I just found this post in draft!!! This was one of my great grandfather's theater program
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
May 14, 2013
Grandma is now 93 and a half. I've been bugging her for a while now to answer some more questions for me but I think I stumped her with a tough topic. I'm now trying to get some more simple answers out of her. She says she's busy though and doesn't know when she can get to it. My mom and kids and I went to visit her yesterday and I knew if I asked her a question she would go on and on talking about it which is great but we can't remember anything she says so I secretly recorded her on my phone! I'm going to transcribe it here.
My initial question was "Where were you born?" She replied Mexico and that all of her siblings were born in different countries because of her father being a famous magician and always on the road traveling to do different shows. I didn't record the beginning of the conversation but this is where it starts (it's pretty jumpy)...
She's saying where all of her mother's children were born...I missed the first.
"Her second one Venezuela. Her third one was born in Madrid. Fourth and Fifth were born in Cuba. My older brother was born in Tampa, Florida. My sister that died (a year before she was born) was born in the capital Guanasteo (?) in Mexico. That's where they were for the theater then a year later I was born in another capital in a different state in Mexico and a year after that my other brother was born in another state in Mexico. I was born in the Governor's house. The Governor's wife and my father delivered me. There was a revolution going at the time and the doctor couldn't get there. They didn't know what to do with the cord. The maid was getting the hot water and towels and she was a nervous wreck. My father had to cut the cord but they couldn't find the scissors so they pulled and the woman gasped and my mother said "what happened?" She didn't know what happened. We were guests of the Governor because when he goes to a city where he's going to do a show always the mayor of the town would be meeting him and hanging out with all the big shots. The owner of the theater or the manager so that was his life. He was a good story teller too so they all loved to spend time with him. He was a ventriloquist. He was so good he used to keep his dummy in a suitecase and when we would go to the theater we would always ask "Can we see him?" I can't remember what his name was. He would open the case for us to see. He was so good at it that one time in Mexico they were going to these ruins and they had mummies there in a cavern. So the mayor of the town, one of the doctors and other people and my father started to make like the mummies were talking. He said everyone was so scared they all ran out! He used to go out after the show to a cafe and drink tiny cups of strong coffee. They loved to hear him talk telling all these stories. We spent most of our times in hotels. I felt sorry for my mother. We were either catching a train or a ship or a taxi to go someplace. Then when I married "Dad" Stone and Webster moved us all around too but at least we were a few years in one place. Now I live in Turners Falls for the longest in my life. When I was a kid we were in hotels and then we went to live in Spain with my grandparents in a house for 5 years and then when we went to Hondouras...(My mom interrupted with a question "Was your mother's intention to stay in Spain?") If it wasn't for the revolution, yes we would have stayed. I said to Bernie a few days ago you would have had a Spaniard for a father. You'd look different I bet! If that revolution hadn't happened since we were American citizens through my father they wrote to the consul in Honduras who was best friends with my oldest brother (he had stayed in Honduras with my father). We thought we would stay in Spain until my mother got well because she had malaria and she was very sick and if she got another attack of it she probably wouldn't survive and my mother was so afraid of leaving us all orphans there. At that time was the depression and people didn't have money to go to the theater. You could go to the movies for a nickel and go to Spain for $5 which was a lot of money in those days. Then all of his stuff (magic show items) burned in a theater in Columbia. That's when he stopped with the theater for a while we were living in Columbia in a hotel across fro the theater and on Sundays they would have a matinee movie at night it would be his show but that Sunday the theater burned and all of his stuff. He used to go to New York to buy Houdini's tricks. My mother would fly in the air (in the show). So he had all those very expensive things that he would buy, Houdini's tricks most of them. During the depression we were able to live off the money he made. He made a lot of money all through those years. At that time the bank didn't give you any interest, it was just a safe place to keep your money. It was quite a life. When they went to Columbia (must have been another time) they left Ralph and I with friends of theirs who had 5 kids and we used to play with them. The friends said "why don't you leave them here with us while you go?" So they did. One day I got so sick she put me to bed and came back later to check on me and I was picking up rice out of the air...I had malaria. My fever was so high for three days they took me to the hospital. The nurses would try to put ice packs on my forehead I thought they were witches and I would fight! With no mother or father around and these friends were so upset this happened while they were taking care of me.
