WHILE I WAS WATCHING THE FAST FOUR GAME WORLD SERIES DURING THE PAST FIVE EVENINGS I HAD A FLASH BACK TO 1957.
IN THOSE DAYS A LOT OF THE GAMES WERE PLAYED IN THE DAYTIME, IT WAS TIME FOR THE SERIES TO START BUT THE DEMANDS OF
THE BORDER PATROL CREATED OTHER PRIORITIES THAN SITTING AT HOME WITH AN EAR GLUED TO THE RADIO, REMEMBER THAT
FEW PEOPLE HAD TV IN THOSE DAYS SO MOST OF US HAD TO USE OUR IMAGINATIONS AND LISTEN TO SUCH EVENTS ON THE OLD FASHIONED
RADIO. HOWEVER, MOST ANNOUNCERS WERE VERY ADEPT AT PAINING A GOOD WORD PICTURE.
I HAD SOME GOOD INFORMATION
THAT A USC AND AN ILLEGAL ALIEN (THEY WERE KNOWN AS "WETBACKS" IN THOSE DAYS) WERE TRANSPORTING A LOAD OF MARIJUANA FROM MEXICO
TO CHICAGO, MY SOURCE HAD OUTLINED THE PROPOSED BACK COUNTRY ROUT FROM THE BORDER NEAR LAREDO THROUGH TEXAS. BOB
SHORT AND I, WORKING OUT OF WHARTON, TEXAS, MADE OUR WAY DOWN TO VICTORIA, TEXAS, THEN WEST INTO THE HILLS TO INTERSECT THE
PROPOSED ROUTE. WE ESTABLISHED A GOOD OBSERVATION POST ON TOP OF THE HIGHEST HILL IN THE AREA WHERE WE COULD MORE OR
LESS CONCEAL THE PATROL CAR AND WAIT OUT THE LOAD. THAT WAS ALSO THE ONLY SPOT IN THE AREA WHERE MY PORTABLE RADIO COULD RECEIVE
A SIGNAL.
NOW SINCE IT WAS THE STARTING GAME OF THE WORLD SERIES I HAD CARRIED ALONG A LARGE HEAVY BATTERY
OPERATED "PORTABLE" RADIO. I PLACED THE RADIO ON TOP OF THE CAR AND EXTENDED THE ANTENNA AS HIGH AS IT WOULD GO.
AND I GOT LUCKY. THE RECEPTION WAS PASSABLE AND THE SERIES ANNOUNCERS VOICE STARTED RINGING THROUGH THE HILLS OF SOUTH
TEXAS.
I DON'T REMEMBER WHO WAS PLAYING OR ANY OTHER DETAILS BUT I DO REMEMBER THAT OUR SUSPECTS NEVER SHOWED.
I LATER LEARNED THAT FOR SOME REASON THEY HAD CHANGED THEIR ROUTE AT THE LAST MINUTE. SOUND FAMILIAR?
HOWEVER,
THAT IS NOT THE END OF THE STORY. A COUPLE OF MONTHS LATER BOB AND I WERE MEANDERING ALONG SOUTH OF VICTORIA ON NO PARTICULAR
COURSE EXCEPT TO SEE WHAT WE COULD SEE. WE WERE HEADED SOUTH ON HIGHWAY 59 THROUGH A CONSTRUCTION ZONE.
THERE WAS ONE LANE WITH A DEEP DROP OFF ON EITHER SIDE OF THE PAVEMENT AND TRAFFIC WAS BUILDING UP AND MOVING VERY SLOWLY
THROUGH THE ZONE.
SUDDENLY I REALIZED THAT THE CAR AHEAD OF US WAS A STATION WAGON WITH AN ILLINOIS LICENSE.
HEY - THAT IS OUR PIGEON WE HAD MISSED A COUPLE OF MONTHS EARLIER. NOW THEY WERE HEADED SOUTH PROBABLY TO PICK UP ANOTHER
LOAD.
I SAW THE DRIVER OF THE STATION WAGON LOOK IN HIS REAR VIEW MIRROR. HE HAD APPARENTLY SPOTTED
THE PATROL CAR. IMMEDIATELY HIS LEFT HAND CAME OUT OF THE DRIVER'S WINDOW AND MADE A SHREDDING MOTION THEN OPENED LIKE
WE WAS SHREDDING SOME SMALL OBJECT AND THEN DROPPING IT.. THIS OPERATION WAS REPEATED SEVERAL TIMES.
I
TOLD BOB "HEY - LOOK AT THAT! I THINK THAT THE GUY IS DUMPING SOMETHING, POSSIBLY MARIJUANA CIGARETTES". WE WERE
RATHER HELPLESS AT THAT POINT BECAUSE WE COULD NOT STOP THE CAR ON THE SINGLE LANE WITH NO SHOULDERS SO JUST HAD TO
SIT PATIENTLY AND FOLLOW ALONG FOR SEVERAL MILES.
AS SOON AS WE CLEARED THE CONSTRUCTION ZONE I FLIPPED
ON THE RED LIGHT AND PULLED THE STATION WAGON OVER. THE LEFT HAND OUT OF THE WINDOW AND THE SHREDDING MOTION HAD LONG
SINCE STOPPED SO WE FIGURED THAT WHATEVER HE WAS GETTING RID OF WAS LONG GONE. NEVERTHE LESS, MY INFORMATION WAS THAT
AN ILLEGAL ALIEN TRAVELED WITH HIM SO I MADE THE STOP.
I TOOK THE DRIVER'S SIDE AND BOB SHORT TOOK THE PASSENGER.
