Chapter Five of Mexico Book: "Mexico: An Itinerant History" Unfinished...Ongoing

Chapter Six: My Itinerant Wanderings:

Let’s Talk About Friends…

    I think it’s safe to say that friendships and acquaintances compose a lot of our understanding and identification with any culture, be it a foreign one or a close culture to us, either a culture in a seemingly far away orbit or just within our own conceptual grasp.

    For example, I live within the general American culture, and within this massive country we live in there are multitudinous sub-cultures abounding. Take the American sub-culture of African-Americans: they make up an approximate 11% of our population and maybe 80% of them are living within majority “black” communities and maintaining a strong African-American identity and culture within the context of the overall American one. Latinos now make up more than the ratio of African-Americans in the US of the 21^st century, but with only 60 % being Mexican-American, this culture composes the second biggest sub-culture nationally (maybe 7 % nationally). Obviously this can further be broken down into various factions of regions and further sub-cultures, but it is helpful to lump them together in large chunks, just as it is helpful to conceive of the majority Anglo culture presiding as the national face for most of the current US. This does not mean that the large chunks are easily defined, rather the contrary is true. The brain can at least understand the bigger chunks first and then get more nuanced in its understanding from there.

    I have mentioned that examining and learning “another” can lead to better understanding of oneself. This can be done within the United States and also without. I wish to look at some of my lifelong interaction with Mexicans, Mexican-Americans, and a few other Latinos, both within and without the confines of the USA.

    In the course of my years (1970-2004), I have known many sub-cultures and even been part of my own; the religious sub-culture of Latter-day Saint, which is currently at a national rate of about two percent of the overall population. The biggest religious faction is the Catholic at only 20-25 %. There is a Christian “hegemony” overall nationally as it were but it is highly factionalized. Thus, our nation has many sub-cultures, and Latinos fit into a few different groups ethnically but even more religiously and economically.

Historical Breakdown

1970-1980. In my first decade, my main interaction with the Latino community was through my adopted grandmother Ruby Bumzahem (from Panama), my third-grade Spanish teacher (from Spain), a couple of foster children raised in Indiana who stayed in my home for six weeks (maybe Mexican-American), one Hispanic girl at Elm Heights Elementary, Lisa Velasquez (Puerto Rican or Mexican-American?) and the assorted television shows from Sesame Street to Charles Bronson and Eastwood shooting across the Sierra on the TV screen. Bishop Martinez does not count because despite his Hispanic surname he was more Asian (Pilipino) than Latino.

    I saw most of non-American foreign culture through the eyes and narratives of my parents in West Africa (1964-1966). Usually this fascinated me.

    1980-85 was a little more eye opening towards other cultures such as the Latino one. Attending middle school exposed me to a few more Hispanics, but not that many. In attending Binford Middle School for two years and then Batchelor Junior High for one, I was exposed to more kids and cultures than I had seen theretofore, and I was intellectually stimulated more than ever, especially by Mr. Courtney of everlasting fame and credit. He shaped my worldview as few people ever could. (His specialty was Russia and Communism, but the more you learn about Latin America the more you understand the mutual relevance of those subjects.)

    I was able to go on three consecutive cruises to the Caribbean during the holidays 1982-4, and although I did not really establish any serious friendships with any Latinos while in Mexico and Puerto Rico during those brief visits, there were some seeds of outreaching established with a Bahamian, a Barbadian, and an Antiguan. Sowing these types of international friendly experiences lead to later positive friendships with others, like Latinos. Becoming acquainted with the unknown or foreign sometimes starts in small ways and then gradually can become bigger. This has an affect on or level of closeness with other cultures, as demarcated in Chapter ___, the level of proximity to Mexico.

My first two Mexican visits were in these years (as documented in Chapters 1 and 2), and although there was no memorable acquaintances from Tamaulipas or Quintana Roo, (or San Juan, PR, for that matter), a few foundations were laid within my visits to these Spanish speaking lands, at least whetting my appetite to do so.

    Another significant international experience in that time was hosting Bertrand, a French exchange student for three weeks, or Monique in her second year of French at Bloomington High School South. He taught me a couple French phrases, gave us some interesting gifts, and made me see through a foreigner’s eyes a bit. We also visited Chicago with him; this was my first stay there (Maybe one night? I remember it was 1984 because IU with freshman Alford upset Michael Jordan in his last year with number one UNC). It was opening my eyes to new views, including the Tin Tin books he gave me.