My initial question was "Where were you born?" She replied Mexico and that all of her siblings were born in different countries because of her father being a famous magician and always on the road traveling to do different shows. I didn't record the beginning of the conversation but this is where it starts (it's pretty jumpy)...
She's saying where all of her mother's children were born...I missed the first.
"Her second one Venezuela. Her third one was born in Madrid. Fourth and Fifth were born in Cuba. My older brother was born in Tampa, Florida. My sister that died (a year before she was born) was born in the capital Guanasteo (?) in Mexico. That's where they were for the theater then a year later I was born in another capital in a different state in Mexico and a year after that my other brother was born in another state in Mexico. I was born in the Governor's house. The Governor's wife and my father delivered me. There was a revolution going at the time and the doctor couldn't get there. They didn't know what to do with the cord. The maid was getting the hot water and towels and she was a nervous wreck. My father had to cut the cord but they couldn't find the scissors so they pulled and the woman gasped and my mother said "what happened?" She didn't know what happened. We were guests of the Governor because when he goes to a city where he's going to do a show always the mayor of the town would be meeting him and hanging out with all the big shots. The owner of the theater or the manager so that was his life. He was a good story teller too so they all loved to spend time with him. He was a ventriloquist. He was so good he used to keep his dummy in a suitecase and when we would go to the theater we would always ask "Can we see him?" I can't remember what his name was. He would open the case for us to see. He was so good at it that one time in Mexico they were going to these ruins and they had mummies there in a cavern. So the mayor of the town, one of the doctors and other people and my father started to make like the mummies were talking. He said everyone was so scared they all ran out! He used to go out after the show to a cafe and drink tiny cups of strong coffee. They loved to hear him talk telling all these stories. We spent most of our times in hotels. I felt sorry for my mother. We were either catching a train or a ship or a taxi to go someplace. Then when I married "Dad" Stone and Webster moved us all around too but at least we were a few years in one place. Now I live in Turners Falls for the longest in my life. When I was a kid we were in hotels and then we went to live in Spain with my grandparents in a house for 5 years and then when we went to Hondouras...(My mom interrupted with a question "Was your mother's intention to stay in Spain?") If it wasn't for the revolution, yes we would have stayed. I said to Bernie a few days ago you would have had a Spaniard for a father. You'd look different I bet! If that revolution hadn't happened since we were American citizens through my father they wrote to the consul in Honduras who was best friends with my oldest brother (he had stayed in Honduras with my father). We thought we would stay in Spain until my mother got well because she had malaria and she was very sick and if she got another attack of it she probably wouldn't survive and my mother was so afraid of leaving us all orphans there. At that time was the depression and people didn't have money to go to the theater. You could go to the movies for a nickel and go to Spain for $5 which was a lot of money in those days. Then all of his stuff (magic show items) burned in a theater in Columbia. That's when he stopped with the theater for a while we were living in Columbia in a hotel across fro the theater and on Sundays they would have a matinee movie at night it would be his show but that Sunday the theater burned and all of his stuff. He used to go to New York to buy Houdini's tricks. My mother would fly in the air (in the show). So he had all those very expensive things that he would buy, Houdini's tricks most of them. During the depression we were able to live off the money he made. He made a lot of money all through those years. At that time the bank didn't give you any interest, it was just a safe place to keep your money. It was quite a life. When they went to Columbia (must have been another time) they left Ralph and I with friends of theirs who had 5 kids and we used to play with them. The friends said "why don't you leave them here with us while you go?" So they did. One day I got so sick she put me to bed and came back later to check on me and I was picking up rice out of the air...I had malaria. My fever was so high for three days they took me to the hospital. The nurses would try to put ice packs on my forehead I thought they were witches and I would fight! With no mother or father around and these friends were so upset this happened while they were taking care of me.
Friday, December 7, 2007
Picture
This a picture of my mother and brothers and me on the United Fruit Co. Ship that was taking us to Honduras. The American Consul took this of us when he brought us onboard. He later sent it to eht American Consul in Tela and he came to our house to give it to us.
My mother made the dress for me by hand on the ship from France so I could have something new to wear when we got off the ship. All the clothes that we wore all those days were what we brought in a small suitcase from Spain so they were kind of old. During our stay in Valencia she bought some material so she could make me a dress while were sailing all those days.
