By Juan Montoya
The news that Kingsville writer Sigifredo Cavazos has written his book rekindled old memories of when we had this remarkable man as a teacher.
It was in the late 1960s, when the Brownsville Independent School District still segregated its migrant students at the Josephine Castañeda Elementary School next to Cromack Elementary, when we encountered him. The school was ringed by an eight-foot chain link fence that stretched from 30th Street all the way to the private homes east facing Lima Street. The buildings were barrack-type buildings that often lacked air conditioning.
Only the library and the administration buildings had central air. Three strands of barbed wire topped the fence. A silhouette picture of a farmworker carrying a hamper of fruit on his right shoulder adorned the front of the school.
Students were bused in from all areas of the city where they lived. Kids from Las Prietas, El Puerto, Portway Acres, La Doce, La Muralla, Cameron Park, and other neighborhoods farther out in the city as far as San Pedro and Villa Nueva, and, of course, Southmost. All the barrios and colonias of Brownsville were represented.
There, with one teacher per classroom, we received the instruction from Mr. Cavazos, Mr. Garibay, Ms. Peña, and other dedicated teachers. Mrs. Xochitl Hidalgo was the social worker who would make sure needy kids would get a pair of Converse tennis shoes and girls would receive what they needed to face the onslaught of puberty.
Ruben Gallegos Sr., was the principal, followed by Lee Garcia, also the Senior, who came after him.
Only the library and the administration buildings had central air. Three strands of barbed wire topped the fence. A silhouette picture of a farmworker carrying a hamper of fruit on his right shoulder adorned the front of the school.
Students were bused in from all areas of the city where they lived. Kids from Las Prietas, El Puerto, Portway Acres, La Doce, La Muralla, Cameron Park, and other neighborhoods farther out in the city as far as San Pedro and Villa Nueva, and, of course, Southmost. All the barrios and colonias of Brownsville were represented.There, with one teacher per classroom, we received the instruction from Mr. Cavazos, Mr. Garibay, Ms. Peña, and other dedicated teachers. Mrs. Xochitl Hidalgo was the social worker who would make sure needy kids would get a pair of Converse tennis shoes and girls would receive what they needed to face the onslaught of puberty.
Ruben Gallegos Sr., was the principal, followed by Lee Garcia, also the Senior, who came after him.
The classes covered grades first through eighth grade. There were no extra-curricular activities. Now sports, no speech or drama. Nothing. The teachers focused on making sure their wards received the basics that they had missed when they left school in early April and returned on October or November from working with their families in northern fields. School ran from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m.
This wasn't your average school population. Migrant kids grow up fast. Some boys at 14 and 15 were already contemplating having a family. Girls knew their way around the kitchen and had probably provided the child care for their siblings as they grew up and their older brothers and sisters were working with their parents in the fields.
The P.E. coach had hell to pay trying to get khaki-clad youths wearing their starch-pressed dress shirts and double-soled Stacy Adams into gym shorts to play basketball or run laps around the school yard. Some simply refused and challenged him to fistfights.
And then there was Mr. Cavazos, because it was unthinkable to call him anything else but "Mr."
He was a lover of literature, music and an avid hunter. He was also a body builder, with the huge biceps and forearms to prove it. In a drab barracks classroom he introduced a tape recorder so that we could hear ourselves as we read the books we checked out in the small school library.
In that way, he piqued our curiosity for the written word.
And he was always writing.
In fact, he wrote the Christmas play one memorable year that had the teachers and students in the audience howling with laughter. It was a play – and I don't remember the name – about the human senses. Some, like the ears and eyes, were characterized by huge, over-sized glasses and fake ears. Others, like the sense of touch (I played that part), was a huge glove filled with cotton.
The upshot of the play was that the senses were arguing over who was the most important to the human body. The nose said it was he who sensed "something rotten in Denmark, the "eyes have it," etc., and of course, you had to "hand it" to touch.
In the end, the brain stepped in and reconciled everyone to the idea of working together and everyone saw the "sense " of that.
We knew Mr. Cavazos was something different, something special. My classmates like Tony Rocha (son of "La Peca"), and now an accountant, Rene Rosenbaum (now a professor in economics at Michigan State and brother of former county commissioner Lucino Rosenbaum) and others too numerous to recall, got together that Christmas season and took up a collections from the rest of our classmates (these were poor migrants, mind you) and bought him the current version of the Shooter's Bible that he had told us was a book he wish he had.
The look he got when we presented it to him even warmed the cockles of the hearts of chucos from Las Prietas we had in class. Congratulations on you book Mr. Cavazos.
This wasn't your average school population. Migrant kids grow up fast. Some boys at 14 and 15 were already contemplating having a family. Girls knew their way around the kitchen and had probably provided the child care for their siblings as they grew up and their older brothers and sisters were working with their parents in the fields.