THE DRIVER QUICKLY IDENTIFIED HIMSELF AS A U,S. CITIZEN. HOWEVER ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE CAR THE PASSENGER IMMEDIATELY
ADMITTED THAT HE WAS AN ILLEGAL ALIEN FROM MEXICO. BOB THEN REMOVED HIM FROM THE CAR AND PROCEEDED TO SEARCH HIM.
SUDDENLY BOB CALLED TO ME AND SAID "COME LOOK AT THIS". HE HAD EXTRACTED FOUR MARIJUANA CIGARETTES FROM THE ALIENS SHIRT
POCKET.
AT THAT POINT WE PLACED THE ALIEN IN THE PATROL CAR AND INFORMED THE U.S. CITIZEN DRIVER THAT WE WERE
TAKING THE ALIEN TO THE COUNTY JAIL IN VICTORIA AND HE WOULD BE CHARGED WITH BOTH BEING ILLEGALLY IN THE COUNTRY AND POSSESSION
OF MARIJUANA. AT THAT POINT THE DRIVER ASKED DIRECTIONS TO THE SHERIFF';S OFFICE WHICH WAS SEVERAL MILES NORTH OF OUR
LOCATION. I SIMPLY TOLD THE MAN THAT SINCE WE WERE HEADED THERE HE COULD JUST FOLLOW US. NOT AN ORDER - JUST PROVIDING
THE INFORMATION HE HAD REQUESTED..
NOTE" THE ALIEN HAD READILY ADMITTED HIS ILLEGAL STATUS BECAUSE HE
ASSUMED THAT WE WOULD QUICKLY SEND HIM TO MEXICO WHERE HE COULD REJOIN HIS COMPANION. THEY HAD A PRETTY COULD OPERATION
GOING. WHEN THEY REACHED A REMOTE SECTION OF THE BORDER IN THE LAREDO AREA THEY WOULD SCOUT THE AREA AND IF THERE
WERE NO BORDER PATROL PRESENT THE ALIEN WOULD SLIP ACROSS THE BORDER, PICK UP THE PREVIOUSLY ARRANGED FOR LOAD OF MARIJUANA,
BRING IT BACK ACROSS TO THE VEHICLE, AND THEY WOULD BE ON THEIR WAY. WHEN THE ALIEN WAS FERRYING THE STUFF ACROSS THE
BORDER IF THE PATROL SHOWED UP THE CITIZEN WOULD JUST DRIVE OFF CLEAN AND COME BACK AFTER THE PATROL HAD MOVED ON. THE
ALIEN WOULD CONCEAL THE LOAD AS HE BROUGHT IT ACROSS AND THEY WOULD NOT LOAD THE VEHICLE UNTIL THE LAST MINUTE AFTER A FINAL
CHECK OF THE AREA FOR THE PATROL
WHEN WE ARRIVED AT THE SHERIFF'S OFFICE WE INFORMED THE SHERIFF WHAT WE HAD.
HE THEN ASKED PERMISSION FROM THE U.S.C. TO DO A BODY SEARCH. THE MAN, CONFIDENT THAT HE HAD DISPOSED OF ANY EVIDENCE
OF ANY ILLEGAL SUBSTANCE COOPERATED AND AGREED TO BE SEARCHED. HA HA. THE SHERIFF CAME UP WITH A SMALL BATTERY
POWERED VACUUM AND PROCEEDED TO VACUUM THE MAN'S POCKETS. EXAMINATION OF THE CONTENTS OF THE VACUUM BAG PRODUCED MINUTE
AMOUNTS OF MARIJUANA. THE SHERIFF USED A NEW BAG FROM A NEW SEALED CONTAINER ON EACH SUCH SEARCH. LATER ON SEARCHING
THE CAR WE FOUND TWENTY FIVE POUNDS OF THE WEED CONCEALED IN THE DRIVER'S DOOR PANEL.
THE PAIR HAD BROUGHT
ALONG SOME WEED TO SELL ALONG THE WAY TO PAY THE EXPENSES OF THE TRIP AND ALSO FOR THEIR PERSONAL USE.
BOTH WERE
THEN CHARGED WITH POSSESSION OF A CONTROLLED SUBSTANCE AND PLACED IN THE VICTORIA COUNTY JAIL TO AWAIT TRIAL. THEY WERE
GRANTED A COURT APPOINTED LOCAL ATTORNEY. HOWEVER A HIGH PRICED ATTORNEY FROM NEW YORK SHOWED UP TO ADVISE THE HICK
TOWN COURT APPOINTED LAWYER.
I DID NOT MENTION THAT MY SOURCE HAD INDICATED THAT THIS PAIR WAS WORKING
FOR A LARGE CRIME SYNDICATE OPERATION OUT OF NEW YORK. OF COURSE I COULD NOT USE THAT INFORMATION IN COURT BUT IT BECAME
RATHER OBVIOUS ANYWAY BECAUSE OF THE PRESENCE OF THE HIGH PRICED NEW YORK ATTORNEY.
DURING THE TRIAL THE QUESTION
OF ILLEGAL SEARCH AND SEIZURE CAME UP. I INFORMED THE COURT THAT THE ILLEGAL ALIEN HAD IMMEDIATELY ADMITTED HIS STATUS
AND THEN WE LEGALLY TOOK HIM INTO CUSTODY AND LEGALLY SEARCHED HIS BODY.
"HOW ABOUT THE U.S.CITIZEN? WHAT
AUTHORITY DID YOU HAVE TO SEARCH HIM AND THE VEHICLE?