My mother made the dress for me by hand on the ship from France so I could have something new to wear when we got off the ship. All the clothes that we wore all those days were what we brought in a small suitcase from Spain so they were kind of old. During our stay in Valencia she bought some material so she could make me a dress while were sailing all those days.
Boat
This is me and a group of people on the ship that took us from Bordeaux France to Panama City. It was taken on the bow of the boat where I used to stand with my brother. We could see the foam from the ship breaking through the water and feel the wind blowing on our faces and in our hair.
The people in the picture were friends that we med on the train from Marseilles to Bordeaux. They were very friendly and we had a good time with them on the train playing games. The group was a mother, father, and two girls and a boy and some friends of theirs. They were also trying to get out of Spain. I don't know if they were staying in Panama or if they were going to South America. We only got together once on the ship when they came to our side to take by the bow. There were in second class and we were in third class. They could come to our side but we couldn't go to theirs. Their cabins were on the back of the boat and ours were on the front. First class was in the middle.
My Nightmare
MY NIGHTMARE
BY ELENA
IN THE DISTANCE WE HEARD
SHOOTING AND PLANES FLYING
OVERHEAD. IT WAS JULY 18, 1936. THE
SPANISH CIVIL WAR HAD JUST STARTED
When I first heard about the Spanish Civil War on July 18, 1936 neither my family nor I realized what was in store for us in the months to come. I was 16 at the time and we were living in Madrid with our grandmother. My mother and I and three younger brothers had moved to Madrid from Honduras four years earlier in hopes that the Spanish climate might improve her poor health. My father and older brother stayed in Honduras in hopes of being reunited with us later. But due to the depression and continued ill health of my mother it kept us in Spain longer than expected. We began to think that we would never get out of Spain alive.
The nightmare began slowly. Days and nights were spent in fear. There were stories going around that government forces were taking people away that were affiliated with the Catholic Church. Since we were registered at the local church we were afraid that our names and address could get in the hands of some fanatic. The churches were all closed and priests and nuns had gone into hiding. Food was scarce. Once the provisions in the stores were gone they would close. A store would open only when a shipment of food would arrive. This meant going far from where we lived and standing in long lines. Sometimes they would run out of food before we got to the front door and we would go home empty handed. Our trips to the stores were done with much anxiety. There were reports of hand grenades thrown at crowds from passing cars, also of people being killed from mortar shells coming from the outskirts of the city. Some days we would hear the motor rounds overhead. We could not go out for the pleasure of going for a walk. Our walks were when food was needed. We spent our days home with nothing to do but worry about our fate.
When the first air raid sounded it found us unprepared. The terrifying sound of the sirens and sound of the bombers overhead and nearby explosions brought us much panic and confusion. We would all run to the small cellar in the building we were living in. Our building had four floors and was built during the Moorish era of rock and mortar. Several families lived in the building. The small cellar that we went to became overcrowded very quickly. After our first experience in the shelter, both my mother and grandmother disliked all the confusion and decided not to go to the cellar for safety again. They felt that if the building were hit directly everyone would be buried alive under all the rock. They also felt that if something were going to happen it would not matter where we were in the building. So they prayed putting our lives in Gods hands. I did not accept my Mother’s logic and I continued to go to the shelter during the air raids. After going through this nerve racking routine a few more times, I was scared even more and worried about my family upstairs. I wondered what was happing to them and afraid of them being killed and of me being buried alive. I then changed my routine during the air raids that followed. I would go into a corner of the entrance hall of our apartment. I thought that the walls would protect me and at the same time I wouldn’t be too far from my family. But, if I thought this was going to ease my plight I was mistaken. I felt very much alone crouched in a dark corner of the hall with my hands over my head. The sound of the bombs sent terror through my body. The building shook harder and harder as the bombs hit closer and closer. I could not help but think that the next bomb would hit our building. The frightening feeling that you are going to die is unbearable. I felt frustration and at the same time anger at not being able to do anything about it. I wanted to scream and beg the pilots for our lives. The torment of not knowing what was going to happen next and wondering what it would feel like to die was riveting. Would I die instantly or would I suffer excruciating pain? All these thoughts were going through my head. I don’t remember how long the air attacks lasted, but to me they were an eternity and they left me drained emotionally. The all clear signal was such a beautiful sound to hear but our feeling of relief was never long as we would always wonder if we would be that lucky next time. And there was always a next time.
