'We didn't know we were poor'
Story of the Mexican Village told from personal experience
By DAVID MYERS
Southwest Kansas Register
The story of the Mexican Village, a sadly oft forgotten heritage for dozens of second and third generation Mexican American families in Ford County, is the story of early 20th Century Dodge City; it’s a tale steeped in tradition, devotion, familial love, and racial intolerance.
And it’s a story being told by Dodge City resident, Frederico “Fred” Rodriguez, a child of the village who grew up to travel the country as an esteemed educator and health care professional.
For nearly seven years, Rodriguez has painstakingly researched the Mexican Village, which was created by the Santa Fe Railroad in the rail yard in Dodge City to house railroad workers and their families. His goal is a book, replete with factual information and colorful anecdotes, as well as dozens and dozens of photos, that he hopes will be published within the year.
“I am writing in depth about the history of the Mexican Village; the life, the customs, diet and survival skills …,” he said. “Remember, this was during the deep Depression.”
The book will focus on 10 formative years, from 1930 to 1940 — a decade of dust and depression prior to World War II. It was an especially formative decade for Rodriguez, who was born in 1929 and moved from the village to a resident north of the railroad tracks in 1941.
Most houses and/or families moved north of the tracks by 1955 after the village was condemned, ending its nearly half-century existence.
As noted in “A History of Our Lady of Guadalupe Parish” by Tim Wenzl, “The village existed in a world of its own – an old world. Anglos who have been to Mexico describe the village as being similar to small settlements there.”
Except for a lamp outside “Ceballos” village grocery store, there was no electricity. Nor was there plumbing, save two public faucets from which residents would fill their buckets.
“We didn’t know we were poor,” said Rodriguez. “One of our many survival gimmicks was to gather wheat from the empty box cars parked behind the village that had hauled wheat. Large amounts of wheat was caught behind the box car walls, which we would hammer out with large, wooden poles, collect in sacks and use to feed our chickens. Everybody had chickens.
“Men and women would go to the two local slaughter houses, collect all the organ meats that were routinely thrown away at the end of the work day – stomach, heart, pigs feet…. The men would sell these in the village. Today they’re sold in stores and are considered a delicacy.”
The village, created sometime before 1910, included nearly 90 families at its height. While Santa Fe owned and rented out some of the homes, most residents constructed and lived in their own homes.
“We spoke Spanish and followed the customs of the Mexican people. We observed all religious practices of the Church, which influenced our lives greatly.”
During Lent, Rodriguez said, restrictions were in place that may seem unimaginable today.
“The radio tubes were removed by some parents so one could not listen to music,” he said. “We saw no movies, ate no sweets, and the church bells were not rung.”
Serving the village at that time was Father Hilary Hernandez, whom Rodriguez described as a “serious and disciplining religious Spanish priest who was very kind to the Mexican people, and who went above and beyond his priestly duties to meet our religious needs.”
Father Hernandez came to Dodge City in 1914 after escaping religious persecution in Mexico, when all foreign clergy were ordered to leave the country or face possible death. He became chaplain of St. Mary of the Plains Academy, and served the village’s small, frame church, “Our Lady of Guadalupe.”
“All the little boys sat on the floor on the left side of the sacristy,” Rodriguez said. “The women sat n pews on the right side facing the altar, and the men sat in folding chairs on the rear, left side of the church.”
The village was a tight knit community, Rodriguez said. Any social function, whether it was a dance, fiesta, or a wedding, came with the implication that the entire village was invited.
“People didn’t just get married,” Rodriguez said with a grin. “The young man would first see Father Hernandez, and then both would proceed to the girl’s parents’ house. Father Hernandez would announce to the parents that the boy would like to contraer matrimonio — to enter into matrimony with their daughter.”
If the parents agreed, then the engagement would follow church protocol, with the announcement of three “marriage banns,” before the beginning of Sunday Mass on three consecutive Sundays. If there was no opposition to the proposed marriage, the wedding usually followed on the following Saturday.