I ANSWERED THAT WE DID NOT SEARCH EITHER THE U.S,.C. OR
THE VEHICLE. AFTER ARRIVING AT THE JAIL THE SUBJECT GRANTED PERMISSION TO THE SHERIFF FOR THE SEARCH AND THE SHERIFF
CONDUCTED THE SEARCH OF BOTH THE PERSON AND THE AUTOMOBILE.
THE DEFENSE ATTORNEY DUG IN ON THE SEARCH
QUESTION AND ASKED "WHAT IF THE DRIVER HAD NOT ASKED TO FOLLOW YOU TO THE SHERIFF'S OFFICE AND HAD NOT VOLUNTEERED TO BE SEARCHED
BY THE SHERIFF.? "
I ANSWERED SIMPLY "THAT SITUATION DID NOT ARISE" THE DEFENSE ATTORNEY WAS LIKE A DOG WITH
A BONE AND WOULD NOT TURN LOOSE. AGAIN HE ASKED " WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE HAD THE SUBJECT NOT AGREED"/
AGAIN
I ANSWERED "THAT SITUATION DID NOT ARISE"
THE ATTORNEY JUST KEPT ON WITH THE SAME QUESTION AND THE
SAME ANSWER RETURNED UNTIL THE JUDGE INTERVENED AND SAID " HENDERSON HAS ANSWERED YOUR QUESTION HONESTLY AND COMPLETELY
. THAT SITUATION DID NOT ARISE AND HE CAN NOT BE REQUIRED BY THIS COURT TO SPECULATE ON ANY AND EVERY POSSIBLE
ALTERNATIVE SITUATION THAT COULD HAVE TAKEN PLACE".
END OF MY TESTIMONY. BOTH SUBJECTS WERE CONVICTED
AND SENTENCED TO SERVE FIVE YEARS IN THE TEXAS PRISON SYSTEM.
WHAT IS THAT SAYING? "DON'T MESS WITH TEXAS".
AFTER
THE TRIAL WAS OVER THE JUDGE, THE PROSECUTOR, THE DEFENSE ATTORNEY,THE SHERIFF, AND BOB SHORT AND I JOINED FOR COFFEE
AT THE LOCAL COFFEE SHOP. THE DEFENSE ATTORNEY COULD NOT HEAP ENOUGH PRAISE ON ME FOR MY STONEWALLING OF HIS REPEATED
/ILLEGAL SEARCH AND SEIZURE" ATTACK. HE WAS A GOOD GUY AND A FRIEND AND HE REALLY WANTED TO SEE THOSE BAD
BOYS CONVICTED BUT OF COURSE HE HAD THE OBLIGATION TO GET A FAIR TRIAL FOR THEM.
INCIDENTALLY, THE DEFENSE ATTORNEY
WAS THE ONE WHO ALERTED US TO THE 25 POUNDS OF WEED CONCEALED IN THE VEHICLE DOOR PANEL. OF COURSE THAT INFORMATION
WAS NOT USED IN THE TRIAL.
SO THAT WAS HOW THE FIRST GAME OF THE 1957 WORLD SERIES TURNED OUT. I
DON'T REMEMBER WHO WON THE BALL GAME BUT I WON MY GAME. IT JUST TOOK A LITTLE TIME AND A LOT OF LUCK.
Our Border Patrol Agents have continued to make us all proud. I thank them for their service,
love for our country and loyalty to it and the American people.
OTRO REQUERDO DE PRESIDIO BRAVE MAN OR DAMNED FOOL? By Ed Chauvin
Before Owen Oates chronicles the entire 20th Century history of Presidio, permit me to relate
one tale that he may not know or may have forgotten.
First, for a little background, I spent the three years immediately
prior to entering on duty at El Paso in May 1956 as a full-time bus operator in New Orleans, operating gas, diesel
and electric trolley buses.
Up until that time, the Service had participated in a cooperative program whereby some
illegal aliens were repatriated to Quintana Roo, Mexico by boatlift. The transport was handled by Mexican authorities
on two boats the U.S. Navy had sold them, one of which was named the “Emancipacion”. I can’t recall
the name of the other ship. In any event, I understand each vessel had a capacity of approximately 400 souls, plus the
Mexican crew and one U.S. Immigration Officer, whose job was to confirm that all repatriates were transported to their
ultimate destination.
Some time during the summer of 1956, I understand that one of the vessels had engine trouble
and had to anchor 3 or 4 miles offshore short of Quintana Roo. The story was that a number of repatriates demanded that
the ship be docked at the nearest port so they could debark. Reportedly, the crew refused, whereupon several of the
repatriates dove overboard and attempted to swim to shore. Unfortunately, a number of them failed, and drowned.
Subsequently,
there was a congressional investigation of the incident and the boatlift program. I understand that some described the
vessel as a “hell ship”, while others described the removal procedure as a “pleasant Caribbean cruise”.
In any event, the boatlift was cancelled permanently and El Paso Sector was directed to bus lift as many illegal aliens
to Presidio as possible, to be turned over to Mexican authorities at Ojinaga to be transported to Chihuahua City by
train.
After my first brief assignment to the sand hills, where I was informed in no uncertain terms that I couldn’t
track a bleeding elephant through a snowdrift, (at least I tried) I was relegated to line watch duties. When the call
came for experienced bus drivers I jumped at the chance. It fit my dream of a job where the customer was always wrong
and I could drive for miles and miles down the highway, instead of stopping every two blocks.
Another unexpected
benefit to the bus lift was the fact that the Service paid $12.00 per diem for each round trip. At the time, GS-7 trainees
received the princely sum of $4,080 per annum salary. With a wife and three kids, that $36.00 a week, gross, really
helped pay the rent and put food on the table.