One afternoon we were all sitting in our living room when air raid sirens sounded. Almost instantly the familiar sound of aircraft circling overhead and the bombs hitting some target not too far away. The aircraft had reached the city without being detected. The doors to our balcony were open and suddenly a blinding flash of yellow flames engulfed the balcony. My mother yelled for us to drop to the floor. We covered our heads and with terror we waited for an explosion but there was silence. I thought for a moment we were all dead. After a few minutes we heard the commotion and voices coming from the street. We also heard the bombers going away. We ran to the balcony to see what had happened and to our surprise we saw that the planes had only dropped incendiary bombs. One had hit the empty lot next door and the other had just missed our building and landed in the street. Buildings a block away had been hit directly and were engulfed in flames. After that air raid I approached the months that followed with more serenity. Whenever I heard the chilling sound of the air raid sirens I wanted to be as close to my family as possible. The air raids became more frequent. We did not really know when to expect them. Many nights we would go to bed with our clothes on in case we would have to evacuate the building. We lived with fear everyday and we did not know if it would be our last.
One day when things seemed to be hopeless a man came to our door and asked to see our mother. We were apprehensive at first with fear but our fears quickly disappeared when he identified himself as a member of the American Consul in Madrid and he was coming to arrange for our departure from Madrid. He told us that our father had been trying disparately for months to get us out of Spain through the American Embassy in Honduras but he had not been able to get in touch with us to let us know. My father who was of Spanish decent was born in Puerto Rico and was considered an American citizen since Puerto Rico became a province of the United States in 1909.
Since Madrid was becoming hostile and all roads out of Madrid were expected to be closed, the American Embassy in Madrid was being moved to Valencia, which was on the eastern coast of Spain. The consul informed us that we would be leaving the next day with only the clothes on our backs. On a cold morning in December of 1936, five months after my nightmare had started a car with the American flag attached to the front of the car came to pick us up. The ride through the city was sad and lonely for me as we rode through the empty streets where our friends lived and where I had once played. That innocent part of my life was gone forever. We drove across town to the Embassy where we joined the staff of the American Embassy and boarded a bus that would take us to Valencia. As we drove out of town I looked back for the last time. The sun was just rising and it looked so beautiful, tears filled my eyes. I could still see my grandmother standing in the balcony with her face so pale and crying as she waved goodbye, knowing that she would never see us again.
We were not far from the outskirts of the city when we saw planes coming to bomb the city. For a few minutes, as they approached, we were worried and afraid that the bus would be a target. I knew the agony that the people soon would be experiencing and with mixed emotions I felt deeply for them, but at the same time I was happy that we would not be there. My nightmare had ended but theirs would continue and it did for two more years.
Once we reached Valencia we boarded the US Navy’s USS Raleigh for a trip to Marseille, France. While on board the Raleigh I was the center of attention of the young crew. They all wanted to take my picture. We ate and slept in the officers quarters and we were treated with great respect. The second day of our voyage we stopped in Barcelona to pick up a young newly wed couple. Once we reached Marseille, France we disembarked and remain in Marseille for 20 days before departing by train for Bordeaux, France located on the West Coast of France. At Bordeaux we boarded a commercial ship for Panama. We sailed for 19 days across the Atlantic for Panama. This voyage I have tried to erase from my mind since we had very little money at the time we were relegated to steerage class and treated very poorly. When we reached Panama it was a different story. The American Consul met us at the ship and brought us to meet one of the executives of The United Fruit Company who promptly invited us to their home for dinner. The United Fruit Company then gave us free sail to Honduras where we were reunited with our Father and my older brother. My older brother worked for the United Fruit Company and coincidentally my future husband who was an American, also worked for the United Fruit Company. We married April 1939 and came to the United States to raise five children.
