1964 – The Archbishop’s Big Goodbye

As tradition demanded, the 1964 Santa Fe Fiesta opened with fire. Zozobra, a giant 40 foot puppet otherwise known as Old Man Gloom, went up in flames before a frenzied crowd, the biggest crowd ever according to the Kiwanis Club, which annually sets up the spectacle. Of course, that’s what the Kiwanis say every year.

Big Z was in good voice that night, groaning as the little glooms danced around him, the sorrowful voice provided by Gus Denninger who, by the way, was my dentist at the time. Jacques Cartier, extravagantly costumed in red and festooned with feathers, danced before the doomed effigy, fireworks were launched and it was, all in all, pretty damned glorious. Of course, that's what I say every year.

After the demise of Zozobra, the crowds streamed from Ft. Marcy Park down Washington Avenue towards the Plaza for the Queen’s coronation and dancing on the Plaza to the music of the Mariachi Chapala and Santa Fe's own Genoveva Chavez.

In those days, the Queen of the Fiesta was chosen by the Fiesta Council early in the year at the Cinco de Mayo baile. In 1964, Yolanda Pacheco won the crown and was queen all summer. Yolanda was the daughter of Andy Pacheco, by the way, the owner of a popular liquor store on Hickox Street. Don Diego de Vargas for the year was Lauriano Apolonio Moya but everybody knew him better as Larry Moya.

The Conquistadores Ball to honor the newly crowned queen took place at La Fonda and featured Don Lesman and his band. The Conquistadores Ball was always produced by El Club Real --The Royal Club -- with membership made up exclusively of past Fiesta royalty – all former Queens and princesses.

The annual Fiesta melodrama for 1964, as usual, ridiculed, mocked and lampooned local politicians and celebrities. In between the acts, oleos or short musical or comedy acts invited audience participation. That year's "mellerdrammer" (as the New Mexican dubbed it), titled “Infamy at Fort Marcy; or the Secret Locked in the Bosom of the Editor or How to Stop Laughing and Learn to Live with New Mexico Politics” poked fun at the opera, the ski run, turistas and the big anti-pornography drive of 1964.

Incidentally, that drive was organized by Christian Brother Godfrey Reggio, who was then a popular civics teacher at St. Michael’s High School, not yet an internationally known filmmaker. (See, in this regard, the award-winning Koyannisqatsi, released in 1982, a stunningly visual film of technology gone berserk.) In 1964, I was one of dozens of St. Michael's High School students recruited to trudge door to door in Casa Alegre handing out leaflets against smut. Yes, it ruined a perfectly good Saturday for me, but it got Playboy off the shelf at Zook’s Pharmacy.

The Melodrama featured players Jimmy McEachron, Pat Bean, Bruce Vaughn, Betty Armstrong, and Bob and Pat Conoway -- all veterans of the Community Theatre.

The Children’s Parade on Saturday morning was reportedly delightful. First prize went to Mrs. Carla Lopez’ nieces costumed as the three pigs, each piggy winning a prize of $1.50. The Cub Scouts of Den 4 won a prize portraying a band of Indians. A crowd favorite was an entry entitled “Desegregated.” It consisted of little Adrian Fry’s black and white rabbit. It was a reminder of the racial unrest in the nation at the time, in a cute furry sort of way,

Other big winners included "Hawaii," consisting of the entire Chuck Wilkerson clan in leis and grass skirts; the "Circus" entry – a decorated wagon pulled by Martina Guest; John and Frank Wheeler as two barefoot Indians and Joe Baca and his twin burros. All in all, there were 26 winners and all participants got a free ice cream cone served on the lawn of City Hall.

The Historical/Hysterical Parade on Monday was spectacular and, as it turned out, quite controversial. The grand prize winner was the 20-30 Club Float featuring the Fiesta Queen, Yolanda Pacheco. The top musical prize went to the Santa Fe High School Band; Pojoaque’s band came in second. The Children’s category prize was won by Den 4 Cub Scouts, best Spanish entry was the Lily Baca Dance Studio, the Best Indian entry was won by the VFW and the Sociedad Folklorica won the Grand Historical prize for a float demonstrating adobe making.

As usual, there were political floats, 1964 being an election year. There was one on Johnson’s War on Poverty, another on Governor Campbell’s attempts to build a road to Farmington, a float on Goldwater with a big sign that said, “Help Stamp Out Peace - Vote for Goldwater,” and the most crowd-pleasing political float simply displayed a banner that said, “Hell with it, don’t vote for anybody.”

