Eliseo Baca at Mangas

NG Baca “I like Glenn’s house. It’s the only place there are girl cousins who pay attention to me. Bonnie and Sarah are always nice to me, and Janene when she is there.” Lynae spoke back to Brent in the back seat.
1921

Marian“I like Uncle Glenn and I like to play scrabble with Aunt Dorothy, but I hate being the only boy.” Brent said half asleep from the back.
Nazario G. Baca
Eliseo



Marian
n“How long before we get to Quemado?” Lynae asked, watching Mom to be sure she was not getting sleepy or lost.
“It’s about an hour drive, you can sleep I know this road well, and I’m wide awake.” Mom assured her. “I’ve made this trip many times.”
“Why have you been here so much? Not with us.”
“This is where the ranch is that Daddy bought the day Cheryse was born. It was pieced together from the Baca family ranch that had been split apart and sold through the generations. It kind of went full circle when Daddy bought it back in 1972.”
“Did you get to come a lot?”
“We came quite often, but only three months after he bought it, Daddy died of a heart attack. Your Grandma Lucy lived here for a few years, and we used to come for round-up and branding.”
“You did real cowboy stuff!” Brent was wide-awake with enthusiasm now.
“Yeah, we came for the fun stuff, but our cousin N.G. Uncle Eliseo’s oldest son was the foreman and ran the ranch for the years after Daddy died; he did all the hard stuff winter and summer. The N. G. stands for Nazario German, after his grandfather Nazario.”
“Why don’t we still go there?”
“We had some really bad legal advice and sold it. We all wish now that we hadn’t.”
“Did you get a lot of money?” Brent asked.
“Yeah, a bunch, but it was all invested and lost. I used to bring the older kids here a lot when they were little.” Mom quickly changed the emotionally charged subject as she pulled off Highway 60 onto the dirt road leading to Mangas.
“See, that’s the ranch house Mother lived there for a few years after Daddy died. Jenny learned to walk there. She was taking her first few steps and fell against the hearth. When I realized she wasn’t breathing I screamed for Uncle Duane and crashed into the bathroom door to get him out of the shower. He wrapped a towel around himself and his oldest son, Scott, talked him through the CPR and rescue breathing as he breathed life back into her. No one noticed the towel had dropped, we were just so relieved to see the lively pink color returning to our precious baby.” Mom brushed a tear from her cheek.
“Where was Dad?” Lynae asked.
“Don’t know -- not there,” was Mom’s abrupt reply. “And further down the road is the Gabaldon Place.” Mom quickly turned the subject back to a different time. “I remember watching my mama regress to a blushing teenager as she described her first love that lived there.” Mom sighed, in imitation of her mother and her daughter. “I could have been a Gabaldon.”
“And there over the hill is the Vega and Mangas. There’s a little family cemetery from a bygone century, and that is Uncle Eliseo’s adobe house. I remember the first time I came here with Cousin Eugenia to meet his three teenage sons. They were gorgeous. N.G. was already married and had a kid, but secretly I always wished he would have waited for me to grow up. How I loved the smell of Aunt Margaret’s kitchen. I remember asking her to make her wonderful tortillas once. My mother died of the embarrassment and scolded me when we got home. But Aunt Margaret made them again for my kids when I was a mother, so I guess it didn’t bother her as much as it did Mama.”
“I’m glad you learned to make them and taught us.”
“Mother wouldn’t make them because she said it was just too much trouble. I think it is pretty simple. She wouldn’t make tamales either because she remembered having to soak the corn in lye, and grind it up -- like we didn’t have Quaker Brand Maza Harina® and buy corn husks at the store -- I guess maybe we didn’t back then.”
“Your tamales are the best,” Brent said rubbing his tummy.
Uncle Eliseo came running out to the car as Mom pulled in front of his house. “Linda Lynda,” he said in his booming voice as he hugged his niece, calling her by his pet name for her. “And you must be Jennifer,” he said to Lynae with an equally loud voice and equally loving hug. Mom corrected him and introduced Brent and Lynae.