Anyway, we would leave every Monday, Wednesday and Friday night
at 8:00 P.M., usually one P.I. and one detention officer, and take turns driving all night, with coffee stops in Sierra
Blanca and Valentine. We would arrive in Presidio about 6:00 or 7:00 A.M. and flip to see who would drive the bus to the
switch track near Ojinaga where the train awaited. There were usually one passenger car and one cattle car. Those repatriates
who had sufficient dinero got to ride in the passenger car to Chihuahua City.
In Presidio, there was to my recollection
one hotel, owned and operated by a gentleman whose last name was Harper. Mr. Harper was at that time about 75, my
current age, while I was 24. His establishment catered principally to hunters, and he had several large dormitory rooms
with metal cots, where we would sleep after feasting on the boarding house style breakfast for $1.25. We would be
awakened at noon and consume an all-you-can-eat lunch for $1.50. Since the cots we occupied were available to his other
guests at night we were only charged $1.00 each to sleep. If we didn’t splurge at the coffee shops, we could
salvage 4 or 5 dollars from the per diem each trip.
Mr. Harper frequently regaled us with tales of what to us were
the “olden days”, and on one occasion I asked him how he came to be in Presidio. He stated that sometime
in the 1910’s he and his drummer partner arrived in Marfa with a horse, a mule and a wagon loaded with pots, pans
and other sundries. He and his partner got into an argument as to whether they should continue west to El Paso, or
go to closer Presidio. He stated that he bought out his partner’s share of the mule, wagon and merchandise and wound
up in Presidio. His partner, he stated, continued on to El Paso and opened up what ultimately became the largest store
there, the White House Department Store.
Mr. Harper informed us that every year after the close of hunting season he
would drive to El Paso and purchase a large stock of linen and other necessaries for the hotel. He drove an almost
new Oldsmobile sedan, his overall health appeared good, and most of the roads were in good shape.
On one occasion
during our sumptuous lunch, he casually mentioned that he had been robbed on his last trip to El Paso, a week or so previously.
Immediately interested, we all asked what happened, and he stated that while driving west through Sierra Blanca, he
picked up a hitchhiker. He stated they drove along without incident for some time, until he stopped for a traffic
light in Ysleta, whereupon the young hitchhiker pulled a knife and demanded he turn over his money and his car.
Mr.
Harper stated that he told the young man emphatically that he could not have his car, because he was too old and could
not get back to his home in Presidio without it, so if he was going to kill him for the car, then go ahead and do
so. Apparently taken aback, the hitchhiker then demanded that he turn over his money.
Mr. Harper admitted that
at the time, he had a considerable amount of cash in his wallet, intended to pay for supplies for his hotel. However,
he stated, he happened to recall that when he stopped for gas he had placed two bills, a twenty and a five, in a front
pants pocket. He said he was concentrating hard and trying desperately to remember which way he had folded the bills
and which side the five dollar bill was on. When he drew one of the bills out of his pocket, he stated, “Thank God
it was the five”. He handed it to the young man, who immediately exited the car. I asked Mr. Harper if he notified
the police, and he said he didn’t have time to fool with that.
Since that story, I have often pondered the
wisdom of an unarmed man that age risking his life for a twenty-dollar bill in a confrontation with a possibly dangerous
criminal. Then again, maybe that’s what men were made of back in the real “olden days”.
Early one hot late summers
morning I left McAllen Border Patrol Station and went Northwest. I picked up a trail in La Gloria, Texas,
coming off of the Diamond-O Ranch that Rio Grande City, Texas, Agents had been running the previous day up from Las Brisas.
I guesstimated a time frame and went ahead to try to cut the sign. This area north and east of La Gloria was sort of a no
mans land that encompassed two Sectors and about four station areas that was quite remote and difficult to access.
Sam Scaief was one of
Dudley Clanahans pilots that flew out of McAllen Station in the early 80's. Sam knew that I had gone up toward La Gloria that
morning and why I had gone. Sam loved to work trail. So it was quite natural that Sam came looking for me in the new Cessna
after he had attended to his assigned area. Sam sure liked to wiggle the wings on that bird and it didn't take long for us
to hook up. Sam found me up on the Kelsey Bass Pipeline where I had cut the group and lined them out using pink toilet paper
to mark that particular trail. Sam didn't reserve his opinion about the choice of colors that day. Since it was common to
be working several trails through this roadless area at a time, it made it easier if we used
different colored paper
to mark which trail was which for the pilots so they could fly an extended line ahead and stay on the right trail. All they
had to do was line up the like colored markers and fly that line up ahead.
During our sojourn that
day we covered a lot of ground. Sam went back to various airports and fueled up twice. He was on his third tank of fuel when
he came back to my location for the last time. I watched as Sam passed over my head and climbed almost out of sight. Somewhat
curious, I inquired as to where he was going ? His reply was simple. "I am going up to 72 Degrees. Call me if you need me."
Shortly, I could hardly
see the Cessna and could just barely hear him northeast of my location. By this time, we had trailed the group almost to the
HWY 755, HWY 281 intersection near a pueblito called Encino, Texas.
It was then, and remains today, the hottest day I can recall working sign cut in the South Texas sandhills.
I was on foot trailing this group through the Brooks County Sand when I came upon their lay up. I could smell the aliens
before I could make out the lay up. A man would have had to have had a really bad cold not to have picked up the scent. Naturally,
I approached the area cautiously. The group had rooted and wallered around quite a bit and had spent considerable time in
that bit of brush.
