Travel and Explore with Win Sterling: 07/13/20

Monday, July 13, 2020

Roberto's Nigasoota

January 14, 2001

Roberto Garcia was a "wetback" or "mojado". We were both about 10 years old when I first met him – sometime about 1946. His father, Juan, worked for my father on the Reising-Sterling Ranch west of Edinburg, Texas. For the next few years, Roberto was probably my closest companion. I felt comfortable in his company, maybe because we shared similar personalities and interests. Neither of us exhibited a particular fondness for school and much preferred to be hunting than imprisoned in some classroom. Roberto exuded a calm, friendly and fairly confident demeanor. I feel certain that I learned more from Roberto than he learned from me. Likely, he picked up some words in English from me, but I don’t remember any great problem with communication. I knew some Spanish (mostly cuss words) and Roberto knew some English and what we could not communicate with hand signs must not have been all that important.

Roberto, and his little brother, Ruben were accomplished hunters. I likely learned more hunting skills from Roberto than I did the rest of my life. He taught me by example. He explained that in Mexico, hunting was a very important source of food. Often, the only meat on the table came from hunting. He had a very keen eye, had a fairly clear understanding of animal behavior and was a great shot. His weapon used, and about the only one he could afford, was what was commonly called a “nigger shooter”-- pronounced something like “nigasoota.” "Resortera" was the name most frequently used in Mexico.

Roberto’s nigasoota was a work of art. He invested greatly in the selection of materials and craftsmanship. Maybe the most important component was the selection of rubber. Not just any kind of rubber was suitable. The old inner tube must be made of red rubber that had the appropriate elastic properties. It must not be too old, or cracks would appear in the rubber causing it to weaken rapidly when used. In about 1946, there was a shortage of real red rubber because WWII interfered with rubber production in Southeast Asia. That awful, black, synthetic rubber was plentiful, but it lacked the elastic punch needed for a quality nigasoota. I really don’t remember the source of the red rubber inner tubes that we used, but likely Roberto searched mightily among the local tire companies in Edinburg for a prize specimen. Of course, Roberto’s family was poor – though fairly rich compared to some of his friends who remained back in Mexico – so quality scissors were in short supply. To cut the rubber bands for a quality nigasoota required a sharp pair of scissors. Any small nick along the edges of the rubber bands, or if the bandwidth was not maintained within certain limits, a weakness resulted that was certain to be the place the band would break. There were few greater frustrations than to have a nigasoota fail during a critical phase of the hunt. A good hunter required a quality weapon and Roberto knew how to make them. Anyway, Roberto could use a sharp knife to cut the bands, but a sharp pair of scissors was better. The best scissors in the neighborhood could be found in my mother’s sewing basket. However, they did not remain the best for long, because cutting rubber was not conducive to maintaining a sharp edge on the scissors. “Winfield, have you been using my scissors again?” Mom would complain.

“Well, maybe a little,” I might reply. My mom did not believe in punishment so a new pair of scissors would appear in her basket and the process repeated. After all, what was more important, a quality nigasoota or a sharp pair of scissors for cutting cloth?

Roberto was also amazingly skilled at cutting the rubber band sized strips of rubber needed for wrapping the two large rubber strips to the wooden stalk. He could cut and wrap these strips so that they were comparable in esthetic appearance to the precision needlework of my Aunt Augusta.

Next came the leather rock holder. The soft, malleable leather from a tongue of leather boots was best. There always seemed to be a shortage of such leather, but we managed. When my older brother, Bruce came home from the Army and asked who had cut the tongues out of his favorite pair of boots, I could not admit to the crime. I think maybe he blamed my younger brother, Scott. I had experienced his wrath as a younger boy and found lying much easier than whippings. God and Jesus would just have to understand.

Roberto was also consistent when cutting the leather rock holder. Cut the two holes too close to the edge and they would break. Make the holder too large and it would be noisy when shot so that birds would hear it and fly before the missile reached them. Make it too small and it would not hold as many rock sizes. The shape was also critical. Not square or pointed, but oblong with equilateral sides. Best done by first cutting a rectangular piece, then bending it in the middle so that the two sides and the end were cut simultaneously. The symmetry of Roberto’s rock holders were near perfection. They were strong, durable and aerodynamic, but supple enough so that the rock inside could be felt, held and released with precision. The rough side of the leather formed the inside of the holder, which held the rock, and the slick side was held by the fingers. When launching the rock, it was best to aim carefully and gradually release the grip on the holder, so that the rock was launched as smoothly as possible. This ensured the greatest accuracy. But snap shooting was most common.

