I saw this interesting notice in a 1954 New Mexican newspaper in which the State Purchasing Department offered fifteen “Barracks Buildings” for sale. These “barracks buildings,” the advertisement went on to explain, could be inspected at the “former Jap Camp on West Alameda.” The casual racism in an official government notice was apparently unremarkable in those days.
The advertisement reminded me of Santa Fe’s part in a shameful episode of American history – the imprisonment of 110,000 persons of Japanese ancestry, most of them American citizens, during World War II. Three months after the bombing of Pearl Harbor by the Japanese, President Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066 which directed the War Department to evacuate all persons of Japanese ancestry, citizen or not, from the western coast of America (denominated as a “military area”) and relocate them in Assembly Centers or Relocation Centers somewhere in the nation’s interior.
They were not prisoners of war. Most were first generation Americans of Japanese descent, living ordinary lives in California, Oregon and Washington State as shopkeepers, accountants and doctors – until the War Relocation Authority rounded them up and put them in detention camps for the duration of the war. In the hectic days following the surprise attack on Pearl Harbor, most government leaders quickly accepted the need to “relocate” these Japanese Americans as a wartime necessity.
I say most because a few dissented, including FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover, who went along with the plan anyway, and three Supreme Court Justices who saw it as legalized racism [see the dissenting opinion in Korematsu v. United States, 323 U.S. 214 (1944)]. Interestingly, FDR publicly declared his opinion at the time that Japanese “skull patterns” were less developed, accounting for the unusually aggressive nature of the Japanese. Decades later, in 1983, Congress established a Commission on Wartime Relocation and Internment of Civilians to study this matter. The Commission’s report, titled Personal Justice Denied, found no military necessity for the incarceration of Japanese Americans but found the policy was based on “race prejudice, war hysteria and a failure of political leadership.” Congress then authorized payment of $20,000 to each of the internees and President Ronald Reagan issued a public apology.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. This story is about Santa Fe, which occupied a very special place in the history of the internment of Japanese Americans during World War II. Here’s the short version. Just months after Pearl Harbor, in early 1942, the Department of Justice (not the War Department) bought 80 acres from the New Mexico State Penitentiary. The property, in northwestern Santa Fe next to the river, was an old CCC camp originally built in 1933. New housing was added for the incoming Japanese, basically wood and tarpaper barracks, surrounded by a sturdy fence.
The Santa Fe Camp was not a Relocation or Assembly Center; it was a Justice Department detention camp, specifically designed to house kibei, those Japanese Americans who had been educated in Japan or who had renounced American citizenship – those thought likeliest to cause trouble. Once completed, the Santa Fe Camp received and held 826 Japanese American men, all from California and all of whom were transferred out by the end of summer in 1942. These were quiet times. The internees were considered so docile that they were used by the City of Santa Fe to help groom the local golf course. In exchange, the internees were allowed to play golf on the course – a privilege only a few Santa Feans enjoyed. For the rest of 1942, the camp was home to several hundred German and Italian nationals who happened to be in the United States at the outbreak of the war. This group also included several South American Japanese, most from Peru.By the end of 1943, the Camp held about 2100 Japanese Americans, some of whom were considered troublemakers in other camps.
By 1944, internees across the nation began to chafe at their condition and began a series of protests, some of them quite violent. In March 1945, some internees at the Santa Fe Camp staged a noisy but otherwise civil protest when they were ordered to turn in sweatshirts decorated with rising sun motifs. The protest leaders were forcibly removed and the protest turned into a full-fledged riot. No one was injured but rocks were thrown and a few buildings were vandalized. Eventually, tear gas and clubs were used to quell the riot. Over 300 internees were put in stockade or simply removed from the Santa Fe Camp and transferred to even more restrictive camps. There were no more riots at the Santa Fe Camp for the duration of the war.
When the war against the Japanese was decisively ended in August 1945, the Santa Fe Camp was used as a holding and processing center for other camps and the Santa Fe Camp remained active until about May 1946 when the last of the internees was transferred out. Interestingly, most Santa Feans I’ve asked about those days of the Japanese Internment Camp recall very little about it and the local newspapers of the time rarely mentioned the camp. But there remains tangible evidence of Japanese presence in Santa Fe. Rosario cemetery has graves for two Japanese American men who died during internment. One named Sudo, the other Yoshikawa.
And, in 1999, despite protest from some Bataan Death March veterans, the City of Santa Fe authorized the installation of a bronze plaque, set in a large granite boulder at the Frank Ortiz City Park, to mark the site of the Santa Fe Detention Camp. The installation ceremony, in 2003, was attended by some former internees and the descendants of many others.