In the most comical category, the winning float was by the St. Michael's High School Alumni Association, titled “Viva el Beatle.” It depicted an actual local rock group, the Sprints, wearing Beatle wigs and gigantic sombreros, wiggling like the Fab Four. Right behind was a red convertible with Candy Johnson twisting to the sounds of the fake Beatles. If you don’t know who Candy Johnson is, you’re not alone. She was not a major star, just a featured dancer in the Frankie and Annette movie, “Bikini Beach.” She was in Santa Fe that week to promote the movie then showing at the Lensic Theater.

The float which caused the most comment and controversy was one which depicted a robed figure wearing a gold bishop’s hat and holding a golf club in one hand and a Zozobra figure in the other, with a sign around his neck, saying “I Burn for Ben.” While, I'm certain the turistas were puzzled by it all, Santa Feans knew exactly what the float meant to say. The robed figure was clearly intended to portray the Archbishop of Santa Fe and the reference to "Ben" could only be Ben Martinez.

At the time, the float drew guffaws from the irreverent and shocked gasps from the faithful. No Fiesta float in Santa Fe history had ever dared to mock the Catholic Church or the Archbishop of Santa Fe. The Santa Fe City Council, at the next meeting, went on record to condemn the float as disgraceful and vulgar and vowed to do something about it. But the City of Santa Fe had no say in the matter; it fell within the exclusive jurisdiction of the Santa Fe Fiesta Council. And thereby hangs a tale.

You see, James Peter Davis, fresh from Archbishop duty in Puerto Rico was appointed ninth Archbishop of Santa Fe in February 1964 and the next day, James Peter Davis, the new Archbishop of Santa Fe, permanently moved his residence to Albuquerque. Santa Feans were shocked and offended. After all, they believed, Santa Fe had been the seat of the holy see since the Conquistadors. Actually, it was only since 1875 when then Bishop Lamy became the first Archbishop of Santa Fe but that’s not important. To add insult to injury, the Archbishop then joined the Albuquerque Country Club. Yes, Santa Fe’s panties were in a bunch on this one.

The Fiesta Council, formed in the 1920's, always included a representative of the Catholic Church, appointed by the Archbishop. In early 1964, that representative was Father Pax Shicker but Father Pax had been re-assigned elsewhere and the Church's Council seat became vacant. New Archbishop Davis appointed Monsignor Rodriguez to replace Shicker on the Fiesta Council but there was resistance to seating Rodriguez, resistance rumored to have been incited by Ben Martinez.

Ben Martinez (sometimes A.B. Martinez) was a former State Police captain and Chief of the Santa Fe Police Department. Almost every major criminal case in the city involved the Chief -- the 1945 Eloise Kennedy sex slaying by a rogue prison inmate, the 1949 Edith Moya stabbing, the 1952 prison riot -- all featured the Chief who was particularly adept at extracting confessions from recalcitrant malfeasants. Martinez was active in the life of the community -- Boys Club, Big Brothers, Knights of Columbus -- but his greatest love, by far, was reserved for the Santa Fe Fiesta. Each year, he helped produced the fiesta, acted as master of ceremonies at various Fiesta events and he always appeared in the Fiesta Parade in costume, waving to the crowds from a colorful two-wheeled carreta. Martinez had been head of the Fiesta Council for about a hundred years or so it seemed. And it was said he ruled with an iron hand.

Like many Santa Feans, Ben had been vocal about the Archbishop's abandonment of Santa Fe for the greens and fairways of Albuquerque. Some say, he saw an opportunity to embarrass the Archbishop by holding the Church's seat on the council hostage by delaying and postponing the vote on the replacement representative.

Timing is everything and Ben Martinez chose the wrong time to stage his sullen protest. The fateful meeting began when Ben Martinez' iron hand was caught in the cookie jar. To everyone's surprise, the Council's Treasurer stood up and complained loudly and, in front of the entire council, that she was required by Council President Ben Martinez to sign blank checks on the Council account. But a look at the canceled checks revealed that more than a few were made out to Mrs. Ben Martinez.

Apparently, that revelation triggered a nasty shouting match among Council members but business came first and the Council took up the matter of the Archbishop's appointment. There was some debate on the motion to seat Monsignor Rodriguez and some comment on the Archbishop's flight to Albuquerque but, eventually the Council honored the Archbishop’s choice and Rodriguez was seated.

Next came a motion to take the books away from President Ben Martinez for an independent audit. The debate was not pretty. Ben defended the blank checks because, sometimes, direct action was required and circumstances couldn't wait for the niceties. (This was, by the way, the same method behind his spectacular success in gaining confessions from criminals.) In the end, Ben maintained, all the money could be honestly accounted for.

The Ben Martinez loyalists stood by him but other Council members were stony faced. They recalled that Mrs. A. B. Martinez, at Ben's demand two years earlier, had been appointed the Council's secretary -- the only paid employee of the Council in its forty year history.