“Well I haven’t seen them since they were just babies!” Uncle Eliseo shouted. Brent and Lynae stood looking a little uncomfortable.
“Jenny said he was really tall!” Lynae commented.
“Well, she was really short, I guess.” Brent answered.
As they entered the adobe house, Brent and Lynae noticed a drop in temperature and the smell of cooking.
“I was just cooking my lunch, you see, when I noticed a car drive up.” Uncle Eliseo explained. “I’m so glad you got to see me,” he joked. “Your mom tells me you are interested in genealogy and history. We’ve had some fine times researching the family tree. Your mom taught me to use the L.D.S. Family History Centers® to research on microfilm and we found a great many of our ancestors born and buried in those films. I understand they have a lot of that on computer now! I’m afraid I can’t do much of that any more, but twenty years ago, we did have some good times.”
After offering them lunch, which they politely refused, and admiring the children, and asking about the older ones, Eliseo attempted to answer what questions he could hear posed by his great-niece and nephew. “Of, course all my nieces and nephews are great,” he teased. Through the afternoon Uncle Eliseo talked about the family and history of the little settlements of Quemado and Mangas. Since it did little good to ask questions or make comments to this wonderful, but deaf uncle, the three sat and soaked in the history lessons.
“Rito Quemado was named after an Indian who was called "El Quemado." The first settlers were led by José Francisco Padilla and José María Madrid. A post office was established in 1885. A store was opened in 1893. The store was moved in 1899 five miles west to what is now Quemado; the post office about 1910. A school was started in 1911. The original townsite was surveyed in 1917. The marker at the entrance of the town honors the sturdy pioneers who came to this area in 1873 and the many who have come here over the years the sheepmen, the cowmen, the dry land farmers and others -- all seeking to wrest a living from a reluctant land. All have helped to make this beloved land a better place in which to dwell.[1]
My father, Nazario was one of J. M. Baca's nine children. José María Baca arrived at old Rito, five miles east of present day Quemado in February of 1893. He brought his family, his meager household goods his sheep and a small amount of merchandise to continue the store he had started at Santa Rita, which is actually now called Riley, you see.
When my father was ten, he went to live with a priest in Monticello, New Mexico, where he attended school for three years. He was brought home at the age of thirteen.”
“That’s all the schooling he got?” Lynae interrupted in amazement.
“Tell them about your summer at sheep camp,” Mom interrupted loudly during a slight pause.
“Oh, yes,” he laughed. “I got to go to sheep camp for the first time when I was about ten. I thought it was great, you see, to be able to go all summer without a bath. Finally, I guess everyone else didn’t think it was so great, they took me and dumped me in the water tank and washed me. The water from my hair ran black onto the ground. Yes, you can still see the black stain on the ground today.”
Everyone laughed at the idea of an eighty-year-old dirt stain on the ground of the sheep camp.
Eliseo returned to his father’s history. He was just about your age, Brent, when he was brought home from school. His mother passed away November of l896. At that tender age he started hauling supplies for the store from Magdalena with a wagon team. This he did for several years, doing also his share of the work with the sheep, fences and so on.”
“Didn’t he ever get to go back to school.” Now it was Brent’s turn to be amazed.
“His father had sent the older sons to St. Michael’s College in Santa Fé to get what was then considered a good education. When Nazario was ready to leave he could not go because an older brother stole the money that had been saved for that purpose. However, Nazario did not stop learning. You see, like you and your mother, he knew the importance of education. His English improved to the point where he was by far the best interpreter in the area. “
”Grandma told us that she was asked to interpret for the court when she graduated from high school. The judge guy thought she should be really good at it because her father was.”
“Yeah,” Lynae added, “and she didn’t even get paid anything because they asked her to do land descriptions and legal junk like that, and she couldn’t keep up.”
Eliseo wasn’t able to hear all the undertone conversation so he continued his narrative. “With his perfect command of both languages and his business ability, he became a self made man. When Nazario was just seventeen his oldest brother was killed, you see, and Nazario took on his shares of sheep. Two years later he went to Riley and married Clara Bustanate.”
“Your Mother!” Lynae said proudly. “My great-grand mother.”