By the way, the barracks buildings were ultimately removed and the remainder of the 80 acres was cleared to build the Casa Solana subdivision, a neighborhood of pleasant, sturdy homes spread over the site of what was once Santa Fe’s notorious “Jap Camp.”
Saturday, September 1, 2007
Sunday, June 10, 2007
1952 - Jackpot Annie
I read this article in Reader’s Digest or maybe a Sunday supplement, about people who won a lottery and the dramatic ways that coming into serious money affected their lives. Some did well, but many squandered it all and a few met tragic ends. It made me think of Annie Baca and how her life turned out. I never knew Annie Baca. But I read about her once in an interesting story in the Santa Fe New Mexican from 1952 about a local family winning a huge jackpot in a national radio contest.
“Stop the Music” aired in Santa Fe on KTRC. It was one of many radio quiz shows on the air in the early fifties, like “Strike it Rich” and “You Bet Your Life” with Groucho Marx. On “Stop the Music,” Bert Parks, the host, called a random number somewhere in the U.S., and offered the listener a prize to name a song after hearing just a few bars played. The orchestra would play for ten seconds or so, then the announcer would shout, “Stop the Music!” and ask the listener to identify the song.
Now the right answer would win a small prize – a television set or a household appliance -- but it also earned a chance for an even bigger prize if the listener could identify the “Mystery Melody!”
This was no easy task. The Mystery Melody was always nearly impossible to identify, but the listener could learn the name of the Mystery Melody by listening to Walter Winchell on the radio. Winchell, still popular with his telegraph style of gossip and right wing political commentary. At some random time during the course of one of his broadcasts, Walter Winchell would announce the name of the upcoming Mystery Melody on “Stop the Music”.
And that brings me to the Baca family of Santa Fe. Mr. E. A. Baca, his wife and three girls lived in an adobe home on Urioste, a narrow street that runs north off Agua Fria down to Alto Street. Mr. Baca had worked for the railroad until an injury forced his retirement so he ran a little washing machine repair shop out of his garage. Mrs. Baca and one of her daughters were cooks at Jaffa’s restaurant, another daughter worked as a housekeeper for Mrs. Cunningham and the youngest, Annie Baca, 23, worked the counter at Taichert’s downtown.
One Sunday evening in 1952, Mrs. Baca answered the phone and promptly became confused when the voice said it was New York calling so Annie took the phone. It was “Stop the Music” calling and, over the national airwaves, Bert Parks asked Annie to identify a song.
Annie correctly identified the first song as “Cold, Cold Heart.” (The Tony Bennett version had been number one for six weeks in 1951 so it was an easy song.) That right answer qualified Annie to win the big jackpot if she could name the Mystery Melody.
Now, as luck would have it, Mr. Baca had been tuned to KTRC in his shop a few days earlier, listening to Walter Winchell, when he heard the name of the Mystery Melody and he wrote it down. So Mr. Baca promptly sent his daughter, Polly, out to the shop to fetch the note back to Annie on the phone. Annie read out the name “We All Have Troubles of our Own.” That was the correct name of the Mystery Melody and the Baca family won the big jackpot.
And what prizes! $16,000 cash, a brand new Kaiser automobile, a big television set, an automatic washer, a new kitchen range, a deep freeze filled with gourmet food, a spinet piano, a new living room suite, new wardrobes for two and a wristwatch for everyone. But wait, as they say on TV, there’s more! The family also won two French poodles along with a year’s supply of dog food, bottles of expensive perfume, cosmetics and the services of a personal maid for a whole year. And the biggest prize was a trip to Cannes, France for the entire family.
The paper carried a wonderful photograph of a jubilant Annie Baca hugging her equally pleased mother. Neighbors called to congratulate them and even Dan Taichert visited in person to wish Annie well, although he was a bit wistful that Annie might not come back to the five and dime store after winning all that cash. This was 1952, after all, when the median income for the average Santa Fe household was about $2900 a year.
Curiously, there was never another article about what happened to the Baca family or what they did with their prizes. Was there a shiny new Kaiser parked on Urioste Street? Did Mrs. Cunningham envy her housekeeper who now had a personal maid of her own? Did Annie Baca ever stroll down the French Riviera, dressed to kill, with twin poodles on a leash?
Whatever happened to Annie Baca, the girl from the five and dime? I never found out but I like to think that Annie lived out a Hollywood fairy tale, traveling to France, perhaps meeting and marrying a handsome young nobleman and settling into a villa on the Cote d’Azure. And that’s where she is today, gazing at the Mediterranean from the balcony of her villa, a very long way from Urioste Street in Santa Fe.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Saturday, April 28, 2007
1966 - Tillie's Tale
I found an article in a 1966 Santa Fe New Mexican, a sizable article complete with photo, about Tillie Hawkins retiring from teaching in Santa Fe. The article did not divulge Tillie’s age, but it did say she began teaching at age 16. She was Miss Tillie Branch of Roy, New Mexico then. She began teaching in Santa Fe in 1942 at Alvord Elementary School where she spent the rest of her teaching career.