The P.E. coach had hell to pay trying to get khaki-clad youths wearing their starch-pressed dress shirts and double-soled Stacy Adams into gym shorts to play basketball or run laps around the school yard. Some simply refused and challenged him to fistfights.
And then there was Mr. Cavazos, because it was unthinkable to call him anything else but "Mr."
He was a lover of literature, music and an avid hunter. He was also a body builder, with the huge biceps and forearms to prove it. In a drab barracks classroom he introduced a tape recorder so that we could hear ourselves as we read the books we checked out in the small school library.In that way, he piqued our curiosity for the written word.
And he was always writing.
In fact, he wrote the Christmas play one memorable year that had the teachers and students in the audience howling with laughter. It was a play – and I don't remember the name – about the human senses. Some, like the ears and eyes, were characterized by huge, over-sized glasses and fake ears. Others, like the sense of touch (I played that part), was a huge glove filled with cotton.
The upshot of the play was that the senses were arguing over who was the most important to the human body. The nose said it was he who sensed "something rotten in Denmark, the "eyes have it," etc., and of course, you had to "hand it" to touch.
In the end, the brain stepped in and reconciled everyone to the idea of working together and everyone saw the "sense " of that.
We knew Mr. Cavazos was something different, something special. My classmates like Tony Rocha (son of "La Peca"), and now an accountant, Rene Rosenbaum (now a professor in economics at Michigan State and brother of former county commissioner Lucino Rosenbaum) and others too numerous to recall, got together that Christmas season and took up a collections from the rest of our classmates (these were poor migrants, mind you) and bought him the current version of the Shooter's Bible that he had told us was a book he wish he had.
The look he got when we presented it to him even warmed the cockles of the hearts of chucos from Las Prietas we had in class. Congratulations on you book Mr. Cavazos.
5 comments:
Wow what a wonderful story. Mr Cavazos, you, are truly an inspiration. I wish there were more people like you. You taught your students have set a an example for them. Congratulations.
I have fond memories of Mr. Cavazos, my 7th grade English teacher at Josephine Castañeda Elementary, AKA "La Migrant School."
Moros Boy
Correction, Montoya, it was Mrs. Garibay, not Mr. Garibay.
We also had Mr. Castro, Mr. Flores, Mr. Oliveira, Mr. Willis, Mr. Siller and and the Social Worker, Mrs. Hidalgo.
Moros Boy
I met Yolanda Begum today. I will not say how because it will only cause a stir. I was correct in confronting her for her actions. She was wrong, but her intent was honest and honorable. But in the course of the discussion what I learned was, she is extremely articulate in English. These claims she cannot speak English are all lies. If only my Spanish were that good.
She also impressed me with her critical thinking skills. Unlike Erin with her law school education, Yolanda Begum can actually argue a complex point.
This has been one of the nastiest campaigns I have ever seen. People think with vile comments against Erin they are helping Yolanda - they are not. It needs to stop. I do not doubt that if people could meet Yolanda one on one, Yolanda would win hands down, even up against 300 mail ballots for Erin.
People need to turn this campaign into a positive campaign on the merits. Erin Garcia's supporters have lied about Yolanda's command of the English language. This is very, very wrong - but all of the vile needless comments about Erin have not helped Yolanda's campaign.
Yolanda is smart, articulate, and clearly has well above average critical thinking skills. This is what we need in a JP.
She needs to learn who her true friends are and who is actually hurting her campaign. I understand she is new to this - but politics is about settling scores - people like Yolanda who just sees this through very naive glasses could find herself dirting her name albeit inadvertently. Her campaign would do well to stay focused on her ideas. She needs to do a better job in getting out her message.
She needs to stop running against Ernie, and start running on the merits of her ideas. I do not doubt after a one on one debate with Erin, Ernie will want to sue Erin's law school for failing to teach his daught how to argue her point. In such a debate I do not doubt Yolanda would destroy Erin.
Yes, for now this is an endorsement of Yolanda Begum
Bobby WC
Is this Mr. Cavazos the same man who was married to Rosario Flores and were teachers at Central Middle School later on? Kudos to him, but I can remember that in those times that Juan is speaking about, most of our teachers were like Mr. Cavazos and they did not need so many assistant supts to tell them how to teach and reach the children. School was fun and we learned SO many things, and not just those things that were to be tested. Our testing was the ITBS or the CTBS and we actually looked forward to taking them because we got to show off all that the teachers had taught us during the year and we had retained. Some of us got double promoted because of our scores. Where did this time go? Where did all the good teachers go? (Miss Castaneda, Miss Alegria, Miss Froyd, Miss Pena, Miss Flores, Mrs. Hablin, Mr. Saenz, Mr. Joe Egly, Mrs Betanhouser are now gone but never forgotten by all the ASP Panthers that were in their classes.)
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