About 200 yards away
and in their direction of travel was a large concrete stock tank full of water. I told Sam I could smell aliens and could
see they were going toward a stock tank. Sam said 10-4 and stayed at 72 Degrees.
I followed the group
from the lay up to the stock tank. At the stock tank I could see where they had just watered a short while earlier and had
left a jug full of water tilted over on the sand. The water was still filtering into the sand. I advised Sam of this, he replied
10-4 and stayed at 72 Degrees.
As I followed the groups
sign away from the stock tank I could see from their tracks that they were running. I found one of their tennies that one
had literally run out of. I advised Sam of this, he replied 10-4 and stayed up there at 72 Degrees.
A short distance from
the tennis shoe I found a cigarette that had been lit just before being thrown on the ground, the ash was only about an inch
long and still smouldering.
I advised Sam of this
latest discovery and as I looked skyward, I saw the Cessna bank hard right and dive straight at me like a green tail hawk
after a blue quail. Sam then circled left and came up behind me low and smooth. (You can't call a Cessna quiet) I saw the
first aliens buggered up in the Oak Mont just ahead of me as Sam swooped over us. He called out that they were scattered out
in the brush just ahead of me.
As we went through the
process of gathering them all up and counting noses, Sam stayed pretty close. After we got the whole bunch rounded up and
lined out he stayed with us until we got the aliens back to my unit, which took quite a while. He even helped me navigate
out of that remote pasture before resuming 72 degrees and a southern route.
Yes sir. If anyone asks
you about Sam The Man Scaief, you can tell them that he was a great sign cut pilot, and, that if he couldn't find anything
else while out sign cutting he could and did find 72 Degrees
From the trees, the leaves fall to the ground a crashing
To think, these leaves were once so green,
And how they've seen their brightest day.
Now, here they lay, gold and brown,
Following the path of a mighty wind,
Each goes its way - not knowing what life will have to lend.
No matter how much more time they have
There's still some pleasure to be seen
When you look at these golden leaves and think
How life has finally set them free.
Lucinda Rainbolt Scola
8/l7/07
The Zany Adventures of John Colbert II
By
Owen Oates
In 1960 Jim Greene decided or was told to replace all the temporary PIs in Florida with permanent ones. He or somebody
could not read the Castro situation correctly and had kept 13 border patrol stations in Florida occupied by 200 or more PIs
on temporary duty at $12 per day for two years. A lot of wasted money.
In September John and I were shipped over as permanent replacements. I went to Ft. Pierce and John to Miami. It was great
duty (except for the heat) and a great place to live and work and play.
John did not get along with his supervisors in Miami, nor with his roommate, Bill Clausen. He needed a friend and someone
to give him a little sympathy and someone to drink with. He sought a benison from me.
John was in a league all by himself with regard to beer drinking. I couldn't hold that much nor did I want to. I was
in the fortunate position of knowing a pilot that flew out of Ed Treat's flying service to the Bahamas about once a week.
He could and did bring me back a gallon (five fifths) of Haig & Haig Gold Star for $18. I gave him $20 and forgot
the change and could, in that way, offer my friends good whisky and little cost.
I lived on the beach at Ft. Pierce in a small group of apartments at 415 Hernando in a one-bedroom apartment. The bedroom
had twin beds and could accommodate John when he came up.
John came up often. After about a year at Miami he was disgusted. He would call me up, find out if I was home, and come
up.
The Sunshine State Parkway had just been completed from the Mixmaster in Miami to Ft. Pierce. It was 120 miles of four
lane concrete highway with a grass divider in the middle. The roadway was without faults.
John had a new Ford Thunderbird and he liked to drive fast. He didn't bother to keep time because he was usually sloshed
when he started out. Didn't matter anyway.
One weekend John called and said he was on his way up. That was a Friday afternoon and about dark he arrived at my door.
He went through the few beers I had in my icebox, and then we started in on the Haig.
Two days of this went on except for the times we went out to eat. John didn't eat much when he was drunk. His eyes would
cross and he couldn't read the menu. Sometimes he would ask the waitress but usually he would get into it with her. He would
tell a dirty joke or ask her a personal question and she would leave.
Then, on Sunday night, John's weekend was over. He started back to Miami. He was loaded up on good Scotch when he stopped
at the entrance to the parkway to get his ticket (The parkway was a toll road).
He left about dark and came back through the same toll booth about half an hour later holding his ticket and two dollars.
The girl took the ticket, looked at it quizzically, and asked him where he thought he was. "Miami, of course", John answered.
She called the highway patrol and told John to park over there.
The highway patrolman got his story and called me. I went out to see what was happening.
I had made a good friend among the highway patrol, a trooper named Peterson. I rode with him often at night, telling
our Miami radio operator where I was and telling him that I could be contacted in car # 265 on the H.P frequency.
I asked the trooper talking to John to call Peterson if he was on duty. He was and came up there zip-zip. Peterson was
a loud guy who was always joking around and when he found out what had happened he had a good laugh on John.
I asked him to parole him to my custody. Peterson agreed and let me take him home and put him to bed. He did and Peterson
put the car in the parking lot of the employees manning the toll booth.
John sobered up Monday morning and called in sick. It took him awhile to get himself together but he did and left again
for Miami about noon and made it safely this time.
A few days later I ran into Peterson. He told me that he had gone down the parkway after we broke up and discovered what
had happened.
John was headed south on the inside lane at probably a high rate of speed when he went to sleep. His car angled off the
roadway into the grass median. Just as it hit the bottom of the median the left front wheel ran over the iron grating of a
drain.
All that part of Florida is low-lying and drains were installed every mile or so on the parkway to handle those South
Florida rains.
