Reflections on two summers with Amigos
By Mike Monley
It was the summer of 66. Some of my friends were working summer patronage jobs at Holy Cross Cemetery or SF Water Department; others were hanging out in the Haight or going to Dead or Big Brother concerts at the Fillmore and Avalon. Others were peace marching up Market St. or fighting for civil rights in Oakland and Mississippi. I joined Amigos Anonymous and nervously headed south on a Flecha Amarilla bus to do God-knows-what in a small town in central Mexico. I had heard from veteran Amigos about life-changing experiences, about culture shock in Mexico and on returning home, but I really had no idea what to expect. This was my first excursion out of my suburban Catholic school cocoon.
As I approach 70 with a lot of fog in the memory banks, I have a hard time recalling many specifics of what we actually did that summer: going to bailes and quinceañeras, drinking more tequila and cuba libres than was wise, eating with the Cuan-Men family, driving around with Father Nicolas Garcia as he showed off his Americans, talking politics and society with Dr. Gustavo. We did a bit of digging and leveling and rock rearrangement for water and sewer lines and a cancha de volleyball. I had the time of my life and felt that I really came alive: trying out my textbook Spanish, working and playing with new Amigos friends and getting to know the wonderful, welcoming people of Escobedo, establishing deep emotional ties across cultural barriers. Some of these friendships have lasted for decades and are among the most important in my life.
Over the next ten years, there were soulful letters, return visits to Empalme Escobedo, and lots of gatherings with Amigos in San Francisco. Then we all moved on to other projects, other lives. For me Amigos Anonymous remained on the back burner except for an occasional reunion, the Father O’Looney Christmas letter, memorial services and a less occasional donation to some scholarship program in Apaseo el Grande.
This year changed all that. Once again I felt that surge of youthful glee from 48 years ago, first at the 50 year celebration at St. Dominic’s and then in Celaya and Apaseo : the challenge of reviving my rusty Spanish, hanging out with the old friends for a couple of days, meeting Amigos I had only heard of, and being welcomed by many of the families that had been such generous hosts in the 1960s, and just being in Mexico and reveling in the warmth of the people and the culture.
I was nervous about returning to to Empalme Escobedo for the first time since 1977. Who would be there? Where were the people I was so close to for a few summers? Would the town have transformed into a modern exurb of high-tech San Miguel or a struggling farm landscape with no one to work the land post NAFTA? In fact, the town seemed pretty much the same, still without the charm of Apaseo or other towns graced with a central plaza but a bit more prosperous, with more monster trucks and new houses out in the rancho Guadalupe. But I did not find any of my old buddies or the families that were so welcoming. I learned some had died; others had moved to Celaya or Mexico City, San Antonio, Los Angeles. I stopped by the dirt-floored house where I used to solve the world’s problems and dream about the future while Agustín Zarate slaughtered that week’s cerdo and got it ready to sell to passing train passengers. I learned Agustín has been in Texas for 25 years; his great nephew runs a busy abarrotes store on the site. The church was locked, the streets more or less deserted. The Fuentes hotel was gone, as was the Chinese restaurant where I enjoyed my lunchtime meals. I could not find any evidence of the Amigos years. A bit of a let down.
Then I spent some time with the amazing Martinez sisters going around Empalme Escobedo and Celaya. The eleven children of Jack Walton’s Escobedo host family had all graduated from college. Many were in Celaya doing inspiring work in schools, volunteering in a non-profit free clinic for children with cancer, running Manos Extendidos, a short term resting oasis for migrants from Central America heading north and for those heading home, overwhelmed by the difficulties and dangers of the trek to the border.
It was an inspiration to take part in the anniversary Mass in La Villita—to hear Padre Jeronimo deliver his social justice jeremiad and to see the throngs of people who still remembered and cherished the small efforts of Amigos in those days.
I knew of the Amigos scholarship program from the many requests for donations, but understood only vaguely what it was all about. That Sunday afternoon in the Cabrera home in Apaseo el Grande was a revelation. Meeting Rosalia Cabrera and feeling her quiet power and dedication, talking with the graduates and current students, listening to them telling this crowd of Amigos what our donations have meant to them—these brought tears to my eyes. I had rarely seen first hand what a few dollars could do. It is heartening to know that with Rosalia’s guidance all the donated money is used to help support these Apaseo students from primary school through university. Time to get out the checkbook.
The Millers, Waltons, Onoratos and numerous others did an amazing job in putting together the trip, making it a stressless excursion for the rest of us. No logistics roadblocks, no unsolvable problems—an unparalled success. Elder Trek and Road Scholars best look over their shoulders should Donna and Jack decide to get into the business: great accommodations, smooth transportation, Celaya nightlife for entertainment, visits to Guanajuato and Mexico City, the San Angel market, Frida and Leon Trotsky in Coyoacán, San Miguel. Who knew there would be a world-class pyramid complex just up the road from Empalme Escobedo?
The whole 50 year anniversary experience has been wonderful. I look forward to rekindling old friendships and starting new ones with people who share that history. At times I felt, and still do, that I am that 21 year-old kid who had his eyes and head and heart opened up by a bunch of Bay Area gringos and the town of Empalme Escobedo.