The stock was selected with great care. Usually, mesquite was chosen because the limbs in a fork often formed a more perfect V-shape than other types of tree wood available to us. This gave the nigasoota a near perfect balance. Considerable attention was given to stripping the bark and whittling the two arms and the handle to precise lengths. Too long and the handle would be unwieldy; too short and it would not fit the hand. The main problem with mesquite was that when it dried, it tended to split.

Size and shape of ammunition was critical. Almost all rocks curve when shot and, unlike a baseball, the direction of the curve is unpredictable. A rock with a flat side or projections will curve excessively when shot and almost never hit the target. Rocks which approached the shape of a marble were the most accurate. In the sandy country west of Edinburg, there were few rocks from natural sources. The primary source of rocks was from gravel roads. However, some of the best rocks were obtained from those used to mix with cement for building concrete structures. Often these rocks were obtained from old river beds, where the rocks had been bounced down rocky creek beds during floods so that the rough edges had been worn off. Of course, the best ammunition was marbles or ball bearings, but who could afford those? We spend hours on our hands and knees selecting only the best rocks. If we were lucky, we left for a hunt with a plentiful supply of free ammunition. The pockets in our Levis would bulge with ammunition so that some days the outside of my upper leg would become sore from the weight of all those rocks scraping on tender, very white, skin. (Skin color was most apparent when we swam naked in the canals. We never talked about swimming naked, it was just the way swimming was done. No girls were ever invited – at least at that age. I was a little shocked one day when my Dad caught us swimming in the big canal. With little hesitation, he also shed his clothes and joined us. It was neat!) Anyway, the Garcia boys had this beautiful, brown skin and mine was almost snow white and covered with freckles. “Aye, que pecoso” (how freckled) they would say in jest. “Bolillo” was another term applied to us gringos because our skin was as white as the white bolillo bread they ate. My nose was always red and peeling and Roberto could go most of the day without a hat and not burn. Life was just not fair!

For me, hunting was mostly just for fun. However, it sometimes provided a little meat for my dogs (Thunderhead, Lady and Little Lady). But when hunting with Roberto, the doves, quail, rabbits, grackles, redwings and meadowlarks we killed often found their way into Mrs. Garcia’s stews. My mouth still waters when I think of her stews. The combination of wild game, potatoes, tomatoes, chiles, garlic, salt, and pepper scooped up with fresh, rolled up flour tortillas was one of my childhood joys. Cooking over the raised fireplace in the kitchen in the small, three-room brick home that the Ranch provided to its workers, added the tantalizing aroma of mesquite smoke. The attention of Roberto’s pretty, dark-eyed sister, Rebecca did not detract from the experience. There were incentives to be proficient with our weapons.

Hunters

To bring home the most meat, it was wise to think like a hawk or coyote. Take easy prey! A whitewing dove on the nest made an easy target. Low-flying whitewings in large flocks could sometimes be shot out of the air. Mourning doves in large groups feeding around the silage troughs during winter were susceptible to a large bouncing rock. A bobwhite quail flushed into an ebony tree could be approached more closely than one on the ground. A sound made to simulate a baby red-winged blackbird in distress would bring the adults within easy range. Wildlife conservation was not a high priority.

But our nigasootas were not used exclusively for hunting. We spent many hours engaged in shooting contests. The favorite was to see who could break the most bottles tossed into the air. The thunk sound of a rock hitting a tin can and seeing it change it downward trajectory was also very satisfying. But going to war with nigasootas was the greatest challenge. Chinaberries were used as ammunition because they would not kill or usually maim a human. But they really hurt! We divided into gangs: the Ageila negras (Black eagles) and the Calaveras (those who lead a wild life). When on the attack, the opponent could be intimidated if the aggressor yelled “ageila negra” at the top of his voice. But to claim that this was a harmless adventure would be wrong. Two of my brothers suffered life-long eye injuries to these little green berries of Chinese origin. I shot lots of gringos and Mexicans with a nigasoota, but never once shot a single black person. So why in the heck were they called nigger shooters? I’ve been shot so often that maybe they should be called “gringo shooters.”