When this happened, when the LF wheel dropped an inch or two onto that grating, the rear of the car skidded to the right
as if to continue on to Miami. When the car passed over the grating and the rear of the car had done a 180, John woke up.
The car was now back on the pavement and John just straightened up and drove on. But he was driving North without knowing
it.
So he came back through the Ft. Pierce tollbooth without any sense of the time elapsed. He didn't understand all this
until I explained it to him. He was nonplussed.
John was a fool whose antics made life a little more interesting for me. He never quite understood that his shenanigans
were outside the realm of normal behavior. His stunts were outrageous, as we will see in a later story.
_______________
Don't tell me cocaine is habit-forming. I've been taking it for 17 years and I ought to know---Talullah Bankhead
OO
Bob Stille on Jimmy Greer
Jimmy Greer had just come back to duty when I was a probationer at El Paso,
and worked the desk in old Station One. He was probably the most brilliant, and unasuming man I ever worked with.
His knowledge of Spanish was impeccable as well as Mexican history.
I had the privilege of sitting at Station One from time to time and catch
snatches of conversation with Jimmy. He was not only a genius but a very humble, and gentle soul.
One day the guys brought in a small Mexican boy. The kid was one
of the street urchins that we caught regularly around the bridges. The boy was trying to put on his best bravado in
midst of a bunch of patrol officers. Jimmy got up with some difficulty, as he was wearing heavy metal braces on both
legs, went over, got the boy and brought him back to his desk and sat him down by him. He began talking to the boy--in
Spanish, of course--in a priestly manner. The boy quieted down and sat for a long time and just listened intently as
this blonde hair, gringo Migrante talked to him. The boy was mesmerized by Jimmy.
I don't know what Jimmy said to him but he talked to the little boy for
quite awhile before he was VR'd later.
Jimmy also told me a lot about his childhood, being raised in Mexico, the
family's expulsion to Texas, and some of his experiences as a Special Detail officer. Of course, as you "old timer PIs"
know, Special Detail was the forerunner to the Anti Smuggling Unit (ASU).
I worked with several of the Special Detail officers at El Paso during
those early years of my career. Jimmy Greer, Jim Tice, Val Herrera, John Sanchez, Red Dog Lewis are some that come to
mind. Great bunch of guys who did a very special and dangerous job for the Border Patrol combatting alien smuggling.
Jimmy Greer and John Sanchez told some stories that would raise the hair
on the back of a javelina. A person could write a book that would excel fiction about what those Special Detail officers
did back in the fifties.
Back when I was on probation in El Paso...1959...someone in our group swung an exhibition baseball game with
the El Paso AA team. I believe they were called The El Paso Suns. These were all professional ball players, some
of whom probably went on to the major leagues. We were just a bunch of P.I.s in doubtful condition. Although most
of our team had recently graduated from the Academy in El Paso and were in reasonably good shape and young.
So, the day came and we lined up to play the Suns. Our pitcher was Teddy Giorgetti. Now Ted was the
most naturally gifted athlete I had ever seen. And as we found out he had a blazing fast ball. Ted was in his
late twenties at that time, as I remember.
Anyway, we played 9 innings against the Suns and were doing very well for a bunch of amature P.I.s. The
main reason we did so well was that the Suns found out that they had difficulty hitting Teddy's pitches. He threw fast
ball after fast ball, and probably some curves and other stuff, too and was striking out these minor league pros one after
another.
Well, at the end of the day, they did beat us but by a very narrow margin.
After the game, the manager of the Suns came to Teddy and offered him a contract right there on the spot to pitch
for them. Fortunately for the Border Patrol and later the INS Teddy stayed with us and went on to a great career, retiring
as ADDI at Chicago.
Great memories...great recuerdos of times gone by.
Back in 1966 we had new Ford sedans that came with a security screen separating the front seat from the back.
One day when coming back to the station with my partner George Hunter we heard an urgent cry over the radio from Salinas Station
to get a Sector pilot there as soon as possible. Back then we all had the habit to leave the vehicle keys on the floor under
the front seat when the Wets were spooked and had taken off. This was to enable the first officer back to drive and pick up
their partner and any apprehended aliens they caught. We as a general policy would handcuff the wets and leave them in the
back seat, while we went after the others who had scattered. The Officers involved had one in the back seat and were out in
the brush looking for the others.
Seemed the screen on the cars were not that secure. The illegal in the back seat was able to bend the screen and crawl
to the front seat, get the keys and steal the patrol car, thus the call for an airplane. The pilot was able to find the vehicle
at a Contract Labor Housing area and the vehicle was recovered. The only damage was the security screen. The next morning
when going out to start another day, Salinas called in a negative apprehension report. My partner George immediately picked
up the radio and off the repeater was heard throughout the Sector as he said" I thought you guys had one in the car yesterday".
Silence ensued from Salinas but the rest of he Sector had a good laugh. Needless to say the security screens were all re-inforced
by the Service on all sedans.
Dave Rhodin --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
DOC VAUGHT
by
Owen Oates
Doc Vaught was an eclectic doctor who received a Doctor of Medicine degree from a medical school in Kansas that he attended
for six months sometime about 1930. He settled in Presidio, set up a practice, and married a local girl named Filomina.
Sometime along the way he bought a house, enclosed the back porch, and made an office for seeing patients. He had a thriving
business, as there were no other doctors for 60 miles in any direction.
He could prescribe any drugs on the market, but he was careful not to reach into the darkness beyond his knowledge and
careful not to hurt anyone. He learned in only a few years that most illnesses were psychosomatic and he treated them as such,
mostly with sugar pills. He told me this himself.