“Riley was as thriving village and although no one was wealthy, all lived in rustic comfort.”
Lynae felt sure it could not have been as rustic as the march to El Paso or the wagon rides north. “Why did she leave there?” she asked.
“Clara left that rustic comfort to marry my father, and came to live in Quemado in 1902. As soon as it was possible, Nazario applied for land, part of which he later subdivided for the townsite of Quemado. In 1910, there were two houses in what is now the newest part of Quemado; the house of Ramon García, that was known as Casey's Lake and adjoining his homestead was the one of my fathers. In 1912, he and his Uncle Ramon Garcia went into the store business. In those early years of the century he purchased several homesteads and increased the sheep and cattle. Living conditions were harsh, judged by the standards of today, but with she store, the sheep and cattle, living in the "boondocks" of Quemado was not so very bad.
“However in 1918 Clara died in a flu epidemic and Nazario followed four years later, struck down by pneumonia.”
“Grandma Lucy was just little, and left an orphan. Auntie Marian told us about going to Loretto Academy. Did she go to live with Auntie Lola? What happened to all of you?” Lynae plied him with questions he could not hear.
“They left four bewildered orphans. With many set backs and tribulations their four surviving children have muddled through and we are still alive today, almost 80 years after the loss of our precious parents. Dolores, your Auntie Lola,” Eliseo said brushing away a tender tear, “is 94, I am already 90, Marian is 86.”
“And Grandma Lucy turned eighty her last birthday!” Lynae finished. Then added as if reaching a sudden epiphany, “Mom, I am the youngest daughter, of the youngest daughter, of the youngest daughter.”
“And you can pass on that marvelous legacy to your youngest daughter.” Brent added a bit sarcastically hiding his interest in this new thought.
Eliseo
Auntie Lola
(Delores Baca Candelaria Salazar)
Eliseo
1940
Marian
Lola
Lucy
The rest of the week went all too quickly, a few days with the grandkids and that quick detour to visit Uncle Glenn’s family in Round Valley then a little back track through Gallup New Mexico to visit Auntie Lola.
Auntie Lola greeted them warmly, as is her custom, and offered them a tour of the Villa de Guadalupe retirement home where she had recently taken residence. Pointing to the pictures on her dresser, Lynae asked who they were. “Is that you’re wedding picture?” she asked excitedly.
“Yes, that’s me and my Roger. We were married when I was eighteen. I was born in the home built by my grandfather, José María Baca. The building still stands and is used today. We went into partnership for the store, with my cousin Matias Baca, and a few years later we bought out his shares and moved the store to a building on the north side of California Street”
“That’s the main street through Quemado, Highway 60". Mom explained. “By this time we were parents of four children,” Auntie Lola indicated a family picture. “Roger, Edwina, Vidal, who your Grandma Lucy dubbed Billy, and Clara Jo.
“-- Helena's Mom.” Lynae popped up excitedly.
“Do you know my granddaughter Helena?” Auntie Lola questioned.
“She’s our favorite relative -- besides you, I mean,” Brent added diplomatically. We stayed at her house, and she gave us tickets to the Wild Animal Park and Zoo in San Diego where she works -- Remember Mom, when I saw her walking by with a lady on a tour of the park and I recognized her voice?”
“That was quite a coincidence, “Mom agreed. “She didn’t even expect to be at the Zoo that day so she had left tickets for us at the gate. She was so busy that trip we didn’t even get to get together, but the summer before we had a great visit, and she and her husband, Will, were so gracious.”
“Yes, Helena is a wonderful woman.” Auntie Lola agreed readily. “Did you see her on Television a few weeks ago? She was interviewed on one of the network news shows about her work with the primates at the Zoo.”
“She’s really the only cousin, well first cousin once removed, that I kept in contact with. When we were kids Helena's parents brought the family to visit every couple of summers. Helena and I kept in contact as pen pals for several years.” Mom explained, then added, "Auntie Lola’s oldest son, Roger, here in this picture is the oldest of the whole generation of cousins, and I’m the youngest. He actually thought he was my uncle for a while. He was just six years younger than my mother. He's the one born while Grandma Lucy was in the Loretto infirmary so sick and when they said she had a nephew, she cried and said, 'I don't want another disease.' When Roger was in the hospital after a heart attack I wrote him a card:
From the youngest to the oldest,
I’m real sorry that you’re sick.