We also played marbles and "concados" using tops with a sharpened point designed to split the other guys top as it laid on the ground.

One of my jobs was weighing cotton

I have very fond memories of growing up with Roberto and his younger brother, Ruben. (My mom called them the Black clouds for some unknown reason). But, as luck would have it, our lives changed and became much more serious. My dad thought I should become more useful, so every summer I worked with Leocadio, Bejamar, Benito, Charlie Reyes and others carrying irrigation pipes, rounding up crossbred cattle, shoveling silage, weighing cotton or driving a tractor for $20 a week. Rebecca turned 16 or so and to my great disappointment married one of the Reyes boys. They had a great wedding under the mesquite, ebony and huisache trees at the ranch. The blood pudding and cow brains were a little hard to take but they were served with white lace tablecloths. The air was filled with accordion music and there was dancing on the packed earth.

The pouch on my belt held rocks more comfortably than a pocket

I later graduated to BB guns and then 22 rifles for hunting. School became somewhat more important. The Reising Construction Company went bankrupt, which required that the Reising-Sterling Ranch be sold to pay off debts. Roberto and his family moved to Washington to pick cherries.

Now, after a life of near workaholic behavior, I have retired. Maybe it is time to craft another of Roberto’s nigasootas and find some more Mexican friends.

Table of Contents: https://www.blogger.com/blog/posts/6813612681836200616?hl=en&tab=jj

Life of Winfred Turner

Life of Winfred Turner

July 13, 2020

Winfred Turner

(Note: John Turner dictated this information while I took notes and wrote it up in his own words as much as possible -- with the help of John's daughter Jeanette and my wife Patricia several year ago.)

Winfred was a deacon in the Wellington Baptist Church and a member of the Ku Klux Clan. Membership in the Clan was very popular among Methodists and Baptists back then. He moved to the Rio Grande Valley during the early part of the depression and first worked for John Ellis at a filling station in Edinburg. It was uncle Jack Gaddie (Winfred's uncle) who talked Winfred into going to the Valley. The station was located across from Holliman Motor Company (now part of Gateway Printing) on the east side of Closner street. That was when the Valley Transit Bus company was formed to haul folks to Moore Air Base. A fellow named Vance Raymond started the bus company which was later expanded to the whole valley and the headquarters was moved to Harlingen. Next to the bus company was the filling station. Gas was pumped into a reservoir above the pump; you could see the number of gallons that you wanted before filling he car. An attendant would pump for you - he would ask how many gallons you wanted - then Winfred would pump them. He fixed flats by repairing inner tubes. A sledge hammer was used to remove the tire from the rim, find the hole in the inner tube, rough and clean the rubber, add glue and attach the patch - a press was used to hold it in place till the glue dried. Lubricating autos was also a part of his job. Lela met him while he was working at the filling station.

Grandma Alice Bowers and her daughter Stella helped Dr. Hamme deliver Pat in Edinburg. Grandma Bowers was a nurse (midwife?). Stella married Charlie Snyder who was a good friend and grew up with Winfred. While still living in Kansas, they had a fight. Charlie threw a brick which broke Winfred's ankle. Charlie had moved to the Valley before Winfred but did not buy property. Mr. Bowers owned the Oliver tractor dealership in Edinburg.

Another girl was interested in Winfred's attention and wanted to ride in his Plymouth Roadster. She was from a prominent family who lived in a 2 story colonial home in Edinburg. Winfred dated her a few times. Lela and Winfred traveled to Boca Chica with the Lyons family. Grace and Carroll Lyons became good friends with Lela and Winfred and remained friends for the remainder of their lives. (Pat Turner Sterling is named after Grace.) Lela was in Edinburg visiting her folks. When it was time to return to Kansas, Winfred offered to take her. It may have caused some scandal in town, but their interest in each other must have overcome their fear of gossip. They traveled to Kansas together and his hands became tired from driving. Lela used that as an excuse to rub his sore hands. Some suspect that Winfred did all the driving and Lela did most of the talking.

