View/Open - East Bay - California State University

EL MESTIZO MODERNO
THE STORY OF A MODERN DAY
MIXED BLOOD AND HIS JOURNEY
TOWARDS SELF IDENTITY
____________
A Department Thesis Presented to Faculty
Of
California State University, Hayward
_____________
In Partial Fulfillment
Of the Requirement for the Degree
Master of Arts in Anthropology
_____________
By
Robert C. Quintana-Hopkins
November, 2001
i
Copyright c 2001 by Robert C. Quintana-Hopkins
ii
EL MESTIZO MODERNO
THE STORY OF A MODERN DAY
MIXED BLOOD AND HIS JOURNEY
TOWARDS SELF IDENTITY
BY
Robert C. Quintana-Hopkins
Approved:
_____________________________________ _____________________
_____________________________________ _____________________
_____________________________________ _____________________
iii
About the Author…
Robert is half-Mexican and half African American. He grew up in
Stockton, California, the son of Robert and Bonnie Hopkins. He
attended the University of California, at Davis where he earned his
Bachelor of Arts degree in Political Science. He is currently earning a
Masters of Arts degree in Anthropology at California State University
Hayward and aspires to earn a Ph.D. Robert has found his process
of personal growth liberating and hopes others will seize the same power.
iv
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my niece Mariah, my nephew Terry, and
the many generations yet to be born. May you find pride and
power in the history of your family. It is the root of your
beginnings, but by no means the end of what you can be… And to
all of my ancestors, in memory of your love, hopes and struggles.
May you look down from heaven and find joy in what you have
made. We, your descendants, say Thank You.
…The journey continues.
v
Acknowledgements
“God’s Grace and Mercy have brought me through, I am living this moment because of
you. I want to thank you and praise you too, your grace and mercy have brought me through.”
These words will forever remind me of my grand aunt, Llema Mae Silas-Hopkins. It is her
favorite song and one she sings often. When she sings those words she means them and her
praise for the Creator is truly from her heart. It is from my aunt that I received much of my
information on the Hopkins, in particular the 19th century and early 20th century information.
She is the family historian and loves to tell stories, like her grandmother Callie. It is because of
her stories that we, the Hopkins, know our family history, our familial roots. Aunt Llema Mae
has said that she hopes that she has done something in her life to inspire her nieces and nephews
to follow in her footsteps. Aunt Llema Mae, let me tell you that you have, just by being you.
My aunt is creative, confident, intelligent, assertive and giving. Who would not want to emulate
someone with those characteristics? It is my plan to take the torch that you took from Callie and
continue the tradition of storytelling in our family. I am one nephew you have inspired.
To my grand Aunts Jerry and Dolores I owe the utmost thanks. My grandmother, Irene,
passed away when I was eight years old, she therefore was unable to tell me, or any of her
grandchildren, the history of our family. My Aunts Jerry and Dolores have stepped in and been
invaluable sources of information. Aunt Jerry and Aunt Dolores, I thank you for your stories,
they have given your sister’s children and grandchildren a sense of family history and pride.
Now, when someone asks us where our family is from in Mexico, we do not have to say we
vi
don’t know. We can tell them about Hernan Martin Serrano, Adelida and Sidelia. We can say
our roots are in Zacatecas, Mexico, New Mexico and Colorado. To all three of my Aunts, Thank
You! In this thesis, I hope I have done your stories justice.
I also owe special thanks to my Mom and Grandmother, Bennie. My grandma has kept
the spirit of my grandfather alive through stories since I was a little kid. Her stories so inspired
me, I wanted to grow up and be like him. As a kid, we often visited his grave. I would request
my own quiet time with my grandfather, praying that he would help me to grow up and be like
him. My grandmother has told me many times that my character is similar to his in several
ways. Perhaps he heard my prayers! My mom has provided much of the information about her
parents and the family’s life in Colorado.
Perhaps more important than what they have said, my grandmother and mom have
always listened. Because of them, I always felt, and still feel, as if I had someone to talk to, a
non-judgmental ear that allowed me to express my ideas about myself and about life in general.
By listening, they non-verbally told me that my thoughts and feelings mattered and were
important. To my mom and grandmother I am greatly indebted!
To the rest of my friends and family who have read drafts of this thesis, shared their
stories and listened to my ideas, I say Thank You as well. Those of you who have helped you
know who you are. I also must thank Dr. Lindy Mark, Dr. Peter Claus, Dr. Barbara Paige and
Dr. Richard Garcia, my thesis advisors at California State University, Hayward. Two of you
offered the constructive criticism necessary to mentor a developing scholar into a good scholar.
The other two of you offered the encouragement that is also necessary to develop a young
scholar. Two of you insisted that the project always remain mine, reminding me to stay focused
vii
and not allow the opinions of others to alter my vision of the project. All of you saw the value in
my story and insisted that it be told. Your input and encouragement is appreciated.
Last but not least I would like to thank my Dad, who taught me that being a man is not
measured by machismo or chauvinism. Instead, it is one’s character and integrity which defines
him as a man. I know I am one of a few young men today who have had the honor to have had a
father who is such a positive role model like you are for me.
viii
Table of Contents
1. Acknowledgements
vi
2. Preface
ix
3. Figure1: Contextual Timeline
1
4. Figure 2: Vigil and Hopkins Family Migration Routes
2
5. Chapter I: La Historia de La Familia Vigils
Captain Hernan Martin Serrano and Juana; The Conquistador and his wife
Francisco and Catalina; Life in New Mexico, Mexico
Adelida and Francisco; Life in Colorado
Sedelia and Roy; A Story of Love
Irene and Bennie; The Importance of Extended Family
Irene and Burt; A couple Who Had Fun Together
Vigil Family Photos
Vigil Family Recipes
3
5
5
6
10
15
19
26-32
33-35
6. Chapter II: The Hopkins
Agnes; Born Free, Sold into Slavery
Callie and Jessie; Post Emancipation and the Founding of the First Church
Gould and Vashti; A Farmer and A School Teacher
Robert and Bennie; Dedicated Parents
Hopkins Family Photos
Hopkins Family Recipes
36
38
39
43
52
73-80
81-85
7. Chapter III: Mi Experiencia
My Parents; Un Amor Prohibido
Primary Years and Childhood
Our Untraditional Upbringing
Quintana-Hopkins Family Photos
86
88
90
94
103-08
8. Chapter IV: Becoming El Mestizo Moderno
Childhood Memories of my Family’s Attitude Toward Race
Development of My African American Identity
College and the Development of a New View of the World and Myself
109
111
118
128
7. Afterward
Within A Larger Context
For the Individual
For Academia
Figures 3 & 4: The Quintana-Hopkins Model of The Individual
and It’s Relation to Culture
142
144
149
151
8. Discussion Questions
165
9. Notes
166
10. Bibliography
168
ix
158-63
Preface
x
Nia had been prepared to inherit the wise woman’s book. The old
woman was the salvation and the backbone of the entire village. She
was wise. She was loved. But she had become too old to carry out
her duties. In return for twenty-two years of training, Nia was to
inherit the old woman’s key to life. The ceremony was long. The
people were many. The responsibility was great. Nia was prepared.
She was eager to get started. She believed the book would reveal the
answers to all of life’s questions. It required two strong men to carry
the book to her chamber. When they placed it on her table, she
quickly waved them away. The book was solid gold, trimmed with
emeralds, rubies and sapphires. In the middle of the front cover sat a
seven-carat diamond. Nia’s heart was pounding. Her mouth had gone
dry. With her eyes closed, she fondled the cover of the book. The
time had come to open it. She was about to learn life’s secret. She
opened to the middle of the book. She looked down at the page. Nia
had inherited a book of mirrors.
- Iyanla Vanzant 2
xi
In 1988 I began my undergraduate studies at The University of California at Davis. The
years I spent at the university changed my life. Not only was the formal training I received
valuable, but perhaps more important was the personal change I experienced. College
introduced me to new ideas, new worldviews, and clarified misconceptions I held about the
world and the various people who participate in it. In addition to learning to view the world
differently, I began to see myself differently. The lenses through which I viewed the world and
myself became less one dimensional and more multi-dimensional. I learned to view the world
less in terms of oppositions; right v. wrong, black v. white, male v. female, good v. evil, etc. and
realized that in many instances those elements co-exist to various degrees. This seemingly
simple revelation changed my identity. Socialized as an African American, in college I chose to
view myself as a Mestizo, a mixed blood, as one of my parents is African American and one is
Mexican American. This book is a recount of the process of change I experienced, one which
has been, and undoubtedly will continue to be, life long.
As a child I grew up hearing fractions of stories about my ancestors. I heard that Callie,
my great, great grandmother, was Native American. I heard that Lightnin Hopkins, the famous
blues singer, was our cousin and that Vashti, my great grandmother attended college and was a
schoolteacher. My mom told me that one of her grandmothers was Native American, she
thought possibly Cherokee. I later learned that our family traces it’s lineage to 1535. I always
thought my ancestry was interesting, being half Mexican American and half African American.
My ancestors represented people who often were in conflict as a result of colonization and
slavery. I found it interesting that I am the common link which brings them all together; people
xii
who I imagine, would never have thought that they would one day have a common descendent,
me. I knew I would one day write a book about my experience, the descendent of these various
people, with ancestral origins from various continents, speaking various languages and with
differing ideas about each other. This is that book, El Mestizo Moderno. My story, the story of
a modern day mixed blood, the new “American.” A child of the original Americans as well as
their enemies and allies.
Chapters I and II of El Mestizo Moderno are documented versions of the oral histories
told to me by my two respective families. They are detailed and elaborated versions of the
stories I heard as a child, in addition to other stories I had never heard until I began writing the
thesis. I have supplemented the oral stories with my own research. I have found the oral
histories to be invaluable sources. As my first sources, they have provided the clues I needed in
order to find information from other sources, such as genealogical databases, slave records and
census records.
Chapter III and IV are autobiographical and present my own experience and process of
development. I have thought long and hard to recount the events, images and people who have
most influenced my identity development. As I reflected upon my childhood, I realized that I
was very fortunate to have parents who allowed me to develop my own identity. I remember my
dad’s family insisting that my sister and I know that we are Black. In a sense their assertion was
right. To the world we are Black. On the other hand, I remember my mother responding to my
declaration of being Black with “You are Black, but you are also half Mexican, and don’t you
forget it.” She too is right. I am an equal part Mexican as I am African American. My parents
have never pushed me to embrace or deny either race or culture to which I belong. My dad has
verbally expressed that he feels I am too militant when it comes to issues concerning African
xiii
Americans and, he seems confused at my desire to explore my Mexican heritage. More often
that not, he silently observes, allowing me to shape my own ideology. My mother supports and
encourages a strong African American identity and enjoys sharing her heritage and history with
me, an interest I do not believe she expected me to have. While my parents’ attitudes, decisions
and actions have undoubtedly affected the way I view the world and myself, My Mom and Dad
have also given my sister and I much freedom. This freedom has allowed us to be our own
people. All parents have hopes and dreams for their children and develop preconceived notions
of what their children and their lives will be like. My parents have not allowed their dreams to
replace ours. Not always making the choices they would prefer we make, I am sure at times we
have disappointed them. Yet, more than striving to teach us to think the same way they think,
they have tried to teach us to be strong enough to stand up for what we believe in, even if
standing up for what we believe in means we stand alone. As seen in the narrative, many of the
members of my families have set their own standards in life, often making choices that the
family as a whole or society in general may not have deemed appropriate. This spirit of
individuality has undoubtedly been passed to my sister and I.
Because of the freedom my parents have afforded me, and the support they have given
me, my identity is truly a self-identity. One I have defined. It is not forced upon me. I am able
to honor and love myself because I have come to understand myself, who I am, who I used to be,
and who I can be on my own terms, through my own eyes, and not through the eyes of someone
else. The freedom my parents have given me has allowed me to embrace both cultures to which
I belong. For me, being Mestizo, a mixed blood is a source of pride. I have always felt
advantaged in some ways. I have two cultures while most people have only one. I can call upon
the strength and wisdom of the ancestors of the Africans as well as the Indigenous Americans. I
xiv
am powerful standing on their pasts. The ability to define myself is empowering. In some ways
I feel like a bird with wings. Like the Eagle that killed the serpent at Tenochitlan, alerting the
Aztecs where to build the majestic city, or Osiris the bird king of Egypt, who was murdered by
his evil brother Seth, represented by the Serpent.
The most important issue the thesis confronts is the issue of identity formation. In
particular, it takes a historical view of two families and how their attitudes, values and beliefs
about themselves and the world around them affect the self identity of their descendent, me,
Robert. Some people object to the idea of identity, feeling labels are confining. Self-definition
is flexible if you allow it to be. When you define yourself, there are no limits, and if limits exist,
you set them. The purpose of self-definition is not to label oneself, but to explore issues of
identity. Ultimately, to be able to answer the question, “Who am I?” to your own satisfaction. If
you are indeed growing, tomorrow, you will not be what you are today. You will be better.
Thus, your identity and/or self-definition will change. Because you set the perimeters, change is
O.K.
For me, asking the question: “Who am I?” has been liberating. Seeking the answer has
caused me to examine my past, trace my genealogy and look at who I am today, knowing the two
are connected. Perhaps more importantly, it has given me the foresight to think of who I want to
be and strive to better myself physically, spiritually, and intellectually, knowing the possibilities
of who I can be are endless. By defining myself, I seize personal power. By living in the public
identity, my view of self would be one dimensional and limiting. In asserting my private
identity, I am able to express all of who I am.
I share my story and the story of my ancestors, for I believe ours is the classic American
story. One, I am sure, shared with many Americans, however yet to be told. My story is that of
xv
El Mestizo Moderno. A modern day mixed blood. My history is as complex as that of the
United States: originating in Mexico with Captain Hernan Martin Serrano, in Africa with a man
or woman whose story I may never know and in America where the blood of the indigenous has
been integrated giving birth to a new American. My identity is not found on the census report, or
on applications that ask respondents to check one only. America is not ready for modern day
Mestizos like myself. We don’t fit rigid classifications of race or fall prey to the racist belief of
division, insisting that an individual is only one race or another. I am both African American
and Mexican American. I choose both, not one race more than the other. To choose would be to
deny a part of myself, an act of self-hate I am not willing to commit.
Finally, the Afterward of the thesis places my experience in a larger context and
discusses the experience and it’s significance to both the individual and academia. My education
and search for self have transformed my life and worldview. It is my hope that other individuals
will embark on a similar journey, clearly not the same, for this journey is my own. Each
individual must experience their own journey, one that will transform them based upon their
individual needs. Once each individual transforms him or herself, our society will be
transformed. We are society and develop and express culture. A society and/or culture group
are individuals who collectively comprise a whole. As such, we have the power to change the
society of which we are members as a result of our ability to change ourselves. As we become
more conscious of the reciprocal relationship between the individual and society and culture, it is
my hope that individuals will cease to be passive critics and engage in social change by first
changing themselves. As seen in the Quintana-Hopkins Model of the Individual and It’s
Relation to Culture (figures 3 and 4), our society is a reflection of us, the individuals who
comprise it. If we want our society to change, we must first change ourselves.
xvi
This ethno history will, I believe, shed new light on the role the individual plays in
relation to culture maintenance and change. As social scientists increasingly focus more on the
individual within societies, we will find that the individual is the source of internal change within
culture and social units. In order for our representations and analysis of culture to be complete,
we must consider both internal and external sources of culture change. Individuals will
undoubtedly be found to be a primary source of internal change within culture and thus, powerful
members of society.
xvii
1
Contextual Timeline
100 B.C. Anasazi culture flourishes in what is now known as the American Southwest.
1492 Columbus sailed to America, where there were more than 300 nations of Native Americans,
each with their own name, language, traditions and government.
1598 Juan de Onate led explorative expedition, adding New Mexico as a Spanish Territory.
1776 Founding of the United States of America, end of American Revolution.
1804 Haiti gains it’s independence and becomes first independent Black nation to successfully rebel
against European colonialism.
1821 Mexico wins independence from Spain. Second President is African-Indian, Vicente Guerrero.
1848 Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo ends the Mexican- American War. New Mexico, Texas,
Colorado, Arizona, California and Nevada become United States territories.
1861 Beginning of the American Civil War.
Congress creates the territory of Colorado out of New Mexico.
1862 President Lincoln signs the Emancipation Proclamation.
1864 13th Amendment enacted by Congress, outlawing slavery.
1865 Slaves in Texas freed, June 19th. Also known as Juneteenth.
1784 Constitution of the United States Written and Ratified.
1909 The National Association for the Advancement of Colored People is formed.
1910 Mexican Revolution.
1917 United States enters into World War I by declaring War against Germany.
1919 Black intellectual movement known as the Harlem Renaissance begins and lasts until the end of
the 1930’s.
1920 19th Amendment enacted by Congress, giving women the right to vote.
1929 Stock Market crashes, beginning of the Great Depression of 1930-1943.
1930 400,000 Mexicans and Mexican Americans are forced to go to Mexico.
1941 World War II, Japan attacks Pearl Harbor.
1942 Bracero program begins, allowing Mexican laborers to enter the U.S. as short term contract
workers
1943 U.S. Military Personnel attack young Mexican Americans wearing zoot suits in Los Angeles.
1951 The color television is introduced.
1954 U.S. Supreme Court begins process of dismantling segregation by ruling that separate schools
for Black and White students are intrinsically unequal in Brown v. Board of Education of
Topeka, Kansas.
1955 Rosa Parks refuses to give up her seat to a white man on a bus in Montgomery, Alabama.
The Gadsen Purchase
1963 Over 200,000 Civil Rights activists, including Martin Luther King, Jr. organize and participate
in the historical March on Washington.
1965 Malcolm X is assassinated.
Caesar Chavez, with Dolores Huerta and others, begins the United Farm Workers Association.
Race riots occur in Watts, California.
1963 The Black Panther Party is founded.
1968 Martin Luther King, Jr. is assassinated.
Ten thousand students walk out of Lincoln and other East Los Angeles high schools,
representing the first mass protest ever undertaken by Mexican Americans and the formal
beginnings of the Chicano movement.
Figure 1
2
3
4
La Historia de La Familia Vigils
Chapter I
5
They who wish to understand their own lives ought to know the stages
Through which their opinions and habits have become what they are.
- Edward Burnett Tyler
6
Captain Hernan Martin Serrano and Juana; the Conquistador and His Wife
Oral tradition holds that the history of the Vigils begins in the year 1535, 16 years
after Hernan Cortes arrived in Mexico, eventually conquering the Aztec empire and
acquiring the valley of Mexico as a Spanish territory. In 1535 Hernan Martin Serrano
was born. Hernan’s son is Sergeant Hernan Martin Serrano, a conquistador who traveled
with Juan de Onate and five other Spanish galleons as the original Onate colony. Captain
Serrano was born in 1558 in Zacatecas, Mexico. At the age of nineteen, he married Juana
Rodriguez. Juana was born in 1563, they married in 1577. Serrano left Mexico and with
Onate led an exploration of 400 soldiers, priests, colonists and servants north into New
Mexico. The expedition began in Chihuahua, Mexico and traveled up the east bank of
the Rio Grande. They settled at the Pueblo of Yunque- Yunque, where they established a
colony and declared New Mexico a missionary province of the Franciscan order
(Scurlock in Williams 1986: 20). Hernan and Juana had three children: Hernan Jr., Luis,
and Maria.
Francisco and Maria Catarina; Life in New Mexico, Mexico.
The family tree continues for eight more generations. The family lived in what is
now known as the American Southwest the 223 years it was a Spanish colony and known
by the name Nueva Espana (New Spain). In 1821 New Spain revolted against the empire
7
of Spain and declared its independence. New Mexico became a province of the newly
created Republic of Mexico. So it was in Taos, New Mexico, Mexico that my great,
great, great grandfather Francisco Antonio Martinez was born May 4, 1841. His wife,
Maria Catarina Chavez, was also born in Taos, New Mexico in 1850, two years after it
became a United States Territory. The United States acquired New Mexico in 1848 as a
result of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, which ended the Mexican American War, and
annexed half of Mexico’s territory to the United States. Under the treaty, Texas, New
Mexico, California, Arizona, Nevada, Utah and half of Colorado became United States
territories.
Eloping, Francisco and Catarina left New Mexico and moved to Colorado, where
they were married January 11 of 1865 at Nuestra Senora de Guadalupe de Los Conejos
Catholic Church in Antonito by Father Jose Miguel Vigil. They lived in San Pablo,
Colorado. Francisco and Maria Catarina had eight children: Rosario de Jesus, Jose
Valerio, Juan Pedro, Juan Urbano, Elyro, Lucas, Maria Adelida and Maria Felicita.
Maria Adelida, my great, great grandmother, was born February 25, 1877 in Gardner,
Colorado.
Maria Adelida and Francisco; Life in Colorado
Maria Adelida married Francisco Barela at La Senora de los Siete Dolores
Catholic Church in Walsenburg, Colorado. They were married by Father Gabriel Ussel
8
December 5,1891. Francisco was born June 19, 1870 to Pilar Barela, a Navajo who was
raised by a Spanish family and carried their last name. Pilar was born in 1849 in Aguilar,
Colorado. During the time of the Santa Fe trading posts, Pilar met Manual Jacques, a
Frenchman. Their relationship resulted in grandpa Francisco Barela, and his brother
Patricio. Pilar chose to give Francisco and Patricio her last name because she and
Manuel did not marry.
Adelida and Francisco were Farmers and had 14 children: Maria Soledad,
Anastacita, Emma, Mary Sidelia, Clodoveo, Manuel Antonio, Francisco Jose, Esperanza,
Dulcinea, Maria De Los Angelos, Alfonso, Cinastaseta, Damiana and Antonio Jose.
Francisco and Adelaida met and married in Huerfano County in Southern Colorado.
Because of their migration through Colorado, the birthplaces of their children mark the
northern route they traveled. Mary Sidelia, my great grandmother, was born in Pueblo,
Colorado, August 4, 1900. The families that migrated north usually traveled in caravans
with horses and cows and rode in covered wagons. The journey from Pueblo to Timnath
took approximately two weeks, as the caravan averaged eleven miles per day. They
settled in the Fort Collins area around 1905, living in Timnath, Eaton, Greeley and
Berthoud.
The Barela family worked together as farm workers. During that time, most
farming families were large, for the more children a family had, the more labor there was
available on the farm. The economic success of the family was almost wholly dependent
on the success of the crops, and since attending school was not compulsory, the children
helped farm and received a limited education. Grandma Sidelia attended school through
9
the second grade and read and wrote in Spanish only. The family harvested sugar beets,
barley and wheat. They lived in old, poorly built farmhouses on the land they rented.
The houses were one-room homes with coal or wood burning stoves, wood planked or
dirt floors and tar and paper roofs. Furniture usually consisted of beds, a table and
benches. They made their own blankets and made pillows and mattresses from chicken
feathers. Every family had an outhouse and they bathed in washtubs with water that was
heated on the stove. They carried their water in buckets from a spring using mules,
melted snow or drew water from a well. The poorly built houses, combined with the cold
Colorado weather, were responsible for the deaths of uncles Clodoveo and Alfonso and
their wives Ramona and Emma from Turburculosis. Grandma Adelida raised their three
children, as they went to live with her after their parent’s deaths.
The family finally settled in Fort Collins, Colorado around 1922. Fort Collins, a
small University town located in the foothills of the Colorado Rocky Mountains, was
established in 1864 as a military camp for Union Soldiers during the Civil War. After the
war ended, the town that surrounded the camp remained and grew (Fort Collins Public
Library Historical Archives Online).
In 1921, while the family lived in Berthoud, Grandpa Francisco went to Timnath
to contract work. On his way home, the car he was a passenger in collided with a truck
traveling in the opposite direction. Francisco and the driver, Warren Rice, were both
thrown from the car, with Francisco sustaining extensive internal injuries. He was taken
to the Larimer County Hospital in Fort Collins. When Francisco died, the youngest of
their fourteen children, Antonio, was almost two years old. Sidelia took care of uncle
10
Toni as if he was her own child in order to help her mother, Adelida. Toni came to
Sidelia whenever he needed help as a young man and sought guidance and leadership
from her. The farmer Francisco worked with felt indebted to Adelida and wanted to help
her, since she was a widow with a large family and several of her children were very
young. He helped her by allowing her and the family to remain on the farm for free.
When Uncle Clodoveo grew older, he bought her a large house in town on Park Street.
Adelida liked to attend mass every morning at 7:00 a.m. and was a member of two
Catholic organizations- The Altar and Rosary Society and the Carmelites Society. The
house on Park Street was too far away from the church she attended. She eventually sold
it and Uncle Manuel bought her a duplex on Cherry Street, three blocks away from the
Holy Family Catholic Church.
Grandma Adelida was the backbone of the family and cared for many of her
grandchildren. A large family, everyone pitched in to help her. Her sons brought her
money and sacks of potatoes and beans. During the summers, the grandchildren worked
in the fields, picking green beans and cherries or thinning and weeding sugar beets or in
the laundries. They each gave part of the money they earned to Adelida. On the
holidays, family members brought stuffed, roasted chickens, pies and other prepared
dishes to the house. Their holiday meals usually consisted of pumpkin pies, pumpkin and
apple empanadas, green beans and roasted chickens stuffed with homemade dressing.
During the week she usually prepared rice, beans and tortillas or potato soup made from
potatoes, onions and milk and served with crackers. Adelida passed away March 7, 1959,
11
at the age of 82. She is fondly remembered as a loving and caring grandmother whose
door was always open.
Sidelia and Roy; A Story of Love
My great grandmother, Sidelia, waited until she was 28 years old to marry. Her
father, Francisco, tried several times to arrange marriages for her, as was the custom at
that time. She refused. Arranged marriages were used to build social, economic and
political alliances between families. Sidelia felt that if she did not know and love the
man who would be her husband, she should not marry him. Some of her sisters married
as a way to get out of the house. Not Sidelia. Headstrong, she refused to follow the
tradition. Sidelia married Roy Joseph Vigil at the Holy Family Catholic Church in Fort
Collins on September 12 of 1928. They were married by Father Joseph Trudel. Roy, the
son of Dolores Vigil and Manuel Duran, was born June 3, 1907. Manuel was from
Mexico. Like Pilar, Dolores chose to give Roy her maiden name because she and
Manuel did not marry. Roy’s mom was a small woman, less than five feet tall, and did
not want him to marry Sidelia. She tried to arrange for him to marry Augustina Godinez.
When he refused, she sent him to Philadelphia to live with his brother Gabe. Roy
returned to Fort Collins and married Sidelia. He was 21 years old.
Roy was a chef and worked at the Cosmopolitan and Brown Palace Hotels in
Denver. He started as a dishwasher, and worked his way up to a line cook and then to
12
chef. He also worked at the College Inn in Fort Collins and later at the St. Francis Hotel
in the Union Square district of San Francisco, California and the Fior De Italia, a
restaurant in the North Beach area of San Francisco. My mother, Bonnie, remembers the
way Roy made breakfast or lunch out of leftovers, putting everything into one pot. She
says the food was always delicious and that she has not encountered a better cook since.