    1986-1990 finally was the linguistic break through with the Spanish language, and not especially a “Mexican” interaction of the language (Mexicans make up maybe 25 percent of the spoken language worldwide) but at least Hispanic. One incidental note was that in 1985 my mother dated an illegal Portuguese immigrant named Paul who went by the name of John. Perhaps this was my first encounter with an immigration case, much a part of the Mexican situation in the States now, and part and parcel of some of my relationships now (mostly with Mexican illegal aliens but not exclusively).

    I started my high school Spanish (1985-6) with Pedro Sainz, swim coach extraordinaire and first year teacher. By being a Hispanic teacher it was unusual and a new chance for me to see a bit into another world, especially as a freshman. That same year I also had Mr. Bellisis in Anthropology, who made it quite clear that he was a Greek-American from Gary, the industrial suburbs of Chicago by Lake Michigan. These two “ethnic” teachers were preparing me for more diversity, not so much within the classroom but more for other experiences while in high school. My sophomore year I volunteered for the exchange with Spain, which led to Ricardo Salvador Boso arriving at my home for three weeks a year later.

During my high school years I would spend a few holiday weeks down in Florida, mostly on the Gulf or Mexico side near Fort Myers. There wasn’t a great sign of Latinos around but I do remember at a youth church class in March of 1989 that there were a couple of youths who seemed to be of Latino origin. The acquaintances I made that day in North Fort Meyers were not noteworthy but they left somewhat of an impression as far as how our Church operates in other areas and that there was a Hispanic presence in it, something not so evident in Indiana.

I enjoyed going to the international dorms on 10^th street called Eigamenn; there I would play ping-pong competitively with many people of various ethnic groups, mostly Asian.

I had originally tried going to Spain after my junior year but then relented until after my senior year. I was relieved to have graduated (and avoided March because of missed class time) and was happy to practice my Spanish by necessity. I learned a lot about what I didn’t know and what I didn’t know how to do. I even picked up a few of the Spanish idioms. I also grew in appreciation of their culture and heritage.

Not long after being home from Spain, I took my final trip to see family out on the east coast. I read a Hemingway short stories book checked out from the library. (Hemingway gives you a picture of Spain and the Spanish Caribbean).

In between these “farewell trips” I was working with my father wiring homes with his assistant Jay “Steve” Compton.

Upon arriving home from the east coast trip (and stopping on the way in Montreal to see Tim Raines of the Expos) I had an important envelope in my stack of mail. My mom and stepfather waited to see if I had the envelope at the house, but I didn’t see it and ran back around the house that no.

But it was. I didn’t see it at first. But there it was!

I had been hoping most of my life to go abroad, and that next period of my life was nerve wracking until I decided to pray. Immediate peace came.

So then came the successive friendships of the MTC and the mission of Chile.

1989. The main friendships I developed in Spain were with a couple members of my Church and the parents of Ricardo. I had already become friends with Ricardo and his sister Daniela, and I didn’t spend too much time with them. I met a few sister missionaries and became friends with American Sister Thomas and a sixteen year-old named David, a native of Castellón. I had some good times with Ricardo’s parents, of good and affable Spanish stock.

They helped me in linguistic and cultural ways to be more ready for my mission. It was a great and helpful preparation for Chile and the world of a missionary.

Reporting to the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah, was the next big move towards advancing in the Spanish speaking world, thus preparing me for the world of Mexico past and present.

I suppose I will insert here that many Mexicans see their country as the final repository of their tongue, perhaps much as many claim that the United States is the ultimate arbiter of English due to its size and significant weight of influence worldwide. Hollywood is based in the US, as is other world capitals of New York City and Washington D.C. Mexico claims Mexico City as its urban capital. One out of four Mexicans claims the capital city as their home. By learning the Spanish language, we are by default entering further into the world and common tongue of the Mexican people and its kingdom.

MTC-Time of Preparation and Growth

My three roommates had an effect on me to some degree linguistically, based on their backgrounds and attitudes. Shane Neve was a nice guy from West Valley City, Salt Lake City. He had studied 2 years of high school Spanish and he was a quick study. We worked well together.

The other two companions were both from Mesa, Arizona; one had studied maybe one year of Spanish (Nate Burleson) and the other, his assigned MTC companion, perhaps two or three years ( Paul Standage). Elder Standage had an American father who had served in Chile years before and then married his mother who was from Chile, the city of Talca in our very mission of Concepción.