Mrs. Hawkins had degrees, both bachelors and masters, from the University of New Mexico. She was very active in the community as well, serving as president of the Veterans of Foreign Wars Auxiliary and the Disabled Veterans auxiliary. And she was an active member of the state and national education associations as well as the national Classroom Teachers Association.
The article went on to report that her husband, an accountant, died in 1959 and that Tillie had one daughter, Clara Belle, now Mrs. Timothy Taylor of Albuquerque.
The article gushed over Tillie Hawkins and made particular note of her “ebullient enthusiasm so endearing to primary students.” This gave me great pause because that same Tillie Hawkins was my first grade teacher and I was petrified of her.
In 1953, I entered the first grade at Alvord Elementary School. At the time, our family lived at the Sierra Vista Courts, a group of apartments and small houses grouped around a bare dirt “court” next to the railroad tracks, just about where Alarid Street reaches Cerrillos Road. I lived about two blocks from the school which was, and still is, at the corner of Alarid and Hickox.
First grade was my introduction to Mrs. Hawkins. I was very frightened by her. I have no good explanation for this. Maybe, I have a deep-seated fear of ebullient enthusiasm. I know I don’t find it particularly endearing.
Mrs. Hawkins always seemed to be looming over me, all black hair and gleaming teeth. I was so frightened of Mrs. Hawkins that I could barely talk in her presence. Apparently, I just made these squeaking sounds. So my first report card from Mrs. Hawkins came with a note to my parents, recommending that their son be examined for mental retardation. This was in the days before the rise of politically correct terms like, “developmentally delayed” or “mentally challenged.”
It’s funny, now that I think about it, but my puzzled parents were not laughing at the time. The one thing of which they were certain was that their beamish boy was not mentally retarded. After all, I had learned to read and write well before entering school.
But my parents acceded to Mrs. Hawkins suggestion and I was duly tested. The tests revealed I was not a moron at all, but actually quite advanced for my age. I do not know how Mrs. Hawkins reacted to this news because my parents promptly negotiated my transfer to another school and I never saw her again.
I finished the first grade at Salazar School where I did far better under the kind tutelage of Mrs. Theresa Campora, may God bless her. As it turned out, I managed to successfully finish the first grade, the rest of elementary school, then graduate from St. Michael’s High School, get a college degree, then a law degree. I even managed to carve out a successful career in the law profession, serving as a trial judge for many years.
For a long time, I resented Mrs. Hawkins and her hasty and mistaken diagnosis. I even felt a little sorry for myself as a kid tagged as retarded right out of the box. But, after reading the 1966 article, I realized my complaint against Mrs. Hawkins was rather weak in comparison to another of her victims – her own daughter.
You see, the article disclosed that Tillie Hawkins had named her child Clara Belle. This child went through life, until she married Mr. Tim Taylor of Albuquerque, as Clara Belle Hawkins. The poor kid.
Call me a moron, but she’s the one I feel sorry for.
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Tuesday, April 10, 2007
1957 - Stealing Home
Like almost every 10-year old boy in Santa Fe in the summer of 1957, I was crazy about baseball.
I’d play every day, all day, until the dark sent me home. Each night, I would faithfully oil my fielder’s mitt and bind it tightly with a baseball inside to achieve the perfect pocket. I wore my baseball hat with a slight dent on the crown just like my hero, Mickey Mantle. I followed the Yankees in the papers and I never missed a game on TV. I was so baseball crazy that I actually kept an official score book for each game I saw. I was a true believer.
You know, there’s an Abbott and Costello routine where Lou says he’s a ballplayer but Abbott doesn’t believe it and says so. Lou says, “I eat baseball, I live baseball – all night when I’m asleep I dream about baseball. Abbott asks, “Don’t you ever dream about girls?” Costello is shocked: “What? And miss my turn at bat!” Well, that’s what I felt about baseball.
But it was my fate to be a mediocre player, more enthusiastic than talented, and thus eligible only for the “minors” in Little League. The minor leagues teams were typically sponsored not by well-known Santa Fe businesses like Creamland Dairy or Santa Fe Motor Company but by lesser-known entities like the Eagles Club or St. Ann’s Parish Church.