After they married, Sidelia and Roy lived in Denver. They first lived in eastern
Denver, and later, northern Denver. They had six children: Jerry, Dolores, Yvonne,
Irene, Leroy and Benjamin. Irene is my grandmother. The children were very close to
Sidelia, who stayed home and cared for them. Roy was strict and worked long hours to
provide a comfortable living for his family. Irene was a daddy’s girl and was the child
closest to Roy. He usually let her get away with things he would not let the other kids get
away with. Sidelia was a faithful Catholic and a loving mother. The family attended the
Sacred Heart Catholic Church, where the kids received their first communion. Sidelia
was very kind and often hugged her children, nieces and nephews. In her presence they
felt loved, protected and cared for. Sidelia only spoke Spanish. Roy and their children
were the first generation in the family to be fully bi-lingual. Because Sidelia did not
speak English, she took care of the responsibilities at home, while Roy worked and did
the shopping for clothes and groceries. Sidelia liked to sew and made some of the clothes
for the family. The neighborhood in which they lived in eastern Denver was mostly poor
and was racially mixed; there were Mexicans, Germans, Irish, Japanese and African
Americans who lived in the neighborhood. Their neighborhood in northern Denver was
mostly Italian. Economically, Roy and Sidelia’s family lived more comfortably than
13
others in their East Denver neighborhood. They had a nicely furnished home and
dressed nicely. The children were not allowed to play in the living room because it was
where the most expensive furniture was kept and thus was reserved for adults and visitors
only. Aunt Dolores says her school principal, Ms. Williams, became very interested in
their family because the children always came to school dressed nicely. Dolores, Irene
and Ben attended The Sacred Heart, a private Catholic school. They paid for their school
lunches and during World War I, were sent to school with money to buy war bonds, two
things most families could not afford to do. They also attended Gilpin and Wittier, two
public schools. One day at Gilpin, a “little white girl, who was dirty and not dressed very
well,” pulled Aunt Dolores from the monkey bars and called her a “Mexican greaser.”
Dolores beat the little girl up. The next day, the principal called Dolores into her office
because the little girl’s mother had come to the school to complain, and the principal
wanted an explanation. Dolores explained that the girl had called her names. She told
the little girl, “You think you are better than me because you are white, but I am better
than you.” The principal requested to meet Dolores’ mom. Sidelia agreed, but told
Dolores she would have to translate for her. Ms. Williams and two other teachers came
to the Vigil home. Dolores says when she opened the door and invited them in, the
teachers appeared astonished that Mexicans lived the way the Vigils lived.
To help some of the poorer families in the community, whenever Roy worked a
banquet, he would ask for the left over food. He brought the food home and distributed it
throughout the neighborhood.
14
Grandma Sidelia usually spent summers with the kids in Fort Collins with
Grandma Adelida. They would work in the fields to earn money for school clothes and
Sidelia, with her sisters, Opal and Mary, would can vegetables and fruits, usually
cherries, apples and pickles. They picked chokecherries and made chokecherry jelly.
Sidelia died of breast cancer January 19, 1946. She was 45 years old. After grandma
Sidelia died, Yvonne, Jerry, Irene and Leroy went to live with their uncle in Walsenberg,
Colorado for a short time. His wife was very mean and mistreated the kids. Without the
knowledge of Sidelia’s family, Roy later placed them in the Queen of Heaven Orphanage
in Denver, Colorado where they lived until they turned sixteen. After each one turned
thirteen, they went to live with Adelida, who initially tried to get them out of the
orphanage, but could not because their father’s authority over ruled hers. Dolores lived
with Grandma Adelida and different relatives from the time Sidelia died, until she turned
eighteen. Ben was one year old at the time of his mother’s death and was raised by Uncle
Toni and his wife, Aunt Viola, until Dolores turned eighteen, an age at which she was
able to raise him herself. Grandpa Roy never remarried and lived to be nearly 70 years
old, passing May 14, 1977. He lived with his daughter Irene and her family in Fort
Collins at the time of his death.
Like most of the cities in the United States, Denver and Fort Collins were racially
segregated. During the 1930’s, 40’s and 50’s, there were signs in many stores,
restaurants and other downtown businesses that read “White Trade Only.” If a Mexican
person entered the establishment, the workers usually ignored them. Aunt Dolores
remembers going to a small cafe in Fort Collins during the 1940’s with two cousins.
15
They sat at a table, but the waitress never approached them. She kept passing by, helping
other customers. Finally, they stopped her and asked, “Are you going to serve us?” The
waitress just looked at them, not saying a word, and then looked at the door. The door
had a sign that said “White Trade Only.” Aunt Dolores and her cousins considered
themselves white. At the movie theatres, Mexicans had to sit in the balcony and in some
grocery stores, had to give a list of they wanted at the backdoor. Mexicans had to sit in
the back of trolley cars and some water fountains were labeled “white only.” To support
it’s majority Spanish-speaking congregation, Father Juan Fullana and the Holy Family
Catholic Church developed a parish cooperative grocery store in which Spanish-speaking
parishioners could shop for food without the discrimination found in the wider
community.
The sisters did most everything together. They loved to dance and listen to music.
Their favorites were Rancheros (the traditional music of Mexico) and Boleros (slow,
romantic music). In particular, Aunt Jerry liked Pedro Infante, a famous Mexican singer.
As teenagers, their activities surrounded dating. They each had boyfriends, so the six of
them would do things together. They roller-skated on Sundays, went to school dances
and went to the reception whenever someone in the community was married. They also
loved to sing and talk. They walked down the street harmonizing, or picked crab apples
from a neighbor’s tree and went and sat and talked about their lives, their hopes and their
dreams, eating their crab apples with salt.
16
Irene and Bennie; The Importance of Extended Family
My grandmother is Irene Helen Vigil. Grandma Irene was born September 22,
1934 in Denver, Colorado. She married Bennie Quintana in Fort Collins April 24, 1952.
Bennie, born April 4, 1926, is the son of Raymundo and Tillie Quintana. Tillie was born,
Cleotilda Chavez, August 5, 1903 in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Raymond was born
December 24, 1886, also in New Mexico. Tillie and Raymond had six children: Gilbert,
Bevion, George, Ray, Bennie and Evelina,. Raymond was a stonecutter and died
September 16, 1941, leaving Tillie a widow. Tillie never remarried and raised the
children as a single mother, running a very strict household.
Bennie was eight years older than Irene and swept her off her feet. She fell madly
in love with him. They had four children together; Bonnie Marie, born August 30, 1952,
Georgina Rae, born September 15, 1956 and a set of twin boys who were born
prematurely and died the same day they were born, March 12,1958. The family had a
funeral for them and would go to visit and place flowers at their graves. Bonnie and Gina
attended La Porte Avenue Elementary School in Fort Collins and received their first
communion at The Holy Family Catholic Church. After they married, Bennie, Irene and
their two daughters lived on a small farm, where Bennie worked as a farm hand.
Much of their childhood Bonnie and Gina lived with their grandma Tillie, who
exemplifies the importance of extended family in maintaining family bonds. Irene and
Bennie separated after a few years of marriage. Bennie moved to California and Irene
rented a house on Cherry Street, where she lived with her two daughters, Bonnie and
17
Gina. Irene eventually moved to California as well, as she and Bennie tried to make their
relationship work a second time. When she moved, Irene entrusted Tillie with the care of
her daughters.
Bonnie and Gina were very independent as children. Tillie spoke limited English,
so Bonnie and Gina did the grocery shopping and paid the bills. Tillie would put the
money for each bill in an envelope and the girls would walk to the stores and make the
respective payments. The two of them also attended Mass every Sunday together, which
was presented in Spanish. At five years old, Bonnie walked across town by herself to her
kindergarten class. Carrying the money Tillie gave her every morning, on her way home
she would stop at Woolworth and buy penny candy. For entertainment, the girls caught
rides to Ault, a city about 14 miles away from Fort Collins. Ault had a large Mexican
population, comprised mostly of migrant farm workers. Ault therefore, had a theatre that
played movies in Spanish. Bonnie and Gina watched foreign films with English subtitles.
They both understood Spanish because it was the language spoken to them at home.
They speak limited Spanish however, because they were not expected to respond in
Spanish.
The American Southwest has a complex history in terms of identity. Both
Mexican and American, many Mexican American Coloradoans saw themselves as
different from both their Anglo American neighbors and recent immigrants from Mexico
and in many instances, view themselves as either white, Spanish or Hispanic. Such was
the case with Great Grandma Tillie. She perceived assimilation as the way to rise in
social status. Grandma Tillie told Bonnie and Gina that they were to “go to school, get
18
an education and act like White girls.” The community they lived in was all White and
Mexican. There were two African American families, the Nunnaley and Price families
and no Asians. Railroad tracks literally divided the city. Mexicans lived on one side and
Whites lived on the other. They lived in the house Tillie and Raymond bought on Maple
Street, on the side with Whites.
The Mexican community in Fort Collins consisted of a large lower class, a small
working class, and an even smaller middle class. Tillie’s family was working class.
Grandma Tillie had many hopes and dreams for Bonnie and Gina. It was very important
to her that they have office jobs and not perform physical labor in the fields or canaries
“like the stupid Mexicans,” as she would say. She also did not want them to perform day
work as she did. Tillie worked as a day worker for Mrs. Garrison and Mrs. Buchmeyer.
They were both the wives of local Doctors and lived on large ranches. At that time
professional opportunities for Mexican Americans in Fort Collins were limited. The
primary employment opportunities available for Mexicans were in the fields, in the
canaries or as day workers. There were a handful of Mexican professionals such as
Bonnie’s science teacher, Mr. Manuel Cordova, her Spanish teacher, Mr. Gil Carbajal,
and Aunt Viola Garcia, a nurse (Aunt Viola is Irene’s first cousin). Mexican businesses
were virtually non-existent in Fort Collins. There were no Carnicerias (meat markets),
Panaderias (bakeries), Spanish newspapers, or even Mexican undertakers. There were
two Mexican restaurants in Fort Collins. One restaurant was El Burrito, owned by Ms.
Godinez, the other restaurant was La Sierra, owned by the family of Aunt Opal’s
husband, Bill. Mexican American community members who had a long history in the
19
Southwest, were affectionately called “manito,” short for hermanito (brother), while
community members from Mexico were called “Surumatos,” a name with a derogatory
connotation. In the eyes of the Anglo community, Mexicans were the same, whether
born in the United States or Mexico.
Tillie stressed the importance of Bonnie and Gina learning to be independent and
responsible. For chores, they had to wash the dishes, do the laundry, change the linen on
the beds and help with any other odd jobs around the house. Because Tillie was a widow
there was no man in the house to help. They painted the house and did any other
handiwork that needed to be done. She stressed cleanliness, teaching them that “just
because you’re poor doesn’t mean you have to be dirty.” She bought their clothes at
second hand stores and made them wear oxford shoes because they were durable.
For fun, the girls played at Grease Park, which was across the alley. The park
acquired its name because it was where the Mexican community hung out. They would
also ride their bikes, play kickball in the front yard or play with the Cordova girls around
the corner. They often walked a couple of miles to City Park where they would play in
the pool or play baseball.
Tillie’s favorite holiday was Christmas. She stored her decorations up in the attic
and brought them down every year. She decorated the windows, a Christmas tree and put
up nativity scenes. Every Sunday they had a huge dinner. Usually, Tillie prepared a pot
roast with beans, papas (potatoes) and homemade tortillas de harina (flour tortillas).
During the week, she made enchiladas, chili Colorado, meatloaf or caldo de res (beef
stew) among other things. She prepared ground beef often because it was cheap. Then,
20
you could buy ground beef 3 lbs per dollar. For dessert, she made rice pudding with
milk, rice and raisins. She also loved fresh apples, so she made fresh apple cobblers and
pies. Tillie didn’t bake well, so she would have Bonnie bake the cakes. As a Girl Scout,
Bonnie learned to cook in the cooking classes she attended at summer camp. Tillie loved
the meatloaf she would make in tinfoil on the barbecue grill and the cornbread she
learned to bake.
Even though Irene and Bennie separated early, Irene maintained a very close
relationship with Tillie, her mother in law. Tillie died May 10, 1980 of a heart attack.
Irene and Burt; A Couple Who Had Fun Together
After moving to California and divorcing Bennie, Grandma Irene eventually
remarried. She married Humberto D. Cantu, December 19, 1969. They met in Stockton,
California. When Great Grandma Sidelia passed, Great Grandpa Roy moved to San
Francisco, California and worked as a chef. Years later, Aunt Jerry followed. As newly
weds, she and Uncle Jim moved to California because they both wanted to leave Fort
Collins. They had an idealized view of California- beaches, movie stars and wonderful
weather, so California was their choice. In addition, Toni, Uncle Jims sister, already
lived in Stockton. Her husband, Bill, was able to get Uncle Jim a job at the port, working
on cargo ships and boats. Bonnie remembers coming to visit her grandfather in San
Francisco when she was a little girl. She remembers sitting on the rooftop of the house
21
and smelling the fresh fish from the local markets. She adored her grandfather and
especially liked when he would throw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and
yell, “potatoes for sell, potatoes for sell, anyone want to buy a delicious bag of potatoes.”
Humberto is the man I knew as my grandfather as I grew up. He and Grandma
Irene are most often remembered for their sense of humors and kindness. Grandma Irene
was a great cook like her father. Everyone loved her chile verde and tamales. She made
a special filling for her tamales, using canned jalapenos and pork. Because tamales were
not a food commonly eaten in the family, Irene learned to make tamales from Dona Lupe,
a family friend from Texas who was in her 80’s or 90’s. Irene cooked all kinds of food.
Bonnie’s favorite dish was gallena frita (fried chicken), with mashed potatoes and gravy
and fresh guacamole, which was eaten with the chicken. On weekends, for breakfast she
prepared chorizo con huevos, with papas, beans and homemade corn or flour tortillas. If
there was left over chile verde, they put it over their eggs. During the holidays, she
prepared ham, turkey, dressing made from scratch, tamales and potato salad.
Irene was very hospitable and generous. She was outgoing, very social, laughed a
lot and loved to have friends over for meals and for coffee. She was not wealthy, but
what she had she would share if you needed it. Bonnie remembers coming home from
school one day and finding a homeless man eating in the kitchen. She asked grandma
who the man was. Grandma Irene said he was hungry and asked her for food, so she fed
him. My mom scolded grandma, reminding her that the man could have killed her. Irene
also enjoyed the horse races, and played bingo on the weekends.
22
Grandma Irene worked as a day worker and at times performed farm labor with
grandpa Burt. Bonnie and Gina eventually moved to California to live with their Mom
and new Step-Dad, sometimes working with them on weekends and during the summers
to earn spending money. One weekend, no one in the family wanted to go work in the
fields, but they told Bonnie to go anyway if she wanted to. She rode with a carload of
strangers who worked in the fields too. They were going to pick tomatoes. No one told
Bonnie to bring a scarf to cover her face. All the dust and dead rats made her sick to her
stomach. She repeatedly threw up. At the end of the day, the boss paid her and asked her
not to come back.
Grandpa Burt was quite a character. He loved jalapeno peppers and would sit and
eat fresh jalapenos with either bread or flour tortillas and sweat the whole time. He also
liked to read a Mexican magazine with photos and stories of gory murders. I liked to
read the magazine, too. The pictures of the shot, cut and mutilated bodies were shocking.
Burt was a large man, tall and husky. He was very kind and gentle with Irene. He treated
her and the kids well. Irene was spunky and assertive, so she and Burt shared
responsibility within and outside of the house. He helped her around the house when she
asked for it and did not try to force her into a subservient role. They were friends, had
fun together and worked together as a team. Irene loved to dance, so they went dancing
often, usually listening to Tejano music. When they listened to Rancheros Burt gave out
a loud grito (a high pitched, melodic yell symbolizing happiness or sadness depending on
the theme of the song).
23
Irene and Humberto had a daughter, Virginia Annette, born September 6, 1968
and a son, Roy Joseph (named after his grandfather), born October 4, 1969. Irene was a
diabetic and passed away in her sleep at home in Fort Collins on December 9, 1978.
Humberto remarried and later passed away in Austin, Texas on August 27, 1994.
Irene’s daughter Bonnie is my mother.
*********
Growing up I was often faced with the question “where is your family from in
Mexico?” I always answered, “I don’t know. My family is from Colorado.” Following
the question of our origins, people, upon finding out that my Mother is Mexican
American, usually ask if she taught us Spanish, “does she cook Mexican food? Etc.” I
usually laugh to myself when I am asked these questions because my Mom is so different
than the images that obviously come to the minds of individuals who raise such inquiries.
I knew they were asking me if my Mom is the stereotyped image of a Mexican American
female they carried in their psyches. I laughed to myself because no, my Mom is not
matronly, no she does not speak with an accent and no, she does not spend her day
unselfishly cooking and cleaning for her husband and children playing the role of the
begrudgened housewife and mother. In fact, my mother is a contemporary Mexican
American woman- opinionated, assertive and independent.
Researching the history of my family, I found out why my mother is the way she
is and why my sister and I have the ideas and values we do. I found that we are who we
are by design. I learned that I come from a long line of Mexican American women with
24
the same spirit of my mother. Women who were bold, strong and not afraid to go against
the norm. In particular, I think of my great grandmother Adelida, who as a widow, single
handedly kept her family together, raising her children and grandchildren by herself.
Sure times were often difficult, but she did not adopt the role of a victim when struggle
arose. Instead, she seized the opportunity to pull her resources and maintain her family
through good times and bad. I also think of my great grandmother Sidelia who so wanted
to marry for love that she defied her father, waited until she was 28 years old and married
a man seven years her junior. She knew what she wanted and she got it. I also think of
my grandmother, Irene who knew that to be a good mother she had to be a strong
individual. She therefore accepted the criticism she would eventually receive for
allowing her mother in law to raise her two daughters so that she could escape an abusive
marriage and create a better life for herself.
The same lesson she had to learn, Irene would eventually teach her daughters.
When my mother and father decided to separate, my Mom called my grandmother and
told her she could not leave because she dreaded the thought of not having her kids with
her and that she did not feel as if she could raise us alone. Grandma Irene reminded my
Mom that while people would undoubtedly criticize her, we were as much our Dad’s
responsibility as hers. She said that no one would say a thing if she raised us alone
because they would consider it her duty, but because my Dad is a man, he would be given
praise for raising us. I am happy my grandmother had a forward thinking, liberated
attitude about women and their roles within the family. My Dad was very capable of
raising us and in my opinion did an excellent job. While my Mom is a mother, she is also
25
an individual. Because she had the space to grow and develop in the ways she needed to,
we have all benefited. If my grandmother had tried to convince her that it was her duty to
remain in a marriage in which she was no longer happy, who is to say what the out come
would be today. My grandmother is also responsible for my cousin Shahona being raised
by her father. My Aunt Gina was young and in an abusive relationship, an environment
my grandmother did not want to see her granddaughter raised in. She put Shahona on a
plane to Los Angeles where she has lived with her father ever since she was five years
old.
From my Mom’s family I inherit the desire to be my own person, to be strong and
independent. My great grandmother Tillie was strong and independent and tried to teach
those values to her granddaughters. Because of Tillie, Irene was able to find her strength.
My Dad and Ricky, Shahonna’s Dad, were strong and independent and because of them,
My Mom and Aunt Gina were able to have the space to find their strength. Because my
sister is a young mother, my parents and I have made raising my niece and nephew a
collective work in order to allow my sister to find her strength. Each individual being
strong works to strengthen the collective. When each individual is strong he or she is
prepared when his or her turn comes to be the backbone of the family. I have learned that
a supportive family gives individuals the room to develop their own strength, knowing
that the stronger the individuals, the stronger the collective.
26
Great Grandma Sidelia’s first holy communion. (Left to right): Sidelia,
Damiana and Emma. Fort Collins, Colorado, 1908.
27
(
Left): Roy and Sidelia. Fort Collins, Colorado 1928.
(Below) : Great Grandpa Roy and Great Grandma
Sidelia’s Wedding (Sidelia and Roy in center). The
Holy Family Catholic Church, Fort Collins,
Colorado, 1928.
28
(
Left): Great, Great Grandmother
Adelaida’s Birthday party. Fort
Collins, Colorado, mid 1950’s
(Below): Barela Family enjoying
a day at the park. Adults (Left to
right): Great, Grandma Sidelia,
Aunt Julia, Uncle Toni and Uncle
Francisco. Children (Left to
Right):
Grandma Irene, Aunt Dolores,
Aunt Gerry, Barbara (back) and
Aunt Yvonne. “Grease Park,”
Fort Collins, Colorado, 1939.
29
(Left): Bonnie (on right) and unknown girl.
Fort Collins, Colorado, 195.
(Below): Bonnie and unknown boy. Fort
Collins, Colorado, 1958
30
(
Left): Bonnie’s third grade school picture. Fort Collins, Colorado,
1960.
(Below): Bonnie’s First Communion. (Left to right): Gina, Great
Grandma Tillie and Bonnie. Fort Collins, Colorado, 1962.
31
Great Grandma Tillie visiting California. (Left to Right): Aunt Gina, Grandma Irene,
Great Grandma Tille and Tillie’s friend, Gillie. Stockton, California, 1970.
32
(Right): Bonnie at 15 years old. Fort Collins,
Colorado, Christmas, 1967.
(Below): Bonnie (left) and Gina (right) enjoying the
sun. Stockton, California, Summer 1969.
33
Vigil Family Recipes
3
34
Bonnie’s Chili Verde
Note: Due to the fact that my mother and grandfather were both great cooks and enjoyed using their
talent, we were not required to learn how to cook. My observations while sitting in the kitchen talking
with my mom was how I learned these favorite recipes- Bonnie
2 lbs. Pork Steak, Pork Butt or boneless
country ribs
1 or 2 Jalapeno peppers chopped
2 cloves of garlic chopped
1/2 yellow onion chopped
1 14 ounce can of peeled tomatoes
(either chopped or whole, if whole break
into pieces with your fingers)
Salt and pepper to taste
Cube meat. Cook in skillet until the fat has evaporated and meat
begins to brown. Add onion, garlic and peppers. Sauté until onions
are tender. Add tomatoes, salt and pepper. Simmer until meat is
tender, usually around 45 minutes. The number of people you are
serving determines the amount of meat you use. The number of
peppers you use is based upon how spicy you want your dish.
Bonnie’s Menudo
2 lbs. tripe
1 ½ lb. pigs feet
1 onion, chopped
1 Tbs. oregano
4 cloves of garlic, chopped
1 15 ounce can of hominy
½ a bottle of Chili powder
Clean tripe. Slice into bite sized pieces. Place in a large pot and
bring to a boil. Lower fire and allow to simmer. Add onion,
oregano and garlic. Simmer for 4 hours. In a separate pot cook
washed pigs feet for 2 hours. Spoon pigs feet into pot with tripe.
Add hominy and chili powder. Simmer an additional hour. Serve as
stew, placing condiments on table.
Oregano
lemon or lime wedges
chopped cilantro
shredded cabbage
diced onion
Condiments
salt and pepper to taste
Bonnie’s Spanish Rice
Note: My mom learned to prepare this dish from her grandfather, Roy.
2 Tbs. cooking oil
1 cup long grain white rice
1/8 yellow onion, chopped
2 pinches Cumin
1 pinch Oregano
½ fresh tomato, diced
2 cups water
salt and pepper to taste
Heat oil in a sauce pan over a medium fire. When oil is hot, add the
rice and fry. Cook rice until it turns pearl white, making sure to stir
it often so that it does not burn, about 3-5 minutes. Add onions,
tomatoes, cumin and oregano. Mix. Add water, salt and pepper.
Lower fire, cover pot and simmer until all the water is absorbed or
evaporated and rice is tender. Do not disturb rice while it is
cooking. When rice is done, remove from burner and stir well.
35
Robert’s Mexican Rice
Note: I learned to cook this dish from my mom and have also added my own tastes to it, adding the
chicken stock and chili powder.
2 Tbs. cooking oil
1 cup long grain white rice
1/8 yellow onion, chopped
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 Jalapeno pepper, uncut
4 Tbs. chili powder
2 cubes of chicken bouillon (or add
pieces of a chopped chicken breast
to the pot when water is added)
1/2 8 ounce can of tomato sauce
2 cups water
salt and pepper to taste
Heat oil in a sauce pan over a medium fire. When oil is hot, add the
rice and fry. Cook rice until it turns pearl white, making sure to stir
it often so that it does not burn, about 3-5 minutes. About three
quarters of the way through the frying of the rice, add the onions and
garlic, stir often to prevent burning. Cook until onions are tender.
Add water, tomato sauce, chili powder, chicken bouillon salt and
pepper. Mix well. Add Jalapeno. Lower fire, cover pot and simmer
until all the water is absorbed or evaporated and rice is tender. Do
not disturb rice while it is cooking. When rice is done, remove from
burner and stir well.
Bonnie’s Frijoles
1 14 ounce bag of dried pinto
beans
1 onion, chopped
4 garlic cloves, chopped
1 smoked ham hock
1 pinch of baking soda
salt and pepper to taste
Wash beans and remove any stones or dirt. In a large pot, soak
beans over night. In a separate pot, boil ham hock usually 4 hours.
Rinse and drain beans. Add to pot with ham hock. Water should
cover beans by 1 inch. Add onion, garlic, and baking soda. Bring to
a boil, then lower fire and simmer 2-3 hours, or until beans and ham
hock are tender and most of the water is evaporated. Add salt and
pepper to taste.
Bonnie’s Salsa Fresca
Note: My mom learned to prepare this dish from her mother, Irene. While teenagers, this was a staple
snack for Shane and I. My Mom always had a 10-pound bag of tortilla chips and a fresh tub of salsa in the
refrigerator.
6 Roma tomatoes, diced
¼ onion, finely chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
1 dash of salt
2 Jalapeno peppers, chopped
4 sprigs of cilantro, chopped
For Pico de Gallo, mix all cut ingredients into a bowl and serve.
Forsalsa, combine all the ingredients (They don’t need to be cut) in a
blender. Blend until mixed well. Keep refrigerated.
Bonnie’s Guacamole
Note: My mom learned to prepare this dish from her mom, Irene, who often served it with fried chicken.
2 avocados
½ of a Jalapeno (quantity depends
on desired spiciness)
½ tomato, diced
½ clove of garlic, chopped
1 sliver of an onion, chopped
1 Tbs. fresh lemon or lime juice
salt and pepper to taste
Peel the avocados and remove the pits. In a bowl, mash the
avocados and lime juice. Stir in the tomatoes, onions, garlic and
Jalapeno. Taste for seasoning. Add salt and pepper. Keep
refrigerated. Lemon or lime juice prevents discoloration of avocado.
36
The Hopkins
Chapter II
37
The ancients knew the connection between man and the divine.
They knew that buried beneath the personality, perceptions and
self-imposed limitations there lies a spirit of unlimited possibility.
They knew that you choose with your thoughts the shape and form
of your life. You create with your words the conditions that you
will face. You limit with your fear the coming forth of your desires.
You destroy with your blame the direction of your destiny. The
ancient ones knew that only with diligent maintenance of the mind
and emotions would man master his fate. Because the blood of the
ancient ones runs through your veins, you have the same
knowledge. You have the ability to be what you want in the place
you may choose. Simply follow the divine prescription for
unfettered success, “Begin within.”
- Iyanla Vanzant 2
38
Agnes; Born Free, Sold Into Slavery
My great, great, great grandmother was Agnes. Agnes came from Tennessee with
her sister Sarah. They were kidnapped as young girls while doing laundry at the Gould
Spring in Tennessee. Some campers, a man and a woman, in a covered wagon offered
them candy. When they accepted, each camper grabbed one of them. They were taken to
Leona, Texas and sold to Mr. Davis. Like all slaves, Agnes and Sarah carried the name
of their slave master. They were known as Agnes and Sarah Davis. Agnes had six
children: Houston, Callie, Maggie, Kirg, Dady and Rufus. Callie is my great, great
grandmother.