---Reality blurb--- December 15, 2004--- Tonight was a strong dosage of Mexico for me. We had our Monday/Wednesday Christmas party, and we had a dinner at 7:30 and a gift exchange a little after 8:00. The majority of the class is Mexican and decidedly there is a Mexican flavor. By 8:55 I was in Marcus’s class next door (he a Mexican-American) and was listening to one of my new students (una chava muy mexicana) named Maria belting a few romantic Mexican melodies while accompanied by a seated man accompanying her by guitar. Most of the onlookers were fellow Mexican immigrants and for a few brief moments that turned almost transcendent I was caught in the depth of Mexico. Merry Christmas! ----

MTC Continued

The rest of our district had its influence on my Spanish advancement; maybe a bit to do with my anticipation of Latin American living as well. I also can’t forget that all of the people in the MTC had a social and spiritual and intellectual influence on me: the teachers, the branch president (who was a Mexican-American named Valencia) and his counselors, the missionary leaders, the visiting speakers like Stephen Covey and members of the First Presidency and Quorum of the 12 Apostles, plus other general authorities as members of the Seventy.

The other elders of my district included Patton from the Phoenix area (he perhaps struggled the most with Spanish); his companion from Washington State named Skiles (also struggled greatly with the language and thus did not help his comp much), Elder Trask from Maryland, who was a convert and was pretty intelligent and adept at learning; and his companion Houston who was from nearby Sunset, Utah, a northern suburb area of Salt Lake City (he struggled with Spanish but was very dedicated albeit frustrated often). We also had two sister missionaries: Dunn from southern California (her experience with academic Spanish, including college courses, was the biggest part to convince me to stay for two months rather than go through the MTC in an advanced program) and her companion Greene from northern Utah (she struggled with Spanish but her destination in Argentina kept her dedicated).

These fellow students helped my development, and at times I thought it was the opposite but now I think they helped my confidence and allowed me to shine more with internalizing the language. We learn as teachers sometimes more than students. Many of them forced me to teach, and I believe the overall experience was good.

These people and my own experiences in learning Spanish only galvanized my development more while at the Training Center for almost nine weeks (62 days, including arrival and departure dates).

MTC Teachers

The teachers themselves were the biggest influence on all of us. I begin with Elder Linn, who was an energetic night teacher who had served half his mission in Panama and the other half in Costa Rica. He spellbound us with his spiritual talks, teachings, and overall effervescent demeanor. He was huge on our morale during a sometimes moribund holiday season. (Thanksgiving and Christmas Days were “celebrated” by all-day scripture study in our cramped but cozy from the bleak-winter-cold class rooms). Elder Linn, as the male teachers were then called, had such a gift for enthusiastic teaching that he kept all of us inspired, even those of us who struggled more than others.

The morning teacher was Elder Turner who had served in Spain. He was more straightforward and serious and one time made me feel very guilty for asking a probing but most likely inappropriate question while walking around the MTC grounds¹. He was a good teacher, but nothing outstanding from my memory remains apart from the guilt trip.

    Elder Hale was a guy who seemed to be older and softer, a good teacher in the afternoons. He had served his mission in Argentina I believe. This was good for the sisters who were going to Bahia Blanca, but all of us elders were hungry for people involved with Chile. Some of us in our “Chiguayante District” had contacts down there who would feed us information from Santiago or Vina del Mar via cassette or letter.

The questions I asked our teachers were generally more advanced than the other elders and at times may have stumped them a bit. Memories are definitely hazy on all the lessons and questions. I distinctly remember questions being resolved that I had accumulated over the years. Formulating our own gospel questions in Spanish was a definite plus to go about establishing.

Because of the holiday season that we were sent for missionary training, it opened the opportunity for two South American substitute teachers to come during the holidays. We were excited to have real flesh and blood South American “Lamanites” to teach and share with us. Elder _Bocado? ______ was a diminutive man with big expressive eyes who had a powerful and comforting spirit about him. He had the size of a boy and a youngish face but seemed older. He had a sort of a Yoda-like spiritual giant quality to me. He was from Peru or Ecuador as was the other sub.

    

    Elder Espinel was from Peru as well, I want to say, and to us it made a big difference as to how close he originated from our destination both physically and culturally. e were constantly wondering what Chileans were like and how their Spanish differed from the other kinds.