The vote was evenly split between Ben's party and his opponents and, interestingly, it fell to Monsignor Rodriguez to cast the deciding vote. The Monsignor voted against Ben. A.B. Martinez was forced to give up the books. Martinez stood up, red-faced, and walked out of the Council Meeting. The next day, Martinez resigned the presidency and for the rest of 1964, the Fiesta Council operated under acting president Joe Clark.

By the way, the Archbishop never left Santa Fe, at least not technically. By decree, the liturgical center and "cathedra" or chair of the Archbishop of the Archdiocese of Santa Fe to this day remain in Santa Fe. Only the administrative offices of the Archdiocese of Santa Fe were relocated to Albuquerque by Archbishop Davis in 1964. The administration of the Archdiocese of Santa Fe is now conducted from offices located at the Catholic Center on the West Mesa in Albuquerque.

There were no winners in the end. Santa Fe lost an Archbishop, the Archbishop lost the respect of the City and Ben Martinez lost the only position he ever really wanted. Let me amend that statement. There was one Fiesta winner in 1964. That’s the guy who managed to get into the safe at the Palace Restaurant during the Fiesta weekend and make a clean getaway with several bottles of whiskey and about $4,000 in cash.

Que Vive la Fiesta!

Miss Fertility of 1950

1950 - Miss Fertility

In the late summer of 1950, citizens and state officials gathered at the State Capitol building in Santa Fe to watch a bulldozer rip out nineteen trees shading the west capital lawn. Soon, the six marble pillars supporting the front portico would be taken down. Later, the capitol dome would be removed.

The removal of the trees was the first step by Santa Fe architect W. C. Kruger in preparation for the construction of an addition to the old capitol building, now more than a half century old. Built in 1900 after a fire destroyed the original capitol, the aging building was overcrowded and falling apart. The capitol steps to the grand entrance had been condemned and could not be used. So, in 1949, a weary legislature appropriated almost 3 million dollars for renovation of the building that Life Magazine called the eighth ugliest state capitol in the nation.

The new structures rose rapidly in the summer of 1950. One was a two story building set off by a courtyard across from the grand entrance of the old capitol building. On the north end of the smaller west addition, a 105-foot tower began to rise. Through the scaffolding, machinery and workmen, the new additions could be easily seen by all who passed by.

Over the course of a few days, a wide strip of canvas was laid in a band around the building just underneath the second story windows. What lay underneath the canvas was a mystery until the rough gusts of September tore the canvas free and exposed a sight that would occupy Santa Fe and the nation for the next few weeks.

Months earlier, architect W. C. Kruger had commissioned 27 year old Santa Fe artist William Longley to produce 24 terra cotta panels, called spandrels in the trade, each two feet by four feet, executed in bas-relief. Installed under the second-story windows, the panels were covered with canvas or paper, to be unveiled at the building’s grand opening. There were four panels each of six figures, each representing some aspect of New Mexico – a conquistador, a sun, a mountain lion, an Indian, a priest-builder and the earth. “Earth” was represented by a highly stylized nude woman reclining in a field of corn.

It was this panel whose canvas fig leaf was peeled away by the wind and it was this panel which was glimpsed by a passerby, a member of the Berean Baptist Church who was shocked and offended at the sight of nudity on a public building. He went immediately to the pastor of the Church, Reverend Robert J. Brown, who promptly gathered a small group of the faithful to inspect the sculpture still reclining on the wall of the new capitol building. They, too, were shocked and offended.

The next day, Reverend Brown, acting as pastor of his church and president of the Ministerial Alliance, telephoned Governor Thomas Mabry in his office and lodged a formal protest against the nude sculpture, calling it “extremely suggestive.” Governor Mabry, a lame duck governor in his last few months of office, had enjoyed a reputation for discretion during his term; there was never a fight from which he did not back away, quickly and quietly. Wishing to avoid controversy, Governor Mabry called Willard Kruger and asked him to take “Earth” down.

Longley, the artist, knew nothing about it until the local newspaper, the New Mexican, called for a quote. The piece had been on display at the last Fiesta art show without comment. “It is a stylized nude with the face almost archaic,” said Longley, “There is no sex appeal as far as I can see or as far as I intended. That anyone should take objection to it surprises me. The more I think about the matter and the arbitrary way it was handled, the more provoked I get.” The news swept through the artists community like wildfire and, in no time, a small committee of noted Santa Fe artists formed to protest the removal, including John Sloan, Will Shuster and Randall Davey – all artists of national reputation.

The New Mexican covered the growing controversy with undisguised glee, dubbing the challenged panel “Miss Fertility,” a nickname which quickly became so associated with the sculpture that the disputants, ministers and artists alike, began to use the term regularly.