Callie was born into slavery in January of 1853 and was owned by the Durst
family. She told her grandchildren stories of how she had to milk twelve cows every
morning as a child. After she milked the cows, she would go and work in the fields. One
evening, while Callie made dessert- cornbread in a glass of buttermilk, the grandchildren
fought over the cups they used to drink from. Each child had his or her own cup and
plate. This evening each one accused another of having their cup. Grandma Callie
reprimanded them for fighting over such a trivial matter. She sat them by the fire and
told them her story. She said that when she was a young girl she didn’t have cups to fight
over. She told them that during slavery they would ring a bell at dinnertime and
everyone would come to eat dinner, which was served in a trough; the same trough the
horses drank from. When it was time to feed the slaves, the water would be emptied
39
from the trough and filled with food, usually cornbread and whey milk. She told them
that whatever you could scoop into your hands is what you ate for dinner; they were not
provided plates or silverware. Experiencing what she had, Grandma Callie found the
kids fighting over cups unacceptable.
After slavery, Grandma Callie cared for white children in her home. The children
she cared for were usually the children of neighbors, like the Brady family who lived to
the left of the Hopkins and the Prices, who lived behind the Hopkins. At times, Callie
cared for the white children for weeks and raised them right along with her own children.
She nursed the infants from her breast and they slept in the same bed she did. The
children she kept never forgot her. As a young girl, Aunt Llema Mae remembers them
coming to visit her often. The parents came to visit until they were too old and ill to
come any longer and the children came to visit until Callie passed. Callie was part
Native American. From which nation, we do not know2. A picture of her hung in the
family home in Leona, Texas until it was stolen in the early 1990’s. She had light
colored skin, very high and defined cheekbones and two long ponytails, which she
wrapped in cloth.
Callie and Jessie; Post Emancipation and The Founding of The First Church
Great, great grandmother Callie married Jessie Hopkins in 1870. Jessie was born
Jessie Bladen in May of 1850 in Harris County, Texas. The great grandfather of Dan
40
Hopkins bought him and Jesse assumed the last name of Hopkins. The white Hopkins
family owned a farm named Hopkins Hill. Jessie has 2 brothers and 1 sister that we
know of: Abe, Moe and Lou. Callie and Jessie had 8 daughters and 4 sons: Annie,
Miggine, Mollie, Sirlena, Ellen, Sarah, Sirphona, Willie, Rather, Rudalph, Rufus, and
Gould. After they married, Callie and Jessie rented a 10.3 acre farm. They cleared
timber off of Joe Floyd’s land to earn the money to purchase their own land. In January
of 1907, they bought the farm the rented from J.E. Mattes, paying eighty dollars. The
Hopkins property is located in Leona, Texas, part of Leon County. Leona is a rural
community. Organized in 1846, the same year the Mexican American War began, the
town served as the county seat of Leon from 1846-1851. Leona is located approximately
halfway in between Dallas and Houston and was originally inhabited by the Kichais, an
Indigenous American nation which lived in the area until the end of the 1840’s
(Handbook of Texas Online: Leona). The community is peaceful and beautiful with fresh
air, miles and miles of timberland and open pastures with herds of cattle and horses.
Trees are plentiful and grow in a variety of types: Cedar, Black Oak, Red Oak, Cotton
Wood, Pine, Pecan, Walnut and Cinnamon among others. Leona is a small community
with less than 200 people, most of whom are related in some way. It was on the land
they bought in Leona that Callie and Jessie raised their children.
Gould, my great grandfather, was the youngest of the children and was
affectionately called Baby. All four boys played in the local Negro Baseball League.
They were Leona county’s best baseball players. Rudalph was the catcher, Rather the
pitcher, Gould the first baseman, and Rufus the shortstop. When they played, people
41
would travel up to 50 miles to watch them. They played in Teague, Mexxia, Warthan,
and Huntsville. Reverend F.D. Mayes was their manager and scorekeeper. Other team
members were Morse Robinson, Rev. Lon Evans, William Tryson, Ed Robinson, and
Uncle Cal Tryron was their umpire. Our cousin, Fessie Washington, made their
uniforms, which were gray.
In 1865, Jessie founded a church. It was called The First Church. He had a vision
in which The Lord spoke to him and told him to establish a church. Jessie and the other
members of the African American community wanted the freedom to worship God in
their own way. Callie told Llemma Mae that during slavery they had to worship God in
secret, for they would be whipped if they were caught worshipping in ways White people
felt were inappropriate. They attended church with the Whites and were expected to sit
in the back and be quiet. The First Church allowed them to be able to worship God the
way they wanted to. Jessie met with other community members: Rufus Davis, Louis
Holley, Jake Washington, Wash McDaniel, Dady Davis, Charles McDaniel, Austin
Townsend, Charlie McDaniel, Henry King, Kirg Davis, Richard Washington, Frank
Moten, Houston Davis, Andy Harrison and Billy Washington and established the church
(History of Leon County
). Many of the initial founders are our ancestors. The
church was first built on land behind the home of Louis Holley. The original building
was a one-room log cabin with a dirt floor, shuttered windows, and hinges made of
cowhide. An oil lamp with a rag wick lit the building. Later, in 1906, it became the Two
Mile Methodist Episcopal Church and a new building was built. The men of the church
42
built the building, while the women supplied basket lunches. The church is next to Two
Mile Creek and Two Mile Paradise Cemetery. The creek is where Baptisms took place.
Jessie died in 1915 and served as a Sunday school teacher at Two Mile until his
death. After Jessie died, Callie lived with her youngest son, Gould and his wife, Vashti.
Callie lived to be one hundred years old, passing 1941. Callie, Jessie and many more of
our relatives are buried at Two Mile Cemetery. Two Mile is an all-Black cemetery. Each
family has its own row in which the decedents in that family are buried. Before the
cemetery was established, the ancestors were buried in the woods and in pastures.
Every October, Two Mile Methodist Episcopal Church holds a special program to
commemorate Jessie Hopkins and the founding of The First Church. Aunt Llema Mae
hosts the program, which includes dramatic skits, singing, a sermon, dinner and a
fundraiser for the church.
Callie made sure the Hopkins family history would be passed on. She told her
grandchildren stories often. One day in particular, she told her grandchildren to get their
bonnets and jackets because she was taking them out for a walk. She walked them to the
original site of The First Church, where the one room log cabin was built. She then
walked them to where the brush arbor was built that served as a temporary church after
the log cabin had burned down. Callie’s husband, Jessie, passed away before any of
Gould’s children were born. Callie wanted them to know who their grandfather was and
to have a sense of where they came from. Llema Mae believes that based upon the
foundation and example Callie and Jessie set for the Hopkins family, any Hopkins that
cannot be successful is “a pretty sorry person.” Like her grandmother, she has actively
43
passed on the Hopkins family history through oral tradition. She can’t comprehend how
a person would not be proud to descend from Callie and Jessie. Like them, she feels we
all owe our service to our churches and communities.
Sam Hopkins is the son of Jessie’s brother, Abe (pronounced “a - b” as in “a, b, c,
d, etc.”) Sam is a famous blues singer who is most well known by his performing name,
Lightnin Hopkins. Lightnin is perhaps the most famous of Texas style blues singers. He
is well known for his talent as an improviser, often creating music with only his voice
and his guitar. During his 60 year career, Lightnin recorded more than any other blues
artist, working with a multitude of labels. Lightin’s mother was Frances Sims. He was
born in Centerville, a town close to Leona, in 1912 and passed away in 1982 from Cancer
(Handbook of Texas Online: Hopkins, Sam).
Gould and Vashti; A Farmer and A School Teacher
My great Grandfather, Gould, born April 10th 1891, married Vashti Cora
McDaniel on December 19, 1915 in Leona, Texas. Reverend Henry Polk officiated the
ceremony and Malinda Donaldson was the witness. They were blessed with a large
family, 11 children in total: Llema Mae, Dorothy Lena, Robert Lee, Joseph Perry, Mae
Ola, Eddie Tolbert, Charlie Jessie, Freddie Vashti, Gould Jr., Presley Daniel and Gary
Lee.
44
Gould was a farmer and raised his children on the same land on which he grew
up. He inherited the land from his mother, Callie, who insisted that the land never be
sold. They raised cows, hogs, chickens, turkeys and guineas. They used horses and
mules for transportation. One horse was named Ole Bessie, the other horse was named
Top. Top was a mixed breed Tennessee Walker. She did not like to be rode, so they rode
Ole Bessie and another horse they had. They also had two black mules, one named Ole
Baylom, and the other named Rock. Gould raised crops on a system called halves. The
white farmers supplied the seeds, while the black farmers tended their own land and split
the harvest in half with the whites. They grew cantaloupes, watermelons, cucumbers,
sweet potatoes, onions, cabbage, Irish potatoes, peas, corn, cotton, sugar cane and
peppers. They used some of the items they grew and sold some as well. The house on
the farm sits approximately 250 yards from the road. It was the land in between the
house and the road that the family farmed.
All of the children had chores on the farm. They had to chop cotton and strip
sugar cane among other duties. They drew their water from a well, churned milk to make
butter and made their own ice cream. They bought their clothes from local seamstresses,
of whom their cousins, Fessie Washington and Iosha Davis were the two they purchased
from most frequently. They bought a couple of pairs of under clothes from the store,
while the rest they made out of cotton sacks. The underwear they bought at the store was
to be used only on Sundays. They also made their towels out of cotton sacks. They
washed their clothes by boiling them in a three-legged pot over an open fire. Callie used
the pot to wash her kids’ clothes and passed it down to Gould and Vashti, who used it as
45
well. Aunt Llema Mae now has the pot. The pot has now been in the family well over
100 years. The house the family lived in had three rooms: the kitchen, living room, and
one bedroom. Vashti and Gould slept in the bedroom. The girls shared a bed in the
living room, while the boys slept in the kitchen. They made their mattresses by stuffing
cotton sacks with dried grass. Females and males were not allowed to sleep in the same
room, it was considered improper and did not matter whether or not you were brothers
and sisters. The house burned down and was rebuilt with four rooms. It burned down a
second time and the current house has six rooms. The chimney in the original house was
made of moss and mud.
As the kids grew up, Gould and Vashti furnished their home with nice antique
furniture and lived comfortably on the farm. They used a wood-burning stove to cook
and functioned without a refrigerator until 1942. They would eat whatever food was
leftover the next day. If it had spoiled, they threw it away. They picked wild fruits and
berries and made jars of jelly out of them. They also made fresh fruit pies and cobblers
and pickled sugar beets. For meals, they ate chicken often, sometimes three times a day.
They also ate a lot of pork. Pork was usually eaten in the winter because the cold
weather acted as refrigeration, allowing the meat to be stored longer. They salted, cured
and smoked the pork and hung it in a little shed grandpa Gould built. They sometimes
killed cows, but not often. Beef did not store well and would have to be cooked
immediately. When they killed a cow they sold part of the meat to their neighbors.
Sometimes for meals they ate cornbread and gravy or biscuits and syrup. During the
46
winter, they covered the sweet potatoes in the storehouse with grass so they would not
become frost bitten.
During the early half of the 20th century, the family lived without many of the
luxuries we take for granted today. They made their own soap by boiling pigskins and
adding lye. They brushed their teeth with sticks and baking soda. They peeled off the
bark and exposed the soft flesh inside the stick, separating them to make bristles. They
used an outhouse and didn’t have toilet paper. At home, they used leaves. After fall,
leaves were not available, so they used sticks. Doctors were used only when a person
was deathly ill. At home, they used Three Sixes, Syrup of Black Draw and Castor Oil to
clean their systems. For colds, they picked fresh pines and boiled them to make a tea,
sometimes adding baking soda. They also made teas from Sassafras, mulleins, the pizzle
from the pig and pig hoofs. For chest colds and Pneumonia they boiled the Tallow from
the cow and rubbed the sick person down with it. Alcohol and ice were used to treat a
fever.
For fun, the kids played baseball, hopscotch, horseshoes and marbles.
Sometimes, they were mischievous when Gould and Vashti were not around. Gould and
Vashti would go into town to shop at the Leona General store about six miles away from
home, or into Centerville, a town fifteen miles away. When Gould and Vashti went into
town they traveled in a covered wagon pulled by horses or mules. Because of the
distance, the trip was an all day event. The kids would kill chickens and fry them and
bake cakes, making sure to clean up their mess before their parents came home.
Whatever they could not eat, they hid by throwing it under the house. They took turns
47
setting fires in the fields, allowing the fire to burn for a few seconds and then quickly
putting it out. One day when Gould and Vashti went hunting, the kids decided to go
hunting as well. Instead of killing a deer, they shot one of Uncle Dan’s colts. They
dragged the colt home to show Vashti the deer they had killed. She saw that it was Uncle
Dan’s colt and gave them a whipping.
When Grandpa Gould hunted he would hunt for squirrels, rabbits, possums,
raccoons and deer. Rabbit could only be eaten during months that had an “r” in their
name. Between May and August, the rabbits had bumps with fluid in them. If you ate
the rabbits during these months you would become ill and die. Grandpa Gould enjoyed
hunting and had very good hunting dogs. His dogs were so good many of the white men
in the community came to hunt with him. The dogs were named Ole Black and Bob.
After they died, he had two dogs named Olep and Bo Joe. Olep was a big red dog and Bo
Joe was black. They were both mixed with Labrador Retriever. Gould would tell the
dogs to go bring the cows in from grazing. The dogs would run and round up the herd
without any assistance. All Gould had to do was close and lock the gate.
Vashti was born June 21, 1897, the daughter of Charlie McDaniel and Hannah
Cartwright. Charlie was a member of the Masons Lodge, and was born in Texas, May
10, 1853 to Charles and Lydia McDaniel. Hanna was born March 5, 1856 to Polly
Cartwright. Charlie and Hannah were born slaves and in January of 1900 purchased 75
acres of land in Leona from J.D. Patrick. They paid 350 dollars. They had a large family
and a big house with 10 rooms. Charlie and Hannah had twelve children: Mary Ann,
Lillie, Malinda, Ora, Cora, Lula, Alberta, Lee, Grant, Fred, Joseph and Vashti. They both
48
had fairly long lives. Hannah lived to be 79 years old, passing April 5, 1935. Charlie
lived to be nearly 72 years old, passing March 4, 1925.
Hanna and Charlie believed very strongly in education and educated any of their
children who wanted to attend college. Vashti and Gould both attended the Farmers
Improvement Agricultural College in Wolfe City, Texas. Then, Vashti, along with four
of her sisters, attended Wiley College in Marshall, Texas. The Farmers Improvement
College was founded by the Farmers Improvement Society as one means to abolish the
share cropping system which kept many African Americans from realizing economic
independence. The Society promoted self-sufficiency, home and farm ownership,
cooperative buying and selling and crop diversification (Handbook of Texas Online:
Farmers Home Improvement Society). The Methodist Episcopal Church founded Wiley
College in 1837. It has the distinction of being the oldest accredited Black College west
of the Mississippi. The education at Wiley was well rounded and was modeled after the
curriculum offered at Northern Universities. In order to be admitted to Wiley, freshman
had to complete high school and pass examinations in Elementary Algebra, Plane
Geometry, English, and History. Other courses offered were French, German, Latin,
Greek, Chemistry, Physical Geography, Botany, Physiology and Physics (Allen; p.40).
After graduation from Wiley, Vashti became a schoolteacher. She taught in Sour Spring,
Texas and at Two Mile in Leona. Grandpa Robert remembered seeing his mother come
home from teaching school everyday in a horse driven buggy. She taught until 1925,
before her sixth child was born.
49
Because Vashti was a teacher, education was strongly emphasized in their
household. She taught her children to read, write in cursive, print, add, subtract and
count to 100 by the time they entered public schools at the age of seven. Aunt Llema
Mae remembers that when she was a child, Vashti often told her to get a pencil and a
tablet and practice writing. Llema Mae would sit on the floor and write, while her Mom
cooked and cleaned. Schools went up to ninth grade and were segregated. When Llema
Mae began school in 1923, Vashti’s sister, Ora was her teacher. In addition to Vashti and
Ora, their sisters Alberta, Maryann and Malinda also attended Wiley. All but Alberta
were schoolteachers. Llema Mae still recites the Paul Lawrence Dunbar poem Vashti
taught her. Vashti recited the poem while a student at Wiley. The poem is “Temptation.”
I done got ‘uligion, honey, an’ I’s happy ez a king;
Evathing I see erbout me’s jes’ lak sunshine in de spring;
An’ it seems lak I do’ want to do anothah blessid thing
But jes’ run an’ tell de neighbours, an’ to shout an’ pray an’ sing.
I done shuk my fis at Satan, an’ I’s gin de worl’ my back;
I do’ want no hendrin’ causes now a-both’rin’ in my track;
Fu’ I’s on my way to glory, an’ I feels too sho’ to miss.
W’y, day aint no use in sinnin’ when ‘uligion’s sweet ex dis.
Telk erbout a man backslidin’ w’en he’s on de gospel way;
No, suh, I done beat de debbil, an’ Temptation’s los’ de day.
Gwine to keep my eyes right straight up, gwine to shet my eahs,
An’ see
Whut ole projick Mistah Satan’s gwine to try to wuk on me.
Listen, what dat soun’ I hyeah dah? Tain’t one commence to
Sing;
It’s a fiddle; git erway dah! Don’ you hyeah dat blessid thing?
W’y, dat’s sweet ez drippin’ honey, ‘cause, you knows, I draws
De bow,
An’ when music’s sho’ ‘nough music, I’s de one dat’s sho to
Know.
50
W’y, I’s done de double shuffle, twell a boy couldn’t res’,
Jes’ a –hyeahin’ Sam de fiddlah play dat chune his level bes’;
I could cut a mighty caper, I could gin a mighty fling
Jes’ right now, I’s mo’ dan suttain I could cut de pigeon wing.
Look hyeah, whut’s dis I’s been sayin’? Whut on urf’s tuk holt
O’ me?
Dat ole music come high runnin’ my ‘uligion up a tree!
Cleah out wif dat dah ole fiddle, don’ you try dat trick again;
Didn’t think I could be tempted, but you lak to made me sin!
Gould and Vashti led a Christian family. Vashti was the Superintendent of
Sunday school, and Church Secretary at Two Mile Methodist Episcopal Church for 25
years. She was also a member of the Heroines of Jericho Japicho Court, Leona #216, a
sister organization to the Masons Lodge. They were respected and seen as leaders in the
Leona community. The McDaniel sisters, in particular, were very active in both school
and church activities.
Vashti was an assertive woman and believed in training her children. Together,
she and Gould taught their children to “be something in life,” to “treat people the way
you want to be treated,” and that “the only way to have a friend, is to be a friend.” Vashti
especially disliked gossiping and lieing. Because she was educated, some people in the
community felt she thought she was better than people who were not. She told her
children that she did not think she was better than anyone else. She was happy to have
had the chance to attend college and thought that instead of talking about her, other
people should spend their energy trying to acquire an education as well.
Gould believed a man’s responsibility was to provide a stable and prosperous
home for his family. He passed this teaching on to his sons and nephews. He was known
to always have money in his pocket and both Gould and Vashti liked to dress well. Their
51
nephew Jimmy Ed says “they may have lived in the country, but they had city style.”
Gould liked to wear Khaki pants and shirts with hats. Vashti never wore pants. Instead,
she wore suits or dresses with hats and matching shoes and handbag. In addition to
community involvement, extended family was very important to Vashti and Gould. On
holidays, the family would go to grandma Hanna’s for dinner. They would catch fish in
the creek and have a fish fry or make large pots of stew. They sang spirituals and prayed
whenever they gathered together.
Gould and Vashti were respected by both the whites and blacks who lived in
Leona. The neighborhoods were not segregated; a white family lived on the farm across
the street from the Hopkins farm. In general, Gould treated whites nicely, and they
treated him nicely. Initially, Leona was populated by white southerners who brought
their slaves to Texas with them as labor to cultivate their small farms. Antebellum
politics in Leona reflected the desire of the white population to bring the slave trade to
Texas and other Southwestern states. Thus, the majority of whites favored the secession
of Texas from the U.S., with many white men fighting in the confederate army
(Handbook of Texas Online: Leon County). By the early to mid 1900’s Leona began to
liberalize and relations between African American and White citizens became more
amiable, yet far from perfect.
Vashti passed away January 5, 1966 of cancer. A doctor in California discovered
the cancer, which was malignant, not hereditary. Vashti was afraid to have surgery and
believed that God would heal her. Gould almost lived to be 92 years old, passing January
22, 1983.
52
Robert and Bennie; Dedicated Parents
My grandfather, Robert Lee Hopkins, is the oldest son of Gould and Vashti.
Grandpa Robert was born in Leona Texas on September 30th, 1919. He married Bennie
Mae Scott. Bennie was born in Foreman, Arkansas June 28, 1927 to Jesse Ann Richard
and George Scott. The Richard family is from New Boston, Texas. Grandma Jesse Ann’s
parents were Ella Ellis and Jesse Richard. Ella was born May of 1878 and died of a heart
attack in 1926 when Jesse Ann (pronounced Jess Ann) was 14 years old. Jesse Ann
remembers Ella as a praying woman. Ella’s parents were Patsy and James Ellis. Both
born slaves, Patsy was born in 1852, while James was born in 1850. They married in
January of 1870. James is the son of Abram and Annis Ellis. James was born in 1830
and Annis was born in 1831. Abram was owned by Richard Ellis, a wealthy Virgnina
Attorney and Texas Legislator. Patsy and James had five children that we know of:
Jimmy Jr., Matilda, Albertha, Willie and Ella.
My great, great grandmother, Ella, was blessed with 10 children: Lonnie, John,
Willie (Uncle Dots), Andrew (Uncle Buster), Gus (Uncle Buddy), Henry (Horse,
pronounced Hoss), Leola (Aunt Sister), Jesse Ann, Mae Ella and William (who died as a
baby). She had two husbands, first marrying Henry Hubbard December 21, 1900 in
Bowie County, Texas and then marrying my great, great grandfather Jesse Richard
December 21, 1910 in Little River County, Arkansas. Jessie died of Influenza in 1918.
53
Uncle Lonnie was half-white and Ella’s oldest child. Ella worked for the Hudson
family as a domestic. Mr. Hudson forced her to have sexual relations with him; Uncle
Lonnie was born as a result. Mr. Hudson acknowledged Lonnie as his child and wanted
him to carry his last name. Lonnie had a very fair complexion and periodically passed
for white throughout his life. He joined the armed services and left Arkansas, forty years
passed before his brothers and sisters ever saw or heard from him again.
Great Grandma Jesse Ann attended school until the fifth grade, an age at which
she was old enough to work on the farm. Most of the kids attended school. The older
boys worked however, so that the younger kids could attend school and therefore,
received a very limited education. Jesse Ann attended Richland School, Royal Chapel
and New Dora, a school ran by the New Dora Baptist Church. They were all one-room
schools, and all the students and teachers were black. One teacher taught all grades. The
students were divided into rows by grades. All of the first graders sat in one row, the
second graders in another row, etc. Children started school at seven years old and
teachers disciplined the children by hitting them with switches. They studied reading,
writing, arithmetic, history and geography. There was a wood-burning stove in the
school that functioned as a heater. Kerosene lamps hung from the ceiling to light the
school and the students used an outhouse. The students brought their own lunches in
buckets. Lunch usually consisted of biscuits, butter and syrup with a piece of ham or
other meat. Each student also brought his or her own cup. Water was stored in a large
wooden barrel with a spout. In Texas, schoolbooks were provided for the students, while
in Arkansas, families had to buy their children’s schoolbooks.
54
After Ella passed Jesse Ann lived with her uncle, Papa Jim and his wife, Mama
Essie. Papa Jim was born September 10, 1889 and was the Patriarch of the family. He
had two farms, one in Forman Arkansas and one in New Boston, Texas. The Farm in
New Boston is 300 acres of timberland that has been passed down through the family for
several generations. The farm in Arkansas is where they made their home. It was located
in the African American section of Forman called “the Bend,” because it was located on
the bank of the red river, where the river bended and curved. Grandma Bennie Mae
remembers the abundance within they lived on the farm. As a little girl, she thought she
was rich. They raised mules, cows, pigs, horses, chickens, geese and turkeys. Their
horses were named Seddie, Dallas, and Fort Worth. They used the horses for
transportation, but also bought a car in the early 1920’s. Ella was afraid of the car and
would drive with the door open so she could jump out if she needed to.
The family farm was about ten miles away from town so they had to be selfsufficient. They grew cotton, sugar cane, peanuts, corn and other foods. They used the
sugar cane to make syrup, made their own clothes and stored large quantities of food in
the pantry. In the pantry Papa Jim stored potatoes- which were buried in the ground and
covered with dried grass, 50 gallon barrels of syrup and flour by the barrels. Every
winter, Papa Jim would kill two pigs and smoke them. The pigs would hang in the pantry
and they would cut off what ever they needed to prepare meals. Papa Jim had a large
staff of people who worked for him. They had a large, long table and everyone would
have meals together, the staff and the family, often eating the meat they huntedraccoons, possum, squirrel, rabbits and birds. Possums and raccoons were prepared by
55
boiling and then baking them with sweet potatoes. Squirrels were either fried or made
into squirrel stew.
On the farm everyone worked and had chores. There was no running water, so
they drew water from a pump and prepared meals using a wood-burning stove. The stove
had a tank attached to the side of it, where water was stored. Whenever the stove was
heated, the water was warmed and hot water was available. They didn’t have a
bathroom, so the toilet was located in an outhouse. They bathed in a large washtub,
either in the kitchen, the living room or a bedroom, using water warmed on the stove.
Babies were bathed every morning in a dishpan. They lit their home with oil-lamps.
Grandma Jesse Ann milked nine cows every morning while she lived on the farm. They
used some of the milk to make butter, which they churned by hand. They also sold some
of the goods they produced to the employees of the railroad. Both grandma Jesse Ann
and Bennie Mae picked cotton. Grandma Jesse Ann says she picked 200 lbs. of cotton
per day and that as an adolescent grandma Bennie Mae picked 100 lbs. per day. Jesse
Ann made her children work to teach them a strong work ethic. She says she hoped they
would never have to perform hard labor for a living, but she wanted them to know how to
work if they needed to.
In addition to farming, Papa Jim ran a ferry that transported passengers and cars
across the red river. The fairy was large enough to transport two cars at one time and was
connected to a cable that ran from one side of the river to the other. If there were only
one or two passengers to transport, Papa Jim used a small boat, instead of the large ferry.
He charged 25 cents for passengers without cars. Every evening, he would come home
56
with a bag of money which he placed on the table and counted. Always around to
observe, but too little to help, Bennie Mae and Jesse James would gladly accept the coins
he gave them each day. Not knowing the value of money, Bennie Mae would become
upset if he tried to give her a paper bill. She preferred coins.
Mama Essie died in a house fire during the late 1940’s. They hid their savings in
the house. When it caught on fire, they thought everyone escaped unharmed. Mama
Essie remembered the money was still in the house and ran in to get it. She never came
out again. The family soon realized that Mama Essie wasn’t the only person still in the
house. She and Papa Jim’s grandson, Charles Carson, was in the house as well. He was
around four years old. Papa Jim eventually remarried and passed away in a car wreck on
New Years day in 1955. He lost control of his truck while driving home from town.
Juneteenth was a popular and important celebration for the African American
Community in Texas. Juneteenth is an African American Holiday recognized on June
19th, which commemorates the emancipation of the slaves. Because of limited
communication, the news of emancipation traveled slowly across the country. It was
almost two years after the Emancipation Proclamation had been signed that the slaves in
Texas knew they were free. Yearly, the community had a large picnic that lasted all day
long and then a dance during the night. Of course the kids were sent home at nightfall.