To be in the minors meant only a hat and T-shirt for uniforms. To be in the minors meant that I rarely played on the beautiful grass fields on what is now Salvador Perez Park, equipped with dugouts and real fences, even stands for the fans. And concession booths and paved parking. To be in the minors meant I played on the dirt fields, with a wire backstop and spotty base lines chalked on the dust. I didn’t really mind. I was happy just to be on the team.
At the time, I lived on Acres Estates, well down Airport Road. The “estates” amounted to a strip of dirt road, thinly lined by homes of miscellaneous architecture but otherwise surrounded by vacant land. Today, it’s a street called Jemez Road, it’s paved and my old house has been turned into a motor scooter sales shop.
Back then the players always included me, my brother Gene, Ray Lovato, Joe Burton and his brother Jimmy, Ronnie Mascarenas, Jimmy and Tommy Poehler, sometimes Ralph Anstey, Johnny Sandoval and Jimmy Hall. We made a baseball field on a good flat spot in the field next to Cosme Lovato’s house. Johnny Sandoval’s older brother used a tractor to scrape out a diamond for us. The bases were potato sacks filled with sand, which, after a while, became just potato sacks. But it worked just fine.
Before I go further, I feel obliged to introduce the history portion of today’s post. Hang on because it somehow ties in. Here’s the history:
In 1883, a prison was built near Santa Fe, intentionally far away from the town. But by the 1950’s, the City had grown and “The Pen” was surrounded by houses and shopping centers. Roughly, it occupied the northeast corner of the intersection of Cordova Road and St. Francis Drive, where the Joseph Montoya Building now stands. Over the years, Santa Feans had been subjected to only occasional scares over escaped prisoners and other trouble at the penitentiary but it all changed in 1952.
In 1952, prison guard named Filemon Ortiz was mysteriously murdered in a cellblock with 78 inmates all locked safely behind bars. Ortiz was the first guard to be killed in the pen’s 69-year history. After a bit of rigorous interrogation by police chief A. B. Martinez, two inmates confessed to killing Ortiz in a failed escape attempt, Homer Lee Gossett, a lifer for murder, and Donald Maynard, in jail for escape.
While the Ortiz murder was still being investigated, an uprising took place at the Pen. A dozen State Penitentiary inmates surprised a guard, held him at knifepoint, and armed themselves with rifles and shotguns from the guard’s office. The inmates took over Cell Block Two and seized eight prison guards as hostages. Within an hour, 150 law enforcement officers surrounded the State Penitentiary and the siege began.
Inmate Claudis “Sonny Boy” Williamson, described by the newspaper as the Negro ringleader, demanded a car and the gates of the penitentiary to be opened. Sounds more like a comedy act than a plan, if you ask me. One car, twelve inmates – it would have been interesting to see that.
After 18 tense hours of negotiation with prison officials, the siege ended in a bargain. The hostages were released, shaken but unhurt. The inmates then surrendered on the promise they wouldn’t be put in the “hole.” The “hole” was a bare concrete cell under the prison next to the boilers. Apparently, inmates found it uncomfortable.
For nearly two days, the City had lived in fear and with some cause. A dozen desperate men, armed with rifles and shotguns, in the middle of the city. Interestingly, the inmates never used their weapons at all. One inmate caught some buckshot from a guard’s shotgun early in the action. And a New Mexico state trooper was accidentally shot by a Santa Fe City police officer. The injury was not serious but, damn, that had to be embarrassing.
The ensuing investigation into the uprising turned up corruption among prison officials and guards and credible allegations of sex perversions, wide open gambling and marijuana smoking among the convicts. Heads rolled, among them Warden Joseph Tondre who resigned rather than be fired.
Hardly had Santa Fe calmed down from the siege at the penitentiary when two convicts working at the State Pen’s dairy barn simply walked away from the grounds. Lloyd Wardwell, con artist, and Homer Glass, thief, found their way into Santa Fe where they cashed a worthless check, cheekily giving the prison warden as a reference. They then visited four bars, bought some new clothes and checked into La Fonda Hotel where they were finally apprehended, sitting comfortably in their suite, sipping fine bourbon. It was 23-year old Richard Montoya, a rookie on the city police force who got the tip and he, along with patrolman Felix Lujan and Hotel Detective Earl Fordham, made the arrests. It was not difficult; the two escapees were too drunk to resist or even make any coherent statements. The newspaper reported that Lloyd Wardwell managed to say “I’m a G-d- chump and I feel like one.”
1952 was a tough year for the State Penitentiary: murder, riot, corruption and a suite at La Fonda Hotel. The State Legislature met in 1953 and the decision was made to close down the old prison and build a new, modern prison about 15 miles south of town. This took some time and by 1957, only the outer walls of the old prison still stood, though badly crumbling. The large outer grounds of the Penitentiary had been cleared and the City of Santa was given permission to install badly needed Little League baseball fields.