You lead our generation,
so get well really quick!”
Auntie Lola continued the tour of the building. Lynae admired the beautiful displays of Navajo designs in rugs and pottery and sand paintings throughout the building, side by side with the pictures and statues of Jesus, Mary and many saints.
“We bought a lot of land and buildings -- one set of adobe buildings we named Plaza Cottage Camp,” Auntie Lola reminisced.[2] “It was a collection of rental rooms, small stores and a pool hall.”
“Auntie met her husband Roger in Springerville. She was a boarder at St. Vincent's Academy in Albuquerque.”
“You went to boarding school even when your parents were alive?” Lynae questioned.
“That was the only way to get an education; there were no schools in this part of the country. Marian and Lucy would have gone there too — even if our parents had lived.”
“I thought they just were sent because they were orphans.”
“No, in our day many children had to be shipped off.”
“Is that why you say you are shipping us off to boarding school when we have to go back to Dad’s for the school year?” Lynae asked turning to Mom.
“Yeah, it’s easier than admitting you are leaving for joint custody.” Mom admitted, brushing at a little tear -- a mixture of sadness for generations of children separated from their birth parents.
“I had to send my kids away." Auntie Lola stated. "Marian’s daughters, Eugenia and Lydia went to St. Vincent’s in Albuquerque, too, but they lived at home because she and Chris lived close enough to commute,” she added, then continued with the history the children had requested. “Throughout 1920, Roger and I met whenever possible, he was working at Becker's Store in Sprigerville. We married in September of 1921 just a few months later, March 1922, my father died.”
“We rented the house and building to a young couple, who opened a bakery and ran it until they were financially able to continue to California, their original goal. I continued the bakery for some time with help from my older children managed the cabins and did most of the work that had to be done. And I also assisted Dr. Bell in the delivery of several babies, and was county registrar for more than twenty-five years.”
“Gina used to help deliver babies!” Lynae compared generations again. “But where was Roger?”
“Uncle Roger,” Mom corrected from long habit, having been corrected as a child.
“Roger Candelaria served as County Commissioner for two years, and several years as Justice of the Peace. When my father died in 1922, I inherited the part of his holdings known as The Mail Ranch, and we purchased other land to raise cattle. We kept herds of sheep until late 1947; we raised feed on the cultivated part of the vega which was watered by Rito Creek. Before 1940 the only trees in Quemado were Salt Cedars. Roger brought a truckload of Chinese Elms and sold them to folk to beautify their homes, and most people considered them a blessing.”
“I guess that’s what happened in Arizona and Nevada!” Brent acknowledged. “I sure don’t think of elm trees as a blessing when I have to hoe them out of the garden and chop the suckers that grow from the roots.”
The very young looking nove-generian spoke proudly of her family. “Both my sons, and five grandsons have served in the armed services, and my great grandson now serves overseas.”
“Auntie Lola, you’ve lived through most of this century — since 1907,” Lynae continued the interview, “what changes have you seen?”
“My father had the first car in Catron County, we had one of the first telephones, electricity, just about everything in this century. Vaccines and immunizations would have saved my parents.” Lola wiped an unexpected tear from her cheek at the very thought, and continued,” -- you take for granted now. The world has changed rapidly with new inventions and new appliances. I’ve lived through two world wars, and many other political conflicts, but I still try to have an optimistic outlook.”
“What do you enjoy the most?” Lynae asked.
“That’s an easy one, I always thoroughly enjoy get-togethers with my precious sisters and brother, my children and grandchildren, and friends.”
“Well, in a world of constant change, that much hasn’t changed in four hundred years. The most important thing, I guess, will always be family.”
[1] Quemado Senior Citizen Calendar and Historical Marker written by Eliseo Baca.
[2] Taken from the QuemadoSenior Citizen Calendar section on the Candalaria Family, and family stories.