Epilog---
The USS Raleigh was a 7,050-ton Omaha class light cruiser built in Quincy, Massachusetts and Commissioned in 1924. In 1936 Raleigh was the flagship of Squadron 40-T, which operated off Spain during the civil war. Later on 7 December 1941, Raleigh was moored at Pearl Harbor when the Japanese Navy raided that fleet base. She was badly damaged when hit by a torpedo and near–missed by a bomb. Repaired at Pearl Harbor and Mare Island Navy Yards, the cruiser was again ready for service in mid-1942. The Raleigh operated in the south and central pacific for most of the rest of that year, then was sent to the Aleutians, where she was employed until June 1945. Her activities included convoy escort, escort, patrols in contested waters and bombardment of Japanese-held islands. The Raleigh briefly helped to train Naval Academy midshipmen. She was decommissioned in November 1945 and sold for scrapping is February 1946.
BY ELENA
IN THE DISTANCE WE HEARD
SHOOTING AND PLANES FLYING
OVERHEAD. IT WAS JULY 18, 1936. THE
SPANISH CIVIL WAR HAD JUST STARTED
When I first heard about the Spanish Civil War on July 18, 1936 neither my family nor I realized what was in store for us in the months to come. I was 16 at the time and we were living in Madrid with our grandmother. My mother and I and three younger brothers had moved to Madrid from Honduras four years earlier in hopes that the Spanish climate might improve her poor health. My father and older brother stayed in Honduras in hopes of being reunited with us later. But due to the depression and continued ill health of my mother it kept us in Spain longer than expected. We began to think that we would never get out of Spain alive.
The nightmare began slowly. Days and nights were spent in fear. There were stories going around that government forces were taking people away that were affiliated with the Catholic Church. Since we were registered at the local church we were afraid that our names and address could get in the hands of some fanatic. The churches were all closed and priests and nuns had gone into hiding. Food was scarce. Once the provisions in the stores were gone they would close. A store would open only when a shipment of food would arrive. This meant going far from where we lived and standing in long lines. Sometimes they would run out of food before we got to the front door and we would go home empty handed. Our trips to the stores were done with much anxiety. There were reports of hand grenades thrown at crowds from passing cars, also of people being killed from mortar shells coming from the outskirts of the city. Some days we would hear the motor rounds overhead. We could not go out for the pleasure of going for a walk. Our walks were when food was needed. We spent our days home with nothing to do but worry about our fate.
When the first air raid sounded it found us unprepared. The terrifying sound of the sirens and sound of the bombers overhead and nearby explosions brought us much panic and confusion. We would all run to the small cellar in the building we were living in. Our building had four floors and was built during the Moorish era of rock and mortar. Several families lived in the building. The small cellar that we went to became overcrowded very quickly. After our first experience in the shelter, both my mother and grandmother disliked all the confusion and decided not to go to the cellar for safety again. They felt that if the building were hit directly everyone would be buried alive under all the rock. They also felt that if something were going to happen it would not matter where we were in the building. So they prayed putting our lives in Gods hands. I did not accept my Mother’s logic and I continued to go to the shelter during the air raids. After going through this nerve racking routine a few more times, I was scared even more and worried about my family upstairs. I wondered what was happing to them and afraid of them being killed and of me being buried alive. I then changed my routine during the air raids that followed. I would go into a corner of the entrance hall of our apartment. I thought that the walls would protect me and at the same time I wouldn’t be too far from my family. But, if I thought this was going to ease my plight I was mistaken. I felt very much alone crouched in a dark corner of the hall with my hands over my head. The sound of the bombs sent terror through my body. The building shook harder and harder as the bombs hit closer and closer. I could not help but think that the next bomb would hit our building. The frightening feeling that you are going to die is unbearable. I felt frustration and at the same time anger at not being able to do anything about it. I wanted to scream and beg the pilots for our lives. The torment of not knowing what was going to happen next and wondering what it would feel like to die was riveting. Would I die instantly or would I suffer excruciating pain? All these thoughts were going through my head. I don’t remember how long the air attacks lasted, but to me they were an eternity and they left me drained emotionally. The all clear signal was such a beautiful sound to hear but our feeling of relief was never long as we would always wonder if we would be that lucky next time. And there was always a next time.