Governor Mabry, faced with competing protests, seemed at a loss. Fortunately, Willard Kruger announced he had personally commissioned and paid for panels at no cost to the taxpayers. This allowed a grateful Governor Mabry to pass the decision to Kruger. The Governor called for a meeting between representatives of the Ministerial Alliance and members of the newly-formed artists’ delegation to try to work out a solution, with the final decision resting with Kruger.

With “Miss Fertility” propped on one wall of the Governor’s conference room, the amiable Governor opened the meeting by announcing he was no art expert and he could see nothing offensive about the disputed sculpture. At his age (Mabry was 65), the Governor said he was "no longer intrigued by the sight of an undressed woman." He noted that his recent issue of Finland’s national magazine (Finlandia) featured several photos of public parks with nude figures. “We all know the Finns are a moral people,” Mabry pronounced.

The two sides lost no time in squaring off. Artist John Sloan declared the Longley sculpture a fine piece of art, adding that all of us now what morality is, but few of us know about art but ignorance of art is no excuse in demanding the plaque’s removal. Randall Davey argued that if nudity were offensive, than most of the world’s statutes would have to come down as would all of Michaelangelo’s best works.

Reverend Brown, speaking for his own church and as president of the Ministerial Alliance, stated that the panel was “suggestive of immorality and indecency.” While it may be fine in museums, such displays did not belong on a public building paid for by tax dollars and where citizens transacted business. The other ministers present – Evangelist Roy R. Bease, Reverend M. E. Waldrum --quickly agreed

“I’m not an art critic,” Brown said. “The only thing I can interpret is morals. As a minister of God I feel that this thing is repugnant on a public building.” Because the female figure on the panel was reclining, Brown maintained the panel was “extremely suggestive.” He rejected Longley’s explanation of the symbolism of the figure, declaring, “Man is fertile and woman isn’t.” Longley responded to this declaration with an expression which, apparently, was not printable in a family newspaper.

Randall Davey said none of the works of the artists present had ever been attacked for being immoral. Will Shuster spoke up, saying none of the artists was as ignorant of morals as Mr. Brown was of art. “Evil be to him who evil thinketh,” quoted Shuster who opined that there was nothing about the “Earth” figure to cause any sensual excitement. Shuster then asked the minister if he got any erotic stimulus out of the plaque. Brown responded, “It’s repulsive and that’s all.”

Artist John Sloan joined in the fray, saying no jury of artists had ever suggested the sculpture was pornographic. “There are other people in the state besides artists,” Reverend Brown replied. “It’s up to us to educate these people,” responded Sloan. The minister shot back, “It’s up to us to educate you.”

Sloan told the attending ministers, “I can show you things in the Bible that would make this look like lemonade.” But the ministers were having none of it. “I can explain morals and you can’t,” Reverend Brown announced.

Throughout the debate, the architect Kruger sat silently until the end when he announced he would give his decision the next day and so the meeting ended. The photographer for the New Mexican, Pen Wilson, paused on his way out of the Governor’s office to snap a picture of a girly calendar posted prominently in the office of State Purchasing Agent H. H. McDaniel. The risqué calendar appeared in the newspaper the next day along with the editor’s comment that, apparently, no dispute had arisen over this particular decorative addition to the state capitol building.

The following day, Kruger told the press that he had decided to remove the controversial panels. Moreover, the panels would be auctioned off, with the proceeds to go to a state children’s hospital. Workmen set to work immediately. Three of the panels came off without difficulty; the fourth refused to budge and had to be removed in pieces.

Longley expressed his disappointment in the move but the other artists felt more strongly about the action. Meeting in the home of Dr. Rudolph Kieve, a number of Santa Fe artists formed a citizen’s committee. Their first official act was to seek a court injunction to prevent the removal of Miss Fertility on two legal theories: first, the removal was a violation of the artist’s constitutionally protected right of free expression; second, because the panel had become attached to a public building, it was the property of the state and Kruger had no authority to remove it. While the Committee sent the proposed pleadings around for review by committee members, the actual terra cotta subjects of the proposed suit were being transported by truck to a warehouse.

Meanwhile, citizens weighed in with opinions in letters to the editor. J. Robert Jones of Los Alamos disagreed that “theological prudery should be permitted to qualify the bounds of artistic expression.” While Jones personally thought the art work in question “looks like hell,” he maintained that “principles were principles.”

Victor F. Allen, also of Los Alamos, pointed out that classical statues and paintings of nudes were among the most acclaimed in the world, singling out “Venus of Milo” as an example. “Nudity,” wrote Allen, “is a state of fact; lewdity is a state of mind.”

