After reading about an upcoming talk that Dr. Philis Barragán Goetz, assistant professor of history at Texas A&M University-San Antonio, on “Escuelitas and the Emergence of a Mexican American Identity in South Texas,” I reflected on my own personal experiences in the escuelitas I attended in the barrio El Azteca in the 1940s and 1950s.
When I was three-years-old and living at 402 San Pablo Avenue, Mamá taught me how to read and write in Spanish. At 5’1” in stature and weighing about 130 pounds, Mamá was a formidable figure who commanded respect and obedience.
She had been educated in Veracruz, Mexico, and so Spanish was the language spoken at home. It was also widely spoken in El Azteca and throughout Laredo. Almost everyone spoke Spanish, even the Anglos.
Mamá was a firm believer in early childhood education. She especially wanted me to learn the English language, and consequently, at a very early age and before I entered first grade at St. Augustine School, Mamá enrolled me in the neighborhood escuelitas that were often taught by retired female teachers who had converted a room in their house into a classroom. The primary objective was for students to learn the English language and become proficient at reading, speaking, writing in cursive.
In those days St. Augustine School did not have pre-kindergarten or kindergarten classes, and so the escuelitas filled an important void and quite successfully. The ones I attended before enrolling in the first grade convened during the year and also in the summer.
A corollary to the first objective was to prepare us to live the American dream.
Across the street from our house at the northeast corner of San Pablo Avenue and Iturbide Street, lived the Salazar family in a two-story brick house. Conchita Salazar had made note of my enthusiasm for reading, and when she decided to open una escuelita, I was in
She used an empty one-story room with a high ceiling adjacent to the west side of their house where there is now a colorful mural on the wall facing San Pablo Avenue.
Every morning, around eight o’clock, I sat next to Conchita and she taught me the English language along with science, geography, literature, and arithmetic skills. I have recall of her puffy hand over mine as she helped me improve my cursive writing. The writing exercises and reading the books in her home convinced me that reading and writing are synonymous, that is, a good reader is a good writer and vice versa.
This truism has been the cornerstone of my professional and personal life. A few weeks after I was enrolled in the first grade at St. Augustine School, Sister Elvira noticed that I was far ahead of other students, and she talked to Mamá about promoting me to the second grade.
Thereafter while I was in elementary school, Mamá would send me for six weeks during the summer to another escuelita to be better prepared for the following grade level in the academic areas.
Speaking Spanish was prohibited at St. Augustine School, as it was in all the public schools, but that never became a major issue. We were truly bilingual.
Mamá made sure we had a home filled with affection, love, care, and compassion. She loved to cook and there was always plenty of food to eat and enough to share with our neighbors. We never went out to a restaurant because Papá’s salary as a city bus driver didn’t allow it.
Mamá sacrificed for us, preferring that we have new clothing and a pair of new shoes for the new school year. The only running water we had was in the kitchen, so taking a bath in a metal tub was quite challenging. Nevertheless, we bathed every night, brushed our teeth, and jumped into clean and ironed pajamas.
We had only a small radio for entertainment. I never complained about the lack of material things, because we had an abundance of blessings. Mamá refused federal welfare handouts of yellow cheese, powdered milk, and powdered eggs. In her mind, those commodities were for families who were worse off than we.
At every opportunity, she infused the drive and determination to succeed, to better myself, to make good grades, to continue my education beyond high school, and to postpone material gratification for later. In short, and without her knowledge, Mamá’s sage advice was about living the American Dream, always striving to become financially independent and a contributing member of society, and to set high aspirations and standards for a better life and a more desirable future.
When I wrote and published the political biography, Border Boss: Manuel B. Bravo and Zapata County in 1999 (Texas A&M University Press), I dedicated the book to my parents as a tribute to them. Papá had passed away two years earlier, but when I placed a copy of the book in Mamá’s hands and pointed to the dedication page so that she could see her name in print, the delightful expressions in her eyes and on her face were priceless. I have them etched in my memory forever.
I felt teary and grateful because I wanted her to be proud of me. I wanted her to know that all the sacrifices she had made to send me to the escuelita at Conchita’s house and other escuelitas, to St. Augustine School, and to St. Mary’s University, had made my life a good one.
And in a big way, I wanted to thank her in print and for posterity, and what better final tribute than my name on a published piece of work?