One afternoon we were all sitting in our living room when air raid sirens sounded. Almost instantly the familiar sound of aircraft circling overhead and the bombs hitting some target not too far away. The aircraft had reached the city without being detected. The doors to our balcony were open and suddenly a blinding flash of yellow flames engulfed the balcony. My mother yelled for us to drop to the floor. We covered our heads and with terror we waited for an explosion but there was silence. I thought for a moment we were all dead. After a few minutes we heard the commotion and voices coming from the street. We also heard the bombers going away. We ran to the balcony to see what had happened and to our surprise we saw that the planes had only dropped incendiary bombs. One had hit the empty lot next door and the other had just missed our building and landed in the street. Buildings a block away had been hit directly and were engulfed in flames. After that air raid I approached the months that followed with more serenity. Whenever I heard the chilling sound of the air raid sirens I wanted to be as close to my family as possible. The air raids became more frequent. We did not really know when to expect them. Many nights we would go to bed with our clothes on in case we would have to evacuate the building. We lived with fear everyday and we did not know if it would be our last.
One day when things seemed to be hopeless a man came to our door and asked to see our mother. We were apprehensive at first with fear but our fears quickly disappeared when he identified himself as a member of the American Consul in Madrid and he was coming to arrange for our departure from Madrid. He told us that our father had been trying disparately for months to get us out of Spain through the American Embassy in Honduras but he had not been able to get in touch with us to let us know. My father who was of Spanish decent was born in Puerto Rico and was considered an American citizen since Puerto Rico became a province of the United States in 1909.
Since Madrid was becoming hostile and all roads out of Madrid were expected to be closed, the American Embassy in Madrid was being moved to Valencia, which was on the eastern coast of Spain. The consul informed us that we would be leaving the next day with only the clothes on our backs. On a cold morning in December of 1936, five months after my nightmare had started a car with the American flag attached to the front of the car came to pick us up. The ride through the city was sad and lonely for me as we rode through the empty streets where our friends lived and where I had once played. That innocent part of my life was gone forever. We drove across town to the Embassy where we joined the staff of the American Embassy and boarded a bus that would take us to Valencia. As we drove out of town I looked back for the last time. The sun was just rising and it looked so beautiful, tears filled my eyes. I could still see my grandmother standing in the balcony with her face so pale and crying as she waved goodbye, knowing that she would never see us again.
We were not far from the outskirts of the city when we saw planes coming to bomb the city. For a few minutes, as they approached, we were worried and afraid that the bus would be a target. I knew the agony that the people soon would be experiencing and with mixed emotions I felt deeply for them, but at the same time I was happy that we would not be there. My nightmare had ended but theirs would continue and it did for two more years.
Once we reached Valencia we boarded the US Navy’s USS Raleigh for a trip to Marseille, France. While on board the Raleigh I was the center of attention of the young crew. They all wanted to take my picture. We ate and slept in the officers quarters and we were treated with great respect. The second day of our voyage we stopped in Barcelona to pick up a young newly wed couple. Once we reached Marseille, France we disembarked and remain in Marseille for 20 days before departing by train for Bordeaux, France located on the West Coast of France. At Bordeaux we boarded a commercial ship for Panama. We sailed for 19 days across the Atlantic for Panama. This voyage I have tried to erase from my mind since we had very little money at the time we were relegated to steerage class and treated very poorly. When we reached Panama it was a different story. The American Consul met us at the ship and brought us to meet one of the executives of The United Fruit Company who promptly invited us to their home for dinner. The United Fruit Company then gave us free sail to Honduras where we were reunited with our Father and my older brother. My older brother worked for the United Fruit Company and coincidentally my future husband who was an American, also worked for the United Fruit Company. We married April 1939 and came to the United States to raise five children.
Epilog---
The USS Raleigh was a 7,050-ton Omaha class light cruiser built in Quincy, Massachusetts and Commissioned in 1924. In 1936 Raleigh was the flagship of Squadron 40-T, which operated off Spain during the civil war. Later on 7 December 1941, Raleigh was moored at Pearl Harbor when the Japanese Navy raided that fleet base. She was badly damaged when hit by a torpedo and near–missed by a bomb. Repaired at Pearl Harbor and Mare Island Navy Yards, the cruiser was again ready for service in mid-1942. The Raleigh operated in the south and central pacific for most of the rest of that year, then was sent to the Aleutians, where she was employed until June 1945. Her activities included convoy escort, escort, patrols in contested waters and bombardment of Japanese-held islands. The Raleigh briefly helped to train Naval Academy midshipmen. She was decommissioned in November 1945 and sold for scrapping is February 1946.
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