Adelina O. Hill wrote that Miss Fertility might be better suited to placement on Kruger’s own modern building on Palace Avenue, recently completed in 1950, than on the “pueblo architecture” of the new capitol building addition. Actually, the new addition was executed in Territorial Revival style and not Pueblo style at all but Mrs. Hill, formerly Ortiz, was a frequent correspondent in The New Mexican. She was among those self-described descendants of “Spanish” conquistadors, quite common in Santa Fe even today, who appoint themselves guardians of the city’s traditions, notwithstanding that the tradition may have been one created wholly for the tourist trade in the 1920’s.

Artist Ely de V. Whitman wrote to suggest that the ministers might find the reclining Miss Fertility more acceptable if the sculpture were placed upright, thus appearing to place Miss Fertility on her knees, a more suitable pose for females among Berean Baptists.

Meanwhile, the artists’ committee which was temporarily formed to protest the removal of Miss Fertility became permanent after a number of prominent artists and professionals met at the Camino del Monte Sol home of Dr. Walter Taylor. The group, now called the Committee for the Preservation of Cultural Freedom, consisted of Gesha Kurakin, Ely de V. Whitman, William and Bernique Longley, Pierre Menager, photographer Wyatt Davis, Lewis Penner, Mrs. Rafael Alfau, Al Rosenfeld, Martin Beck, Will Shuster and its officers, psychiatrist and writer Dr. Rudolph Kieve as president, Dr. Eliot Porter as vice-president, Mrs. Rohn Hawke as secretary and Rafael Alfau, treasurer.

Will Shuster and Oliver La Farge, both of whom wrote weekly columns in the local paper (ostensibly on art and literature), used their soapboxes to sputter against censorship of Longley’s art. The new artists’ Committee for the Preservation of Cultural Freedom took to the airwaves, appearing on KTRC radio, to state their case. Committee president Rudolph Kieve argued that the artist William Longley’s “right of expression” had been infringed upon, a right which should be regarded “in the same light as free speech, freedom of the press and freedom of religion. “Censorship by any self-appointed pressure group,” declared the Committee “is incompatible with the principles of American freedom.” There was no rebuttal as the Reverend Brown declined an offer to join the radio debate.

The New Mexican offered another solution, publishing a photo of the contested Miss Fertility panel, altering it so that Miss Fertility sported a bra and a polka-dot skirt. The photo’s caption asked, “How’s this?” for meeting the objections to Miss Fertility’s appearance.

The debate caught the imagination of the nation, with amused articles on Miss Fertility appearing in such diverse publications as New Hampshire’s Portsmouth Herald and Time magazine. But, after a few weeks, the issue died quietly. No more was heard from either the Berean Baptists or the Committee for the Preservation of Cultural Freedom. Sloan, Shuster and Davey continued to enjoy national reputation. William Longley disappeared into obscurity although his wife, Bernique, kept a studio on Camino De Monte Sol and is today a respected fine artist whose prints are still popular.

Tom Mabry left office in 1951 and returned to Clovis to practice law until his death in 1962. In 1952, the capitol addition was largely completed and an auditorium on the north wing of the new building was dedicated to Governor Mabry. Mabry Hall is part of what is now called the Jerry Apodaca Education Building. Below most of the second story windows on that building one can see terra cotta panels or spandrels depicting five distinct bas-relief figures, repeated four times.

Four panels are absent. The panels of “Earth,” or Miss Fertility as the popular press dubbed the art work, have long since disappeared – all but one. Interestingly, art historian Elaine Bergman found one of the panels set into the wall of a garden courtyard of a house on Camino Del Monte Sol purchased by friends in 2002. They were told that the panel was designed by the home’s original owner, William Longley.

These days, while Miss Fertility does not grace the state’s capitol building, she reclines comfortably in the nude, dreaming amid terra cotta corn stalks in the Santa Fe sun, apparently unaware or unconcerned that she was exiled to her garden for the crime of public immorality.

The Legendary Jack Hardy

1940 - The Legend of Jack Hardy

In 1940, everyone in Santa Fe knew young Jack Hardy from a series of articles in the Santa Fe New Mexican. Hardy, 19 and a Santa Fe High School senior, regularly produced articles covering club news, school dances and various assemblies at the High School as a stringer for the newspaper’s Capital Examiner section.

At Santa Fe High School, Jackson Hardy was an ideal student, collecting academic honors while busy with extracurricular activities. Smart, good-looking and popular, Jack would have made his parents proud except that he had no parents. Jack was an orphan and supported himself all through high school through a variety of odd jobs.