Uncle Lonnie and Uncle Henry often provided the music by playing the guitar.
Jesse Ann met George Scott in Forman, Arkansas, they married December 12 of
1930. Jesse Ann and George had eight children together: Bennie Mae, Jesse James,
George Jr., Ella, Galveston (Sunny), Sylvester (BaeBae), Donald, and Darletha. Bennie
57
Mae, Jessie and George were born in Arkansas and all three were born with the assistance
of midwives. The midwives were usually family members or close friends of the family.
Jesse Ann was 15 years old when Bennie Mae was born. Papa Jim felt she was too
young to be a mother, so he and Mama Essie raised Bennie Mae and Jesse James until
Bennie Mae was 10 years old. Jesse Ann says she missed her children so much, that
while they lived with Papa Jim, she would come to the farm to help with the laundry and
other chores, so that she could be near her children.
Around 1940, Jesse Ann, George, Bennie Mae and Jesse James moved to
Texarkana, Texas for a brief period while George worked for a lumber company. He
earned $12 per week. Jesse Anne was pregnant with George and worked at a Bakery, she
earned $2.50 per week. A combined income of $14.50 per week was sufficient then.
Grandma Jesse Anne remembers paying $.20 for 1lb of lard, $.09 for a box of cereal,
$.25 for 5lbs of sugar, $.04 for bread and $.07 if you wanted the bread freshly baked. In
1942, George moved to Ogden, Utah and worked at the Ogden Arsenal. Later that year,
Jesse Ann moved as well and brought the rest of the family.
Bennie Mae was 14 years old when the family moved to Ogden. In Texas, she
attended segregated schools and remembers having to walk about 2 miles to school each
way, while the white kids rode the bus. In Utah, she was one of three black students in
her school. The other two students were her brother, Jesse James and their friend, Jerry.
The schools were not all that were segregated in Texas. Grandma remembers water
fountains and restrooms with signs that said “white only” or “colored only”. She also
remembers having to use the back door when going to restaurants. African Americans
58
could not eat in the dining rooms with whites. Thus, if you were Black, you had to go
through the back door and eat in the back of the restaurant, or if African Americans were
not allowed to eat in the restaurant, you could order your food at the back door and take it
to go.
Bennie Mae thought she was a tough little girl. She liked to wrestle with her
cousin, John Lee and picked fights in school because her cousins were there to help
defend her. One day she picked on a little girl by stepping on the heel of her shoe. The
little girl asked her to stop, but she kept stepping on her shoe, asking the girl “what are
you going to do about it?” The girl swung her lunch pale and hit grandma in the forehead,
giving her a big knot. The lunch pale was a small tin pale that jelly came in. Grandma
didn’t mess with the little girl anymore after that.
George later worked for the Southern Pacific Railroad. Jesse Ann began working
for Hill Field Airforce Base in 1942 and retired as a civil servant in 1985, after 43 years
of employment. She held several positions including the position of packer. George
passed away on June 9, 1952 in an automobile accident. Jesse James passed away the
following year, September 31, 1953 in a car accident as well. They are both buried at the
family cemetery in New Boston, Texas. The cemetery is next to the Pleasant Hill Baptist
Church of which our great, great, great grandmother, Patsy Ellis, was a founding member
in 1872. Jesse Ann remarried, marrying Iris Anderson in 1963. Iris passed away in 1988.
Robert and Bennie met in Ogden, Utah in 1944. They were neighbors. Bennie
was a student at Central High School. Robert worked as a civil servant at the U.S. Navy
base in Clairfield, Utah and was friends with Bennie’s older cousin Leonard. Robert was
59
older than Bennie, a gambler and had a live in girlfriend. As far as Bennie was
concerned they were friends. She would visit Robert and his girlfriend, with most of the
time passing by with him giving her advice about being a young lady. Robert thought
about Bennie differently than she thought of him. The first time he saw her, he
commented on how beautiful she was and told Leonard that one-day she would be his
wife. And so it was. In January of 1945, with $150 in cash, they caught a train to Reno,
Nevada, where they were married January 31st. Grandma was 17 and grandpa was 25.
They continued to Stockton, California where they would reside and raise their family.
Grandma and Grandpa moved to California at the same time thousands of other
African Americans were leaving the South and moving West because of the abundance of
defense industry jobs as a result of World War II. Robert’s older sister, Dorothy already
lived in California, having moved in September of 1942. She was the first of Gould and
Vashti’s children to leave Texas. Aunt Dorothy came west with her first husband, L.C.,
who had a job in San Mateo. In 1944 he got a job in Stockton. The following year
grandma Bennie Mae and grandpa Robert came to Stockton. Many young people left
Leona. A small community without a major industry, Leona failed to provide the upper
mobility many of them desired. Aunt Mae Ola moved to Stockton in 1949, followed by
Aunt Charlie who moved after she graduated from Tillison College in Austin, Texas. In
1957 Gary came to visit his brother and sisters with their parents Gould and Vashti. He
decided to stay. He was 18 years old. In 1958 J.P. and Bo moved to Las Vegas to work
construction, Gary went with them. Freddie lived in California and was the first to move
to Las Vegas in 1956. Her husband O.D. Hooks worked construction and told her
60
brothers there were plenty of jobs and that they should come to Las Vegas as well.
Working as the live in maid for a rich white family, Llema Mae has lived in several
states, including New York, California and Nevada, traveling throughout the United
States with the family. She is the only one of Gould and Vashti’s children who decided
to return to Texas to make her permanent home. Aunt Llema Mae has been able to foster
the family ties with Texas for all of those who have moved away.
When they arrived in Stockton, grandpa Robert sent their wedding certificate to
Grandma Jesse Anne and grandpa George so that they would know that he maintained
her honor by marrying her. Jesse Anne and George were mad at Robert for several years
because of his and grandma’s eloping. George told Robert that he was not welcome in
their home because of it. Jesse Anne says she didn’t care about a wedding certificate; a
certificate didn’t change the fact that he had taken her daughter from her. Robert and
Bennie first rented a small house built behind the home of L.V. and Lewis Sampson.
They lived there for five years and in January of 1950 bought the house we have all come
to call home, 3432 Russell Avenue, now Turnpike Road. They paid $1,300.00. The
house they bought was small and white with two bedrooms, a living room, kitchen and
outhouse. It was located in a rural section of south Stockton on land that used to be the
city dump. In 1953 Grandpa Robert and a contractor rebuilt the house, adding an extra
bedroom, a formal dining room and a bathroom. In 1959, they added another bedroom.
Bennie remodeled the whole house in 1983.
Robert and Bennie were blessed with eight children: Frances (who died at birth),
Robert Charles, Carolyn Faye, Dennis Ray, Brenda Joyce, Stanley Lee, Sharon Ann, and
61
Lisa Denise. They were loving parents and both were hard working. When they first
moved to Stockton Grandpa Robert opened a dry cleaners with his friend Kirby. They
ran the cleaners for 2 years and sold it because it was not as profitable as they had
wished. Robert then worked at Rough and Ready Island and later as a supervisor at
Sharps Army Depot. In total he had worked over 20 years for the U.S. Government when
he retired in 1970. He became ill with emphysema in 1967. Bennie has always been a
hard worker, a trait that continues until this day. She began baby-sitting at seven years
old. She would watch her little cousin, Nelsene, while her cousin Ora worked.
Everytime Grandma would get a drink of water, she would also give a drink to the baby
using a teaspoon. The teaspoon prevented her from drowning the baby. During her
breaks, Ora would come to clean and feed the baby. At thirteen, she began working by
helping an elderly white woman with polio with household chores. The lady paid her 50
cents per day, which totaled $2.50 per week of her own money for her to spend. When
they moved to California she worked for the union and held various jobs including
working at the U.S. Army annex, the University of the Pacific, Chet’s restaurant and as a
day worker. Grandpa Robert wanted grandma to stay home while their children were
young. She worked after the children were old enough to go to school and then worked
in the evenings so that either she or grandpa was always home with the kids. Grandma
sacrificed her own dreams of having a career to care for her children. In 1983 Bennie
returned to school in nursing and became an in home geriatric nurse. Grandma has
always seemed to have an endless source of energy, however we all know that it is her
drive and commitment. She successfully juggled the duties of a mother, wife and worker.
62
She would wake up in the morning, get grandpa off to work, the kids off to school, cook
dinner and then go to work. Grandpa taught Carolyn how to make corn bread. Carolyn
would prepare the bread when she came home from school, so that when grandma came
home the family could have dinner together. Grandma Bennie also canned fruit,
vegetables and sweet potatoes. The sweet potatoes were for grandpa who liked sweet
potato pies. In addition to our names, he and I share a love for grandma’s homemade
caramel icing cake.
All the children had chores. The girls rotated kitchen duty. Aunt Carolyn would
wash dishes for a week, and the next week aunt Brenda would wash them. Sometimes
Carolyn would hide the dirty pots so that she didn’t have to wash them. The boys were
responsible for maintaining the yard. Grandpa Robert would sit on a bucket and
orchestrate the activity. The girls helped with the cooking and housework. To earn
spending money all the kids worked in the fields. They cut onions and grapes and picked
tomatoes, peaches and cherries. As teenagers they took on part-time jobs if they wanted
to. Stanley had a paper route and Brenda worked at Capital furniture showroom as a
duster and at the Rice Motel as a maid. Robert jr., helped his Dad care for the live stock
the family owned. Grandpa Robert had a pigpen across the street. He had twelve brood
sows and up to 200 pigs. He had a slop route, on which he would collect left over food
from friends and neighbors to feed the pigs. He also had a friend who farmed who would
give him left over carrots and pumpkins from his harvest. Each year they raised a calf,
which once it was grown, they would have butchered and store in a deep freezer. Robert
jr. was responsible for grazing the cow. Every morning before he left for school, he
63
would take the calf from the pin next to the house and tie it to a stake in a nearby pasture.
In the evening he would bring the calf back in and lock it in the pin. Because the kids
played with the calf, they couldn’t eat the meat when the calf was slaughtered. The meat
would sit in the freezer about six months before they were finally willing to eat the meat.
Robert jr. also raised chickens, ducks and pigeons. He would sell the eggs from the
chickens, another item the kids didn’t like to eat. Over the years, they had several dogs
as pets, including: Tippie, a pit bull, Big Boy, a German Sheppard, King, a German
Sheppard, Peanut Butter, a mutt, and Trixie, a Poodle.
For fun, the kids took full advantage of living in the country. They played with
the animals, played baseball out in the fields and made their own golf course, using old
curtain rods as golf clubs. They road their bikes, swam in “Little John Creek,” made mud
pies and played monopoly, dominoes and checkers. Often, they made up their own
games, like “don’t let the headlights hit you.” They would all stand in front of the house
and wait for a car to come around the corner. The goal was to run behind the house
before the car’s headlights hit you. One time Robert Jr. and his cousin Gloria got into the
hog pin and chased a little pig around until it died of a heart attack. When it died they ran
out of the pen and Robert caught his pants on the bobbed wire fence. He started crying
and screaming. Gloria says she was so mad at him because if the adults found out what
they had done, they would undoubtedly be in trouble. She told him to be quiet and she
would get his pants uncaught. He kept crying and screaming, so Aunt Dorothy came to
see what was the matter. When she opened the door, they knew they were in trouble.
During the summers all the cousins would play together. James and Carolyn were shy
64
and quiet and stayed out of trouble. Robert and Gloria were adventurous and were
always in trouble. They would all walk barefoot in a big group of cousins to buy penny
candy at the neighborhood store.
The community they lived in was known as Plum Nelly and Mourfield and was
very tight knit. Every family knew the other families in the community. Children who
acted out of line while away from home could bet that if an adult did not scold them
immediately, they would call their parents so that by the time they arrived at home a
whipping was waiting for them. The neighborhood they lived in was integrated. There
were Mexicans, Whites, Filipinos, Gypsies and other African American families.
Segregation in the southern United States was de jure- sanctioned by law. In California,
segregation was de facto- a matter of custom and class. Most African Americans were
working class and scattered throughout southern Stockton, with the majority living South
of Charter Way. A few middle class, professional blacks lived in Northern Stockton.
Friday’s were considered the kid’s night. Every Friday they would go to Hux
Drive-In on Charter Way. Hux’s was the style of restaurant where the waitresses came
and took your order and served you at your car. For dessert they always took home a
gallon of vanilla ice cream and two gallons of root beer and made root beer floats.
Robert and Bennie’s children were the first generation in the family to attend
integrated schools. They all attended William Howard Taft elementary school, which
was around the corner from home, John Marshal Middle School, and Thomas Edison
High School. Because they grew up in California they never experienced segregation the
way Southerners did, a reality that confronted them whenever they visited the South.
65
Grandpa Robert was hesitant to take them to the South, for he knew they were not aware
of the social rules of segregation. Whenever they went to Texas or Arkansas, grandpa
and grandma would have a talk with them and explain that they were leaving California
and that things were different where they were going. Once they arrived, the children
would usually stay on the farm while the adults went into town to shop. Grandma says
she knew how to talk to the white Southerners without having to call them ma’am or sir.
She would politely ask for what she wanted and say thank you.
Aunt Carolyn remembers going to Texas one summer in the 1950’s and going to
the store with her grandfather Gould. When they walked into the store the clerk
immediately and in a friendly and familiar tone greeted our grandfather. He said “Hi
Gould.” Grandpa Gould responded “Hi, Mr. so and so” (Carolyn doesn’t remember the
Clerks name). She looked behind the counter and the clerk was a teenage white male.
She remembers feeling so angry and hurt. As a little girl, she didn’t understand why her
grandfather would allow a white teenager to call him by his first name while he addressed
him as Mr. In contrast, she was taught to never address an elder by their first name.
Today, we all know why such an incident happened. Apparently the people who owned
the store were the white Hopkins. Llema Mae says when Papa, the name we called
Gould, would go into the store, the clerk would always greet him with familiarity because
they knew him well. Sometimes the clerk would say, “Hey there Baby Hopkins, how are
you doing first cousin?” She says the white people in the store would look so funny
because they thought they were literally cousins by blood. In actuality, the clerk’s father
had owned Papa’s father, Jesse.
66
Gould told his granddaughter, Gloria, that he once had a conflict with a white man
because the white man insisted on calling him boy. They were the same age and papa
insisted that he be called Gould, Baby or Mr. Hopkins. The white man kept calling him
boy. Grandpa Gould pulled his gun on the man and the man then called him Gould.
African American men were often put in dangerous positions by whites who challenged
their dignity and self respect. Gould Jr. had a friend who had a white woman who
wanted to have sexual relations with him. He was not interested in the woman but knew
he had better accept her invitation or run the risk of having her lie by saying he had raped
her.
In 1965, Robert Jr. joined the U.S. Air Force and was stationed in Wichita,
Kansas. He and some friends went into town and caught a cab back to the base. He sat
in the front seat of the cab with the white driver, a social taboo he was unaware of. When
they got out of the cab his friends told him to never do that again. As an African
American, he was expected to sit in the back. His friends warned him that if he didn’t
follow the rules he could be seriously hurt.
Carolyn has vivid memories of watching the events of the 1960’s on a little black
and white television in the living room with the family. In particular, she remembers
Bull Connors, the National Guard and the children who integrated the schools in Little
Rock, Arkansas. She remembers seeing the water hoses and dogs that were unleashed
upon the marchers and protestors. In the ninth grade, she participated in a boycott of a
local grocery store that refused to employ African Americans.
67
Family life has always been a priority to Robert and Bennie. Robert coached little
league for five years, coaching all three of his sons, Robert Jr., Dennis and Stanley.
Robert was an avid sports fan and often took the whole family or his sons with the
neighborhood boys to Candlestick Park in San Francisco. Robert and Bennie were
members of Greater Friendship Baptist Church, where Robert served as a Trustee under
the leadership of Reverend Moses Rivers. Bennie still worships at the same church and
has held several positions including treasurer, secretary, and served on the banking
committee. The church is now under the leadership of Reverend Raymond Guyton Sr.
All of the children were required to attend church and participated in holiday programs.
They walked to Sunday school on Sunday mornings and Grandma and grandpa joined
them at 11:00a.m. for church services. Carolyn and Dennis sang in the choir, and
Carolyn served as secretary of Sunday School for five years. Robert and Bennie
established the rule that if you didn’t go to church on Sundays you could not participate
in any extra curricular activities that week. In addition to her positions of leadership at
church, Bennie served as President of her chapter of Mary’s Nurses #18 for many years.
Robert and Bennie ran a strict household. Robert was the head of the household
and was very authoritative. He would only tell you to do something one time. He
usually did not have to whip the children because they knew better than to disobey him.
He was not mean; he just did not tolerate disobedience. The boys could go to parties, but
the girls were not allowed to date until their senior year of high school. At that time,
dating was called “taking company.” When one of the girls was interested in taking
company, her boyfriend would have to come home to meet her parents. Grandpa would
68
sit down and ask the young man question after question. “Who are your parents? What
are your goals in life? What are your grades like in school?” He also expected his
children to be informed. They were required to read the newspaper daily and report to
him what they read. Luckily, most of the kids enjoyed reading. Robert did not allow his
kids to be lazy. He expected the kids to get up every morning when he woke up at 5 a.m.
During the summer, the kids would complain and ask why they had to wake up so early if
they didn’t have to go to school? Grandpa told them to “get up if you don’t do anything
but stand up.” They would all congregate in the kitchen to show him they were up.
When he would leave for work, grandma would tell the kids, “O.K. kids, you can go to
bed now.” They would all run and jump back in the bed, including grandma.
Each of the children had their own personalities as children and as adults. Robert
was athletic and very smart as a kid. He liked to watch educational programs and
documentaries on television. Like his father and grandfather, he had an interest in
animals. As an adult, he is a sports fan, current events philosopher and joker. Carolyn
was quiet, studios and liked to read as a child. She stayed out of trouble and would bribe
her younger brothers and sisters into performing her chores for her. As an adult, she is
our aunt who shows leadership and independence. She is close to all of her nieces and
nephews, because as a child she did not feel close to any of her aunts and uncles. It was,
therefore, important to her to foster caring relationships with her nieces and nephews.
Most of us consider her our third mom, after our own moms and our grandmother.
Dennis was adventurous as a kid and would test the boundaries of authority. As an adult,
he was our cool uncle. He would let us drive and taste his beer, which he mixed with V-8
69
tomato juice. He was also strict. As kids, we had a place and he was cool as long as you
stayed in it. Brenda was a tomboy as a child and liked to fix things. As an adult, she was
our fun aunt. Every summer she would come pick us up and we would spend a week
with her at her home in Napa. She would dance with us, let us drive and do anything else
we could think of that was fun. Anytime you spent with Aunt Brenda, you knew would
be adventurous and fun. She liked to read novels and horror books. She also loved to
cook and was crafty. Stanley was ambitious as a kid. He was disciplined, worked hard
and saved his money. As an adult, he was our strict uncle. He expected you to behave
properly and to follow the rules. He watched to make sure you did so as well. Sharon
was the youngest child for eight years. She was spoiled, and according to her brothers
and sisters, was a brat. She always wanted to help her older brothers and sisters and was
very loving. She liked to hug and kiss everyone. As an adult, she was our pretty aunt,
who was into the latest styles and music and had a ton of clothes. She was the aunt who
you could be “real” with. She didn’t believe in beating around the bush and being
cordial. She said what she felt and expected you to do the same. Lisa is the youngest of
the children and grew up almost like an only child. She was spoiled, like Sharon, and is
very close to my grandmother. Instead of an aunt, she grew up like a big sister to Shane,
Lori and me. The three of us spent afternoons after school at my grandmothers while our
parents worked. Lisa made sure we stayed in line, delegated chores and didn’t hesitate to
reprimand us with a whipping, when needed. When we were teenagers, she took us out
with her and has always been someone we can depend on to be there when we need her.
70
Robert Lee, also known as RL (pronounced Rail), passed away April 13, 1974 of
emphysema. After Robert’s death, Bennie assumed the leadership role in the family.
She has continued to be a dedicated mother and grandmother.
Robert and Bennie’s oldest son is Robert Jr. Robert Jr. is my father.
*********
I never dreamed I would one day look into the face of my ancestors who
experienced slavery. I believe the majority of us see the experience of American slavery
as something separate from ourselves- an event that happened in another time, to
someone else. As African Americans, we know we descend from the survivors of the
“American Holocaust,” yet failing to research our family histories, many of us do not
know our direct connection to the “peculiar institution.” Instead, we adopt an ambiguous
history. We see ourselves as the children of all slaves. Most often not knowing where
our ancestors are from in Africa, we see ourselves as children of the continent as a whole.
Our histories exist and are not ambiguous. They are specific histories locked in the
minds and memories of our dear elders many of whom are not college educated, but who
are extremely intelligent, with magnificent memories. It is the responsibility of the
younger generations, some of whom are college educated, to continue to tap into that
knowledge and eliminate the myth that because we are African American we are a people
without history. Our history is American history (both Indigenous and European) and
African history (both African proper and African American). It is crucial that we
preserve the knowledge our elders hold before it is lost forever.
71
I was shocked at how much information I was able to receive simply by asking.
The majority of the information I received was through oral tradition, which I verified
with census records and other sources. I found the oral information to be
overwhelmingly accurate. I hope more African Americans will document their family
histories so that we can better understand who we are as a people. Our history exists; it is
up to us to preserve it.
Researching my family history, I was impressed with the perseverance and focus
with which my ancestors lived. I enjoy reading history and have read many books about
the African American experience and the struggles slavery and “Jim Crow” imposed
upon our people. When I researched the history of my family however, I found a
different story. I was surprised and impressed that Hanna and Charlie, born slaves,
owned 150 acres of land and educated 5 of their children. I was impressed with Jesse
who lived in an integrated community, but built an African American institution, the First
Church, in order to meet the needs of the African American members of the community.
I see my ancestors as builders; people who strove to create their own American
experience instead of begging to be a part of someone else’s.
Today I stand tall, taller than the highest building, the greatest mountain or the
furthest reaching tree. I stand tall because I stand on the shoulders of Callie, Jesse,
Charley, Hannah, Vashti, Gould, Robert Lee, Bennie Mae, Robert Charles and Bonnie.
They have provided the foundation on which I stand, the springboard from which I jump.
Yet, it is up to me to determine how high I will rise. My grandmother gave me a strong
faith in the creator and a strong work ethic. As a kid I watched her call upon the creator
72
when times were hard and give praise when they were good. Now, I do the same. My
Dad raised Shane and I to be value oriented, stressing the importance of being honest and
treating each other and others the way we want to be treated. My aunt Carolyn fostered
in me pride in being African American. From them all I inherit a legacy that shows me I
can achieve all that I put my mind to, regardless of what challenges I face.
In performing my research, I was also pleased to see that I come from a long line
of African American men who challenge the commonly held notion of what the Black
male experience is. The men from whom I descend where not defeated or beat up by a
racist society. Instead they were husbands, fathers, good providers for their families and
respected community members.
Standing on the shoulders of the Hopkins, failure is not an option for me. My
ancestors succeeded in a time and place in which their success was not guaranteed, so
they created their own success, always making the journey a little easier for the
generation that followed. Because their blood runs through my veins, I have the same
power; the power to build, create and help the next generation stand just a little bit taller.
73
Great, Great Grandma Hannah and Great, Great Grandpa Charley McDaniel. Leona, Texas around the late
1800’s.
74
Grandma Bennie Mae at 16 years old. Ogden, Utah, 1943.
75
(Left): Grandpa Robert (Right) and his best friend,
James Polk (Left).
Leona, Texas, around 1941.
(Below): Great, Grandpa Gould herding cattle.
Leona, Texas, around 1963.
76
(
Left): Robert Charles at ten months old. Stockton,
California, 1947.
(Below): A weekend visit to Aunt Dorothy’s house in
Menlo Park. (Left to right): Grandpa Robert, Robert
Charles, a family friend holding Carolyn and Grandma
Bennie Mae. Menlo Park, California, 1948.
77
(Left): Grandpa Robert and Sisters.
(Left to right): Dorothy, Grandpa Robert
and Llema Mae (Robert Charles in
background). San Mateo, California, 1956.
Gould and Vashti visiting California.
(Left to right): Great Grandpa Gould, Freddie,
and Great Grandma Vashti. San Mateo,
California, 1956.
78
(Left): Robert Charles’ graduation
picture from Edison High School.
Stockton, California, 1964.
(Below Left): Graduation Day.
(Left to right): Grandpa Robert,
Sharon (in front) Robert Charles, and
Grandma Bennie. Stockton,
California, 1964.
(Below Right): Robert Charles
serving as a medic in the United
States Air Force. Wichita, Kansas,
1965.
79
Hopkins Family, while Robert Charles is on leave from Air Force. (Left to right): Brenda, Robert Charles,
Grandpa Robert, Grandma Bennie Mae, Lisa (on lap) Carolyn,
Sharon (Back row, left to right): Stanley and Dennis. Stockton, California, 1966.
80
(Left): Great Grandpa Gould
Visiting California. Left to right:
Rober t Charles (in background)
Grandma Bennie Mae, Grandpa
Robert, Great Grandpa Gould and
Sharon in front. Stockton,
California, around 1962.
(Below): Great Grandpa Gould
and his children. (Left to right):
Llema Mae, Dorothy, Robert,
Joseph, Mae Ola, Charlie, Gould,
Jr., Presley and Gary. Stockton,
California, 1973.
81
Hopkins Family Recipes 4
82
Aunt Dorothy’s Fried Chicken
Note: Aunt Dorothy makes the best fried chicken I have ever tasted.
1 chicken, cut into serving pieces
2 cups of all purpose flour
2 cups of vegetable oil
salt and pepper to taste
In a paper bag combine flour, salt and pepper. Lightly salt and
pepper each individual piece of chicken. Place 2-3 pieces of chicken
in the bag at a time. Holding the top of the bag shut shake the
chicken around in the bag. In a cast iron skillet over a medium-high
fire, warm vegetable oil. When the oil is hot remove chicken from
bag and add to oil. Cook on each side until it turns a golden brown.
Be careful not to cook the chicken too fast, for the outside will
brown but the inside will remain raw. Adjust fire as needed.
Grandma Bennie’s Baked Chicken
Chicken wings
Corn oil
Pepper
Season Salt
Garlic powder
Herb or Italian seasonings
Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Thoroughly wash chicken wings.
Slightly oil bottom of baking dish. Place chicken in baking dish and
season. Bake 25 minutes. Turn chicken over. Season other side.
Bake an additional 20 minutes or until all liquid has evaporated.
Robert’s Chitterlings and Hog Mogs
Note: I learned to prepare this dish from my Grandmother, Bennie.
1 10 lb. bucket of chitterlings
3 lbs. hog mogs
1 potato
4 Tbs. season all
1 Tbs. sage
4 cloves of garlic, whole
2 Jalapeno peppers, chopped
2 bay leaves
¼ cup vinegar
salt and pepper to taste
In a large pot combine washed hog mogs and enough water to cover
the meat. Bring to a boil and simmer for 1 hour. Thoroughly clean
chitterlings, removing all fat, particles and debris. Add chitterlings,
potato, season all, Jalapenos, garlic, bay leaves, vinegar, salt and
pepper to pot. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer until tender,
usually 5 hours. Add extra water and seasoning if necessary during
cooking. Serve with hot sauce.
Grandma Bennie’s Greens
1 bunch turnip greens
1 bunch mustard greens
1 bunch collard greens
1 smoked ham hock or ¼ lb. salt
pork
3 cloves of garlic, whole
1 Jalapeno pepper, chopped
1 Tbs. season all
1 pinch of baking soda
salt and pepper to taste
Wash the greens thoroughly, changing the water several times.
