Memoirs That Made Me Who I Am

Over the next 11 months we will be sharing the Memoirs That Made Me Who I Am. These are compiled stories written about the life of a former Gallup resident Eugene Leone.

Before his passing, he wrote, “It is with great delight that I share these stories from my heart, which have been inside for many years. My desire is that the reader would be able to go back to a time that was very real and may have been lost through the years.

Chapter Four Enter the Villain

MMexico is divided into states just the United States. The largest of all the Mexican States is Chihuahua. It borders Texas and New Mexico for a relatively short distance and is probably the most indigent.

The town of Gallup, New Mexico is built on low hills of which small modest houses have been built, all of

which overlook relatively flat plain of hard clay soil.

The early immigrant families from Mexico had only to build a one or two-room house to claim ownership. I was told that no one person, city, or county claimed or wanted ownership of this land. So, when the earliest Mexican immigrants built their first house on the land and heard no objection, they were very pleased to learn that this land was therefore theirs to claim; in other words to take. They chose wisely to build adobe houses, usually with small rooms, one room for sleeping, and the others for cooking, etc. There were no toilets because there were no sewer lines available. So, a few communal outhouses were built out of reclaimed lumber and old used tin for roofing. Using these faculties was in effect like being in Antarctica in winter and/or the Sahara Desert in summer. This Mexican squatters refuge came to be popularly called “Chihuahuita”; “little Chihuahua.”

No one in Gallup paid much attention to the tall, thin, stern looking stranger. He was in fact Colonel Vogel, recently discharged from the United States Army, with of course the substantial benefits due to a Colonel’s rank! So here he was, Col. Vogel retired, looking to buy properties at a historically low price due to the ongoing Great Depression, which was now near its historical low point. Even those who had money in the bank suddenly became inaccessible to them. The banks, on orders from the Federal Banking Governance, had ordered them to lock their doors. Outraged, the depositors now conducted raucous demonstrations in front of the banks nationwide, but to no avail.

This confiscation is thought to be the reason that so many elders, to this day, keep and/or hide their savings under the mattress, or in a cooking pot. Grampa Leone stuffed his money into two old shoes in the closet. It took Gramma Leone all of 20 minutes to find the money. These bank bandits embezzled even my baby sister, and me. The bank shutdown began when my sister, Lois, and I were toddlers; one bank gave each of us small well-made metal banks, which could not be shaken down. They were designed so that if turned upside down and shaken, no coins would fall out. Only the key at the bank could gain access to the contents. This was how to embezzle legally. I read that this practice continues today. Three years late, when we were informed that we could regain our money, we each received less than $150 of our original deposit of $300.

This bank closure played into Col. Vogel’s plan quite well. The property owners felt that it was better to be waiting for payment than to wait for a sale in a seemingly hopeless market. Col. Vogel hurriedly bought the Chihuweta land. Col. Vogel quickly had notices posted and just as hurriedly informed his now tenants that their rent payments were due in one month, no exceptions. Failure to pay their rent would result in removal of all their furnishings, all occupants would be removed, and the dwelling padlocked. Col. Vogel made two tactical errors at this point, which he would live to regret. The first was his expectation that some of these tenant families could come up with this rent money. They were struggling to earn enough to put some food on the table, plus a few candles against the dark. The second error that Col. Vogel made was an error that no military trained person should ever make; that is to say, underestimate the capability or determination of an adversary.

Col. Vogel had previously met with the Gallup Mayor, and one or two town managers to ask for, or rather to demand the local police department monitor the forced evacuations of what he termed ‘those squatters’ from “his” property. The police department he alluded to was a single man, Officer Mahoney, a jolly, middleaged Irishman, who did not dislike anyone. When told of his assignment, Mahoney did not like the sound of it, but had no choice but to comply. Mahoney was the only police officer in Gallup, New Mexico because he was too old and physically handicapped to get another better paying job. Mahoney was however, friendly, helpful, and only used the force of his badge if all else failed. He was well liked and respected by virtually all of the town’s people.