He could set broken limbs as neatly as anyone. He made house calls for broken legs or anyone too ill to travel. Broken
arms had to be brought to his office. He did not have the makings for a cast. Whether they were difficult to make, too expensive,
or some other reason I never did learn. He would take two thin boards, put one on each side of the break, and then tape the
whole thing up with adhesive tape. Tight enough, this would last long enough for the break to heal.
In his early days he charged fifty cents for an office visit, of course the drugs were extra (Presidio had no drugstore
and none were closer than another doctor), and by the time I got there he was up to three dollars.
His proudest achievement, he told me, was to deliver three babies in one day, one in Ruidoso, thirty miles upriver from
Presidio, one in Presidio, and one in Redford, sixteen miles below Presidio. With a model A Ford and the roads in the 1930s
this was an heroic accomplishment.
He trained his wife, Filomina, in the medical arts and by the time I got to presidio she was seeing patients and prescribing
medicine when he was absent. When he was present and with a Mexican patient, she did the interpreting.
People in town laughed about this, but she never killed anyone or made anyone sicker. The women liked her and called
her "La Doctora". She also kept the books and kept track of the pills and medicines and ordered more from Kansas City when
needed.
Doc never sent a bill. If the patient could pay at his office, he collected. If not, the patient usually left a promise
to pay which Doc never attempted to collect. He did have to have money for the drugs though, and many a poor Mexican left
with the illness identified but no means to correct it.
FRANK DUPUY
Frank Dupuy owned the bridge across the Rio Grande between Presidio and Ojinaga. He had built it during the 1930s under
a permit issued by the Boundary and Water Commission. There had been no bridge there until he persuaded this bureau to issue
a permit although this was not the right agency to do it and the State Department ignored many requests to look into it and
build a free bridge.
Dupuy charged a toll. Sixty five cents per auto when I was there, and that irked people. He had a Mexican kid sitting
in a little hut at the end of the bridge on the U.S. side collecting from cars both ways. And that irked people.
Dupuy was an absentee landlord and that irked people. Dupuy lived in El Paso and the Mexican kid had to call in the amount
of tolls collected every night. Dupuy appeared to be avaricious, not an attractive trait.
Dupuy came down once in a while to inspect his property and even stayed a few days when the great flood of 1958 washed
away the bridge and sent our best patrol car tumbling down the river. He had a new bridge built, higher, and better than the
one that got washed away.
When he came to Presidio he could feel the wrath of people on both sides seething with resentment. Some called him names.
Dupuy would not stay in town long. He would inspect his bridge, talk to the customs inspectors, and leave the same day he
came. Anyway the trip was deductible.
The port of Presidio was a class B port, meaning that the port was closed from midnight to 8 a.m. There was a big wooden
gate on the bridge that the customs agent would lock at midnight and then go home.
When we PIs wanted to go to Ojinaga to drink a good beer or to feel the soothing embraces of some sinful activity, we
had to decide before we went whether we would come back before or after midnight. If before, we could drive over. If later,
we would leave our car at the bridge.
Frank Mireles had a gambling casino just across the bridge. Some of the guys preferred to gamble a little, but most of
us went on uptown and later to La Zona. This required a taxi and cost about a dollar.
Then, in the small hours of the morning, another taxi brought us to the bridge. We walked across, climbing the wooden
gates. We were immigration officers and we admitted ourselves to the United States. We didn't pay the toll.
Dupuy lost that toll collection and he lost more when he tangled with Doc Vaught.
It was in 1960, I think. I was driving a jeep, alone, either to or from Redford (I can't remember which). I don't know
if I heard the shots or not but something caused me to look up the gravel road running to the school. I saw an older, blue
General Motors car run off the road into the ditch, hit something, bounce up and down, and then stop.
On the way up there I saw Doc Vaught standing in his front yard, just inside his front gate, holding a rifle by the barrel
with the butt on the ground. I stopped at the blue car. I knew immediately that the man was dead. He was slumped over the
steering wheel and the horn was a plangent. I pulled the dead man off the horn and turned the ignition off.
Examining the scene I could see a bullet hole in the windshield just inches from Dupuy's nose, another in his neck, and
the third missed his head behind and exited through the right rear window. Doc Vaught had sent three bullets from a Winchester
45-70 lever action rifle into a moving car from about 150 feet away and the pattern was no bigger than the diameter of a basketball.
The bullet that killed Dupuy went in his neck. The entry wound was ugly, a raw, red sore, as big as the last joint of
your thumb, with the blood oozing out of it. It must have cut his spine because when I pulled him off the horn his head flopped
over at an unnatural angle. I got on the radio and called the sheriff.
Soon "Three-fingered" Tommy McCall, the local deputy, arrived with several other people. That was the second dead man
I had seen that week and that was enough for me. I got out of there. It was none of my business.
Doc told McCall that Dupuy was coming from El Paso and had stopped in Marfa and telephoned Doc telling him that he was
coming to "fix his wagon." Doc didn't have a wagon and suspected a sinister motive. He told Dupuy to come on down and he would
arrange a nice reception.
The sheriff arrested Doc, charged him with murder, and let him out on a small bond. The prosecuting attorney asked the
judge for a change of venue. The reason was that the local people liked Doc and hated Dupuy and he couldn't get a fair trial.
Marfa was the county seat and they moved the trial to Alpine, 26 miles away.
That was not far enough and the prosecuting attorney got another ruling and they moved the trial to Alice, Texas. There
was a hung jury once and then a retrial lasting several months in all. Doc told the jury about the threatening phone call
Dupuy made from Marfa, but there were no witnesses, no corroborating evidence. One thing in favor of his story was that when
highway 67 hit Presidio Dupuy would have had to turn right to inspect his bridge but instead he turned left down the Redford
highway.