Place the ham hock or salt pork (Sliced) in a pot. Add enough water
to cover the meat. Bring to a boil, then lower the heat and allow the
meat to simmer covered about 1 hour (30 minutes for the salt pork).
Add garlic, Jalapeno, season all, salt and pepper, cook an additional
hour. Add the greens and baking soda. Bring to a boil and then
simmer for 1 hour.
83
Grandma Bennie’s Cornbread Dressing
1 large pan of Cornbread
¾ bag of stuffing (add seasoning
packet from package)
2 Tbs. vegetable oil
1 1/2 medium celery ribs, chopped
3 garlic cloves, minced
1 quart of water
2 cups chicken or turkey broth
(either meat drippings or canned)
8 eggs
3 cups milk
½ bell pepper
3 Tbs. garlic powder
2 Tsp. season salt
1 Tsp. black pepper
3 ½ Tsp. dried rosemary
2 Tbs. poultry seasoning
3 Tbs. dried sage
3 Tbs. dried sage
Preheat oven to 375 degrees. In a large roaster, crumble the
cornbread into small sized pieces. Add water, croutons, sage ,
poultry seasoning, rosemary, fresh garlic, garlic powder, salt and
pepper. Mix. In a skillet sauté celery and bell pepper in vegetable
oil, about 5 minutes. Add to mixture. Using hands, mix well. Add
milk and mix again. Taste mixture and add additional seasoning if
necessary. Add eggs and meat broth. Cover and bake about 45
minutes or until finished.
Grandma Bennie’s Giblet Gravy
Note: This gravy is traditionally served with cornbread dressing.
¼ ground beef
giblets
liver
gizzard
turkey neck
½ cup turkey drippings
¾ cup flour
1 celery rip, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
½ cup vegetable oil
2 Tbs. season all
2Tbs. sage
2Tbs. poultry seasoning
1Tbs. rosemary leaves
salt and pepper to taste
In a saucepan, boil turkey neck, liver, giblets, gizzard and 1tbs of
season all in enough water to cover the meat. Bring to a boil, then
simmer 1 hour and 30 minutes. When done, spoon meat from pot.
Pull meat off turkey neck and shred. Finely chop remaining pieces
of meat into small pieces. Return meat to pot. Add ½ cup of
drippings from turkey (If not cooking turkey, use canned broth). In
a separate skillet warm vegetable oil. When hot, add flour and
brown, stirring often. When Brown, add two cups of cold water.
Mix and allow to simmer 20 minutes. Add to pot. In a clean skillet,
sauté bell pepper celery and onion. Add to pot. In a clean skillet,
brown ground beef. Drain fat and add to pot. Add remaining
seasoning and simmer for 30 minutes.
Aunt Carolyn’s Cornbread
Note: This is the first dish I ever learned to cook. My father taught me to prepare bread when I was about
nine years old. Both of my parents worked, so I was responsible for preparing bread each night when I
arrived home from school- Carolyn
2 cups yellow cornmeal
1 cup all purpose flour
3 Tbs. baking powder
1 Tsp. salt
2 cups milk
1 egg, lightly beaten
Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Combine the cornmeal, flour, baking
powder and salt in a large mixing bowl. Stir in milk and egg. Mix
well. Oil a baking pan and allow to warm in oven, 2-3 minutes.
Pour batter into an oiled pan. Before pouring in batter, heat oil Bake
15 to 20 minutes, or until golden brown. To be sure the center is
baked, insert a toothpick into the middle of the bread. If the
toothpick is dry when removed the bread is done. If it is gummy,
the middle has not finished cooking.
84
Robert’s Cracklin Cornbread
Note: My dad used to periodically prepare this version of cornbread. It is his favorite.
To make Robert’s cracklin cornbread, use the above cornbread
recipe, adding fresh Chicharones (fried pig skins) to the batter.
Break pig skins into small pieces and stir into batter.
Robert’s Black Eyed Peas
Note: I learned to cook this traditionally African American dish from my mom. She saw the recipe in a
magazine. It is delicious. It is an African American tradition to eat black eyed peas on New Years Day.
The superstition holds that doing so brings good luck.
¼ cup vegetable oil
1Tsp. cumin seeds
1 onion, chopped
4 cloves of garlic, minced
5 roma tomatoes, chopped
1 16 ounce bag of dried black eyed
peas
1½ Tsp. salt
¼ cayenne powder
1 tsp corriander
2 cups of water
1 jalapeno, finely chopped
Soak black eyed peas in a pot of water over night. Heat oil. Add
cumin seeds, onion and garlic. Saute. Stir in tomatoes. Cook 1
minute. Add drained black eyed peas, salt, cayenne pepper,
coriander and water. Mix well and bring to a boil. Lower fire and
simmer 45 minutes. When peas are tender turn off fire. Add
chopped jalapeno and cilantro and serve.
Aunt Carolyn’s Sweet Potato Pie
Note: Aunt Carolyn learned to prepare this dish from her mother, Bennie.
2 lbs. sweet potatoes
2 Tbs. butter, softened
2 large eggs
1 cup granulated sugar
½ Tsp. nutmeg
¼ Tsp. salt
1 Tsp. vanilla extract
3/4 cup canned milk
1 9 inch pie crust
In a large pot, boil sweet potatoes. Potatoes should be tender, not
mushy. Drain potatoes in a colander, allowing them to cool. Peel
skin off of potatoes and put the meat into a mixing bowl. Preheat
oven to 350 degrees. Add butter to potatoes and smash with a fork.
Add eggs, sugar, nutmeg, and salt. Mix. Stir in vanilla and milk.
Pour mixture into pre-made pie crust. Bake about 45 minutes.
Allow to cool to room temperature, about 2 hours.
Grandma Bennie’s Peach Cobbler
2 29 ounce cans peach slices in
syrup
½ cup granulated sugar
2 Tbs. all purpose flour
½ Tsp. Cinnamon
¼ Tsp. Nutmeg
¼ vanilla extract
1/8 Tsp. allspice
Dash of salt
1 Tbs. butter or margarine
Heat oven to 400 degrees. Combine sugar, flour, cinnamon,
nutmeg, allspice and salt in a large bowl. Add peaches. Mix.
Spoon into pastry shell. Dot with butter. Cover pie with second
pastry shell. Sprinkle a little butter, sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg and
allspice on top. Seal and flute edges of pastry. Bake for 50 to 55
minutes, or until golden brown.
85
Grandma’s Caramel Icing Cake
3 cups all purpose flour
3 Tsp. baking powder
pinch of salt
1 ½ cups sugar
1 ½ stick of butter
2 Tsp. vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups milk
6 eggs
Heat oven to 350 degrees. Grease and flour three 8 inch round cake
pans. Combine flour, baking powder and salt in a bowl. In a
separate bowl combine sugar, eggs, butter and vanilla. Beat until
fluffy. Add flour mixture alternately with milk, mixing well. Pour
batter into baking pans. Bake about 25 minutes or until a tooth pick
inserted into the center comes out clean. Allow cakes to cool about
10 minutes before removing from pan.
Caramel Icing
1 cup of sugar
2 cups of milk
Combine milk and sugar in a
saucepan. Allow to simmer
on a very low heat, 25-30
minutes. Stir often so that
sugar does not burn. Allow to
cool by placing in a bowl.
When cool, spread over each
layer of cake.
86
Mi experienca
Chapter III
87
Most of us believe only what we can see. Our eyes limit us in our
perception and experience of reality. Yet, do we realize, whoever
controls what we see or experience can, in fact, control our
perceptions of reality? How then can we determine what is truth
and what is not? We must investigate, we must probe. We must
ask questions. We must seek. We must know truth intuitively,
with our hearts and minds in harmony. The moment we accept
what is given to us as truth, we lose our conscious reality. We are
living through the eyes of someone else. How can we expect to
find peace, harmony or self if we live through the perceptions of
another? We can’t. Whether religion, career, personal liberty or
life itself, we must investigate; we must seek. We must probe. We
must ask questions. We must be in charge of our own reality and
know our own truth.
- Iyanla Vanzant 2
88
My Parents; Un Amor Prohibido
My parents are Robert Charles Hopkins and Bonnie Marie Quintana. My father
lived perhaps as close to the All-American experience an African American male could
have lived during the time of his youth. He grew up in a loving, Christian home in
Stockton, California. He played little league, joined the Air Force after graduating from
high school, and attended the local community college. He was handsome, intelligent, a
dreamer and somewhat rebellious. Robert has never believed in following the rules set
by society and to this day dances to his own tune. Whatever the majority of people are
doing, he’ll try to do something else in order to be different. He is very social, has a big
heart and is well liked in his community.
My mother grew up in a strict, Catholic and traditional Mexican home of her
paternal grandmother, Tillie, in Fort Collins, Colorado. She, too, had a rebellious spirit.
She is both sensitive and a fighter in one. Her rebellious nature arose out of a refusal to
accept the rules set by her family. In many ways, she viewed her family as dysfunctional
and wanted a different life for herself. Bonnie is every determined and focused. She is
responsible and has a low tolerance for people who are not. She is very much a
perfectionist and is often misread as being mean or unfriendly. She is hard working and
very independent.
My parents met in Stockton, California in the summer of 1968. Bonnie and her
younger sister Gina moved to Stockton to live with their mother, Irene, who had
remarried. They both experienced culture shock when they moved to California. They
89
had never seen Asians or Indians (from India) until they moved. They attended Amos
Alonzo Stagg and Thomas Edison High Schools and lived next door to Mae Ola
Thompson, Robert’s aunt, on Odell Street. Robert and Bonnie saw each other
periodically when Robert would come to visit his cousins. One evening, when grandma
Irene wasn’t home, Bonnie and Gina were washing dishes in the kitchen. They left the
door open and were able to be seen from the street. Robert and his friend passed and
yelled to them. Bonnie and Gina came outside to talk with the young men. Robert and
Bonnie secretly dated. She wasn’t allowed to have a boyfriend or go on dates, so they
talked on the phone for hours each day. Robert would come to the high school and take
Bonnie to lunch, and pick her up after school, so she wouldn’t have to catch the bus. So
they weren’t caught, he would drop her off a block away from her home. In her eyes, he
was handsome, older and a gentleman. He took her places, had a car, a job and most
importantly, treated her nicely. Bonnie fell in love. To Robert, Bonnie was beautiful and
innocent. He wanted to take care of her, to give her the love and home her parents did
not always give her. Robert fell in love too.
In 1969, Robert and Bonnie ran away, catching a bus in Manteca, CA. and leaving
behind my Dad’s 1966 Pontiac GTO. They moved to Los Angeles. Bonnie was 16 years
old. Robert was 22. Because my Mom was a minor, my Dad ran the risk of being
arrested. The car would have made it easy for the police to locate them. They lived with
uncle George, Grandma Bennie’s brother, for a couple of months and then moved out on
their own. Several months passed before Grandma Irene knew where Bonnie was. She
called home and asked for permission to get married, permission that was not granted
90
without a struggle. They soon bought a house in Compton, California. The following
year, I was born.
Primary Years and Childhood
I was born Robert Charles Hopkins, Jr. on June 22, 1970 in Compton, California.
As my impatient character would have it, I arrived into the world two months earlier than
expected. My mom was seventeen, in a large city away from her family and seven
months pregnant. She felt pains, but had no idea she was in labor. She went to the
doctor’s office for an examination, laid on the table and before any arrangements could
be made, I was born. I weighed three pounds and two ounces. I was a happy baby, very
cute, and therefore showered with attention. I was my parents’ first child and the first
male grandchild in my dad’s family. For the Hopkins, my birth was significant. My
grandfather Robert gave me the responsibility of leadership when I was three years old.
He was ill and needed me to see after my peers in the family; a responsibility I did not
welcome at that age, telling him, “shoot, I can’t take care of all these kids.” He also
teased me about the speech impediment I had as a child. He would say I mumbled my
words because I wasn’t sure if I wanted to speak English or Spanish.
Nearly three years after I was born, I was followed by my little sister, Shane.
Shane was born March 24, 1973. She was like my little rag doll. I vividly remember her
developing her own personality and my wishing she would always stay a baby so we
91
could play and she would do whatever I wanted to do. She has grown up to have the
same rebellious and stubborn personality as both my parents. Shane and I grew up very
close. We are the only two children my parents have and love each other dearly. We are
in some ways as different as night and day, but have never lost sight of the important fact
that we are the only brother and sister the other one has and must love, respect and
protect each other. My dad made sure I knew my role as Shane’s big brother early in life.
He told me that if Shane got into trouble and deserved a whipping, I would get a
whipping, too. As her big brother, my job was to keep her out of trouble. If I didn’t
perform my job well, I was in trouble with her.
We lived in Compton, California until I was four years old. It was a very
different neighborhood than it is now. The neighborhood was filled with Mediterranean
style homes with manicured lawns. My parents first bought a small two-bedroom home
on San Vicente and later lived on the corner of Glencoe and Temple. My Mom was a
clerk at Mattel and my Dad worked at the Post Office, while attending Compton Junior
College at night. My sister and I had every toy imaginable as a result of my Mom’s
employment at Mattel. We were one of two African American families in our mostly
white neighborhood on San Vicente, while the neighborhood on Glencoe was primarily
African American. There were very few Mexicans in either neighborhood. The
Walker’s lived across the street from our house on Glencoe. I played with their son,
Michael. As parents, my mom and dad tried to provide the healthiest environment they
could for us. When they first married, they were young and trendy; therefore our house
92
was often a gathering place for their friends and their brothers and sisters. Shortly after I
was born, my Aunt Gina came and lived with my parents. She was thirteen.
I have only a few memories of our life in Los Angeles. I remember one night
running to the car because we were on our way to the pizza parlor. I tripped over an
underground sprinkler and hit my head on the curb, crack it open. I received stitches and
still have a scar to remind me of that evening. I also remember hiding under the dining
room table one day because my Dad was trying to take me to the Barbershop to get my
hair cut. I can still see my parents walking around the house calling me as I sat between
the chairs under the table and watched. I hated getting my hair cut. My parents, aunts
and uncles liked my hair long. Large Afros were in style then. My Grandfather however,
liked my hair short. Whenever I stayed with him and my grandmother, my hair was cut
regularly. He said when my hair was long it was “kinky” like my Dad’s, and when it was
short it was more like my Mom’s. I also remember loving to watch the Sonnie and Cher
Show. My parents took me to the Circus one year in Los Angeles. I remember standing
along the exit as Cher walked out of the tent. I said “hi, Cher.” She turned and said “hi,
sweetie.” As a kid, when my sister would get her hair washed, she would use the comb
as her microphone, fling her hair like Cher and sing, “I got you Babe.”
In 1975, one year after my Grandfather, Robert, passed away, we moved back to
Stockton. My parents rented a small farm on Kaiser road, about 12 miles from the city.
We had fish, a cat, a dog, pigs and horses. One pig was a mean and large black female
sow named Blacky. When my Dad finally sold Blacky, she weighed 700 pounds. My
Dad was the only person who could enter the pen with Blacky without being attacked.
93
We also had a red Doberman Pitcher named Shaft. Only my Dad could feed him as well.
My horse was a pony named Judybell. Shane’s horse was Judybell’s colt named Chris. I
remember crying the night they bred Judybell. They washed her genitals with a soapy
solution and brought the large male horse into the stall with her. She made so much noise
I thought he was hurting her and publicly protested their mating, yelling “get him out of
there.” My parents drove us to my grandmother’s house every morning and we walked to
Taft Elementary School, around the corner from her house. After school, we played at
our grandmothers until our parents were off work and came to pick us up.
After a couple of years of living in the country, we moved to a working class
neighborhood in South East Stockton called Nightingale. We come from a working class
family and lived comfortably. My dad owns his own business recycling scrap metals.
My mother is a supervisor at St. Joseph’s Medical Center. Christmas and Back to School
were the big shopping times for us. We usually received what we asked for: bikes, a
stereo, Atari and a Starter jacket for me; dolls, Barbie accessories, skates and make-up for
my sister. There were always clothes for both of us. As we grew older, we wanted to
pick our own gifts. Our parents then gave us money and allowed us to shop for
ourselves. We ate dinner together every night and my sister and I were in bed by nine
o’clock on school nights. My parents religiously stuck to our bedtime curfew. Life was
pretty routine for us. We went to school and played at my grandmother’s during the
week. On weekends, my Mom would prepare breakfast for us, usually pancakes the size
of your plate, french toast, chorizo with eggs and potatoes or bacon and eggs with
English Muffins. After breakfast we would go visiting their friends or Shane and I would
94
ride our bikes around the neighborhood. We usually went to dinner at a restaurant at
least once a week. My Mom’s grandmother never took them out to eat. It was her Mom
who helped acculturate her beyond her immediate experiences at home. She often told us
the story of when she and Gina first came to Stockton to live with their Mom and Burt.
They went out to dinner and the waitress asked what type of dressing Gina wanted on her
salad. Gina said, “I didn’t order salad.” Grandma Irene told her, “it comes with your
meal.” Of course Gina was embarrassed. My Mom did not want us to be as sheltered as
she and Gina were and tried to expose us to the world as often as possible. My parents
took us to San Francisco, the State Fair in Sacramento, the Hoover Dam, Disney Land,
Venus and Redondo beaches and often to Lake Tahoe during the winter to inner tube
down the mountains in the snow. We religiously stopped at the International House of
Pancakes for breakfast in Tahoe.
Our Untraditional Upbringing
In 1979, my parents separated. One weekend morning, they called my sister and I
into their room and told us that they were separating and my mom was moving out. They
asked us whom we wanted to live with. My sister said she wanted to stay with our dad. I
said I would stay, too. I was nine years old, my sister was six.
Shane and I became much more independent after my mom moved. While she
was there, we didn’t have to cook or clean, we just helped when we wanted to. I
95
especially liked to vacuum. My grandmother tells a story of me around three years old.
She was vacuuming and I wanted to help her. She told me “No” because I was too little.
She says I cried and cried, yelling, “I want to vac, I want to vac!” After my parents’
separation, my sister and I began grocery shopping and helped with the cooking and the
cleaning. As we grew older, we rotated washing dishes every week and would work in
the yard on the weekends. The yard was our pride. We would cut the grass, trim the
trees and clean up. When we were all finished, we would go get our dad and show him
what we had accomplished. During the summers when he would go to work, we would
clean the whole house spotless and prepare dinner. We would be so proud of ourselves
when he came home. Our new found chores were accepted eagerly until we became
teenagers and wanted to spend our time on the phone or out with our friends. Our dad
was very flexible with us as teenagers. I never had a curfew and basically was able to do
whatever I wanted. My friends had strict parents and used to sneak out of their bedroom
windows. They had great stories of adventure and risk taking. I wanted some adventure,
so I asked my dad what would my punishment be if I snuck out of the house one night.
He asked why I would want to do such a thing. If I wanted to go somewhere all I had to
do was ask, tell him where I would be and come home at a decent hour. I never snuck
out. My dad knew I was a good kid, so he trusted me. He felt I was less likely to get in
trouble if I felt I could be honest about what I did.
My dad provided a stable home for Shane and I. He cooked a balanced meal
every night and would make a large country breakfast every weekend. He cooked
traditionally African American foods like neck bones, pig’s feet, fried fish, chicken and
96
pork chops. He barbecued rib tips, cooked black-eyed peas and baked corn bread. He
also made spaghetti, lasagna, meat loaf and goulash among other things. My dad loved
Chicharrones (fried pork skins) and Carnitas (roasted pork). There was a Mexican
Carniceria (meat market) a block away from our house. We had Carnitas, Chicharrones
and Pan Dulce (sweet bread) often. I liked the cake muffins and the yellow cake with
white frosting and multi-colored sprinkles on top. My dad also liked to stop at a fruit
stand near our house to buy fresh fruit and freshly roasted peanuts.
My dad taught my sister and I unconditional love, family commitment and
generosity. I remember a White mechanic my dad had hired to work on one of his trucks
who came over to visit every evening for more than a week. He, his wife and children
always came around dinnertime. At first, we didn’t know what their plan was. We soon
recognized that they didn’t leave until they ate. My dad never questioned or criticized the
man, he simply went along with the game, offering the man, his wife and kids to join us
for dinner.
My dad was a strict disciplinarian when it came to obeying him. Disobedience
quickly resulted in a whipping. When Shane and I knew we were going to be whipped,
we would run and hide under my bed and hold on to the legs of the bed frame. My dad
would grab us by our ankles and pull us out. As he swung the belt, he would explain to
us why we were getting whipped. The dialogue went something like, “Didn’t I tell you
not to...” I know he hated to whip us. He always told us, “I whip you because I love you.
If I didn’t care about you, I’d let you do whatever you want to do.” My sister was an
actress when it came to getting in trouble. As soon as our dad came in her room with the
97
belt, she would go jumping, crying and screaming, “Ok, Ok….” As soon as he would
leave she would come into my room laughing and say, “It didn’t even hurt.” Our dad
usually gave us our way. We knew that if he said “no” all we had to do was keep asking
him over and over again and he would eventually say “yes” just to shut us up.
Sometimes our plan would not work and we would make him mad. If he got up from his
favorite spot on the sofa screaming, we knew we had crossed the line and would run to
our rooms.
We each had our own rooms with our own television and stereo. We were pretty
independent and each pursued our own interests. My dad loves to watch sports, the news
and documentaries. Shane and I listened to music and talked on the phone. We were
MTV kids and on the weekends watched MTV from the time we woke up until the time
we went to bed. Shane liked Duran Duran, I liked Madonna and Billy Idol. We went to
school on the North side of our city and did not attend the same school as the few kids
who lived in our neighborhood. Shane developed friendships with the girls who lived
next door. I chose not to develop friendships with the boys who lived around the corner
and on other blocks. I did not perceive them as being desirable friends and therefore
developed my friendships with my classmates at school. Bart was my best friend in high
school. He lived about two miles away from us with his older brother. His father is a
Chaplin in the Air Force, therefore they moved frequently. He wanted to attend the same
high school all four years, so when his parents moved at the end of our freshman year, he
decided to live with his older brother. As a result of being on his own, Bart was very
independent. I was too, however to a lesser extent. We both had cars and jobs. His first
98
job was at Burger King; my first job was at Mc Donald’s with my cousin Lori. I was
hired when I turned fifteen and worked on weekends. From the time I was sixteen to the
time I was twenty, I worked at the Sizzler. I started out as a bus boy and later became a
waiter.
At the age of eighteen, I drove to Oakland one weekend and purchased a fake I.D.
at a check cashing franchise. It was rudely obvious that the I.D. was fake, but many bars
and dance clubs let me in with it. The waitresses I worked with treated me like their little
brother. I would go and hang out with them at bars on the weekends after work, even
though I did not drink. For me it was just fun to dance and socialize, especially since I
was less than twenty.
Bart and I also hung out with Cathy. Cathy is half Mexican and half white. Her
father is Mexican and her Mother is white. Like Shane and I, Cathy was raised by her
father. The three of us usually did everything together, we went bowling, played pool
and Bart and I raced our cars on vacated roads. Cathy’s Dad worked nights so we would
often go watch television with her and sometimes she would play pornographic movies.
We were pretty active in school so a lot of our activities revolved around school, for
example rallies, football games, dances, or other activities. Cathy and Bart were my best
friends throughout high school.
Our extended family played a big role in our lives. In the mornings, my dad
would drive us to my grandmother’s house where my cousin Lori would comb my
sister’s hair and we would walk to the bus stop to go to school. After school, we would
go to my grandmother’s house until my dad was off work. We would play and have so
99
much fun that we usually would not want to leave when my dad came to take us home.
Our grandmother always had snacks and a lunch prepared for us when we came home
from school, usually hamburger helper, soup, which she brought from the restaurant she
worked at or peanut butter and jelly on crackers. She has a big black walnut tree, so we
would collect bags of walnuts, take out the meat and she would make homemade walnut
cupcakes for us from scratch. She also made homemade teacakes for us. My cousin Lori
is an only child and my Aunt Lisa is younger than her brothers and sisters, so the four of
us usually did things together. On Friday nights we would go roller-skating at the local
roller ring, and on Saturdays we would catch the bus to the mall, where we would hang
out and play in the arcade. Some Saturday’s we would go to the flea market or have
garage sales to earn spending money. During the summers we would go swimming
everyday at the swimming pool at McKinley park, near Lori’s house, always using the
money our parents gave us to buy penny candy on the way home. My Aunt Carolyn,
Lori’s mom, took us to Santa Cruz and Great America every summer. We also spent a
week each summer at my Aunt Brenda’s house in Napa and another week at our cousin’s
house in San Jose. On Sundays, they would come pick us up for church. We all spent
the holidays together, congregating at my grandmother’s house. Even after I went to
college, my grandmother and aunt continued to play important roles in my life. My Aunt
bought me a refrigerator for my dorm room and made sure I had a college level
dictionary and other supplies. Both she and my grandmother sent me money if I was ever
without money to pay my bills. They encouraged me and told me how proud I would be
to one day tell my kids and grandkids how I struggled to get my education and finally did
100
it. My Aunt Gina was a Jehovah’s Witness and therefore, did not celebrate holidays.
Instead, around the holidays she would cook a big dinner and invite us over. When I was
in college, I especially appreciated her dinners because she always sent me home with a
plate of food. Sometimes she prepared a Mexican meal with Carnitas (roasted pork),
Mexican rice and beans. Other times, she grilled steaks and served them with baked
potatoes and steamed vegetables. No matter what she served, she always made a large
green salad with cucumbers, radishes, chunks of tomatoes and sometimes, shrimp.
My mom’s role in our lives changed after she moved. We relied upon our Father
for our daily existence and saw our Mother as a Mother/Friend. She took us shopping,
out to dinner and did more fun things with us. She took us to the doctor when we were
sick and made sure we saw the dentist regularly. She met with our teachers, attended our
school events and participated in our extra curricular activities. She attended my track
meets every weekend, sold sodas at the school dances, drove in the school parades and
sat on the homecoming committee for two years. My dad was our parent in our private
lives, my mom was our parent in our public lives. My mom would tell us how bad she
would feel when teachers and other parents would tell her how great her kids were. She
felt my dad deserved the credit more than she did, but by choice, he was rarely there to
get it. My dad gave us a lot of freedom to make our own choices and would voice his
opinion only if he felt we were making the wrong choice. My mom talked to us more
intimately about life, sex and our goals. As teenagers, her house was our hang out. Our
friends really liked her. She was an adult you could talk to without feeling afraid or
ashamed of any questions you may have had. While I was a teenager, she taught me
101
some very valuable life lessons such as: you can’t love anyone else until you love
yourself first; how can you expect someone else to love you if you don’t love yourself;
and, people do to you only what you let them. Even after I went to college, my friends
liked her. One year for my birthday, she cooked my favorite dinner, chile verde. Some
friends and I came home to eat before going to San Francisco to dance at the Palladium,
then a popular dance club. My friends invited her to come with us. To them she was
cool, but to me she was my mom. At nineteen, the last thing I wanted was my mom at a
club with me. She must have known how I would feel. She declined to join us.
My parents achieved what no other separated or divorced couple I have
encountered has been able to achieve. They have both played active and complimentary
roles in our lives without fighting and division. After they separated, the four of us
would bowl every week together. We vacationed together, we went on one-day outings
together and still spend every holiday together. After many years of maintaining separate
households, my dad has continued to be a resource for my mom when she needs him.