At graduation in May 1940, Jack Hardy was among an elite group of students receiving honors for scholastic achievement but Jack Hardy was the only student to win a grand prize – a full four-year scholarship to Harvard University. Within a few weeks, Jack’s singular achievement would pale when the astonishing truth about Jack Hardy was revealed. As it turned out, Jack Hardy did not exist and never did.

Jack Hardy was really Ernest Harding Jackson, a teen-age runaway whose odyssey began at age 14 in Belleville, Illinois. Young Ernest chafed at the limitations at the family farm run by his parents, Mr. and Mrs. James W. Jackson where Ernest and his younger brother Elmer spent long days in labor. One day, as a “prank,” Ernest decided to leave home and make his own way in the world.

He hitchhiked to Clay County, Arkansas where his grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Holcomb, ran a small farm. He stayed over a year until a quarrel with his grandparents pushed him to leave.

Around 1938, Ernest headed to Kent, Texas with the intention of becoming a cowboy, even though he’d never even ridden a horse. He got on at a nearby ranch, giving the name of Jackson Harding but the trail boss, half deaf, heard it as “Jack Hardy” and the name stuck. In Texas, Jackson – now Jack Hardy and not yet 17 – tried to get back into high school, taking a job doing housework to earn room and board. After a while, a growling stomach and an itch to travel led him to abandon that plan and head further west.

In the spring of 1939, Jack Hardy wound up in Santa Fe where he took a job as a yard boy for Santa Fe magazine writer Dorothy Thomas. To make ends meet, Jack also worked odd jobs at various cafés, ranches and farms. Thomas inspired Jack to take up writing and, impressed with his work, Thomas wangled a job for Jack reporting school news at the Santa Fe New Mexican where stories under his byline appeared often during the 1939-1940 school year.

The revelations of Jack Hardy’s true identity first appeared in the St. Louis and Belleville newspapers after Jack wrote to his parents telling them of the scholarship and of his intention to visit them that summer. The Jacksons in Belleville, it was reported, were looking forward to the visit.

In the meantime, Jack was preparing to enter Harvard in the fall of 1940 under the name of Jack Hardy, a name he intended to keep. “I wanted to make my own way,” Jack told the New Mexican, “I think I have but now I am glad that the whole thing is out and I don’t have to pretend anymore. I just hope that they won’t take my scholarship away from me.”

There the record ends. No more is heard of Jack Hardy in Santa Fe or New Mexico. Whatever happened to Jack Hardy? Did he go on to complete his education at Harvard? A search of Harvard alumni discloses no Jack Hardy or Ernest Harding Jackson as a graduate after 1940. Was Jack Hardy caught up in a world war after December 1941? A wide search of military records yields no Jack Hardy or Ernest Harding Jackson, at least not one fitting Jack’s description. What happened to Jack Hardy?

The capacity for reinvention is celebrated in America, a nation created by men and women fleeing the limitations of the past, not once but many times as people pushed on to new frontiers. Recall Pilgrims leaving England for religious freedom, Spanish conversos escaping the Inquisition, Irish peasants seeking relief from famine and on and on. Once in America, pioneers pushed further west. One story claims that the slang word “git” originated in the practice of Midwesterners abandoning the family farm for the Texas frontier and scrawling the initials GIT onto fence posts, meaning “Going Into Texas.” F. Scott Fitzgerald once famously claimed that there are no second acts in American lives, but the truth is there are many. Witness, Mr. Fitzgerald, your own Jay Gatz transformed into Jay Gatsby. So too with Jack Hardy, evolving from prairie farmhand to ivy league scholar, a transformation catalyzed by a name change.

Interestingly, an internet search did turn up an Ernest Harding Jackson. This Ernest is an Illinois compiler of dry census information apparently used for genealogical research: The 1840 Federal Census, Winnebago County, Illinois (1975); Marriages of Union County, Illinois, 1818-1880 (1977); Federal Census Index of Union County, Illinois, 1820-1880 (1978); 1860 Federal Cenusu, Winnebago County, Illinois (1983); Marriages of Alexander County, Illinois (1986) and Combined Atlases of Winnebago County, Illinois, 1871-1892-1905: and Atlas of Boone and Winnebago Counties, Illinois, 1886 (1991). Note that Alexander and Union Counties adjoin St. Claire County whose county seat, Belleville, is the birthplace of Ernest Harding Jackson, our Jack Hardy.

Did Jack Hardy at some time abandon his adventurous youth to return to the more sober persona of Ernest Harding Jackson? Is he even now sitting in a quiet Illinois library, gathering dusty data for yet another meditation on nineteenth century census information? Has he, at last, assumed his true identity? Perhaps, like the title character(s) in Oscar Wilde’s play, Jack Hardy has discovered the importance of being Ernest.