These “prison” fields were the same dirt fields I played on as a “minor” in 1957. I spent many a summer day in the shadow of the old Penitentiary playing baseball or watching baseball. Idling between games one day, a few of us began exploring the prison walls and spotted a way in. As the smallest boy in the group, I was hoisted onto Joe Burton’s shoulders just high enough for me to scramble to the top of the wall. From my vantage point I could see the razed foundations of several buildings, some piles of lumber or debris and little else.
But directly below me, I recognized the familiar outline of a baseball diamond, long abandoned and shorn of bases and backstop. But there, still in its rightful place, was a home plate, a genuine official baseball home plate. I could almost swear it was glowing in the dusk.
When I reported the find, the same idea leapt into each of our baseball-fevered brains – we had to have that home plate. For the next game, we smuggled a length of rope and some miscellaneous tools into the equipment bag. We gathered at the break in the wall and I was once again hoisted onto the wall and, armed with a handful of tools, I shinnied down the rope to the prison baseball field.
Removing home plate was a bit of a puzzle. After digging around the plate, I found a thick metal pin protruding from the bottom of the plate, a pin which fit into a hollow anchor set into the ground with a bit of concrete. The pin and sleeve were held together with a thoroughly rusted cotter pin. After banging on the cotter pin for a while without success, I discovered the concrete crumbled with just a few hammer blows and within minutes, the plate was free.
I tied the plate to the rope and gave the rope three sharp tugs, the signal to haul away and home plate quickly disappeared over the wall. It seemed a very long while before the rope reappeared and I had a lengthy opportunity to ponder the high surrounding walls. So this is what it was like to be in prison, I remember thinking. When the rope came within reach, I climbed up as quickly as I could and escaped from the old Penitentiary.
The next day, our new home plate was ceremoniously installed in our own neighborhood baseball field and it became a point of pride that our field, shabby as it was, sported an official major league home plate.
Our family moved to Sombrio Street in 1959 and I never went back to our old field and I have no idea whatever happened to our prized home plate. My Little League career was not particularly noteworthy and I ended it where I started it – in the minors. But Ray Lovato, Joe Burton and my brother Gene – made the majors on their first try and were named all-stars three years in a row. I like to think that the penitentiary home plate had something to do with it.
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Monday, February 26, 2007
1944 - Politics, Movies and Peanuts
1944 was an election year in Santa Fe when partisan politics ruled. Republicans held all city offices and planned to keep them. Santa Fe’s Mayor Manuel Lujan, ran for a second consecutive term opposed by former Governor John Miles (1939-1943), a Democrat, who had just finished a term as the State’s top executive. Ole John Miles, as he was popularly known, found local politics a bit rough. He was forced to take to the newspapers to deny persistent rumors that, if elected, he would fill City Hall with Anglos.
Some city council members – called alderman in 1944 – picked up Republican challengers as well and the incumbent Police Magistrate, Joe Berardinelli, also drew opposition from local blind lawyer Albert Gonzales.
The Democrats’ assigned attack dog for 1944 was District Attorney David Carmody whose accusations against the Republican incumbents included charges of theft of jewelry by the City’s police captain, A.B. Martinez. This accusation arose from claims that city police were slow in returning recovered stolen jewels because the victim was the “son of a Republican.” Carmody went on to claim that the police had allowed juvenile delinquency to run rampant in Santa Fe.
Carmody’s Republican counterpart, sitting councilman Tony Mignardot, called the attack “vicious and untrue”. Mignardot pointed out that juvenile delinquency afflicted the entire nation, not just Santa Fe. Mignardot labeled the theft charge “absolutely untrue” because the supposedly missing jewelry was, in fact, timely returned and that Carmody, as D.A., was well aware of it.
Notwithstanding the attacks, the old council swept back into office, restoring Lujan to the Mayor’s post and the incumbents --Tony Mignardot, Raymond P. Shaya, Frank S. Ortiz, Ben L. Martinez and Dr. Albert S. Lathrop – back to the council. Most of these men were well known small businessmen except “Doc” Lathrop who was probably Santa Fe’s most popular family doctor.
A digression: Dr. Lathrop delivered all the children in my family and he was our family doctor for some years. My early memories are of the old Coronado building across from the Cathedral Park on Palace Avenue, the sharp disinfectant smell, a very pink face and the gleam of rimless glasses. He was efficient, competent and he always spoke kindly to my mother.
What I never knew, until quite recently, was that Dr. Lathrop led an active intellectual life. For years, since 1938, Dr. Albert Lathrop was a member of the Chili Club. This male only club consisted of exactly twelve prominent men of wide-ranging careers – art, law, business, architecture and medicine, to name a few – who met monthly to present a paper and discuss the important issues of the day. In the event of a vacancy, a new member could be added only by a unanimous vote. Interestingly, the club was called AXIS at its inception but became the Chili Club when the U.S. entered the Second World War.