South American companions up close: a 10 month string of Seven

    Arriving in Chile after the first week of January was a climate change of opposites (from the coldest and snowiest of a mountain climate to the dead of summer of a Mediterranean one in south central Chile). Many things would prove new and surprising as any person will find in a land with a new language, culture, dietary customs, and relative isolation from the home. Perhaps the biggest change for me was having a 24 hour a day companion, and in my case it happened to be native chileno, Elder Cabrera.

    Miguel Antonio Cabrera Rubilar was a young fiery LDS missionary. He was young in the mission and very enthusiastic, almost overzealous-- to some people too much so. For me he seemed an ideal trainer who taught me many lessons. I got to meet him first in the chapel by the bus stop at the Concepcion main terminal. From there we spoke for the three hours of bus trips to our assigned area of Mulchen, having an exchange in Los Angeles an hour before arriving. We talked about different words; we drew pictures and maps on paper as we descended down the main austral highway through the eighth region of Chile known as Bio-Bio. I would repeat phrases that I learned in Spain: Elder Cabrera would try to make sense of them and give me the Chilean equivalents. We hit it off right away and we were always learning new phrases and meanings.

    Miguel Cabrera

Other than being in close proximity with my adopted grandmother Ruby of Panama growing up in Bloomington, this was first time to live with a Latino. It was an enriching experience. Miguel was from a humble home in a Santiago suburb called Puente Alto; I don’t remember how many siblings he had but I believe his father wasn’t around, and he had done well to get this far. He would remark how he was only a 6- or 8-hour bus trip from home. He had begun the mission the same month as me only the previous November, spending some 11 days in the Santiago. He had begun the mission with an American trainer in November in the small town of Yungay not a far spell north of us in another stake. He had one companion there (Raymond, who taught him the English word “really” really well) and then transferred to be with Elder Gillette, whom I replaced one month later. I was his third “gringo” and definitely the least experienced, the other two being his senior companion and I being a “greenie”.

Perhaps now is not the forum for really going into all the ins and outs of his particular traits and how I interacted with Elder Cabrera and his influence on me, because this book is dedicated to Mexico and this guy was not Mexican of course, nor would this really help describe all the friendship that much but to show my understanding or interaction with a Latino. It was new and fun, and at times trying for different reasons. It established an ongoing Latino string of friendships which have endeared and enlightened me on the entire Latin American world and eventually, Mexico itself.

Manuel Vera

We spent a little over two months together (which at times seemed like a life time) and then came my next companion, Elder Manuel Vera. This transfer occurred in the middle of March 1990, the first month of the southern hemisphere’s fall. I was ready for Elder Cabrera to move on, the time we spent together was valuable but I was ready for the change. I learned to really enjoy change in my mission.

I only passed 4 weeks with Elder Vera which were very intense. We managed to teach a lot and baptize. He liked to sing and play the guitar, and he had a pleasant flair for both. Here with this new chileno in the small town of Mulchen that I had grown to know Vera seemed to be the romantic idea of what being Latino should be: a charismatic (and a bit rotund) guy who had musical talent. I learned some new church songs with him and we even were invited to speak on the radio together at Easter time. We seemed to reap from the worked sowed by Elder Cabrera and me starting from the previous December when he had arrived. He was a poor but smart guy from Quintero, Chile, and was only raised by his mother. I don’t know if he had siblings, I don’t think so.

    It turned out fortunate that I didn’t start the mission early in December 1989 because that whole month in Chile most missionaries were confined to their pensions and many went stir crazy due to national elections, the first in Chile since the Pinochet military coup in 1973. Later in my mission during 1991 at the time of the Persian Gulf War we had an early evening curfew and even that was a little maddening, albeit a few hours per night. With Vera, speaking of nutty romantic things, it was at our only zone conference together that he pointed out to me his fiancée, a sister missionary at our small conference of 16 missionaries some few chairs away! She was indeed engaged to him and perhaps this is why he would be quickly called out of our zone next transfer. (I later saw Manuel as a bishop in 1994 and he then had two children: both born of that missionary sister seen at the March zone conference.

Andres Miranda

From this rather intense friendship with Elder Vera and what I would say was a more mature understanding of things, based on his greater age compared to Cabrera and experience in the mission field as well, he was whisked away and I was paired with Andres Miguel Miranda in Mulchen still, what was to be my fourth and final month. He was a fair-skinned light-haired Chilean who hailed from nearby Rancagua. (As of 2005 when I write this, that city became the new base for the former Santiago South Mission sometime last year or the year before).