Winfred was not a talkative person - he would answer questions but did not often initiate conversation and was not outspoken. He was mild mannered and gentle. He did not drink or smoke and he worked very hard. He did not tell stories or jokes and he did not cuss with any words more severe than "darn." He did not like to wear a tie, but often wore a felt hat in the winter and a straw hat in the summer. He wore business hats with a small brim rather than a cowboy hat like some other men in the community. Disciplining the children was left to Lela. She made the boys cut a switch from the athel tree in the back yard, and then she would switch the bare legs sticking out from below their short pants. Neither John nor Pat can remember ever being spanked by Winfred. When the kids had mathematical problems in school, he could give them the answer without being able to tell them how he arrived at the answer.

Winfred had a creamery on his 10 acres west of Edinburg; he bought milk or cream from others in the community. He made butter in the creamery in a hand-cranked barrel churn. It was on an a-frame. He could open a door and fill the container, then turn the crank by hand till he had butter. A home-made butter cutter forced the butter down through a grid of small wires that cut the butter into 1 pound blocks. He wrapped the butter by hand and put it in a waxed paper carton. He had no refrigeration except for an ice box where he kept the milk and cream before he churned it. He took the milk to the Huey's across the road to use their separator to separate the cream from the milk. He sold the butter in town. Once Winfred cranked the butter churn so much that he broke or chipped a bone in his thumb. He took a trip to Wellington to give his thumb time to heal.

Jim, John and Winfred milked 4 cows every day; the milk was mostly for their own use. Milk was placed in 10 gallon cans, then transported in the trunk of a car to the Huey's (neighbors across the road) where the cream was separated. One day John hung onto the back bumper of the car when his dad was driving across the road to the Huey's farm. Winfred did not know that John was holding on the bumper and as his dad went faster than John could run, John fell, hung onto the bumper and was dragged and skinned his legs. He never let go until the car stopped. His mother heard him crying but he ran away because he thought that his mother would punish him. He stayed away from Lela until she had cooled off and called him home. He gave thought to running away rather than face his mother's wrath. He had been told not to run after the car, but had been punished enough by skinning his legs so Lela did not punish him.

Winfred - who had no middle name - was sometimes sick but took his children to school anyway. He drove to town every day to work at his radiator shop, the kids would often ride with him and he would drop them off at school. One morning in the 1950's he felt so bad - John did not know he was sick - he pulled the car off the shoulder of the road, leaned out the door and threw up - the car never stopped rolling. Another time he dumped everything out of a cigar box that he always carried and threw up in it. He was never one to complain - even if he felt bad.

Suspecting something wrong, he visited John Sealey Hospital in Galveston for diagnosis and was informed that he had early symptoms of Parkinson's. A year and a half later, the first symptoms appeared. He was sick for a long time with Parkinson's disease. He also had heart problems - a heart attack struck him after he was diagnosed with Parkinson's. He survived the first heart attack but the second one killed him in 1961. He may have had a mild stroke in between the heart attacks. Parkinson's weakened him but the heart attack was the cause of death. He never had the severe palsy - his hands shook very little. He was very tense in the later stages and could not relax. Medications may have been partially responsible for this tension.

Winfred owned a '36 model Dodge and Jim and John would slide down the fender to the running board. John was 2 and they lived in the Nelson place north-west of Edinburg. He remembers that they had fresh plums - to keep from dripping in the house, he moved to the back porch to eat the plum. What a treat!

Before he was married, Winfred was a special deputy at Wellington, Kansas - some kind of secret (undercover) agent for some governmental agency. In Kansas, he followed some bad guys into a cave - they fired a gun at him - Winfred decided then and there that law enforcement was not for him. What happened to the crooks who were in the cave is not known. John still has Winfred's badge and ammunition. That encounter may have influenced his decision to move to the Valley. However, he continued some of this law enforcement activity in the Valley when he was needed for special occasions. He would tell his family that some criminal or possible trouble was coming to town and he was needed. This was volunteer work for which he was not paid. When the family went to town, Winfred was available to law enforcement authorities if he was needed.