“On the wedding day, during the 30s sometimes, the bride and groom and wedding party would meet at the bride’s home, and in procession, walk to the church accompanied by the village musicians, walking and keeping pace with the sound of the beautiful Mexican melody into the church.”
Rodriguez said he received his first introduction to segregation at age five.
“…We had to sit in the balcony at the movie theaters in Dodge City. We were not allowed to be served in the town restaurants. We could eat in the kitchen, or take food out.
“We could not stay in a hotel. We couldn’t swim in the city pool at the park in the summer. As children, we would watch the American kids swim in the pool through the fence and think, ‘Gosh, it would be nice to be able to dive in the water.’ To add to my sadness at the pool, as I was touching the fence, one of the young swimmers came over and yelled, ‘Get your dirty hands off the fence!’”
As the Mexican Village was being formed, other ethnic groups – Irish, German, Austrian Bohemian and Eastern European — were building their own communities, some of which had taken root as early as the 1880s. Each experienced some level of prejudice as new immigrants.
“One day when I was five, I was delivering lunch to my dad when I saw an American man go in one door, and some Mexican men in another. My father was very matter-of-fact about it. He said, ‘That door is for the Americans.’ There was no ‘Anglo’ or ‘Mexican-American’ back then. It was Mexican and American.
In 1941, Rodriguez, his parents and four brothers and sisters moved north of the tracks amid rumors that the village was soon to be razed. Housed less than a mile from their previous home, Rodriguez found himself, in effect, living in another country.
“That’s when the forced assimilation began,” he said. “There had been no effort at all by the Americans and Mexicans to get together.”
Rodriguez stressed that, amid the racism, there were those who went out of their way to work with and to serve the residents of the village.
Today, only upon quiet observation can one see that poor Mexican child in the face of Rodriguez. Quick to smile with a friendly demeanor, the man born in the Mexican Village went on to become a respected and highly trained professor, teaching nursing and other health care topics. He has cross-crossed the country, attended top Catholic colleges, and has worked at prestigious hospitals in Chicago.
In 1989, he returned to Dodge City to care for his dying father, and became a professor at Dodge City Community College. Today he continues pursuing his nursing profession and writing his book.
By DAVID MYERS
Southwest Kansas Register
The story of the Mexican Village, a sadly oft forgotten heritage for dozens of second and third generation Mexican American families in Ford County, is the story of early 20th Century Dodge City; it’s a tale steeped in tradition, devotion, familial love, and racial intolerance.
And it’s a story being told by Dodge City resident, Frederico “Fred” Rodriguez, a child of the village who grew up to travel the country as an esteemed educator and health care professional.
For nearly seven years, Rodriguez has painstakingly researched the Mexican Village, which was created by the Santa Fe Railroad in the rail yard in Dodge City to house railroad workers and their families. His goal is a book, replete with factual information and colorful anecdotes, as well as dozens and dozens of photos, that he hopes will be published within the year.
“I am writing in depth about the history of the Mexican Village; the life, the customs, diet and survival skills …,” he said. “Remember, this was during the deep Depression.”
The book will focus on 10 formative years, from 1930 to 1940 — a decade of dust and depression prior to World War II. It was an especially formative decade for Rodriguez, who was born in 1929 and moved from the village to a resident north of the railroad tracks in 1941.
Most houses and/or families moved north of the tracks by 1955 after the village was condemned, ending its nearly half-century existence.
As noted in “A History of Our Lady of Guadalupe Parish” by Tim Wenzl, “The village existed in a world of its own – an old world. Anglos who have been to Mexico describe the village as being similar to small settlements there.”
Except for a lamp outside “Ceballos” village grocery store, there was no electricity. Nor was there plumbing, save two public faucets from which residents would fill their buckets.
“We didn’t know we were poor,” said Rodriguez. “One of our many survival gimmicks was to gather wheat from the empty box cars parked behind the village that had hauled wheat. Large amounts of wheat was caught behind the box car walls, which we would hammer out with large, wooden poles, collect in sacks and use to feed our chickens. Everybody had chickens.
“Men and women would go to the two local slaughter houses, collect all the organ meats that were routinely thrown away at the end of the work day – stomach, heart, pigs feet…. The men would sell these in the village. Today they’re sold in stores and are considered a delicacy.”