The evacuation day arrived amid ever increasing tension and anger. Among the ‘tenants” were, I was told, about a dozen elderly women, and approximately the same number of men. These elderly women helped as best they could with children, but

there was damn little they could do. There were no warm coats, stockings, shoes, warm blankets, or umbrellas to be had. There was no milk, warm or cold, and there were no tortillas slathered with frijoles. Worst of all, a mother who was crying frantically, which the town’s people had never seen before, traumatized them even more. This left the men and boys angered to the point of losing control and going on a killing spree. Fortunately, there were a few older, more affluent men who were able to calm these hysterical men and boys down enough to formulate a feasible plan to protect the women, children, and elderly. The next day they had two of the younger guys locate Col. Vogel. It worked. The scout saw him and his bodyguard enter a furniture store through the back door. He told them that they might catch Col. Vogel coming out.

This high desert upon which Gallup is built is characterized by arroyos. These arroyos are fairly common in several arid states. It doesn’t rain often in western New Mexico or Arizona, but when it does it can come down with a vengeance. There are very few bridges over these arroyos because the cost of such structures is prohibitive, and there are many of them. These desert rains are dangerous because there can be heavy rain several miles up the mountain and which come silently and rapidly down the arroyo with incredible force and volume. Over the years, many people have drowned and automobiles, old, big, and little, have never been seen again.

How do I know this? Even my mother and father were victims of such a frightening force. After many years of backbreaking work (literally) my mother persuaded my dad to get a dependable car and to go see California. On their way through northern Arizona, there was a particularly wide and deep canyon. The sand was seemingly dry so my dad, in our brand-new Hudson motorcar, started down through the sand only to have the rear wheels sink down to the undercarriage. So, he got the shovel out of the trunk (in those days you don’t go anywhere without a shovel, a hatchet, and a water-bag). Soon a voice called out “here it comes.” Mom said people watched and marveled at how quietly and quickly it moved. It struck the new Hudson, a heavy car, and tumbled it like a child’s toy. “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.”

When it did go down, there was no sign of the car whatsoever. A cattleman on horseback rode up about then and asked if we had lost a car in the flash flood. When my dad said, yes, he said, “I’ll give you some time-saving advice if you want to hear it.” My dad said, “sure.” The cowboy got off his horse and he said, “I’ve seen a lot of cars and people lost in this damn wash, and I can tell you for sure, y’all will never see that car again; on the long chance you find it, it will cost more to clean it all out than the car is worth”. My dad had heard this said many times before and believed it. So they hitched a ride back home and did not buy a new car or go to California for years until a new highway was built. Now, back to the main story. It was necessary to explain what, how, and why an arroyo came into the picture. One of the larger arroyos rushes through Gallup and it can do this because it had been tunneled underground and under the whole town. The same furniture store where Col. Vogel entered is above the tunnel. This 3-4 block long tunnel regrettably served as a shelter hideout, toilet, drain, and now part of the tragedy. The three gunmen were in place crouched behind the brick wall, and to ensure accuracy, they would all fire simultaneously.

Suddenly, the back door opened and as the target emerged, the three guns were fired, and a body pitched forward on his face, probably dead before he hit the ground. Regrettably, unfortunately, tragically, it was not Col. Vogel, the villain; it was Mahoney, the benevolent popular and gentle cop.

The entire populace of Gallup was first shocked, then gradually saddened, and angered to an extent they never experienced before.

A few weeks after fleeing from Gallup, Vogel called a trusted former employee who informed him without hesitation, that it would take years for Gallup to forget the horrendous crime for which he would bear the burden and blame to his grave beyond. “You sir, are truly despicable, and only the collective forgiveness of the many Mexican traumatized men, women, the elderly, and damaged children can save your sorry ass! I do not think that will happen!”

INDIGENOUSHappy PEOPLES’ DAY