***

1949 - Shopping List

It was an advertisement in the newspaper that made me curious. Kaune’s Foodtown – an old time Santa Fe grocery store – claimed to be the last locally owned grocery store in the city. Somehow that didn’t sound true. In my lifetime, I had known a dozen or so little grocery stores in as many Santa Fe neighborhoods. Surely not all of them had gone. So I set out to discover the truth.

My method was not particularly scientific. I just picked a year in the past, within my lifetime, and examined easily available records in the form of newspapers, maps and business directories. Then I did the same for this year, 2008. Here’s what I learned.

In 1949, the Santa Fe City Directory listed 68 grocery stores operating in the city. The largest ones advertised regularly in the Santa Fe New Mexican – Safeway on Grant Avenue, Batrite on Lincoln and Paul’s Market on Agua Fria. These stores offered a variety of groceries, meat and produce, employed multiple cashiers and offered free parking but they were far from the big box store model we see today.

A half dozen smaller stores occasionally advertised in the paper, among them Mansion Market and Theo’s Zigzag Groceteria, both on Galisteo; Martinez Market on Agua Fria; Johnny’s Market on Tesuque Street; Larriba’s on Irvine and Jose E. Roybal Store on Canyon road (then called Cañon). The other 55 or so grocery stores never advertised at all. They didn’t have to. They usually knew their customers by name. Their customers were their neighbors.

Most Santa Fe grocery stores were small family operations, selling staples and snacks from behind a counter in a store posted on a neighborhood corner. Dozens, large and small, were located in the thick of Santa Fe’s many small neighborhoods. For example, Tito’s Market served Acequia Madre residents, Frank Ortiz had two stores on Galisteo, Castellano’s and Larriba’s competed for customers at opposite ends of Irvine Street, Gormley’s, Friently Market and Roybal’s vied for the custom of Canyon Road residents and Johnny’s Market on Tesuque served the Indian School area.

Even smaller ones dotted the city streets, most without proper names, simply known by the name of the proprietor – Pete’s on Fayette Street, Lujan’s (or Papatin’s) on Manhattan and Romero’s on Agua Fria. Some stores, the smallest, were simply someone’s house, just a front room with some shelves and a freezer. Their customers were literally their neighbors.

Most neighborhoods enjoyed more than one store. West Manhattan had three stores within 2 blocks; College Street had four grocery stores within 4 blocks; Galisteo had six stores in 6 blocks; seven stores ran the length of San Francisco Street and nine stores were scattered along Agua Fria Street.

Why were there so many stores? Perhaps, some speculate, Santa Feans demanded many stores conveniently located to their homes, because automobiles were scarce. Research reveals that there were between 11,000 and 12,000 motor vehicles registered in the city that year. So there’s a plausible argument that at least some residents apparently walked to the grocery store out of necessity. In any event, only the biggest stores, Safeway, Paul’s and Batrite offered parking. The typical neighborhood store in Santa Fe had little or no space for cars.

Perhaps it was Santa Fe’s size that made many local stores a more desirable economic model. Santa Fe was a small town in 1949. Santa Fe’s estimated population in 1949 was just over 27,000 and the city’s limits were still set at the traditional one league (about 2.6 miles) in each cardinal direction from the Plaza. The stores were concentrated along the major streets – College, Galisteo, San Francisco, Canyon Road and Agua Fria – precisely where Santa Fe’s population was most dense. It would have been convenient for most Santa Feans to walk to the neighborhood store.

Over time, Santa Fe’s population and city limits have grown considerably. Today Santa Fe has a population considerably north of 75,000 and the city limits reach all the way to Airport Road.Most of the grocery stores of 1949 have long gone. Some – like Tito’s Market on Acequia Madre and several on West San Francisco Street -- have reverted to their origins as family homes. Many, like Rocky’s on Alameda or Gormley’s on Canyon Road – are re-purposed as art galleries, shops and offices. A few – like the Pecos Trail Grocery on old College Street – were razed to build parking lots or other structures.

The small local grocery stores gradually disappeared, giving way to the modern big box supermarket and the ubiquitous standardized convenience store. In 2008, Santa Fe has 32 grocery stores, seventeen of which are convenience stores of the Allsup’s or 7-11 variety. That’s less than half the number of stores operating in Santa in 1949.

All very interesting you might say, but what about Kaune’s claim to be the last locally owned grocery store in Santa Fe? Don’t bet on it. Here are the facts.

As it turns out, of all the 68 grocery stores listed in business in 1949, only two have survived the years. One is Kaune’s Grocery, founded in 1896 by Henry Kaune (the same year he introduced Santa Fe to Coca Cola). Kaune’s Grocery was located on the south side of the Plaza in 1949, between J.C. Penney’s and the Spitz Building. Kaune’s did not appear to be locally owned in 1949, as it regularly advertised itself as a “Richelieu” store.