That was the way to Doc's house and, indeed, he was but half a block away when Doc gave him the promised reception. This
must have been on the jury's mind. Sweet shooting may have influenced them too because good marksmanship is never far from
a Texan's mind. They found a gun in Dupuy's car, but you could have found one in any car in West Texas so that didn't prove
much.
The jury acquitted Doc but the costs of the trial and room and board in Alice for so long had ruined him. He sold his
home and property in Presidio and moved upcountry to some place where he could rent a nice place and maybe find some work.
Dupuy had a son who took over managing the bridge and the situation remained that way until sometime in the 1970s, I
think it was, that the U.S. and Mexico got an agreement and built a new, nice, concrete and steel bridge. This bridge was
free on our side but Mexico, having lost out on the tolls for forty some odd years, now rectified that and began collecting
tolls on their side.
It was, some say, a tragedy of comic proportions. Or vice versa.
OO
Retirement
It was a fire...a fire he stoked for 27 years...and when
the day came when he was called upon to put out that fire for the last
time, his wife and his oldest and youngest children were waiting there to take
him home.
This badge of honor is the core
of a family....our Border Patrol family. When my Father died, an arrow
with the sharpest of all points pierced the core of my heart, and I will never
be the same.
There were
several colorful characters in Presidio when I got there in 1958. One of the most interesting was Ma Daniels. She had a store,
mostly dry goods, nearest to the POE of all the businesses in town. The poor women of Ojinaga would come over and buy cloth
by the yard from Ma. She had all the other stuff to go with it: thimbles, needles, dye, ribbons, elastic, patterns, buttons,
thread, etc., and she had a good business going. She kept some Blue Jeans, straw hats, boots of the most popular sizes, some
overalls, and some tools she would buy on the street corner of the place she went to get the cloth.
Pa was too
old and feeble to drive so Ma secured a Mexican driver about 20 years of age. About once a month he would drive her to Ft.
Stockton, Pecos, and sometimes Dallas. She would load that station wagon of hers so full of bolts of cloth and odds and ends
you couldn't see out of any window.
Ma was about 70, I would judge, and she was constantly busy while in the
store and most people were in awe of her energy. When a new PI or a new anybody came into town he would, sooner or later,
find himself in Ma's store. She would go over, grab his cheek between her thumb and forefinger, and ask, "And whose little
boy are you?" Answers didn't seem to mind to Ma; she had her way and that suited her.
Nobody knew where Ma had
come from. She had been there since the end of WWII and had been in Kansas City, some say servicing the servicemen, before
that. I got to talking with her one day about this and that, and she told me, "Honey, when I was young and didn't know anything
I gave it away. When I got older and smarter I sold it. Now in my old age I'm having to buy it all back."
It
was the young Mexican chauffeur that we expected was the beneficiary of Ma's benevolence. He had look of serendipity on his
face when anyone asked him leading questions. He made himself scarce when he wasn't working in the store. He also kept that
huge station wagon running.
Pa died while I was there and Ma had him buried in the Catholic cemetery though
he claimed that what little Christianity still remained in him was all Protestant. Ma seemed happier after that, though it
seems a sacrilege to mention it. Might have had something to do with being able to see her chauffeur and mechanic oftener
than once a month.
Dink Smoot
Dink was
about 80 when I got to Presidio in 1958. He was a retired drummer for a wholesale grocery firm. The firm was up in Pecos or
somewhere and he traveled around to the small towns of West Texas taking orders from the small grocery stores that furnished
victuals to their locals. Somehow Dink thought Presidio was the place to retire and so he did.
Most people would
avoid Presidio because it was so hot. When El Bandido Harper had the weather station he called in the temperatures
twice a day and Presidio usually made hottest place in the country about one day out of three in the Summer.
Dink
apparently did not mind the heat; he wore long handled underwear--top and bottoms--all year around and he also wore khaki
pants and long sleeved shirts buttoned at the wrist.
Dink drew $35 or $40 a month pension from the grocery firm
and I don't think he had social security or any other source of income. He lived in a lean-to shack someone had added to the
back of the Casner Motor Co. I think he lived rent free and doubt that he had many amenities. I know he didn't have electricity
nor air conditioning.
He stretched his income by asking anyone going to Marfa to bring him back a few pounds
of Pinto Beans because the ones in Presidio were not as good. Naturally those of us that brought him the superior beans refused
payment of the dollar or so the beans cost.
Many people of reduced circumstances become meek so as not to offend
anyone who may provide a benefit somewhere along the way. That was not Dink's way. He was feisty and out spoken and likely
to give you an opinion, unvarnished in any way, on any topic under discussion.
There was a farmer in Presidio
universally detested by Mexicans and gringos alike. He owned almost a thousand acres right on the river and his cotton crop--using
wet labor-- got him rich. It was his manner and demeanor, however, that made him detested. He was haughty and looked down
on everybody in that small community. His name was J.C. Poole and everyone referred to him as J. Cess Poole.
He
had a son who was an identical copy of the old man in attitude and demeanor. He had gotten to be a Justice of the Peace when
he was 21, some years before I got there. He carried two guns and shot a young Mexican to death over some altercation in a
beer joint and got away with it. He was detested even more than his father.
Dink usually spent his days in the
metal lawn chairs on the front porch of the Halpern Hotel. However, one day, he was sitting atop the concrete steps of a customs
broker beside J. Cess Poole. Poole was commenting on the people passing along the main street below them.