The original club members were Reginald Fisher, Albert S. Lathrop, Raymond Jonson, C.J. Kinsolving, Carl Gilbert, Hugo Zehner, George Bloom, Gordon Martin, Albert Beer, John Gaw Meem, William Strohm and Miguel Otero. The member’s papers addressed lofty topics, such as education, citizenship, economics and foreign policy.
“Doc” Lathrop’s first paper (April 1938) was entitled, “Is State Medicine Necessary.” His last paper (February 1970) was “Fifty Years of Change in the Practice of Medicine.” “Doc” Lathrop’s paper in 1944 was “The Neophyte in Politics.”
The Chili Club met regularly from 1938 until 2004 when the club disbanded and turned over its records, including the collection of papers, to the Museum of New Mexico for safekeeping. Digression concluded.
Among the typical business matters arising before the 1944 City council was a public hearing on the renewal of Jesus Rios’ license to operate his wood yard on the corner of Canyon Road and Camino del Monte Sol. Some of the neighbors had been complaining about the trucks and the noise. But the wood yard had been on that corner about 15 years by 1944 and Mr. Rios was well respected. Both old time Santa Feans and preservationists spoke up in favor of keeping the wood yard and, in the end, the license was renewed.
City Hall also heard a request for funding of the municipal golf course which had overspent its budget by $700. The course had been built by the WPA in the 30’s on land donated by Charles Catron, son of the better known T.B. Catron. The course had been maintained, for the last few years, by Japanese interns from the detention camp. To the amusement of the Council, City Clerk Lawrence Tamme disclosed that, in return, the Japanese interns were allowed to play golf for free. After some discussion, $100 was given to the golf course while the council mulled over the full request.
Few council members wanted to spend city money on extravagances like golf courses in the middle of a war; most voiced a preference to spend it on long overdue street repair. The poor condition of the city’s streets had begun to provoke editorials in the local newspaper which issued many an editorial, the most dramatic of which declared that Santa Fe’s pot holes were more like soldiers’ fox holes, large enough to lose children in. The specter of losing their children apparently persuaded the City Council to fix the streets instead of the golf course. But when the street job was let out for bid, only a single bidder appeared and with a price tag well beyond the City’s budget.
While City Hall wrestled with vexing questions, citizens could escape into the fantasy world of the silver screen. Santa Fe boasted two excellent movie houses in 1944. The LensicTheatre, still in operation as a venue for theatrical acts, concerts, plays and the occasional movie, was the grander of the two. The exterior was (and still is) a striking -- some might say garish -- combination of Moorish and Spanish Renaissance architecture, quite unlike any other building on San Francisco Street. The interior featured plush seating, velvet stage curtains and a dark blue ceiling sprinkled with a few tiny lights to simulate a night sky.
The Lensic experience came with premium pricing: for matinees, Rockers and smokers were 60 cents a seat, the main floor and balcony cost 45 cents and children under 12 were admitted for 17 cents. The prices rose for nights, Sundays and holidays: 75 cents for a rocker or smoker seat, main floor 55 cents, balcony 45 cents and kids were 20 cents. The Paris Theatre, just up the street, was generally cheaper. Rockers were always 45 cents, Main and Balcony seating, 35 cents and kids were admitted for just 14 cents.
There was a significant difference between the two theaters which, I suspect, accounted for the pricing. As a general rule, the Lensic showed first run color pictures such as “The Song of Bernadette” (Jennifer Jones, Vincent Price and Linda Darnell as the Virgin Mary) and “Black Swan” (Tyrone Power and Maureen O’Hara). The Lensic was also home to the newest musicals, such as “Thank Your Lucky Stars,” with Eddie Cantor, Humphrey Bogart, Betty Davis, Ann Sheridan and the lovely Dinah Shore.
The Paris Theater, however, specialized in B-movies like “Mystery Broadcast” with the very cute Ruth Terry as a radio detective taking on a real case; “Cowboy Commandos” with Crash Corrigan and the Range Busters who bust a gang of nazi saboteurs and “I Walked with a Zombie,” with Tom Conway and Francis Dee, a movie which cleverly integrated zombies into the basic plot of “Jane Eyre.”
Both theaters held weekend matinees for the younger set. Those matinees usually included a cartoon, a novelty film, a newsreel and an episode of a serial such as “King of the Mounties” with Allan Lane and Peggy Drake, in which evil Axis agents bombed Canada with a mystery aircraft in preparation for invasion. The King of the Mounties took 12 episodes to uncover and foil the plot, but unaccountably failed to explain why anyone would want to invade Canada.
