The Evening News. October 13, 1916.

16. The Unconquered One. Part II.

The white bearded old man uncovered. His courtesy made one forget the tattered felt hat, the boots with toes playing hide-and-seek. I was looking at the last of the Dons.

The Don lifted the rusty keg band that fastened the twisted gate to the weather-beaten fence. In slow, difficult English he bade me enter.

"Tell me of the old Pueblo days," I said.

"Ah," he sighed sadly. "You come late. These years English I forget, and you speak no Spanish."

"Let's sit on your steps and try to remember."

The Don limped up the walk of the baren, drab little garden. Water for grass costs, and the Don has no money, only memories of the life that should be in the Pueblo, and is not. The steps of the tiny cottage were hardly wide enough for us two.

He looked at me with kindly, inquiring eyes. Assumed that I came from his friends, he began: "Yes, Spanish days were happy. That was a long time ago. Now there is much hard work, much new to see, but not happiness. There are many school houses. There are teachers--"

"Don't you believe in education?"

"What for education if there is only more wrongdoing? Education does not make less hunger? What for, education?"

I was a visitor of the Don, not to combat, but to listen.

"In the old Pueblo days we had no automobiles, no street cars, no trains. Everyone had a horse--"

"You don't like automobiles?"

"For the rich. I go in the city, a street car comes in front, an automobile behind, a train at my side. Trains, automobiles, street cars only kill poor people. You've like to die? Then you no like automobiles."

"But," I answered, "suppose you want to go to Gilroy. In an automobile you go quickly and the fair is only a little--"

"Yes, yes," he chuckled unconvinced. "You meet another automobile, you die cheap! Automobiles not make happy. Money not make happiness. In Pueblo we have no money. What for money, if your belly is full?"

"Suppose" I questioned, "in the old days you were so poor that you had no horse. You couldn't travel?"

The Don smiled pityingly. "You don't know old days. I go to my friend, I say I like to go to Los Angeles. I have one dollar. My friend say, 'Take a horse.' I ride to Monterey. My horse is tired. I have no place to sleep. I stop anywhere. Maybe the family has only one bed. They give it me. They sleep, no matter where. In the morning they say, 'Take a fresh horse.' I take it. I not give money. If I give money they say, 'You think we hungry?' I not insult Spanish people. I go to Los Angeles. I live there one month. All time plenty of friends, plenty laughing, plenty good time. I come back to San Jose. I have one dollar. Spanish people not need money. You think you do that today? You say 'Lend me your automobile, your street car, your train.' No. All things new is to please rich people, and to kill poor people."

"Then you would do away with automobiles, street cars, trains, and have everything as it was in the old Pueblo days"

"Why not so?" he replied. "Are people happy now? No. In old times plenty of wood. Today people shiver. They not make fire."

The Dons thin body shivered in his course gray shirt. "In old time plenty to eat, to dance, to have good time. Nobody hungry. In old time I kill beef cattle. I hang it up. I give one part to my brother, one to my neighbor, one to my friend, one to stranger. The stranger very bad for Spanish people."

"Americans?" I suggested.

"I not like make you offended, but American not justice. All same with these poor people in Mexico today. American come here in old time. They strangers. Spanish people give American beef cattle. They make no money. What for, money? The American, what he do? He squaate. Is squaate justice?" I don't know what squaate meant. "The Spanish people say to American, 'Go away, please.' The American stay. No matter to Spanish people. Only a few hundred acres of land."

At last I understood that the Don was speaking of "squatters." "Americans smart, no go away." Spanish say, "This land my land. Americans kill, Spanish people no fight. No worry. Americans take everything. Spanish people poor. Americans [s]teels. They have all California. Now everybody hurry. Everybody work. In the old time--"

"Even then, didn't the Indians work?"

"Indian work!" he laughed like a sad old Hamlet. "You don't know Indian." The Don closed his eyes and almost snorted. "Indian sleep all day, all night, and he eat like a coyote!"

As I was leaving the Don observed me curiously.

"You have white hairs. What for? You hurry, too? Your face is young, thirty-five. Perhaps thirty. How old are you?"

"I am old," I evaded.

"What for you not say how old? I don't want to marry you. I was born in 1836."

Transcribed by Claire Martin, for the Santa Clara Co. CAGenWeb Project. 2007

Return to When San Jose Was Young Index.