "peeled," colloquially "ripped off" or "screwed."

The "covert discrimination" was an open secret among Anglos themselves. Lack of prejudice was claimed under, "There's good Meskins and bad Meskins, same as anybody else."

"Why aren't there any Negroes in Port Isabel," I asked a local man, circa 1959. "Meskins'd killem," was his curt reply. The more cultured used the terms Latin and Anglo... Thanks for remembering my Dad favorably. He pointed out to me that, since the Latin American population in PI outweighed the Anglo about 4 to 1, there could be no overt discrimination.

My first experience with journalism came under Jack Merriman, veteran of the Bataan Death march and editor of the Port Isabel Press. You may recall that I wrote an interview column called "Youth/Adults Want to Know." Payment was publication. A PIHS student would ask a question of the parent generation, and get four responses. Then a member of the parent generation would do the same and get the same. When I tried out the Youth Question, "What do your think about Anglos dating Latins" on the Adults in the community, I learned what "Off the Record" means. The owner of the town's biggest service station said, "I can't answer that question. I've got a business here, and I'd like to keep my customers."

The title "Life Before Jesus" is developing an ironic twist in the context of the social & political issues we're raising here. Speaking of which, you had a word or two to say about the Roman Catholic Church?

Amigo Tuyo,

Tom
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Tom:

Here's a word or two about the Catholic Church.

I wonder if God has forgiven the Catholic Church for the atrocities against the Native peoples of the Americas. Or in more recent times, cozing up to Hitler and allowing the anihilation of millions of Jews. I'd like to ask a priest some time about Wealth and Property. Or, what is the cost of going to heaven nowadays?

In Port Isabel it was $50.00 in 1960, when my Grandfather died. My paternal grandfather was a sinner like all of us, but as good a man as most of us. I was in the hallway at the hospital where my grandfather was taking his last breath. Our parish priest, came out of his room and told my aunt and mother that grandpa was going to hell, because he, grandpa would not allow him to give him his lasts rites. My grandfather, Don Lupe Zurita, had just told this priest to leave his room and let him die in peace, a peace he had already made with his Lord. My aunt, being a pious woman and staunch Catholic, asked the priest what she could do. His response was as follows: "We can have a mass for him and pray for his soul to go to heaven." My aunt replied, "And what would this cost me?" "Well $50.00 is all I need." My aunt gave the priest the $50.00, the mass was held for my Grandfather, and I expect to see him in Heaven. Otherwise I'm going to ask for a refund.
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Jose,

My older daughter's husband was raised Roman Catholic, and he also is very cynical about the RC church, especially its money grubbing.

The Catholic Church was indeed complicit in atrocities committed against the indiginous peoples of Central and South America. One writer of the Colonial Era said just that, and added something like this: "We have given the Indians the right to make war on us forever." He was a Catholic priest.

No denomination is monolithic. Certainly not the Episcopal Church, which has approved (by a 2 : 3 vote) the consecration of an openly gay bishop. There are now divisions at every level, from the Anglican Communion as a whole down to individual parishes.

Tom

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Tom:

My point is that organized religion has made a mess of God's word. Throughout History Man in the name of God has used His Church to destroy humanity. Slavery was justified by my own church denomination, Southern Baptist. Does this mean that I abandon my tenents? No, it means that I recognize the failings of man and strive to do better myself.

My association with other believers is a social thing, just as it is with them. My relationship with the Master is just that, He is the Master and I am the Slave. I don't question his authority over me and mine. I never did, even before I came to know Him. He, not I, will hold those who misuse His Church for their own benefit accountable, just as He will hold you and me accountable.

I didn't want to open this can of worms in the first place. But it feels good to air. Someone has to put out the laundry. It may as well be me.

In His Love,

Jose Cruz, Tu Amigo para siempre.
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