My mom has met all the women my dad has seriously dated since their separation and is
socially cordial to them. Their relationship actually gave my sister and I some unrealistic
expectations about separating from the people we’ve dated. We associated ending a love
affair or breaking up with someone we dated as moving from being lovers to friends. We
saw no reason we would not still be friends with our past love interests. Experience has
taught us that our parents’ relationship is unique. Usually, past love interests are not
emotionally capable of being your friend after you break up, or your current love interest
doesn’t understand why you are still friends with someone you used to be involved with.
102
My parents remained separated for twenty years. For some reason, they would never
formally divorce each other and would sometimes laugh about it. Everyone knew they
would never get back together, a thought my sister and I could not imagine. They both
held long-term relationships with other people and had grown too different to ever be a
couple again. In 2000 they finally did it. They were divorced.
103
Robert Charles and Bonnie. Stockton, California, 1975.
104
( Left): Robert. Stockton, California, 1973.
(Bottom left): Shane at Grandpa Gould’s house
in Leona, Texas, 1975.
105
(Left): Robert and Shane. Stockton, California, 1975.
(Below): Lori and Lisa visiting in Compton. (Left to
right): Robert, III, Lori (in car) and Lisa. Compton ,
California 1974.
106
Hopkins Family, including (left to right): Robert Charles, Bonnie, Shane
and Robert, III. Stockton, California, 1978.
Shane, Robert, III and Robert Charles. Stockton, California, 1984.
107
Robert’s high school graduation picture. Stockton,
California, 1988.
Shane’s high school graduation picture. Stockton,
California, 1992.
108
Shane and Robert. Stockton, California, 1991.
109
Becoming El Mestizo Moderno
Chapter IV
110
It takes courage, strength and conviction to go against the grain.
But if someone hadn’t done it, we wouldn’t have wheat bread,
chocolate chip ice cream or radios in our cars. It is often difficult
to get people to follow your train of thought. Stop trying.
It’s your train. You are the engineer and the conductor. We
usually want and need help, support and comfort when we are doing
something new. If we do not get it, so what! Does that
mean we should stop what we are doing? Absolutely not! The path
to success is paved with road signs, warning symbols and
obstructions. But when you start a new trail equipped with
courage, strength and conviction, the only thing that can stop you is
you.
- Iyanla Vanzant 2
111
Childhood Memories of My Families Attitude Towards Race
My identity in terms of race has been a continuous process of development. My
earliest recollections of issues dealing with race come from my family. I was
periodically called a yellow banana and half-breed. The names didn’t bother me though.
I knew I had a fairly light skinned complexion, but I never felt superior or inferior to
anyone around me. It was just the way things were. In addition to commenting on my
complexion, people would fuss over my sister’s hair, commenting on how pretty it was.
In some ways, mixed children grow up surrounded by contradictions. Some people call
you names, while other people view your mixed characteristics as attractive. The
contradictions are perhaps what help center you. When you are in the middle and able to
view both sides, you are careful not to fall into the trap of either group. Through
experience you learn that opinions are relative to with whom you are speaking. In my
case, I am considered light in part of my family, and dark in the other. My sister and I
have “good” hair in part of our family and “nappy” hair in the other.
I remember one night in particular, my Aunt Sharon, my dad’s sister, and an aunt,
with whom I became very close as I grew up, was mad at my mother. For some reason,
she decided that night I would be the recipient of her anger towards my mom. As she
cooked at my grandmother’s stove, she made me stand in the middle of the kitchen and
told me I had better not move until she told me to. I stood there while she told me I was a
half-breed and a mutt and rattled profanities about my mom. As with the experience of
being called a yellow banana, I did not feel anger or hurt. Instead of internalizing
112
negative emotions about myself, I thought about how ridiculous and mean my aunt was.
I knew I was mixed, but also knew I was not a mutt or half-breed. My aunt was very
unique. She was very direct, often told the truth, even if it hurt your feelings, but was
also very loving and kind. I think her sensitivity is what made her appear mean at times.
Often, people assume a hardened stance in order to protect their vulnerabilities. I believe
it is because I knew my aunt’s personality that I didn’t resent her for her behavior. She
could be nice, but when she was mad at you, she would not hold back in trying to hurt
you verbally. She and my Aunt Brenda taught me to drive and the importance of being
brave. In particular, she taught me that when you are in a confrontation, you never let the
other person know you are afraid. Bully’s look for people who are scared of them, if they
recognize that you are afraid, they will continue to harass you. Sharon was very proud of
me and told me often. She was her own person and seemed happy that I had grown up to
be my own person as well. That night in the kitchen is definitely not the basis of my
opinion of my Aunt Sharon, but it is a memory that has stayed with me all these years.
In reflection of my Aunt Gina, my mom’s sister, I am somewhat surprised at how
freely she interacted with my sister and I, never once showing any sign of reservation
towards her half Black niece and nephew. She and her husband Mark, who is white, took
us on vacation with them several times and often invited us to church with them. The
church they attended was a Jehovah’s Witness Kingdom Hall and had less than a handful
of Black worshippers that I knew of. One time in particular, I was at their house for
dinner. Mark’s brother and his family came for dinner as well. We hadn’t been
introduced yet, so Mark’s brother asked, “So Gina, who’s your friend?” She smiled and
113
answered, “This is my nephew Robert.” He looked puzzled and said “Oh!” My sister
had a similar experience. She was in the bathroom getting ready to go to church when
some of Gina and Mark’s friends stopped by to join them. When my sister came out of
the bathroom, she says the visitors looked like they saw a ghost. They had no idea Gina’s
niece was half-Black. My sister and I find these incidents funny. We wish we had
cameras to capture these truly “Kodak” moments. The community in which Gina and
Mark lived is rural, white and strongly influenced by white supremacists. The reality is
our family is by no means the norm in their community. My mother has also experienced
similar situations with co-workers who see her and I together and think I am her
boyfriend. The fact that I am her son, I guess is the last consideration for the people who
have not met my sister and I and therefore do not know her kids are half-Black.
Gina lived with us often while I grew up. She moved to Los Angeles to live with
my mom and dad shortly after I was born. My parents moved back to Stockton after my
grandfather passed away in 1974. She eventually moved back to Stockton as well. One
of my memories at around seven years old is of going to the motor movies with her and
her boyfriend on a date. I wonder what he thought when he came to pick us up. My
aunt’s unconditional love was obvious. She didn’t seem to care what people thought
about the fact that we were related. One may ask why should she care and assume her
attitude would be expected of a family member. It would be naïve of me to pretend that
race doesn’t matter to some people. The reality is some families are separated because of
interracial relationships. Interracial relationships definitely have consequences from
outside sources, be it family or society in general. Any American knows race is perhaps
114
the most volatile subject in America. To deny the ramifications of an interracial
relationship would be to ignore reality. Of course whether the consequences outweigh
the benefits is a judgment that can only be made by the principal parties involved.
Several months after she passed away from cancer, I was reminded of how proud
my aunt was of me. I went to the 1st birthday party of my little cousin and Gina’s
granddaughter, Jesse. When I walked into the house, I heard a lady I had never met say
to someone else, “That is Gina’s nephew, Robert.” Later, I introduced myself to the three
ladies and found they were co-workers of my aunt. One of the ladies was my aunt’s best
friend, Trootie. I had heard of her just as she had heard of me. They told me how often
my aunt spoke of me and how proud of me she was. She had shown them pictures and
that is how they recognized me when I walked in. Having just lost my aunt several
months before, in May of 1998, I was happy to be reminded that she loved me just as
much as I loved her. Later, when I told the story to my grandmother, she reminded me
that my senior year in high school, my aunt wrote a letter to the regional television
station, telling them about the work I performed in the community promoting drug abuse
prevention. The station gave me an award. The first quarter of my freshman year in
college, I watched myself on television with my dorm mates as a featured guest on
Channel 3’s “To Be Somebody.”
My parents, I know, suffered ramifications for their choice to marry and have a
family together. Some of the consequences I am aware of, others I imagine they have
never shared with me. My father has never spoken of any negative consequences. My
mother, on the other hand, was disowned by her biological father as a result. I never had
115
the occasion to meet him. When I was born, he told my mom he didn’t have any nigger
grandchildren and not to bring me around him. Needless to say, she didn’t. My
grandmother remarried before I was born, so I grew up knowing my step-grandfather,
Humberto, as my grandfather. When I was older, my mom told me the story of her
biological father. We knew he had passed away, but no one knew how, where or where
he was buried. I, the grandson he wanted nothing to do with, did the research and found
he had died of cardiac arrest and was buried in the cemetery next to the Hospital in which
my mother works. When he died, he had no money, friends or family. Everything for his
burial had been donated, from the clothes and casket, to the plot. I felt sorry for him, yet
understand why he lived the life he did. I believe strongly in the law of Karma; the
energy you put into the universe is returned to you. He undoubtedly reaped what he had
sewn throughout his life. I remember feeling surprised at the compassion I felt for him
when I learned of his fate. I even briefly entertained the thought of purchasing a
headstone for his grave since he didn’t have one. I asked myself why I wasn’t angry with
him for the way he treated my mom and for referring to me as a nigger. I came to the
conclusion that it was the values with which my parents raised me. I was taught to be
generous, to share, to be respectful, especially of elders and not to hate. Most
importantly, however, I knew that in my early 20’s I was already more than he could
have ever hoped to be. For that I was grateful, and therefore could not be angry.
Both of my grandmothers preferred their children marry within their race. My
grandma Irene protested my mom and dad’s relationship. On one hand, the age
difference would have been reason for any mother to protest. The fact that my dad was
116
African American however, made the situation even worst in my grandmother’s eyes.
Because my mom ran away with my dad, there was tension in my mother and
grandmother’s relationship for a brief period. Shortly after I was born, Irene experienced
a serious car wreck. My mom and I came back to Stockton so that she could help my
grandmother with my Aunt “Chati” and Uncle “Cash” who were babies at the time. The
visit healed their relationship. According to my mom, my grandmother “oohed” and
“aahed” over me, her first grandchild. My mom had previously told her that she now had
her own family, and that my grandmother had a choice: accept it or not. She chose to
accept it. After getting to know my dad, my grandmother liked him a lot. She had
previously not even taken the time to get to know him. After visiting my parents in Los
Angeles and seeing how well he cared for my Mom, she eventually told him that he was
“the best son in law she could have ever had.” My grandfather Burt liked my dad very
much as well. When my parents separated, Grandma Irene and Burt were planning to
come to California to help my Dad raise, Shane and I. My Grandmother passed away
before they moved, yet Burt came anyway. My parents had separated, so Burt lived with
my dad, my sister and I. My dad dated a lot after he and my mom separated. At one
time, he had ten girlfriends of different nationalities. Burt called him “the international
playboy.” My sister had a crush on a young man in her class named Jesus. Burt always
teased her about him. When we were older and called him on the holidays, he would still
jokingly ask her about Jesus. When we went to Burt’s funeral in 1994, his second wife
gave us the picture of my sister he carried in his wallet. It was her first grade picture; he
carried it in his wallet for fifteen years.
117
My grandma Bennie Mae wanted her children to marry within their own race and
expressed her desire to her children. My grandfather, Robert, told the children he
wouldn’t allow my grandmother to interfere if they chose to marry someone of a different
race. He felt if their kids could spend a lifetime with their spouse, he and my
grandmother could definitely spend a couple of hours with them. My grandmother didn’t
want her children to experience the pressures of being in an interracial relationship. In
regards to my mom and dad, she felt my mom was too young to be a wife and a mother.
The realities of my mom’s experience because her husband is African American
and children are half-African American made her extremely protective of us on issues of
race. She isolated us away from her family, feeling we would be hurt verbally or treated
differently than other children in the family. Until the age of 28, I had only met my
mom’s immediate family – her mother, stepfather, two sisters, brother, paternal
grandmother and my three first cousins. While growing up she told us her extended
family wasn’t worth knowing and that she preferred not to interact with them. I trusted
her judgment, and as a kid never questioned her decision. My dad’s family is large and
very loving. I didn’t lack a family in any way. My grandmother Bennie loves my mom
as if she is her own daughter. Together we were a family and that was enough for me.
One weekend after I had graduated from college, I was home visiting and spoke
on the phone with our cousin Connie, who lived in Fort Collins at the time. Connie was
one of the few extended family members my mom still spoke to, however one I had never
met or previously knew of. Connie told me how she and her family had always wanted
to meet and get to know my sister and I. She said she had requested many times for my
118
mom to bring us to Fort Collins to visit, offering to pay our airfare if necessary. My mom
refused. Connie told me that she understood my mom’s actions. She felt it was natural
for a mother to protect her children from what she perceived as danger. I asked Connie if
she thought we would be treated differently than the rest of our family. She answered
No. She was sure we wouldn’t be by the people in her and my mom’s age group and
younger. My cousin is part Oglala Sioux and was raised both in Colorado and on the
Pine Ridge reservation in South Dakota. My mom says she remembers Connie and her
siblings being called half-breed and other names when they were children. I imagine it
was Connie’s own experience that allowed her to relate to my sister and I even though
she didn’t know us. I was surprised she even brought up the issue of race, and was
further surprised at how candidly she spoke about it.
Development of My African American Identity
Many of my images of Black pride come from my Aunt Carolyn. She has always
been the most Afrocentric of my family members. I remember her protests against
allowing her daughter to believe in a white Santa Claus. She insisted my cousin Lori
know she was Santa. My parents preferred my sister and I think Santa brought at least
the majority of our gifts, signing the gift cards “From Santa.” I appreciate the way my
parents made Christmas fun and exciting while I was a child. My dad’s family also
commented when my mom would buy white dolls for my sister, saying that my sister
119
should have Black dolls and that my mom didn’t know better. I realize the balance in my
consciousness came from having exposure to both the way my parents thought and the
way my aunt thought. My parents never made an issue of race. My aunt made a big
issue of race. Because of my parents I didn’t grow up with any baggage or self-image
problems and felt I could accomplish any goal I set for myself. I foresaw no barriers to
my success. Because of my Aunt, I was proud to be African American and was prepared
to face a racist world, preparation every African American youth needs; yet a lesson I
don’t believe my parents were ready to teach at the time because of their idealistic
perspectives. My mom has observed discrimination, but has not experienced it the way
an African American has. My dad believes in self-determination and considers
discrimination an excuse. In his opinion, if you are discriminated against, you must work
harder; realizing that your goal can still be achieved.
In speaking with my mother, she says she and my father knew my sister and I
would be treated as African Americans. They wanted us to be prepared and felt as if they
had a choice; either they raise us in California with my dad’s family, or in Colorado with
my mom’s family. They chose California so that we would be socialized as African
Americans. They knew my dad’s family could provide a stronger support network for
my sister and I, as well as for them. In retrospect, their choice was right; I would not
have the self-esteem I have today, had I grew up in Colorado. Colorado is not a Mecca of
diversity and I doubt my Mexican family could have adequately socialized two halfBlack children to have Black pride. Non-Blacks tend to underestimate the importance of
race, often emphasizing that race does not matter. In an ideal world, perhaps it does not.
120
Most African Americans know that race does matter. An African American child who
grows up thinking it does not will be taught an ugly lesson by experience. What your
family does not teach you, the world will. African American children need to be
equipped with the tools to function in a racist world. The fact that race matters in the
United States is indisputable. The most important question is who does it matter to?
I grew up in a very integrated environment. My family was integrated. My high
school was integrated, as well as the neighborhood in which I grew up. On one side, our
neighbors were a White and Japanese couple, the Izumis. On the other side, lived a
Black and Mexican family, like ours, the Millers. Throughout high school I was one of
several non-white students who were leaders and college bound. I was voted most likely
to succeed my senior year and by no means fit the stereotype of the typical African
American male. To many African Americans, and especially my little sister, I “acted
White.” I did not embrace such a label and felt the people who would apply the label to
me did not know who African people really are. It perplexed me as to why some of my
peers felt that if you spoke “proper” English and wanted an education you “acted White,”
while people, including Whites, who spoke with broken English and were juvenile
delinquents were considered “acting Black.” It was as if some African Americans
actually embraced negative stereotypes about us. I thought about all the great African
American leaders who came before me and knew education was not foreign to Blacks. In
actuality, our ancestors struggled so that we could have access to education. Fredrick
Douglas for example, learned to read and write using a stick in the dirt. I knew Whites
did not have a monopoly on learning. I have since learned that Africans created the first
121
written languages, manufactured the first paper and formulated geometry. Therefore, to
receive an education is not to act White, but to continue a centuries old African tradition.
Unfortunately, while in high school, I adopted a “blame the victim” attitude and
questioned why if racism wasn’t a barrier for me, it appeared to be one for other African
Americans. I perceived African Americans who didn’t achieve as having low drive and
low goals. I especially perceived those who were in gangs and who sold drugs as
walking right into the trap of the “White man” they criticized as being out to get them. I
remember having discussions with my mom, my sister and some of her friends who sold
drugs. My mom tried to explain to them that while they blame Whites for wanting to put
them in jail, they actually give Whites the opportunity to lock them up by committing
crimes. So, if it is true that Whites want you in jail, you are doing exactly what they want
you to do by selling drugs. When you get caught, they are going to send you to jail. The
question they didn’t seem to get was why would you put yourself in the situation to go to
jail if you know someone is looking to send you there? I wanted an education and future
and definitely wanted to stay out of jail. I resolved myself to accept that if to others that
meant I “acted White,” then so be it.
In college, I learned the difference between institutional racism and individual
racism. Today I recognize that not everyone has the same opportunities and resources
and that as a result people have different challenges and experiences. In addition, I
learned of the powerful psychological effects the American experience has had on
African people. The effects are so strong in many cases we have adopted false
perceptions of ourselves, our history and our place within the world. I now have a better
122
understanding of the process that has brought our community to where it is today. I still
however, refuse to adopt a defeated ideology and accept racism as an excuse to fail or
underachieve. We all have choices. We must remember that where we are in our lives is
exactly where we want to be. If we aren’t where we want to be, we must make a choice
to do something different. Unfortunately, as teenagers, some of my peers felt they didn’t
have choices. Because of their race, they felt the choices had been made for them and
they accepted those choices. African Americans and Latinos alike must stop blaming
other people for the condition of our communities. We know how we ended up where we
are; the question is how are going to reach our full potential? We, alone, must be
responsible for answering that question.
While others perceived me as “acting White” I thought of myself as fairly
Afrocentric, even though I wasn’t familiar with the term yet. I remember my Aunt Lisa
who is five years older than I am, writing a paper on Shirley Chisolm. She told us that
Shirley Chisolm was the first African American and the first woman to run for president
of the United States. She also told us that whenever we had to write essays or read books
that we should select African American subjects and authors. And so I did. I eventually
wrote an essay on Shirley Chisolm as well. In high school, I was president of the Black
Student Union, which I renamed The African American Student Association. As a
fundraiser, we sold West African food. Sophie, the wife of a family friend from Sierra
Leon, prepared it for me. She made Jollof Rice and Cassava Leaf dish. As a teenager, I
related myself and other Blacks, to Africa. I was not ashamed of being Black; my own
123
definition of being Black simply differed from that of others. I saw being African
American as an asset, not a liability.
As a kid I developed a feeling of being different than some African Americans. It
was a feeling that had positive attributes, rather than negative. I was surprised through
conversation to learn that my sister, Shane, and cousin, Lori, grew up with the same
feeling I did, the feeling of being socially superior to other African Americans. Our
feelings were a source of embarrassment and therefore, a subject we had never discussed.
Growing up, we felt that we knew the “proper” way to act and carry ourselves, as
opposed to other African Americans, who were criticized as less cultured, most often by
my aunt Carolyn. My whole family set the expectation that we would look, act and speak
as educated and cultured people who were disciplined and well behaved. My
Grandmother emphasized our speech, frowning when we spoke Ebonics and saying “I
always wanted my children to speak nicely, I never wanted them to speak broken
English.” My Dad also emphasized our vocabulary, correcting us when we conjugated
verbs incorrectly. His biggest pet peeve was our use of the word “aint.” He would say,
“aint is not a word,” and would challenge us to find it in the dictionary when we would
insist that it was. My Mom emphasized our manners and expected us to be well behaved.
My Aunt Carolyn had a heightened sense of class and indirectly encouraged us to aspire
to have class about ourselves, mostly by criticizing people, white and black alike, who
appeared to have none. Our sense of being socially superior was therefore a sense of
knowing the “proper” way to behave and to act. I do not believe it was an issue of
economic class because our family is working class. Instead, it was an embracing of
124
middle class values and the families attempt to integrate into the middle class. My mom
and aunt Gina portrayed similar attitudes towards Mexicans. I remember them both
discouraging the girls in the family from dating Mexican males, who they viewed as
undesirable marriage partners. They characterized Mexican males as drinking
excessively, being physically abusive and limiting a woman’s role to that of mother and
wife. I disagreed with them, seeing Mexican men as committed to their families and
hardworking. Interestingly, I see me niece and nephew growing up with the same ideas
we did. Their comments about their classmates exemplify their awareness of the
difference between their own behavior and that of their white or African American
classmates. They see themselves as being able to walk in both worlds and have a healthy
sense of self-esteem as African Americans. In either case, I do not associate my family
members attitudes with self-hate. Instead it was an attempt to be more than what may
have been expected of us as Mexicans or African Americans, a rejection of aspects of
culture they viewed as negative and an attempt to set a higher standard. My Dad often
told us he wanted us to do better than he did and to learn from his mistakes. The attitudes
projected were an attempt not to put others down, but an attempt to bring us up; to make
us more socially refined and thus more upwardly mobile.
My political consciousness came from my Aunt Carolyn. For almost a decade,
she dated a multi-millionaire who lives in Stockton and served as a city councilman for
many years. She was very active in his campaigns and helped to run a nightclub he
owns. As a result of her involvement we were introduced to local politics at a fairly
young age. When I was in middle school we attended political fundraising dinners,
125
watched the city council meetings on television and listened to adult conversations about
the political power struggle between the white and African American members of the
community. I became very interested in politics and viewed it as a means to improve the
community. In high school I assisted a local candidate who ran for an assembly seat and
also helped sponsor a voter registration drive at school. I also had my own talk show at
school, modeled after the Phil Donahue show. It was called the “Rob and Rash Show,”
because it was co-hosted by the Student Body Vice-President Rashmi Vasavada. The
show was held in the auditorium and teachers would bring their classes to participate. On
one occasion we invited local politicians and sought to educate our peers about the
political process and the importance of their participation in it. My aunt and her
boyfriend worked locally to support Jesse Jackson and eventually were alternate
delegates to the National Democratic Convention. They also participated in a UFW
strike with Caesar Chavez in the late 1980’s. Unfortunately, my personal experience
with politics led to a distorted perception of the process in general. For me it was up
close and personal. I saw politics as a means to strengthen the community to give
underrepresented groups a voice and to fight for social justice. I aspired to be a politician
and knew that I would one day make a difference for all people, but especially ethnic
minorities. Majoring in Political Science at UC Davis, I learned that politics are about
power. I decided that I did not want to be involved in a profession where egos,
manipulation and a power pull were the names of the game. After completing my junior
year I decided to continue with my major only because changing it would have meant an
additional year in school.
126
I was lucky in school to have had nice, caring teachers of all races throughout my
childhood. My 2nd grade teacher was Ms. Young, who was Chinese American. She
would bring Chinese potato chips and prepare them in class and always took us on field
trips to the roller skating ring. My third grade teacher was also named Ms. Young and
was African American. My sixth grade teacher was Ms. Hudson, a European American.
She taught speech class and introduced me to my love for public speaking, which led to
my desire to teach. Mrs. Musgrove who is also White, was my high school leadership
teacher and helped me refine my leadership skills and to set personal goals. Mrs. Bunton
and Mrs. Moore were both African American and taught me to have high standards. Mrs.
Bunton taught American Government and Mrs. Moore taught Advanced Placement
English. They were both known for being tough and expecting excellence. In addition to
being my teacher, Mrs. Bunton was my dad’s first grade teacher. She thought favorably
on him and had such a well known reputation that I was excited to learn from her as well.
Dr. Lee, a Chinese American vice-principal in my high school, was supportive of me.
My senior junior year, he arranged for me to be tutored by the senior class valedictorian
because I needed assistance in my intermediate algebra class. It was his way of helping
to ensure I would be prepared for college. Mrs. Deborah Louie, my early outreach
coordinator, is Filipina and was a tremendous help in assisting me to get into UC Davis.
My sophomore year in high school, my counselor was an African American female, Mrs.
Doris Edwards. She taught me a very valuable lesson. I interviewed and had been
chosen to represent our school in a countywide drug abuse prevention program. I went to
the information meeting and was the only African American student there. The next day
127
I went to Mrs. Edward’s office and asked her, “Why didn’t you tell me I would be the
only Black person in the program?” She told me, “Robert, the higher you go, the less
Blacks you will see. You may as well get used to it now.” I knew she was right and
continued in the program. The next year, I became the assistant coordinator.
Not all my teachers felt I should integrate into mainstream society so easily. My
senior year, my head track coach was an African American male who belonged to the
Nation of Islam. Because I was Student Body President, he approached me about being
more radical and asked me to assist him in stirring up the administration. When I
refused, he told my best friend I was a “house nigger” and deserved to die.
My best friend in high school was Bart. Bart is African American, tall and husky.
He, too, was college bound and was perceived as “acting White.” He told me how
frustrating for him it was because of his size. He felt that Whites perceived him as
intimidating. He altered his manner in order to appear more subtle and less boisterous so
that he would not scare our classmates. He felt I was less intimidating to Whites because
I have a smaller frame and lighter complexion. One day my cousin Lori told me she too
felt my complexion gave me an advantage over other African American males. We were
debating why so many African American males go to jail, join gangs or sell drugs. She
told me that my experience could not speak to that of the average African American
male. She felt I had been afforded more opportunities because of my complexion. At the
time I conceded to her explanation, knowing that I had individuals in my life who
encouraged and supported me and accepted that other people may not have been so
lucky. Today, I do not accept the explanation as easily. I agree that some Whites
128
probably do feel more comfortable around lighter skinned African Americans, but I also
know that to many Whites, and African Americans as well, a Black person is a Black
person no matter what your complexion is (remember the one drop rule). Therefore, to
use skin color as an explanation to differentiate between the haves or have-nots, educated
or uneducated, etc., is to perpetuate a centuries old source of separation for African
Americans which began on the plantation with house and field slaves. Success comes to
those who seek it and are prepared when opportunities come. Besides, to accept such an
explanation would be to ignore the many dark skinned people who are successful and the
light skinned people who are not. In addition, it would be to assume that success for
African Americans comes only when Whites allow it. A conclusion I believe all would
agree is absurd.
College and The Development of a New View of The World and Myself
The development of my identity has been an enriching process, for it has been an
experience of personal growth. As a child, I was socialized as an African American, as
an adult, I have chosen to take a more holistic approach and embrace both cultures to
which I belong. I appreciate and honor the elements of both African American and
Mexican culture. I have learned to cook the traditional dishes of both cultures like
menudo, chili verde, Spanish rice, salsa fresca, sweet potato pie, black-eyed peas,
chitterlings, and cornbread stuffing. I hope to be able to pass these traditions and others
129
on to the generation that comes after me. I dance to salsa and merengue as well as hip
hop and house music. I revere ancient Egypt as well as Tenochitlan and speak Spanish as
well as Ebonics.
The years I spent in college were the catalyst for my growth. While a student at
UC Davis, I was exposed to a new thought pattern – Afrocentricity. Afrocentricity
teaches that it is natural for individuals to view the world from a perspective that makes
them the center of reference. For example, African Americans must have an African
centered worldview; Mexicans, a Mexican centered worldview; etc. When a person
views the world from a perspective rooted in his or her own culture, they are more likely
to find that their own history and symbols are honored, an important issue in terms of
self-esteem and identity.