Santa Feans, I suppose, had other concerns, such as who would win the Hinkel’s Department Store Baby Contest and the first prize of a $25 war bond. The winner was 6-month old Mary Louise Ortiz, daughter of Mrs. L. Ortiz of 126 Jefferson Street. Second prize of$10 in war stamps went to baby David Stephenson, 16 months old, son of Captain and Mrs. John E. Stephenson, 232 Hillside. Third prize of $5 in war stamps went to baby Diana Marie Romero, 9 months old, daughter of Corporal and Mrs. Henry Romero, 223 Closson Street. And fourth prize, $3 in war stamps, was won by baby Donald Ortiz, 9 months old, son of Mr. and Mrs. Sabino Ortiz of 625 Don Felix.
Downtown appeared to be lively commercial area. Santa Fe men of distinction visited the DeVargas Barber shop whose motto was “Service, sanitation, satisfaction,” conveniently located at the DeVargas Hotel at 206 Don Gaspar. These gentlemen may well have dropped in at the Plaza Cigar Store, on the Plaza, for a good smoke and a visit with friendly manager Henry Dakos.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
1959 - A Slice of Life
I was twelve years old in 1959, living in Casa Solana – then known as that new subdivision where the old Japanese internment camp used to be, spending summer days in playing baseball and riding my bicycle, watching science fiction on television and reading Perry Mason mysteries and the entire Bronc Burnett series. Instead, I should have been reading the newspaper. I missed all this the first time.
Take this interesting historical footnote. The first baby born in Santa Fe in 1959 was Eddie Rivera. Eddie’s parents were Rosalio and Stella Rivera of 986 Acequia Madre. Eddie weighed in at 8 lbs, 2 ounces when he first made an appearance at 7:46 p.m. on January 1. This was an important event in Santa Fe’s community life because of a tradition among local merchants to shower the first baby of the year in prizes and take out splashy newspaper ads to boast. In 1959, for example, Kaune’s gave a case of milk, Capital Pharmacy delivered a selection of even-flo nursing bottles, Livingston Furniture gave away a crib and Lullaby Laundry promised 2 weeks of free diaper service to mom and dad.
In 1959, Leo Murphy was the City’s Mayor, presiding over councilors Ray Arias, Andre Senutovitch, Willie Seligman, Ray Smith, Orlando Fernandez, P.A. Baca, Pat Hollis and George Bernstsen. Howard Ashbaugh was the City Manager. It was this administration, incidentally, which authorized the increase in parking meter fees from 5 cents an hour to 10 cents an hour.
A brand new airport, finished the previous year at a cost of $884,000, formally opened the City of Santa Fe to jet service. The bridges at Camino Alire and DeFouri streets were completed. The Casa Solana subdivision – phase 1 – was completed, with the builder Allen Stamm promising more to come. And the City of Santa Fe was raising the money to buy the old Bruns Hospital land where De Vargas Junior High and LaFarge Library would eventually be built.
City Judge Rumaldo E. “Cuate” Chavez’ often appeared in the paper, his photo accompanying a gleeful article on the latest nutty case in the people’s court. In 1959, the best story was this: two sisters in their twenties, Sophie and Appolonia Sena, were picked up one evening for being drunk, fighting in public and disorderly conduct. When they were hauled in to the station, the sisters began a brawl with the night desk sergeant and it took more than a few cops to hold them down. While all this is going on, the girls’ mother showed up – Mrs. Antonia Sena – and it turned out Mama was also stinkin’ drunk and fighting mad. So the whole family went to jail that night. The Sena women appeared a little more sober at the next day’s hearing before a stern Judge Chavez. The Judge pronounced sentence on all three, declaring that “This is the City of Holy Faith and I intend to keep it clean.” All three women received 90 days.
Teenage hangouts in 1959 included the drive-in. Dairy Queen had two locations -- one on Cordova road and one on Agua Fria street, across from the Guadalupe Church. Louie's Drive-in was at 1303 Hickox and the Mity Nice Creamery was located just up from St. Mike’s High School at 462 College. And there was the Neet Teen Drive-in at 1057 Pen road and, of course, the legendary Pop Ingrams' at 1734 Cerrillos Road. By far, the most popular teen spot in town, Ingram’s specialties were pizza burgers and chocolate cokes.
These same teens led lives rich in activity, if the local papers were to be believed. There was high school athletics, clubs and societies, even fancy dress balls.
