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Mexico

Martinez

To go back to 1904, the "rubber bubble" burst and the worthless stocks left much ruin in their wake, especially to small investors lured by this get rich scheme. Harper's decided to send father down to investigate conditions in the rubber plantations and find the reasons for this disaster. So to Tehuantepec, Mexico he went and his sensational discoveries were the material for "The Planter".

He found that the American plantation was run by an alcoholic incompetent who was the butt of the jokes amongst the planters. The beautiful pictures of the plantation printed in the elaborate brochure were purloined from the only highly successful planter in Tehuantepec. Father also discovered the fraudulent method of obtaining cheap labor for the plantations, and the resulting conditions that defied description. At that time the Mexican government, unknown to Diaz, was rounding up recalcitrant Indians, and, especially the Yaquis who had revolted and put up a fight that did considerable damage to government troops. The prisoners were rounded up, sent down to the tropics and sold at five dollars a head to the planters. When Indians became scarce, the "Jefes" emptied the prisons and sent the prisoners down at the same price.

So father, to get the practical experience he needed for his book, and to carry out a plan to better the conditions for this slave labor, took entire charge — for six months — of the plantation of a young Englishman who wished to return to England for his bride.

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Baum

Did your father make a living taking care of this plantation and writing?

Martinez

No. From the time he first got into Harper's he made his living entirely by writing. He, of course, published in other magazines.

Baum

Was it possible to make a living doing that?

Martinez

Yes, life was simpler then.

In the spring my father left for Mexico, putting us into the hands of his good friends. We had three stalwart boys, good at fishing and hunting, a vegetable garden, chickens, and nature's bounty in the summer. That casualness might seem odd in these regimented days, but in that period assistance was taken as a matter of course for writers and artists. So we managed to get along comfortably. When father did not return on schedule, we soon heard rumors afloat in Piedmont that he had deserted us. Mother, a gallant little person who had perfect confidence in her erratic husband, blithely denied that there was any such possibility and convinced the kindly neighbors she had no fears or qualms about the matter. However, the wealthy Piedmontese decided to care for us, the first poor family in this section of wealthy estates. So, during the winter, their carriages filled with luxuries rolled up our hill. We were so regally cared for we sometimes expressed the hope, with a sigh, "Maybe it would be just as well if father never came home," amended to " for a long time, of course". A telegram when he reached the border, a card telling her not to worry before he started into the tropics, and no word until a year later a letter announcing that he was on

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his way home satisfied my mother.

On reaching home, he looked us over and remarked, with a laugh, "Well you're all fat, but you'll slim down when you live on the scale you once were used to". We all beamed knowing that plain English fare would be seasoned with tales of Mexico, of strange places and wild adventure. So we were glad he had come home.

Baum

You children didn't resent that he went away?

Martinez

No, we admired my father extravagantly.

He had some wild adventures that are not generally known here. To begin with, he had an Indian wife and he said there was a little Whitaker wandering around in the tropics somewhere.

Father told mother and his friends of his unceremonious departure from Tehuantepec owing to his amazement and consternation at finding tacked up to the wall in the railroad station, a mystery to the stationmaster, a Harper's blurb announcing his colorful articles in preparation for their magazine, of the shocking conditions on the rubber plantations and their scandalous treatment of the Indians there. Though the station was some distance from the plantations, father knew what would happen to him if the planters, to whom this would be a serious matter that could start an investigation, were to find this announcement of his revelations. Too many of the planters, expert gunmen, were in the habit of settling all scores in the Wild Western fashion and it might be a matter of life or death to him. So, tearing up the blurb, he hopped the train and started back to Mexico City. His good friend, Mr. Guernsey, editor of the Mexican Herald, advised him to return to California until the uproar, despite father's defense of Diaz, his articles would cause in Mexico, died down.

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An echo of the feud caused by father's published articles reached Piedmont a year later. One sunny morning the boys were sawing and splitting wood, save for young Herman who had left for good shortly after father's marriage, and Vera and I were pulling weeds out of our small flower garden that had barely survived the assaults of our pet goat and the predatory chickens, when a tall, lean American loomed up before us and asked, "Does Mr. Whitaker live here?" "Yes, father is out for a walk and will be back soon," I replied. I invited him into the house to wait for father. The youngsters, used to strangers from all parts of the world coming to see father, followed curiously. The stranger looked at me with puzzled expression and asked, "Has Whitaker a family?" After my introducing the youngsters to him he said with a chuckle, "This is a surprise! Whitaker never told us he had a family." With an approving look at us he said, "I'm Gibson, a planter from Tehuantepec." To our excited questions about the tropics he gave our spellbound group tales of life in the tropics, on the plantations, hunting forays in the jungle, and the intricate ways and means of capturing wild animals and the elusive boa constrictor. On the boys' eager demand, he showed them his pistol and, to their questions about the thin notches on the handle, he told with an amused smile, "These are for several bandits, one for an uncooperative petty official and a couple for escaped Indians," and with a chuckle he added, "Your father has a couple of nicks on his gun and you'd better ask him about them!" Just then the door opened and father, a startled look on his face, paused, then greeted Gibson. Rising, Gibson said,