“Afrocentricity questions your approach to every conceivable human
enterprise. It questions the approach you make to reading, writing,
jogging, running, eating, keeping healthy, seeing, studying, loving,
struggling, and working…. The psychology of the African American
without Afrocentricity has become a matter of great concern. Instead of
looking out from one’s own center, the non-Afrocentric person operates in
a manner that is negatively predictable. The person’s images, symbols,
lifestyles, and manners are contradictory and thereby destructive to
personal and collective growth and development. Unable to call upon the
power of the ancestors because one does not know them; without ideology
of heritage, because one does not respect one’s own prophets; the person
is like an ant trying to move a large piece of garbage only to find that it
will not move” (Asante 1991: 1 & 45).
A valuable, but hard lesson for African Americans to learn has been that
Europeans are not going to write history to glorify the African experience, no matter how
glorious we know the African experience has been. Their nature is to tell their own story
and highlight their own heroes and heroines. In the same manner, we must pass our
130
history and culture on to our children. It is not the European or any other race’s
responsibility to tell our story. That is our duty. The duty of all mankind however is to
tell the truth and not distort history to falsely glorify their own cultures or heroes.
“The Afrocentric mission [is] to humanize the universe…Afrocentricity
does not convert you by appealing to hatred or lust or greed or violence.
As the highest, most conscious ideology, it makes its’ points, motivates
its’ adherents, and captivates the cautious by the force of its’ truth…Our
problems come when we lost sight of ourselves, accept false doctrines,
false gods, mistaken notions of what it is truly our history, and assume an
individualistic, antihumanistic, and autocratic posture.” (Asante 1991; 6)
I was most influenced by the work of Dr. Chiek Anta Diop. After reading his
book, The African Origin of Civilization: Myth or Reality, I admired him as a brilliant
scholar. He was assertive and had a superior command of knowledge, drawing upon
original historical documents and archaeological evidence combined with critical
thinking to develop and support his arguments. In 1966 Dr. Diop shared an award with
W.E.B DuBois. They were recognized as the two writers who most strongly influenced
the thought of people of African descent during the 20th century. After reading his book,
I found the award to be well deserved.
As I have grown, I have come to realize that in order for me to be a balanced
individual, I must honor both parts of me, my African American self and my Mexican
American self. I must view the world from a mixed perspective, because I am mixed.
My years at college changed my life. I had always been a good kid, a leader. I
was student body president of my high school, Homecoming king, ran track, and was
active in a community organization that specialized in drug abuse prevention. When I
131
went to college, I had been well versed in how to lead others. At college, I learned how
to lead myself. I attended lectures and presentations by Alex Haley, Dolores Huerta,
Maya Angelou, Maulana Karanga, and Bobby Seale, among others. These individuals
knew who they were and stood firm as a result of their strong self-esteem. They had a
gift, and were there to share it. I admired them. They appeared to not care about what
other people thought or said about them because they held unpopular opinions. They are
whole, bold and centered in their own cultures. I knew what I wanted. I wanted what
they had. I began my journey to receive it. The popularity contests of high school were
over for me. Who cared who won an election, who received the most votes? My
question was “Who am I?” I wanted to know, love, respect, and honor myself. I am wise
enough to know that the search for the answer to this question will take me on a life long
journey. I am many people: a son, a brother, an uncle, a man. Race is only but a part of
who I am. Tomorrow, I will not be who I am today. I hope to be a father, an educator,
and a role model. I hope to have the same knowledge of self I saw in the heroes and
heroines of my college years, and to inspire someone to begin the journey inward the way
they inspired me. The journey is healing, and sweet, and once you begin you will never
want to stop. Honoring your own feelings, whatever they may be is the ultimate act of
self-love and self-respect. Once you reach that space in yourself, everyone around you
will follow suit. My space is pretty cozy at the moment, yet I am still digging.
In addition to ideological influences, I expanded my cultural awareness while a
student at UC Davis. I took the opportunity to enjoy the Alvin Ailey Dance Co., the
Dance Theatre of Harlem, Ballet Folklorico De Vera Cruz, Tito Puente, Pete Escobedo,
132
Conjunto Cespedes, and Teatro Campesino, among others. In addition, I participated
annually with my family in Black Family Day at UC Davis and Festival de La Familia in
Sacramento. In college, I found the artistic richness of both my cultures to an extent I did
not know before. As I watched Conjunto Cespedes, Pete Escobedo, and Andy Narell, I
saw the strong African influence on Latino culture, the Cuban and Puerto Rican cultures,
in particular. Many Cubans and Puerto Ricans still speak Yoruba, a West African
language from Nigeria. Listening to Celia Cruz, India and other Salsa singers, I realized
that in many respects African and Latino cultures were not separate and mutually
exclusive, but were connected and had a history that integrated aspects of African,
European and Indigenous American cultures.
My third year in college I took a class on African religions in America. We
studied Santeria in Cuba, Candomble in Brazil and Vodun in Haiti. I was once again
moved by the strong presence of traditional African religions being practiced in
contemporary American societies. I saw the way Brazilians, Cubans and Haitians
combined the traditional ways of the African ancestors with the ways of the Europeans
and Indigenous Americans to create vibrant, self-affirming cultures. Being Cuban,
Brazilian or Haitian did not mean abandoning the ways of the African or Indigenous
American ancestors or avoiding the culture of the Spanish, French or Portuguese.
Instead, they took all three cultures and synchronized them, making them their own,
creating their own culture out of the three. Seeing them, I knew I could do the same.
The African Religions class taught me to think differently. My professor, Dr.
Jacob Olupona, was a Yoruba from Nigeria. He explained to us how in America we view
133
things as black or white, male or female, right or wrong, usually posing opposites on a
spectrum. We have problems viewing things in their full complexity. For example, the
Yoruba religion is both monotheistic and multitheistic, a reality many of the students in
my class could not comprehend. In the Yoruba religion, there are many gods who have
less power than the Supreme God. One god in particular is male, part of the year, and
female the other part, a concept most westerners cannot understand. I learned that the
Yoruba teach a worldview that is cyclical. Everything is connected and plays a vital role
versus the western worldview of things being separate and mutually exclusive. I saw that
our western thought pattern in many ways was the root of sexism and racism. Women
were not honored as procreators with men, both equally dependent on each other in the
cycle of life. They are seen as separate and inferior to men. Non-whites are not
respected for their independent cultures and histories, but are seen as different and thus
inferior. I saw that the same worldview prevented me from fully realizing who I was as a
Mestizo. When I thought with a western worldview, I saw the world as Black and White
and because the world saw me as Black, I did too. Learning that Yoruba saw Black,
White and Grey, I found that I was the Grey, and thus saw myself differently.
Many people have told me I look Puerto Rican. Most people know I am mixed
with something, but rarely know with what. Several people upon finding out I am halfAfrican American and half-Mexican American suggested I claim to be Puerto Rican. I
always asked why? Responding “I am not Puerto Rican. I am half-Mexican American
and half-African American.” I knew they made the suggestion because they could
conceptualize a Black and Latino mix as Puerto Rican or Cuban, but were not used to
134
associating Blacks with Mexico. I have never lied about my race. I do not feel I should
have to in order to fit into someone else’s perception of race or ethnicity.
In fact, there are Africans currently living in Mexico who are the descendents of
the survivors of African enslavement. I became so excited the first time I saw pictures of
Black Mexicans. As I read an article highlighting their history and the photographs Toni
Gleaton took for the Smithsonian, I saw that their features are just like my sister’s and
mine. They have curly hair, brown skin of all hues, and almond shaped eyes. That day I
learned that there were people like me in Mexico. I questioned why I never heard of
Black Mexicans before. The article said that at one time there were more African slaves
in Mexico than in the United States. As a result of the large presence of Africans and the
consequential mixing, the article also estimated that up to 75 percent of Mexicans have
African ancestry (Hispanic; p. 90). I quickly shared the news with my mom and my
sister, sending them photocopies of the article in the mail. We each shared the article
with our respective friends. I knew that many Mexicans would have a hard time
accepting that they have African ancestry. When most people think of Mexicans as
mixed, they think of Spanish and Indigenous American. The truly informed person adds
African, for to ignore the African presence is to take a biased, narrow and limited view of
Mexico and Mexicans. When I told my roommate at the time, Santiago, who is from
Mexico, he felt it shed some light on some of the characteristics of people in his family.
He said one of his aunts is very dark skinned and his own hair is very, very curly. His
hair is so curly, he uses gel to straighten it every day. To him it made sense.
135
I also read the book, They Came Before Columbus, by Ivan Van Sertima. The
book documents the pre-European relationship between Africans and Indigenous
Americans. I later read Africa And The Discovery Of America, by Leo Wiener and
Black Indians: A Hidden Heritage, by William Loren Katz. Katz offers an informative
overview of the interrelationship between Africans and Native Americans. I was pleased
to read that Mexico’s second president after independence, Vincente Guerrero, was a
black Indian. Guerrero helped write the constitution of Mexico, including the phrase “All
inhabitants whether White, African or Indian, are qualified to hold office” (Katz 1986:
48). My favorite book was Africans and Native Americans: the Language of Race and
the Evolution of Red-Black Peoples, by Dr. Jack Forbes. Dr. Forbes concluding assertion
affirmed the thoughts I had developed based upon my personal reading. He says:
“Many scholars have assumed that the repopulation process… was one of
replacement of Americans by Africans and African-European mixed
bloods. There has essentially been no replacement of Native Americans
(considered on a large scale). What has in fact happened is that American
survivors and African survivors have merged together to create basic
modern populations of much of the greater Caribbean and adjacent
mainland regions… In short, persons may “look” African but have Native
American ancestry, or “look” indigenous American, but have African
ancestry, and not only may individuals lean in one direction or the other,
but the population of entire regions may seem to fall into one category or
another… The ancestry of modern-day Americans, whether of “black” or
“Indian” appearance, is often quite complex indeed. It is sad that many
such persons have been forced by racism into arbitrary categories which
tend to render their ethnic heritage simple rather than complex. It is now
one of the principal tasks of scholarship to replace the shallow onedimensional images of non-whites with more accurate multi-dimensional
portraits” (Forbes 1993; 270).
136
It became clear that the relationship between Africans and Indigenous Americans and
Mexicans was long and complex. It also became evident that it was a relationship that
very few people talked about.
My third year of college I decided to change my name. I debated for weeks
whether or not I should do it. One of my co-workers, Fred, and I developed a friendship
and would talk a lot about our ideas on race. He is Mexican and encouraged me to do it.
Mexican tradition is that you carry both of your parents’ last names. I questioned
whether I wanted to carry the name Quintana since it belonged to my grandfather and he
was prejudiced. Fred reminded me that it was my mom’s last name as well and that she
was who I was inheriting it from. I decided to do it and called my mom to tell her. When
I told her I had decided to change my name she told me “Don’t call me with that crap.
You were born Robert Hopkins and to me you will always be Robert Hopkins.” I said,
“mom, don’t you even want to hear what the name is?” She said, “No.” I had been
growing in my African consciousness and she perceived me as being militant in my
thinking. She therefore thought the new name would be an African or Arabic name.
When I told her I was adding her last name to my name, she was shocked into silence.
When she finally recovered, I could tell she was pleasantly surprised and proud. My
Aunt Gina was surprised and proud as well. My dad’s family was offended. I am named
after my dad and grandfather. I did not see myself as disrespecting my dad or my
grandfather. I am proud to carry their name. Instead, I saw myself as honoring both of
my parents and feel the last names together more fully express who I feel I am.
137
I began to question my acculturation into “mainstream” culture during my
freshman year at college. One day my high school classmate and one of my best friends
during college, Erica, and I drove to the Mission District of San Francisco to visit a
Latino art gallery. We were lost and walked down Mission Street trying to find the
Galleria. We both were afraid. We had never experienced poverty the way we saw it
that day in San Francisco. We saw people living in cardboard boxes and occupying an
abandoned building. We came from working class suburban environments and felt
foreign in this urban Latino neighborhood. The fact that we then lived in Davis didn’t
make matters any better. Davis is a small college town where nearly everyone is
educated and there is virtually no crime. Erica is Mexican and I am half-Mexican. We
were astonished at ourselves when we saw a White man in a suit and both expressed
relief, feeling we must be safe if he was there. On our way home we discussed how at
school, we both had been acculturated to fit into the White American society. We
questioned whether our acculturation was so deep, that we actually felt safer amongst
Whites than we did amongst our own people. That day was a wake-up call to both of us.
As people of color, our perception of our place within the world was distorted. We
adopted the ideas of the dominant culture because in some ways, we believed we were
different than our own people. Thank God for education, an Afrocentric education! In
reflection of that day, I now see that we were responding to issues of class. We felt
vulnerable because we looked like preppy college kids and felt as if we did not fit in. We
felt that if anyone would be the target of a crime, it would most likely have been us. I
138
know that had we been in a middle class neighborhood we would not have felt the same
way. Today, I visit the Mission more frequently and feel much more comfortable.
I have learned that the feelings Erica and I felt that day in San Francisco are the
direct source of African American and Latino oppression. Issues of class divide people
of the same race and prevent us from unifying. While reading a translation of the letters
Hernan Cortez wrote from Mexico to Emperor Charles IV in Spain, I was astonished at
the explicitness with which he expresses his plan to conquer Mexico. In describing the
conflict between the people of Tascalteca and Montezuma and vice versa, he says:
“When I saw the discord and animosity between these two peoples, I was
not a little pleased, for it seemed to further my purpose considerably;
consequently, I might have the opportunity of subduing them more
quickly, for as the saying goes, “divided they fall.” So I maneuvered one
against the other and thanked each side for their warnings and told each
other that I held his friendship to be of more worth that the other’s.”
(Pagden 1986: 69)
A larger military didn’t bring about the fall of Mexico, division amongst the indigenous
nations did. The same experience occurred with Africans and slavery. Africans captured
other Africans from rival nations and sold them to White slave merchants. Whites were
undoubtedly wrong for what they did in Mexico and Africa. We, Mexicans and Africans,
must also accept responsibility for the role we played in the incidents as well. Without
such acknowledgment, we are destined to continue to repeat the same mistakes. Could
Cortez have conquered Mexico without the help of Montezuma’s enemies? Would so
many Africans have been sold into slavery had other Africans not so desired the material
goods Whites brought to exchange for human cargo? Will African Americans continue
to allow color, hair texture, and class to divide them? Will Mexicans continue to allow
139
national origin, language and class to divide them? As long as our communities remain
divided our second class citizenship will be easy for the dominant culture to maintain.
As Cortez said, “divided they fall.” We are still divided. When you look at the number
of African Americans and Latinos in college, prison, and living in poverty you will see
we are clearly still fallen. When will we get the message?
The development of my identity has been a continuous and enjoyable experience.
Enjoyable, because it has been an experience of growth. I am able to see where I used to
be and know I am no longer there. Today my perception of the world is more and more
rooted in African and Mexican tradition, a multiracial view that in many ways I have had
to create myself. I am realistic however and know I am a product of the United States.
My view of the world is thus strongly influenced by the dominant culture. The
development and maintenance of an Afrocentric and Chicanocentric consciousness is a
goal and process at which I must continue to work.
As I look back upon my family history, I see that my history is as complex as the
history of the United States. As the history of the country, my ancestors represent the
varied American experiences: slavery, European immigration, Spanish exploration,
Mexican migration, African American self-determination, and the Indigenous American
experience. Like the United States, my family experienced racial conflict when two
apparently different worlds met. I use the word apparent because the families were
actually very similar. They started out as large farming families. Through their attempts
to make futures for their children, they both increasingly integrated into the mainstream
society. Fortunately for my sister and I, the racial conflict was a reality we have never
140
had to experience directly. My mother’s love protected us from it. She sacrificed her
original family ties in order to try and make her new family ties healthier. Her plan
worked. She says she feels my sister and I were robbed of part of our culture because of
the limited contact we had with our extended family. I disagree. I come from a large
loving African American family who embraced my mom, not because of her race, but
because she is a good person. I come from a small Mexican family, led by my mom and
my Aunt Gina. Everything I need to know about being Mexican, they taught me.
I have learned to abandon the stereotypes of what it means to be a Mexican or
African American and to view my experience as one of the many African American and
Mexican experiences in the world. A Mexican American can be a first generation
migrant who crossed the border illegally to pursue economic prosperity in the U.S. A
Mexican can be a cholo living in East Los Angeles, born and raised in America, who
calls himself Chicano. A Mexican can be a Wall Street stockbroker living in upper
Manhattan, a world renowned writer or a graduate of Harvard Medical School. An
African American can be the kid growing up in the inner city of Chicago, a member of
the Hip-Hop generation. An African American can be the grandmother in the South who
knows her Bible backwards and forwards and who can move mountains through prayer.
An African American can be a female astronaut, a Pulitzer Prize winner, an inventor and
international ambassador. We are all of these things. No one experience is more valid
than the other, no more African American or Mexican than the other. They are different
expressions of a people and are a testimony to our abilities and greatness. Wouldn’t our
communities be limited and boring if we all had the same experience? What would
141
happen to our ability to dream and aspire to improve if our concept of inclusion meant we
are all the same? More than language, food and traditions, both families together taught
me about character, pride and through their examples to be bold, to set high, but realistic
goals, and to see myself as more than a racial category. Any individual can speak
Spanish or Ebonics, eat Mexican or Soul food. While I do those things they do not define
who I am. They are aspects of my culture, a part of who I am. My family’s
unconditional love has shown me that I am more than the world’s perception of race.
And, in the same rebellious nature as both of my parents, when even their perceptions of
identity seemed to narrow, I stretched the limits and formed my own multi-ethnic
identity. I believe they have been pleasantly surprised.
142
Afterward
143
No man is free until all men are free. No woman is healed
until all women are healed. These are more than profound
statements worthy of thought. They are the clues to the
moral responsibility we all have for one another. Many of
us hold on to our pain, afraid to reveal it. Ashamed to
admit it. Others hold on to healing information because we
believe it is ours to own. We may fight for the freedom of
people of color, but we say nothing when gays or women
are oppressed. We owe it to ourselves and everyone else to
see that all people live painless and free. It is our duty to
share what we know if it has helped us to move beyond
some darkness in life. We can talk it out or write it out, but
we must get it out to those in need. We can support
someone and encourage someone else to take healing steps
or paths or ways. We should think about where we would
be if there were no books or people to guide us when we
need it. Then, with an open heart and extended hand, we
can pull someone else along.
- Iyanla Vanzant 2
144
Within A Larger Context
The 15th century marks the beginning of an extensive change in the history of the
entire world. In search of a trade route to India, as a means to eliminate the North
African merchants who traded silk and spices, Europeans began explorative expeditions
by sea, seeking a direct route to Asia. The Italians dominated the Mediterranean Sea and
traded European goods for pepper, nutmeg, cloves and cinnamon among other items,
which they sold to other European countries at a profit. In 1488, the Portuguese rounded
the tip of South Africa, finding the direct route to Asia they sought. Four years later, in
1492, Christopher Columbus stumbled upon the Americas. His contact with the
Americas was a “discovery” undoubtedly only in the context that Europeans previously
had no knowledge of the full extent of the American continents. They previously had
knowledge only of the existence of Greenland. The Americas were no secret to West
Africans, whom the Europeans saw loading large canoes with merchandise and heading
out to sea in the direction of the west. And, whom Native Americans told them had
visited and traded with them by sea (Van Sertima 1976: 1). As a result of the "discovery"
of new territories and the desire to acquire material wealth, colonialism and European
expansion existed for 500 years throughout the world. Very few civilizations on Earth
have not been, at one time or another, touched by European colonialism: including Asia,
Africa, the Pacific Islands and the Americas. In more instances than not, mixed races
145
have been created, languages transformed and cultures integrated, synchrotized and
permanently altered.
Witnessing the beginning of the 21st century, much of the world lives in the
period of post- colonialism. Postcolonialism is characterized as the period in which the
majority of colonial territories have been returned to the indigenous people, thus bringing
the period of colonial rule to an end. However, very few territories, such as the United
States, Mexico, Canada and Australia, still function as inter-colonial, or as Rudolfo
Acuna states, an "Occupied Territory." Intercolonial societies are those in which power
is maintained, not by the indigenous people, but the transplanted invaders or their
descendents. These societies are not postcolonial and more often than not, the indigenous
people in inter-colonial societies are the most economically, politically and socially
disadvantaged of all citizens. In the case of postcolonial societies, the responsibility of
governing former colonies creates new challenges for the re-independent nations. Many
must attempt to rebuild an economy in a nation depleted of its natural resources and most
often, left bankrupt. Colonies were exploited, as the wealth that was extracted by the
invaders was used to benefit the respective monarchies, not the colonies themselves.
Exploitation of colonies has led to the creation of the “third world” nations and their
antithesis, the “first world.” The Pre conquest nations of Africa, America and Asia
rivaled and in some instances exceeded European developments in agriculture,
architecture, astronomy and philosophy among other things.
“Third world” countries
are not naturally underdeveloped and resource poor. Their wealth was extracted, claimed
by Europeans and used to the build the European dominated “first world.”5
146
In addition to economic challenges, the newly re-independent nations must come
to terms with who they are, now that their genetics, language, religion and culture have
been changed forever. The affects of colonialism have undoubtedly been devastating for
all people involved. Those who were colonized must face new issues of identity and
relearn their own history from a perspective rooted in their own culture. In the case of
Europeans, contemporary Europeans are left to resolve centuries old issues, which their
ancestors created, yet from which they have clearly benefited. They must come to terms
with being the beneficiaries of unjustly acquired privilege, participating in a deteriorating
system which maintains their privilege and ultimately finding their place in a new multiethnic world in which their roles will undoubtedly be different than those of their
ancestors. Like people of color around the world, persons of European descent must
redefine themselves in light of post and inter-colonialism. A reality which will
undoubtedly be troubling to many for white males in the U.S. currently comprise 25
percent of the population and are accustomed to controlling the allocation of the whole
“pie.” The dismantling of colonialism and inter-colonialism, means “ those who have
‘had it all’ may some day have just their fair share- about one quarter of the pie. And that
could feel like having nothing at all” (Steinau Lester 1994: p.17.).
The question; who are we? Lies at the heart of Anthropology. Understanding
humankind is the unifying goal of the four sub fields of Anthropology: Archaeology,
Linguistics, Physical (Biological), and Sociocultural. The period of Modernism, which
characterizes the field’s formal origins in the mid 19th century, sought to ground the study
of humans in scientific method, establishing linear models of progress and absolute
147
truths, or universals. Anthropologists, during this time, were exclusively white males
commissioned by colonial governments to study the people under subjugation, the people
who would later be identified as the “other.” The information collected was used by the
colonial governments to devise means by which to control their subjects better and more
efficiently. Cultures were described and interpreted from a European perspective. Issues
of power, specifically concerning colonialism, were ignored. Indigenous philosophy, art,
religion, etc. were viewed as myth and superstition. Historical context was ignored,
treating the anthropologized cultures as isolated and disconnected from time or
surrounding social, political and economic influence. The accounts were not objective, a
qualifying characteristic of scientific study. In contrast, the accounts were heavily
subjective, reflecting a European view of the world with Europeans representing the
evolved, end product of man and woman’s development, while people of color
represented the primitive and barbaric aspects of man and woman’s beginnings.
Post Modernism emerged in the 1960’s in direct conflict with modernism. Post
modernism rejects universal laws and generalizations, instead, seeking to explore the
individual and the realities of social fragmentation and instability. Post Modernists
embrace pluralism, a theory that allows for the existence of multiple realities and for the
people who live those realities to speak for themselves (Thomas 1998; p. 79). It is in the
Post Modern Spirit that I present my ethno-biography. Not a representation of all African
Americans or Mexicans, but a representation of my families, our experiences and myself.
A dialogue between the world and myself. A conversation in which I present my own
reality, my response to the public culture that I experience through the media, the
148
educational system and other individuals. This thesis is a dialogue through which I hope
to encourage others to free themselves from false images, both of themselves and of
others. I ask not that others embrace the images I present, but instead, find their own
images. This book is my mirror, my reflection. Hopefully you, the reader, will face your
mirror too. And, if you choose, join the dialogue.
As an individual I have embarked upon self-reflection, taken a critical look at
myself and made a conscious effort to be self-aware. Similarly, the field of anthropology
is experiencing the same change. With the rise of post modernism and the reality of post
colonialism, the field has been and is still questioning itself. Scholars are seeking new
ways to perform anthropology and questioning the manner in which they present their
research. By confronting the subjectively Eurocentric Anthropology of the past, scholars
are setting new standards.
My personal exploration of self has led me to conclude that I have a dual
consciousness in which I live. My public consciousness is an aspect of public culture, a
culture which is shared at various levels and in varying contexts with some Americans
and with all Americans. It is within this public culture that race pre-dominates and that
racism often shows its ugly face. I would be naïve to ignore race at the public level.
Public culture in the United States is racially stratified and ethnically fragmented. I am
identified as and treated as an African American male in the public sphere and must be
prepared to function as such in this society. It is in my private culture however, that I can
determine how I see myself and where I can choose to be more than race and thus, refuse
to allow a racist society to dictate my perception of myself. It is with this notion of
149
public and private culture that I would like to explore the implications of my ethnohistorical biography for the individual.
For the Individual
Individuals have failed to realize the crucial role they play within culture. Groups
are collections of individuals, therefore, the group changes when individuals change. If
we want to change our attitudes about race it must begin on an individual level. My
experience, I believe, is a good example of the old adage, you can’t judge a book by its
cover. We are often quick to categorize people, associating them with our own preconceived notions based upon outward appearances and our previous experiences. All
people are prejudiced. We pre-judge people based upon their gender, age, sexual
orientation, race, economic status and level of education among other things. We rarely
take the time to explore the substance of individuals, or in relation to the adage, read the
book beyond the cover. In this diverse country and new global society, the challenge is
for us to change our thinking about ourselves, and the people around us. We must first,
explore within and find out who we are, including, yet beyond, race. The resulting
answers may surprise you. The second step is to stop ourselves when we begin to
stereotype people. Instead, we must begin to dialogue, asking the people around us
questions, finding out who they are and what their beliefs are instead of passing
judgements based upon our own preconceived notions. Dialoguing moves us out of the
150
public and into the private. By eliminating stereotypes and questioning the concepts we
hold about ourselves and the people around us, we can begin the important task of
healing ourselves as individuals, a nation and a world.
It is at the private level of culture that individuals have the most impact. It is at
this level that we express our own interpretation of what it means to be male, female,
African American, Mexican, Chinese or European American, homosexual, heterosexual,
rich, poor, Christian, Buddhist, Muslim, etc. Private culture is unique, much like our
finger print. It is a personal experience, in its entirety unlike that of anyone else, but in
parts, perhaps similar to many. Private culture is a place in which power lies solely in the
hands of the person living the experience. Power is realized through the exercise of
choice. We choose who we are, what our expression of culture will be, which learned
characteristics, ideas and rituals we will embrace, and which we will reject.
As the Quintana-Hopkins Model of the Individual in Relation to Culture
illustrates (figures 3 and 4), individuals, through their participation, affect public culture.
The relationship between public and private is therefore reciprocal. It is in this reciprocal
relationship that individuals hold power. A society or culture group is comprised of
individuals with some shared (and defined) experience. Culture is inherited and learned
from the preceding generation. Individuals within the social unit embrace and reject
various elements of the culture they inherit. The elements they reject are replaced by new
elements. The old and new elements constitute a recreated culture which will be passed
on to the next generation. The next generation does the same as the previous generation,
embrace and reject various elements of culture, maintaining what they find useful and
151
affirming and rejecting what they do not. As these newly created elements of private
culture spread and are shared, they become a part of public culture and thus transform the
shared culture. That is, until another element comes along to replace it. And, such is the
nature of culture, changing and fluid, as the people who participate in and comprise it. It
is my hope that more of us will begin to explore and acknowledge our private cultures.