The village, created sometime before 1910, included nearly 90 families at its height. While Santa Fe owned and rented out some of the homes, most residents constructed and lived in their own homes.
“We spoke Spanish and followed the customs of the Mexican people. We observed all religious practices of the Church, which influenced our lives greatly.”
During Lent, Rodriguez said, restrictions were in place that may seem unimaginable today.
“The radio tubes were removed by some parents so one could not listen to music,” he said. “We saw no movies, ate no sweets, and the church bells were not rung.”
Serving the village at that time was Father Hilary Hernandez, whom Rodriguez described as a “serious and disciplining religious Spanish priest who was very kind to the Mexican people, and who went above and beyond his priestly duties to meet our religious needs.”
Father Hernandez came to Dodge City in 1914 after escaping religious persecution in Mexico, when all foreign clergy were ordered to leave the country or face possible death. He became chaplain of St. Mary of the Plains Academy, and served the village’s small, frame church, “Our Lady of Guadalupe.”
“All the little boys sat on the floor on the left side of the sacristy,” Rodriguez said. “The women sat n pews on the right side facing the altar, and the men sat in folding chairs on the rear, left side of the church.”
The village was a tight knit community, Rodriguez said. Any social function, whether it was a dance, fiesta, or a wedding, came with the implication that the entire village was invited.
“People didn’t just get married,” Rodriguez said with a grin. “The young man would first see Father Hernandez, and then both would proceed to the girl’s parents’ house. Father Hernandez would announce to the parents that the boy would like to contraer matrimonio — to enter into matrimony with their daughter.”
If the parents agreed, then the engagement would follow church protocol, with the announcement of three “marriage banns,” before the beginning of Sunday Mass on three consecutive Sundays. If there was no opposition to the proposed marriage, the wedding usually followed on the following Saturday.
“On the wedding day, during the 30s sometimes, the bride and groom and wedding party would meet at the bride’s home, and in procession, walk to the church accompanied by the village musicians, walking and keeping pace with the sound of the beautiful Mexican melody into the church.”
Rodriguez said he received his first introduction to segregation at age five.
“…We had to sit in the balcony at the movie theaters in Dodge City. We were not allowed to be served in the town restaurants. We could eat in the kitchen, or take food out.
“We could not stay in a hotel. We couldn’t swim in the city pool at the park in the summer. As children, we would watch the American kids swim in the pool through the fence and think, ‘Gosh, it would be nice to be able to dive in the water.’ To add to my sadness at the pool, as I was touching the fence, one of the young swimmers came over and yelled, ‘Get your dirty hands off the fence!’”
As the Mexican Village was being formed, other ethnic groups – Irish, German, Austrian Bohemian and Eastern European — were building their own communities, some of which had taken root as early as the 1880s. Each experienced some level of prejudice as new immigrants.
“One day when I was five, I was delivering lunch to my dad when I saw an American man go in one door, and some Mexican men in another. My father was very matter-of-fact about it. He said, ‘That door is for the Americans.’ There was no ‘Anglo’ or ‘Mexican-American’ back then. It was Mexican and American.
In 1941, Rodriguez, his parents and four brothers and sisters moved north of the tracks amid rumors that the village was soon to be razed. Housed less than a mile from their previous home, Rodriguez found himself, in effect, living in another country.
“That’s when the forced assimilation began,” he said. “There had been no effort at all by the Americans and Mexicans to get together.”
Rodriguez stressed that, amid the racism, there were those who went out of their way to work with and to serve the residents of the village.
Today, only upon quiet observation can one see that poor Mexican child in the face of Rodriguez. Quick to smile with a friendly demeanor, the man born in the Mexican Village went on to become a respected and highly trained professor, teaching nursing and other health care topics. He has cross-crossed the country, attended top Catholic colleges, and has worked at prestigious hospitals in Chicago.
In 1989, he returned to Dodge City to care for his dying father, and became a professor at Dodge City Community College. Today he continues pursuing his nursing profession and writing his book.