Santa Fe High School held its Junior-Senior prom at La Fonda, with the theme of ‘Twilight Time.’ The Santa Fe New Mexican photographer captured festive couples in this elegant setting, including Nancy McCrary and Joe Ashton, Ramona Horst and Joe Durr, Adele Croucher and Tony Romero and Tanya Sorenson and Ken McMillan. The newspaper reported that most of the young ladies wore classic ballerina length formals but some opted for the more modern look, the bouffant floor length gown.
The La Fonda was also the setting for the Loretto Academy Senior Prom. Susan Vigil was chosen Queen of the Loretto Senior Prom, Queen Susan was escorted by Dan Romero and attended by Princess Bernadette Pesenti.
Leah Harvey Junior High School held its 1959 Sweetheart Ball. The Sweetheart Queen was Kathryn Padilla, attended by Princesses Carmen Ortega, Peggy Sanchez, Georgia Gallegos, Roberta Alderete and Savita Muzumdar.
Pojoaque high school held a fashion show to show off the work of the homemaking classes. Modeling the 8th grade fashions were Cynthia Cole, Marie Duran, JoAnn Herrera, Annie Montoya, Lydia Herrera, Pita Ortiz, Elvira Oritz, Evangeline Ortiz, Florence Quintana, Tessie Terrazas, Annabelle Serna, Lorinda Romero, Emilian Vigil, Socorro Garcia, Lorenza Herrera and Nancy Lujan. Junior High student models included Margie Rivera, Lupe Lopez, Dolores Roybal, Katie Rudolph, Florence Lujan, Gloria Vigil and Naomi Romero. Naomi Romero, by the way, was Student Council President in 1959. The award winning Pojoaque High School Band provided the music as the models worked the runway.
Salazar Elementary School presented its production of “The Mikado,” a favorite Gilbert and Sullivan operetta. David Stuppy played the Lord High Executioner, Greg Powell was Lord High Everything Else and Joy Romero played Pish-Tush. Bob Davidson played Nanki-poo and the Three Little Maids were played by Karen Piatt, Deanne Davis and Phyllis Payne.
Loretto Academy held its annual competition for scholarships to among participating parish schools. $50 scholarships went to Kathleen Brown and Rosella Martinez of St. Francis School and Ann Peck and Margaret Castle of Loretto grade school. $25 scholarships were awarded to Rita Chavez of St. Ann School, Gerlinda Gallegos of St. Francis school and Deborah Walker, Theresa Nava, Barbara Bailey and Victoria Koren of Loretto Grade School. 55 girls competed for those honors.
Loretto Academy school reporter, Hilda Lithgow, announced the honor roll for the first six weeks of 1959: seniors Patricia Riddell and Agatha Armijo, juniors Hilda Lithgow, Margarita Ortiz y Davis, Siegrid Hoyt, Sally Gonzales, Nannie Joe Benavidez, Elizabeth Edwards, Pat Kleckska, Lydia Lopez, Judy Dinkel, Rita Martinez and Rosina Montoya, sophomores Gloria C de Baca, Rosemarie Benavidez and Mary Ann Rael and freshmen Barbara Rodriguez, Mary Larkin and Eileen Madrid. In May 1959, Loretto Academy graduated 58 girls, among them class valedictorian Patricia Riddell and salutatorian Agatha Armijo.
The St. Michael’s High School Horsemen traditionally recruited its cheerleaders from the girls of Loretto Academy and 1959 produced a particularly attractive group: Hilda Lithgow, Delores Gonzales, Lucretta Baca, Rita Martinez and head cheerleader, Bernadette Pesenti.
St. Michael’s High School graduated 59 boys in 1959. Governor John Burroughs was a special guest at Commencement. Marvin Smith was the valedictorian for 1959 and Stephen Newfield gave the salutatory address. Special awards also went to seniors Leslie McDonald, Ernest Sanchez, Juan Fornelli and Michael Avenenti.
Ann Hargett, a senior at Pojoaque High School was the winner of the Baushch & Lomb Honorary Science Award Medal. The bronze token is awarded only to those students with demonstrated superior scientific aptitude. Ann was valedictorian among 28 graduating seniors at Pojoaque. Emelda Gomez was the salutatorian and, winning third in scholastic honors, was Lourdes Garduno. Other outstanding Pojoaque students for 1959 included Sally Serna, Naomi Romero, Lorraine Roybal, Ted Montoya and Freddy Montoya.
Outstanding athletes at Santa Fe High School were awarded trophies during a dinner dance held at the Town House. Bobby Sosaya won for football, Mike Lucero for basketball, Jim Wilcoxon for baseball, Ray Coriz for Tennis and Ralph Leyba for Track. Over 100 others were awarded letters for excellence in sports. These athletes then selected pretty Peggy Croshaw as Varsity Queen to preside over the dance
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