Elder Miranda was interesting. He had begun the mission not too long before me, or perhaps a few days after as I recall, but was serving in the field by December as the local natives would do their training so much faster. He would claim how I had been set apart before him by more than a week and therefore as a junior companion I practically had more seniority. We did not accomplish a lot of teaching and I suppose we shared a couple moments of frustration, including his perception that at times I didn’t understand enough Spanish. He had a wealthy father who worked for El Teniente, one of the biggest copper mines in the Chile, which as a nation is the biggest copper exporter in the world. I think

I looked more “moreno” than he did usually, my skin tone was darker as well as my hair. It was a good month nonetheless and we left as friends. After my first four months in the country town between the rivers Bureo and Mulchen, I guess I was ready for new companions and the big city.

Pablo Trincado

I was assigned as a senior companion in my fifth month and to do it in Concepción, the big city and more specifically, the suburb of the mission president, Pedro de Valdivia on the south side of our mission city. Elder Trincado had been there maybe for two months with the Albertan Canadian Elder Atwood. Atwood was quite a playful guy from what I gather and it’s funny what you learn from the Chileans after you replace someone. I had perhaps even a greater indulgence of this phenomenon four months earlier in January with El Elder Gillette from Tooele, Utah.

I believe Elder Trincado was a very relaxed type of guy, a new change for me compared to Cabrera (hyper and animated), Vera (intense and acerbic), and Miranda (sardonic and a bit cocksure). He and I got along pretty well and seemed to enjoy each other’s company. It was a new experience being the guy with the responsibility to call the shots, and I depended quite a bit on the knowledge and instincts of my companion to do things right. Of course I learned that this is an impossible feat and my first month without baptisms passed in May, half in the old area and half in the new one. This caused me a bit of stress, because I considered myself the type of missionary to be a “baptizer”² and to have a high yield as a teacher and proselyter. The low number of those baptized in my last month in Mulchen was what I thought to be an aberration: Miranda and I weren’t meant to baptize much together and it was time to move on.

Trincado, like Cabrera, hailed from Puente Alto: they knew each other somewhat but were not close friends. Trincado had put on some weight since coming on the mission; he was a skinny kid before.

Elder Trincado had a few people they were teaching and I was zealously hopeful, but alas, things never worked out that May in autumn and my faith was a bit discouraged; I chalked it up to the change mid-month and resolved to jump on the productive missionary horse again with resilient determination. Elder Trincado was quiet and friendly, and we laughed at a few inside jokes. I felt like we were doing our part to baptize many but in more than one case people kept slipping through the cracks. I learned a more introspective side to this Latino, and his complexion was light as well as his hair. Not as light as Miranda but certainly a lighter hair color than typical Chileans.

We tried knocking doors and teaching in Lonco, the rich neighborhood a half hour’s walk from our pension. We met one member family who had been tracted into a year or two before; they lived with their parents who were not baptized. We had a good relationship with a returned missionary sister and her barber husband and were set to baptize a family living in their basement: they eventually left us in the cold.

Speaking of cold, I got sick that first winter; that was with another companion.

Patricio Villagra

Elder Villagra only had a month in the field when he replaced Elder Trincado in the first part of July. He was from Santiago, the comuna of Maipu. He was skinny and unassuming, and of all the companions thus far he was he was the least good looking, or possessed possibly less charisma and charm than the others. This is not to say that he was not charming or pleasant; he was a very nice and gentle guy, and a word that comes to mind to describe him is chipper. Having had a month only as a proselytizing elder, Villagra had few things to learn but nothing compared to new “greenies” from the states or abroad (we had one of the first eight East German missionaries sent outside of the Communist state).

1 After hearing some other horror stories from the mission field and having my curiosity piqued, I asked Elder Turner “what was the worst story you heard during the mission”? He rejoined with another question incurring all possible guilt on my part, “Are you sure you want to know that, Elder?”

2 Many times with my trainer we would read a pamphlet published by the Church about Wilford Woodruff and other early missionaries in England baptizing thousands, and the theme of President Kimball years later was “Why not?” Combined with the Provo M.T.C.’s powerful preaching of the “field is white and ready to harvest”, I saw myself as a budding “baptizer”, thus fulfilling scriptural prophesy and the cry of faith of the modern day missionary in the last days.