Today, the store -- now called Kaune’s Foodtown -- operates at 511 Old Santa Fe Trail and is locally owned and operated by Santa Fean Cheryl Pick Sommer, lawyer turned grocer. The store has grown since 1949 – 40 employees in 8800 square feet – still offering quality meats, fresh produce and an excellent selection of specialty foods. Kaune’s is a great Santa Fe store but it is not the last locally owned grocery store in Santa Fe.

As it happens, there’s Johnnie’s Cash Store on Camino Don Miguel, a crooked street winding north from San Acacio to Acequia Madre, just east of Camino del Monte Sol. Johnnie’s Cash Store began as a neighborhood store by Johnny and Bertha Armijo in 1946 and it’s been operating continuously ever since. Johnnie’s Cash Store is still a small family operation, less than 1200 square feet in size, just large enough for two aisles and a counter top. Bertha Armijo, in her nineties, still owns it and you’re likely to find one or another of the grandchildren at the cash register. Today, just as in 1949, Johnnie’s Cash Store stills sells bread, milk and Popsicles to its neighbors from behind a worn wooden counter, one of the last locally owned grocery stores in Santa Fe.

List of Grocery Stores in the City of Santa Fe in 1949

Tito’s Market 512 Acequia Madre

Sanchez Grocery 428 Agua Fria

Quintana, Alejandro 606 Agua Fria

Larragoite Grocery & Liquor Store 803 Agua Fria

Park & Shop Market 838 Agua Fria

Castellano Jose C. 929 Agua Fria

El Monte Grocery 1101 Agua Fria

Gonzales, Juvencio A. 1275 Agua Fria

Romero, Richard Box 37 Agua Fria

Castellano Grocery No. 2 Box 43 Agua Fria

Independent Grocery 468 W. Alameda

Rocky’s Super Market 700 W. Alameda

Louis Grocery 531 Alto

Vigil’s Grocery 719 Alto

A & J Grocery 923 Alto

Montoya, Richard 600 Armijo

Rios, Jesus 324 Camino Monte Sol

Roybal’s Store & Bar 656 Cañon Road

Friendly Market 830 Cañon Road

Gormley’s 670 Cañon Road

New Canon Road Grocery 1027 Cañon Road

Duran Trading Post 1136 Cañon Road

Furr Food Stores 537 Cerrillos Road

Indio Mercantile 1908 Cerrillos Road

Wigwam Food Market 1802 Cerrillos Road

Gonzales, Mrs. Nazarena B. 227 Closson

Hillyer’s Grocery & Market 312 College

Health Food Store 316 College

Pecos Trail Store 529 College

Griego’s Grocery 620 College

Foodline, The 601 Cortez Place

H & H Grocery 1001 Don Juan

Johnnie’s Cash Store 420 Don Miguel

Padilla, Sam 410 Don Miguel

Tzeranis, Peter 808 Fayette

Roybal Store, Theo 212-14 Galisteo

M & S Super Market 232 Galisteo

Mansion Market 312 Galisteo

Capitol Food Shop 316 Galisteo

Ortiz Food Store 600 Galisteo

Galisteo Food Market 740 Galisteo

Safeway Stores 123 Grant Avenue

Hillside Grocery 367 Hillside

Manuel Grocery Store 324 W. Houghton

Larribas, prop. Herberger, Thos. 220 Irvine

Cordova, Estevan 539 Juanita

Romero, Lorenzo 204 N. Jefferson

Batrite Food Store 135 Lincoln

D & L Grocery 701 W. Manhattan

Martinez, Antonio 729 W. Manhattan

Lujan, Martin 816 W. Manhattan

Sullivan’s Grocery 308 Montezuma

El Pueblo Grocery 208 Navajo Blvd.

Cash & Carry Grocery 110 E. Palace

Palace Grocery 855 E. Palace

Corner Grocery 880 E. Palace

Moore, Samuel A. Sam St. Torreon Addn

Kaune Grocery 54 E. San Francisco

City Cash Market 207 W. San Francisco

Dependable Meat Market

& Grocery 218 W. San Francisco

Spanish Town Grocery 411 W. San Francisco

Julian’s Food Store 445 W. San Francisco

Santa Fe Camp Ground & Grocery 516 W. San Francisco

Tom’s Grocery 554 W. San Francisco

Ortiz, Willie Store 622 W. San Francisco

Johnny’s Market 320 Tesuque Dr

Medrano, Benito Box 38 Torcido

G & G Super Market 248 W. Water

Johnnie's Cash Store