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"You know why I have come, Whitaker" and with a sweeping gesture embracing the youngsters finished, "you needn't worry, I've become a friend of the family and could not carry out orders now." So they shook hands warmly and in the now warm, friendly atmosphere exchanged confidences and Gibson disclosed the plan made by the planters. He had passage booked for that evening on a boat to Australia and he was to "get" father and disappear. It seems that when the scandal broke, the planters were up in arms and crying for vengeance. So the task was assigned to Gibson who would be on his way to Australia. In those days it would have been a simple matter. There were no highly trained police, laboratories or an F.B.I. in Oakland then. Gibson also added that to get away from the uproar, wearing nature of the problems of life on the plantation, he was leaving for Australia. The farther away he got from the tropics, the less important seemed his ruthless mission, and he emphasized his relief upon meeting the family. After dinner with a warm handshake for all of us, he left for his boat. Father never heard from him or ever saw him again.

Just before World War One, "The Planter" was made into a movie. Because of the Mexican Revolution raging at that time, the production was transferred to Guatemala, with its jungles and Indians for local color. Of course, lacking the rubber plantations of Tehuantepec, its realism was rather thin, but the shots of the lovely tropical scenery and the vivid shots of rainstorms made up for many lacks. However, today it would be technically poor and the handling of the story unsatisfactory. The part of the planter, the hero, was played by Tyrone Power, Senior, a "heavy," in the theatrical parlance of the day,

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who did a fairly credible job.

After father's death, Twentieth Century Fox bought "Over the Border" from his widow. It is the story of three American derelicts devoting the last of their worthless lives to saving the life of a pretty daughter of an American mining engineer killed by revolutionaries, bringing her through many perils to the American border. Using their rather dubious skills and shady dodges, fighting Indians, outwitting Mexican bandits, and circumventing the Government Rurales who were looking for them, they brought her safely to the border. However, at that time, Mexico was making vigorous protests to Washington about using Mexicans for all their villains in American films. So, Fox transferred the story into the Oklahoma land rush and our heroes became entangled with fighting Indians and coping with the wiles of Western bad men, a typical Western with the title "The Three Bad Men". The production was very elaborate, but I don't remember the cast or the date on which the film came out. My step-mother sold the rights and, as she shared nothing with us, we knew nothing of the transaction until the film appeared in our movie house in Oakland.

The Madera Revolution had happened and its promise was unfulfilled. Diaz was out and Mexico was in a turmoil with Villa still on the move and the central figure in our news of Mexico. Villa created a sensation by sending raiding parties over our border, so father trotted back to Mexico as war correspondent for the Oakland Tribune. He joined up with Villa who welcomed reporters and photographers

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and followed him through two campaigns. Father wound up admiring Villa and he considered him a patriot and a superb strategist. Villa managed to keep his considerable army intact and harassed whoever was in power at the moment. His commissary was unique in that they lived off the land taking tribute of food from the small towns en route and raiding and stripping the great haciendas of their crops and cattle. The problem of feeding the troops was simple, it consisted of meat and beans and an occasional tortilla, when the women had time to make them. Before or after battles, the women who traveled on the top of troop cars with their small bundle of possessions and a cooking pot, clambered down and prepared the food for their men. (Father took many photos of Villa's army and many of the women preparing the meals, which I will give you with the photo album.)

Obregon was Villa's lieutenant when father joined him and they had many talks together of the problems with the Indians who wanted the land and with American and European businessmen who owned much of the rich resources of Mexico. Father predicted that Obregon would be President of Mexico some day and years later he proved to be an excellent prophet.

Father used to tell several stories that characterized the man, Villa. He was a strict disciplinarian with his army men and one day at lunch in Villa's quarters the sound of raucous voices rose up to the windows from the yard below. Villa looked black and gave an order to his aide, "Find out what's going on there!" The aide returned to report simply, "A couple of drunken soldiers fighting". Villa rose,

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took his gun out, and, leaning out the window, shot both soldiers dead, remarking "I won't have drunkenness in my army," and went on talking from the point he had left off.

The other story concerned a brilliant young officer whom he was grooming to be a military figure. The lad had fallen in love with a charming young girl — daughter of a haciendado — and she begged him not to go on their next battle for fear of losing him before their marriage, which was soon to be celebrated. To this request Villa merely said, "I want to see this remarkable young lady" and abruptly dismissed the young officer. Later that afternoon he brought his lovely fiancee in the hopes her beauty and charm would win him over. Villa stared at her coldly, shot her dead and turning to the young officer said sharply, "We'll have no problems now," and left the room.

In the meantime, the raids on the border caused much excitement in Washington and as a result of the furor, Pershing was delegated to take a small army to Mexico and chasten Villa. So, father rushed back home and made arrangements to join Pershing as correspondent for the Tribune again. Because father had just returned from campaigning with Villa, he had many talks with Pershing. Father explained that Villa was a desert fox, knew every water hole in the desert because we had no adequate air force then, and was as tricky and fleet as the little animal he emulated. They became friends and Pershing explained the main objective of this troop display was to show Mexico we had an army and, under provocation, would use it. That settled the border

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dispute and peace reigned thereafter. However, the Mexican opposition, since they could not defeat Villa in battle, had to murder him in order to get rid of him.