By Mike Monley
It was the summer of 66. Some of my friends were working summer patronage jobs at Holy Cross Cemetery or SF Water Department; others were hanging out in the Haight or going to Dead or Big Brother concerts at the Fillmore and Avalon. Others were peace marching up Market St. or fighting for civil rights in Oakland and Mississippi. I joined Amigos Anonymous and nervously headed south on a Flecha Amarilla bus to do God-knows-what in a small town in central Mexico. I had heard from veteran Amigos about life-changing experiences, about culture shock in Mexico and on returning home, but I really had no idea what to expect. This was my first excursion out of my suburban Catholic school cocoon.
As I approach 70 with a lot of fog in the memory banks, I have a hard time recalling many specifics of what we actually did that summer: going to bailes and quinceañeras, drinking more tequila and cuba libres than was wise, eating with the Cuan-Men family, driving around with Father Nicolas Garcia as he showed off his Americans, talking politics and society with Dr. Gustavo. We did a bit of digging and leveling and rock rearrangement for water and sewer lines and a cancha de volleyball. I had the time of my life and felt that I really came alive: trying out my textbook Spanish, working and playing with new Amigos friends and getting to know the wonderful, welcoming people of Escobedo, establishing deep emotional ties across cultural barriers. Some of these friendships have lasted for decades and are among the most important in my life.
Over the next ten years, there were soulful letters, return visits to Empalme Escobedo, and lots of gatherings with Amigos in San Francisco. Then we all moved on to other projects, other lives. For me Amigos Anonymous remained on the back burner except for an occasional reunion, the Father O’Looney Christmas letter, memorial services and a less occasional donation to some scholarship program in Apaseo el Grande.
This year changed all that. Once again I felt that surge of youthful glee from 48 years ago, first at the 50 year celebration at St. Dominic’s and then in Celaya and Apaseo : the challenge of reviving my rusty Spanish, hanging out with the old friends for a couple of days, meeting Amigos I had only heard of, and being welcomed by many of the families that had been such generous hosts in the 1960s, and just being in Mexico and reveling in the warmth of the people and the culture.
I was nervous about returning to to Empalme Escobedo for the first time since 1977. Who would be there? Where were the people I was so close to for a few summers? Would the town have transformed into a modern exurb of high-tech San Miguel or a struggling farm landscape with no one to work the land post NAFTA? In fact, the town seemed pretty much the same, still without the charm of Apaseo or other towns graced with a central plaza but a bit more prosperous, with more monster trucks and new houses out in the rancho Guadalupe. But I did not find any of my old buddies or the families that were so welcoming. I learned some had died; others had moved to Celaya or Mexico City, San Antonio, Los Angeles. I stopped by the dirt-floored house where I used to solve the world’s problems and dream about the future while Agustín Zarate slaughtered that week’s cerdo and got it ready to sell to passing train passengers. I learned Agustín has been in Texas for 25 years; his great nephew runs a busy abarrotes store on the site. The church was locked, the streets more or less deserted. The Fuentes hotel was gone, as was the Chinese restaurant where I enjoyed my lunchtime meals. I could not find any evidence of the Amigos years. A bit of a let down.
Then I spent some time with the amazing Martinez sisters going around Empalme Escobedo and Celaya. The eleven children of Jack Walton’s Escobedo host family had all graduated from college. Many were in Celaya doing inspiring work in schools, volunteering in a non-profit free clinic for children with cancer, running Manos Extendidos, a short term resting oasis for migrants from Central America heading north and for those heading home, overwhelmed by the difficulties and dangers of the trek to the border.
It was an inspiration to take part in the anniversary Mass in La Villita—to hear Padre Jeronimo deliver his social justice jeremiad and to see the throngs of people who still remembered and cherished the small efforts of Amigos in those days.
I knew of the Amigos scholarship program from the many requests for donations, but understood only vaguely what it was all about. That Sunday afternoon in the Cabrera home in Apaseo el Grande was a revelation. Meeting Rosalia Cabrera and feeling her quiet power and dedication, talking with the graduates and current students, listening to them telling this crowd of Amigos what our donations have meant to them—these brought tears to my eyes. I had rarely seen first hand what a few dollars could do. It is heartening to know that with Rosalia’s guidance all the donated money is used to help support these Apaseo students from primary school through university. Time to get out the checkbook.
The Millers, Waltons, Onoratos and numerous others did an amazing job in putting together the trip, making it a stressless excursion for the rest of us. No logistics roadblocks, no unsolvable problems—an unparalled success. Elder Trek and Road Scholars best look over their shoulders should Donna and Jack decide to get into the business: great accommodations, smooth transportation, Celaya nightlife for entertainment, visits to Guanajuato and Mexico City, the San Angel market, Frida and Leon Trotsky in Coyoacán, San Miguel. Who knew there would be a world-class pyramid complex just up the road from Empalme Escobedo?
The whole 50 year anniversary experience has been wonderful. I look forward to rekindling old friendships and starting new ones with people who share that history. At times I felt, and still do, that I am that 21 year-old kid who had his eyes and head and heart opened up by a bunch of Bay Area gringos and the town of Empalme Escobedo.