Before he left Wellington for Edinburg, Winfred worked on his dad's farm. He hoed cockleburs in corn rows up to 1 mile long. He placed considerable importance in making enough money to buy firecrackers for the Fourth of July and was paid 3 cents a row. They also had cattle, chickens, pigs, wheat. The thrashing machine was stationary - wheat was moved to thrasher from the field. A pile of straw remained after threshing and it also had to be moved by pitchfork. Winfred left the farm while his dad was still farming it. Pancho Villa was still roaming the Valley when Winfred moved there. Sheriff A. Y. Baker issued justice in the Edinburg area - it was not rare to find a Mexican hanging from a mesquite tree not far from town - such was his type of vigilante law and justice.

Winfred was too young to fight in WWI and too old for WWII. Having a wife and 3 children kept him from being classified 1A during WW2. During WW2 they could not buy a new tire for their car - they could only repair old tires. Rationing limited their ability to buy many things.

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Winfred & Lela

Winfred was the first person in Edinburg to buy a Plymouth Roadster. The Chrysler Corp. bought out Maxwell Auto Co. the year before so this was the first year Plymouths were sold. The price of the car did not include the tires. But, Lela was impressed by both Mr. Turner and his roadster. It had a canvas top held on by snaps. Lela wore a scarf to hold her hair down when riding in the roadster.

Winfred's Plymouth

Anyway, they fell in love and were married in the Methodist church in Edinburg. Lela had a bouquet made out of queen's wreath. Riding to Corpus during the honeymoon, Lela got wet in a rainstorm before they could raise the top. It was necessary to stop the car and get out to raise the roadster top to keep out the rain and cold. The top and side curtains were all snapped onto the car, so it took a while. The rainstorm turned into a cold norther and Winfred bought her a new coat so she could keep warm.

Winfred and Lela Wedding

Winfred family in Wellington

The Winfred family got a phone call to inform them that Grandpa had died. They traveled to Kansas and upon arriving, Grandpa came walking out of the house - what a shock! It was not a trivial drive to Kansas, but highway 281 was paved. Only a few years earlier, folks drove slowly through the sand hills of the King Ranch area. Hillsboro, TX had a tunnel that they drove through - John (age 5) could not understand how his dad could find his way to drive through the tunnel. Winfred generally did not stop when traveling - he drove straight through. The drive to Wellington might have taken 24 hours of solid driving. The kids would sleep in the car when he was driving.

John, Pat, James and Jim Turner

When Pat was about 6, Grandpa James Irwin left for Kansas on the bus. He left Edinburg to live with his son, Herman, in Wichita, who built a special room for him. He lived there til he died.

Herman's wife, Nellie, was part Cherokee Indian. Aunt Nellie's mother was full blooded Cherokee Indian. Herman had a large family and was accustomed to having lots of folks around. Aunt Nellie's dad lived with Herman for a while but died before James Irwin moved in with them. Herman was a Santa Fe semi-truck driver who hauled freight. Santa Fe Freight owned Continental Bus Company - Uncle Glenn (Lela's brother-in-law) drove for Continental. Santa Fe RR owned Santa Fe Bus Co. and freight company too. Herman became senior, so he got the best hauls and he made good money because it was union scale wages. He did not have to load and unload - dock workers did that.

Table of Contents: https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/6813612681836200616/3382423676443906063?hl=en

Last Goodbye

Last Goodbye

July 13, 2020

Winfred Turner

Winfred Turner died on December 2, 1960 in Edinburg, Texas from complications associated with Parkinson’s disease — from which he had suffered for many years. His wife Lela, sons John and Jim, and daughter Patricia had all helped nurse him through the deterioration of mind and body. He found it more and more difficult to eat because of tremors in his hands.

Ultimately, he died in Edinburg’s Grandview Hospital from an apparent heart attack. He was 61 year old.

It is thought that the Parkinson’s disease might have been triggered by the exposure to various metals while repairing radiators in the O.K. Radiator Shop that he owned in Edinburg.

Apparently, the timing of Winfred’s demise was sufficiently predictable so that members of his family gathered at the Turner home in August, 1960 to say their last goodbyes.

Thanks to Susan Scott for some of the following photos.