Private culture can be a refuge from an often chaotic, misinformed, biased and
manipulated public culture.
The key to understanding social change lyes in understating the role the individual
plays within public culture. When we recreate and personalize culture, passing it on to
the generation after us, we take the opportunity to create change within culture. Culture
is therefore not an objective entity separate from the individuals who practice it. In
contrast, it is wholly the expression of the participants and is what they are. The elements
of culture which exist, exist because the participants demand it. Those individuals who
are bold enough produce change within culture and eradicate elements they find archaic,
non-useful or negative. Those individuals who are not bold, simply complain and
passively participate, allowing the status quo to be maintained.
For Academia
The period of the 1960's until present has seen a radical change in the social
sciences. The former "other" whom white male scholars previously studied are now
152
college educated, producing literature and holding professorships in traditionally western,
white and male dominated establishments. The previous "other" is now speaking for him
or herself in a language westerners can understand. These voices have undoubtedly
changed academia, enriching it with a more varied reflection of the faces of the world and
often, offering perspectives in contrast to and, at times, in direct conflict with Eurocentric
perceptions of the world. It is in light of the phenomena known as post-modernism that I
wish to discuss the implications of this ethno-historical biography for academia by
exploring four themes: voice, power, historical context and the group v. the individual.
Voice
El Mestizo Moderno is an ethno-historical biography which is both mono- and polyvocal. The ethnohistorical portion is a re-articulation of fragmented stories orally passed
to me by various members of my family. Some of the accounts are first hand, some are
second hand. I, in turn, have connected the stories, giving them a sense of temporal
fluidity. In the ethno-historical section (chapters I and II), I have in essence, taken many
voices and made them my own. The ethno-biographical portion (chapters III and IV) is
based upon my own reflections, and thus, reflects my own voice. I am conscious of the
fact that in both sections, I, as the writer, am representing. In one section I represent my
family, while in the other, I represent myself. Representation, I believe, is inevitable.
Issues of voice are important in Anthropology, a discipline which seeks to
understand the human experience. Voice is important because who speaks determines
153
what is heard, how information is interpreted and which information is included or
excluded. As Anthropology entered the period of post-modernism, anthropologists began
to pay more attention to the voices of women and people of color. I would however, like
to emphasize the fact that the emergence of literature by women and people of color is
not a new phenomenon. We have been expressing ourselves since time immemorial,
through song, poetry and stories told in the oral tradition. It is only now, that we have
begun to speak in a language deemed appropriate by academia, written and in a European
tongue, does it appear that our voices are new. We, undoubtedly, have been speaking
since before the respective conquests. It is only recently that academicians have cared to
listen.
The fact that anthropologists are listening to people of color is a reflection of the
changes the field has experienced. As James Clifford says,
“A new figure has entered the scene, the “indigenous ethnographer”
(Fahim, ed. 1982; Ohnuki-Tierney 1984). Insiders studying their own
cultures offer new angles of vision and depths of understanding. Their
accounts are empowered and restricted in unique ways. The diverse postand neo- colonial rules for ethnographic practice do not necessarily
encourage “better” cultural accounts. The criteria for judging a good
account have never been settled and are changing. But what has emerged
from all these ideological shifts, rule changes, and new compromises is the
fact that a series of historical pressures have begun to reposition
anthropology with respect to its “objects” of study. Anthropology no
longer speaks with automatic authority for others defined as unable to
speak for themselves (“primitive,” “pre-literate,” “without history”).
Other groups can less easily be distanced in special, almost always past or
passing, times- represented as if they were not involved in the present
world systems that implicate ethnographers along with the peoples they
study. “Cultures” do not hold still for their portraits. Attempts to make
them do so always involve simplification and exclusion, selection of a
temporal focus, the construction of a particular self-other relationship, and
the imposition or negotiation of a power relationship”
(Clifford 1986; 9-10).
154
Thus, the inclusion of various voices in the ethnographies of anthropologists reflects a
positive change within the field. By including more voices in the discourse on culture,
man and woman, the dialogue becomes more challenging, complex and in depth.
Contemporary anthropology is a discipline moving toward inclusion, for anthropologists
now write from various perspectives: feminist, post-colonial, post-modern, etc. How
permanent and in depth the changes are remains to be seen. Writings by Anthropologists
of color and feminists are, in some cases, still seen as different or radical, representing the
philosophy of marginal members of the discipline and not the mainstream. Until the
scholarship of women and non-whites ceases to be novel and is simply accepted as
scholarship in and of itself, one may argue that the changes are simply rhetorical or
cursory.
Power
The most significant issue of power the thesis, El Mestizo Moderno, confronts is
that of definition. In particular, it confronts the question of who defines an individual’s
identity. The overall assertion is that when an individual defines him or herself, he or she
holds the power. By allowing others to define us, we relinquish our power and assume
the role of a victim. I view identity, like culture, as both private and public. Our private
identities are based upon the way we view ourselves. Our public identities are based
upon the way others view us. The two are interrelated. How we view ourselves affects
the way others view us, likewise, the way others view us affects the way we view
ourselves. It is within this relationship between the private and public identities that the
issue of power arises. As individuals we have limited control over our public identities.
155
It is over our private identities that we have the option of exercising the most control. In
the public sphere, where racism predominates, I am seen as African American. In the
private sphere, where I can confront racism directly, I view myself as a mestizo.
Undoubtedly, the public identity of both African Americans and Mexicans is as
less than, inferior to and subservient to Europeans. The media, history books and social,
political and economic segregation and disparities reflect, on the one hand, the very real
and on the other, the very exaggerated, differences between people of color and
Europeans. People of color are often depicted as criminals, poor, uneducated and
powerless. The tragedy of colonialism is that many of us have allowed the public identity
to become our private identity, meaning we have internalized the dominant culture’s view
of ourselves. As such, we relinquish our power before we ever try to exercise it. Many
of the images provided by the dominant culture tell us we are powerless, power being
reserved for whites. We re-enforce those images when we accept them as true. The
mythical power of the Anglo has paralyzed African Americans and Mexicans, who often
view whites as an insurmountable barrier. One goal of scholarship must be to eliminate
the myth of the powerful white man it has spent the last two centuries creating. The first
step to eliminating this myth is for people of color to reclaim the images of ourselves.
Similarly, women, gays and lesbians must do the same.
It should also be made clear that identity is multi-layered. Therefore, individuals
may have identities which connect them to several groups. Ultimately, I see myself as
more than race or a member of three separate cultures. I have many identities. I am a
man, an uncle, a student and a Californian. As I continue to live my identities will
156
change and compound. I will become a father, a professor, and an elder within the
community. Each identity is an aspect of who I am and dominates depending on the
context or situation. The process of identity formation is thus an evolutionary process
and is in a constant state of change. As anthropologist Stuart Hall says,
“Cultural identity is a matter of “becoming” as well as of “being.” It
belongs to the future as much as to the past. It is not something which
already exists, transcending place, time, history and culture. Cultural
identities come from somewhere, have histories. But, like everything
which is historical, they undergo constant transformation. Far from being
eternally fixed in some essentialized past, they are subject to the
continuous “play of history, culture and power. Far from being grounded
in a mere “recovery” of the past, which is waiting to be found, and which,
when found, will secure our sense of ourselves for eternity, identities are
the names we give to the different ways we are positioned by and position
ourselves within, the narrative of the past” (Hall 1990; 225).
It is in acknowledging all of who I am that I refuse to relinquish my power to a public
that would narrowly define me.
Historical Context
Public are the shared aspects of culture, which unite a collection of individuals.
Private is each individuals own interpretation, experience and representation of culture.
For example, in food preparation, a culture may have a shared, common dish that the
majority of members may prepare. All people however, prepare the dish slightly
different, adding their own touch, personalizing the dish according to their own likes and
dislikes; more or less spicy, an additional ingredient or perhaps eliminating one. The
157
commonly prepared dish is part of public culture, an aspect which unites the individuals
in the society. The same dish is also a part of private culture, a reflection of individual
tastes, preferences and skill. It is because of this public and private relationship that I felt
it necessary to explore both, the experiences of my family, as well as my own. Because
culture is learned, the people around me have undoubtedly affected me. Because culture
is recreated, I have also chosen which aspects of culture I will practice. I have been able
to personalize my culture according to my own preferences, dislikes and tastes. As a
member of two public cultures, I have taken aspects of each and embraced them,
integrating the two cultures together, creating my own individual culture, in part shared
with and similar to both public cultures, yet wholly unlike any other individual’s, for my
individual culture is my recreation, a reflection of me. To ignore historical context would
be to provide a misleading account of my identity formation. To only articulate what my
identity is without exploring how it developed would be to ignore the role my individual
choices have played in developing my identity. Historical context has allowed me to
show that identity formation is a process and is fluid. Today, my identity is as a mixed
blood, a mestizo. While I have always acknowledged and been proud of the fact that I
am mixed, my initial identity was primarily as an African American. My private identity
reflected the public view of me. Through time, as my worldview changed, so did my
identity. Historical context reflects that development.
Group V. The Individual Within The Context of Culture
158
And The Quintana-Hopkins Model of The Individual and It’s Relation to
Culture
The significance of the individual within the context of culture will increasingly
become clearer. Historically, anthropologists have studied groups focusing on
commonalities and forms of unification.
“We have traditionally thought of culture as being shared by a group’s
members. We know, however, that much is not shared. Even what people
do seem to share is not understood in exactly the same way in all aspects
by any two individuals…Even where there seems to be a high degree of
consensus, close scrutiny reveals individual differences”
(Goodenough in Borofsky 1994: 265-6 )
As anthropologists increasingly focus on individual experiences within groups, I believe
it will become clear that the individual is the primary source of social change within the
group. As seen in the Quintana-Hopkins Model of The Individual and It’s Relation to
Culture (figures 3 and 4), it is within the recreation of culture that change manifests itself.
As the recreated culture is shared, it becomes an element of public culture, until it is
replaced by yet another recreated element. One example of this process of change is
Kwanzaa, the African American holiday celebrated from December 26th- January 1st. Dr.
Malanga Karenga, a professor at California State University Long Beach, created
Kwanzaa in 1966. Based upon his cross-cultural research on the continent of Africa, Dr.
Karenga identified seven commonly found and celebrated principles among the multitude
of cultures he studied: Umoja (Unity), Kujichagalia (Self-determination), Ujima
(Collective work and responsibility), Ujamma (Cooperative economics), Nia (Purpose),
Kuumba (Creativity) and Imani (Faith). Dr. Karenga took the seven principles and
created a holiday, Kwanzaa with rituals and social and spiritual significance. Today, the
159
holiday is celebrated by over 5 million Americans. One individual, Malanga Karenga,
recreated culture, shared it and transformed the public culture of many.
I believe the recreation of culture and the role choice plays in determining which
aspects of culture will be practiced is evident in this ethno-historical biography. By
focusing on both, the aspects of culture which unify a collective, and the aspects of
change which creates a re-alignment or overlapping in membership between collectives,
Anthropologists will better understand social organizations in their entireties. The
unifying elements are what constitute a society, however to assume that societies are
stagnant and unchanging is to take a limited view of the society in question. Change
originates from sources both within and outside of a culture. A well rounded analysis of
a culture will undoubtedly explore unification and change from both inner and outside
sources. In El Mestizo Moderno, I have attempted to reflect these internal and external
forces of culture change. While the wider society has shaped my family and influenced
the choices we have made, in other instances our personal choices have been the sources
of change.
I also believe the future will force us to redefine our popular concept of diversity in
which we often homogenize groups based upon race or gender. There is diversity within
The Quintana-Hopkins Model
Of The Individual and It’s Relation to Culture
Culture (Rituals, beliefs, language, food preparation, music, etc.) is inherited,
and in some ways, is shared by the individual members of each defined social group.
160
Individuals within the group embrace aspects of culture they find useful and affirming
and reject those aspects they do not.
Rejected aspects of culture are replaced with new elements, while embraced elements are
personalized and expressed by each individual in the manner he or she deems
appropriate. Culture is thus, recreated. In part much like the inherited culture, but also in
part new and reflective of the individuals who recreated it.
The recreated culture is passed on to the next generation who will do the same thing,
personalize and recreate various aspects of the culture they inherit. If the elements of
recreated culture are embraced, they eventually become a part of shared culture as they
are passed to subsequent generations. If they are not embraced they will be replaced by
other elements of recreated culture.
Culture changes as a result of internal forces and is reflective of both the individuals who
practice it as well as the people from whom they inherit it. Individuals exercise social
action through their ability to recreate culture. The ability to recreate culture transforms
individuals from passive participants in a cultural system larger than themselves, and
turns them into active agents of social change.
Figure 3
161
The Quintana-Hopkins Model
Of The Individual and It’s Relation to Culture
Social unit, comprised of members
who share aspects of a defined culture
(rituals, beliefs, language, food
preparation, music, etc.).
Individuals within the
social unit inherit
culture which they
personalize and recreate.
Some aspects of the
inherited culture are
embraced, while others
are rejected and replaced
by new elements.
Culture is reflective of the
individuals who practice it and
changes when individuals change.
Change begins at the individual
level and expands to the public
level.
The recreated culture is passed to
the next generation of individuals,
who does the same thing, recreate
culture and pass it on.
Culture change is realized when individuals recreate
and disseminate culture, passing it on to future
generations and transforming the shared culture.
Individuals who realize the role they play within a
social group become agents of change, causing
culture to remain in a constant state of transformation.
Figure 4
162
groups we stereotype as homogeneous. For example, can we discuss the female
experience without discussing issues of class, sexual orientation, race and religion? I
think not. Not all women are the same. The issues a poor woman finds important and
pressing may not be the same as those of a wealthy woman. The experience of a woman
who is also a member of an oppressed minority will not be the same as that of a woman
who is a member of a privileged group. Similarly, Mexicans, Africans, Europeans, etc.
do not all have the same experience, language, economic status, religion or culture.
Again, it is in exploring the individual that we will come to fully understand true
diversity and in a relative sense, what the many human experiences are.
As Gloria Anzaldua discusses in her book, “Borderlands/La Frontera,” it is
undoubtedly the mestizo who will bring a new understanding to diversity, “ambiguity”,
“contradiction” and “pluralism”. Mestizos walk in two, sometimes three or more
cultures. We are not afraid to expose the various layers of our identity, to be who others
say we are not, to be more than one person at the same time. Metaphorically, Mestizos
are bridges, connecting separate races, separate cultures, bringing them together, helping
to transport those who find the natural terrain too dangerous, uncomfortable, and
unwelcoming. Our refuge is the personal identity, the inner self; the self-portrait that we
know will one day transform the world.
Historically, Mestizos and other mixed people have been used as a tool of the
oppressor. By creating a caste system, an oppressor uses the mixed blood as a tool to aid
him in the subjugation of the indigenous people. Often born out of rape, Mestizos of the
past were more privileged than indigenous people, yet have never been seen as an equal
163
to the group in power (examples are seen in Mexico, South Africa and the plantation
South). The mestizo has occupied a place in the middle, comprising a third race, a race
that has traditionally tried to disassociate itself from it’s indigenous past and instead
embraced it’s European aspects in order to gain privilege. Often Mestizos and mixed
bloods have been as much of a detriment to indigenous people as Europeans. Adopting a
Eurocentric perspective, they have killed, enforced segregation and spied for whites,
informing them of indigenous efforts to rebel against their oppression.
The modern mestizo differs from the mestizo of the past primarily in
consciousness. The modern mestizo has an elevated consciousness, knows that he does
not comprise a third race, but instead she embodies both. The modern Mestizo knows
that when the indigenous are under attack so is he. Born out of love, the modern Mestizo
is not a casualty of war but perhaps the person who in the future will prevent it.
Conclusion
The issue of identity applies to the view we have of ourselves, the view others
have of us and the view we have of others. As individuals, it is important that we have a
healthy and informed view of ourselves, in other words, that we be self-aware. In
contrast, we must also try to have informed views of others with whom we participate in
the public culture. Lastly, by recognizing our limited power in determining how others
view us, individuals are encouraged to not focus on what others think of them, but instead
164
on what they think of themselves and how by changing him or herself, the individual
changes society.
The changes the academic discipline of anthropology experienced in recent
decades have undoubtedly been towards a more inclusive discourse in which the people
who were previously studied speak either for themselves or with anthropologists.
However, scholars who study the United States must be cautious. While theoretically we
may support the tenets of post-colonialism, practically, the theories do not apply to our
studies. Post colonialism exists in the various countries of Africa, in India and in China
among other places. Perhaps through self-reflection, realizing who we really are, the few
inter colonial societies that still exist can follow the example of the rest of the world and
divorce the reality of colonialism. Until the final steps are taken, issues of race will
continue to haunt this country.
As an individual, what will you do about it?
165
Discussion Questions
1. Is the experience of the Hopkins family representative of the African American
experience? How is it similar to or different than the experiences of other African
American families?
2. Is the experience of the Vigil family representative of the Mexican American
experience? How is it similar to or different than the experiences of other
Mexican American families?
3. What is the significance of the title: El Mestizo Moderno? What are some
possible reasons why the author selected the title?
4. In what ways does El Mestizo Moderno reflect the relationship between the
individual and culture as outlined in the Quintana-Hopkins model?
5. Do you believe the author would accept or challenge the “one drop rule”? What
evidence is provided in the book to support your assertion?
6. Why was the author’s university experience valuable?
7. How would you describe the author’s identity? Is this identity fixed or fluid?
What evidence can you offer to support your assertion?
8. In what ways does El Mestizo Moderno reflect a changing Anthropology?
9. Based upon the evidence provided in the book, why did the author develop a selfimage different than the image projected upon him by the public culture, or wider
society?
10. In what ways were the Hopkins and Vigil families both, similar and different? Is
there evidence that each family shaped the life of the author? What examples
from the book can be offered?
11. What contribution does El Mestizo Moderno make to our understanding of
culture?
12. Is the author’s experience a marginal experience or a sign of changing race
relations and racial politics within the United States? Please justify your answer.
166
Notes
1
I began to read the work of Iyanla Vanzant in 1992, toward the end of my studies at UC Davis. Since I
had taken the class on African Religions in the Americas, I was very open to reading her first book Tapping
the Power Within. A Yoruba priestess, in the book Vanzant teaches readers how to tap into the divine spirit
which is within each and every one of us. I have read every book Vanzant has written since and the result
is her teachings have had a profound impact upon my life. I choose to include passages from Vanzant’s
daily meditation book, Acts of Faith, because the book aided me in my personal and spiritual development
and therefore is an important part of my story.
2
I imagine Callie was part Cherokee. Oral history tells that her mother, Agnes, was from Tennessee. The
Cherokee are from Tennessee. It was common for escaped slaves to marry Native Americans and live with
their Native American relatives, adopting the respective culture. Because Agnes was born free. I would
assume she lived with Native Americans. Because she was kidnapped and sold into slavery, I would also
imagine she was part African. Thus it is likely Agnes was a Black Cherokee and the source of Native
American blood in Callie.
3
I asked my Aunt Dolores if there were any family traditions that have been passed down through the
generations. She said the only one she could think of was the family’s love for good food. She said most
of the people in our family are good cooks and appreciated the taste of good food. Food has been an
important part of my experience as a Mexican American. I was glad to hear that the tradition had not been
lost. I hope you enjoy these family favorites as much as I have.
4
I have grown up enjoying delicious soul food cooked from scratch. For me, a holiday would not be
complete without soul food. Now that I live in a different city than my family, I often eat soul food when I
am home sick because soul food reminds me of the time I spend with my family. These are our family
favorites. I hope you enjoy them.
5
In his book, Stolen Legacy, George James documents the process by which Egyptian philosophy has been
falsely characterized as Greek. The source of Egyptian philosophy was the Egyptian Mystery System,
similar to the modern university in that it was the source of higher knowledge from which students, or
initiates, from around the world came to study.
“As regards the visit of Greek students to Egypt for the purpose of their education, the
following are mentioned simply to establish the fact that Egypt was regarded as the
educational center of the ancient world and that like the Jews, the Greeks also visited
Egypt and received their education. (1) It is said that during the reign of Amasis, Thales
who is said to have been born around 585 B.C. , visited Egypt and was initiated by the
Egyptian Priests into the Mystery System and science of the Egyptians. We are also told
that during his residence in Egypt, he learnt astronomy, land surveying, mensuration,
engineering and Egyptian Theology.
(2) It is said that Pythagoras, a native of Samos, traveled frequently to Egypt for the
purpose of his education. Like every aspirant, he had to secure the consent and favour of
the Priests,..” (James 1992: 42-43)
Thus, Egyptian philosophy first entered European culture through European initiates who studied the
Mystery System, such as Pythagoras, Socrates, Plato and Aristotle. These students in turn established
schools outside of Egypt and eventually produced in written form the orally transmitted knowledge taught
in the Mystery School. The knowledge they taught was not original, newly formulated doctrines, but
instead, the philosophy of the Egyptians.
The Greeks also acquired Egyptian Philosophy through conquest.
167
“Since Theophrastus and Eudemus were students under Aristotle at the same time, and
since the conquest of Egypt by Alexander the Great, made the Egyptian Library at
Alexandria available to the Greeks for research, then it must be expected that the three
men, Aristotle who was a close friend of Alexander, Theophrastus and Eudemus not only
did research at the Alexandrine Library at the same time, but must also have helped
themselves to books, which enabled them to follow each other so closely in production of
scientific works, which were either a portion of the war booty taken from the Library or
compilations from them.”
(James 1992: 17)
As the Philosophy of Egypt was stolen by Greeks, so was the wealth of the colonized territories.
168
Bibliography
Allen, Jewel. University Thesis: “The History of Negro Education at Wiley College”
Anzaldua, Gloria. 1999. Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza. San Francisco:
Aunte Lute Books.
Asante, Molefi Kete. 1991. Afrocentricity. Trenton New Jersey: Africa World Press,
Inc.
Borofsky, Robert. 1994. Assessing Cultural Anthropology. New York: McGraw Hill.
Chagnon, Napolean A. 1992. Yanomamo. Fort Worth. Harcourt, Brace, Hovanvich
College Publishers.
Clifford, James and Marcus, George. 1986. Writing Culture: The Poetics and Politics
of Ethnography. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Copage, Eric V. 1991. Kwanzaa an African American Celebration of Culture and
Cooking. New York: William Morrow an Company, Inc.
Delaney, Sarah and A. Elizabeth, with Hill Hearth, Amy. 1993. Having our Say: The
Delany Sisters’ First 100 Years. New York: Dell Publishing.
Delany, Sarah, with Hill Hearth, Amy. 1997. On My Own at 107: Reflections on Life
Without Bessie. New York: Harper Collins.
Deutsch, Sarah. 1987. No Separate Refuge: Culture, Class and Gender on an AngloHispanic Frontier in the American Southwest 1880-1940. New York: Oxford University
Press.
Diop, Cheik Anta. 1974. The African Origin of Civilization: Myth or Reality. Chicago:
Lawrence Hill and Co.
Fannon, Frantz. 1967. Black Skin, White Masks. New York: Grove Press.
169
Fleming, Mali Michelle. 1994. African Legacy. Hispanic Magazine: January/February.
Pages 86-92.
Forbes, Jack D. 1992. Columbus and Other Cannibals. New York: Autonomedia.
Forbes, Jack D. 1993. Africans and Native Americans: The Language of Race and the
Evolution of Red-Black Peoples. Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press.
Galarza, Ernesto. 1971. Barrio Boy. Notre Dame and London: University of Notre
Dame Press.
Garcia, Mario and Tywoniak, Frances Esquibel. 1992. Migrant Daughter: Coming of
Age as a Mexican American Woman. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of
California Press.
Garcia, Richard and Del Castillo, Griswold. 1995. Caesar Chavez: A Triumph of Spirit.
Norman: University of Oklahoma Press.
Gonzales, Manuel G. 1999. Mexicanos: A History of Mexicans in the United States.
Indianapolis: Indiana University Press.
Henry, Neil. 2001. Pearls Secret: A Black Man’s Search for His White Family.
Berkeley: University of California Press.
Hungry Wolf, Beverly. 1980. The Ways of My Grandmothers. New York: Quil.
Hurtado, Albert. 1999. Intimate Frontiers: Sex, Gender and Culture in Old California.
Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press.
Hutchinson, Sharon E. 1996. Nuer Dilemmas: Coping with Money, War and the State.
Berleley: University of California Press.
Jackson, Bruce. 1987. Fieldwork. Urbana and Cicago: University of Illinois Press.
James, George G.M. 1992. Stolen Legacy. Trenton: Africa World Press.
Johnson, Kevin R. 1999. How Did You Get to Be Mexican? A White/Brown Man’s
Search for Identity. Philadelphia: Temple University Press.
Katz, William Loren. 1986. Black Indians: A Hidden Heritage. New York: Macmillan
Publishing Co.
170
Manzano, Juan Francisco. 1999. Autobiography of A Slave. Detroit: Wayne State
University Press.
Munoz Jr., Carlos. Youth, Identity, Power: The Chicano Movement.
Pagden, Anthony. 1986. Hernan Cortez: Letters From Mexico. Haven and London:
Yale University Press.
Ritchie, Andrew Mark. 1996. Spirit of the Rainforest: A Yanomamo Shaman’s Story.
Chicago: Island Lake Press.
Rodriguez, Richard. 1982. Hunger of Memory: The Education of Richard Rodriguez.
Boston and Massachusetts: David R. Godine, Publisher, Inc.
Sanchez, George. 1993. Becoming Mexican American: Ethnicity, Culture and Identity in
Chicano Los Angeles, 1900-1945. New York: Oxford University Press.
Shostack, Linda. 1981. Nisa: The Life and Words of a !Kung Woman. New York:
Random House, Inc.
Steinan Lester, Joan. 1994. The Future of White Men and Other Diversity Dilemmas.
Berkeley: Conari Press.
Thomas, David Hurst. 1998. Archaeology: Third Edition. Fortworth: Harcourt Brace.
Van Sertima, Ivan. 1976. They Came Before Columbus: The African Presence in
Ancient America. New York: Random House.
Vanzant, Iyanla. 1992. Acts Of Faith: Daily Meditations for People of Color. New
York: Simon and Schuster.
Vanzant, Iyanla. 1992. Tapping the Power Within: A Path to Self-Empowerment for
Black Women. New York: Harlem River Press.
Vanzant, Iyanla. 1995. The Value in the Valley: A Black Woman’s Guide Through Life’s
Dilemmas. New York: Simon and Schuster.
Vanzant, Iyanla. 1998. In the Meantime: Finding Yourself and the Love That You Want.
New York: Simon and Schuster.
Vanzant, Iyanla. 1999. Yesterday I Cried. New York: Simon and Schuster.
Weatherford, Jack. 1988. Indian Givers. How the Indians of the Americas Transformed
the World. New York: Faucett Columbine.
171
Villarreal, Victor Antonio. 1959. Pocho. New York: Doubleday.
White, Deborah Gray. 1999. Ar’n’t I a Woman? Female Slaves in the Plantation South.
New York: W.W. Norton and Co.
Wiencek, Henry. 1999. The Hairstons: An American Family in Black and White. New
York: St. Martin’s Griffin.
Wiener, Leo. 1992. Africa and the Discovery of America. New York: A & B
Publishers.
Williams, Jerry L. 1986. New Mexico in Maps. Edited by Jerry L. Williams.
Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press.