In recent months it has been my joy to have renewed acquaintances with one of the “big boys” who lived in El Pao in my early years. When I say “big boys” I mean he was a few years older than me during the phase in childhood where a few years might as well be an eternity! But we are members of the same generation.
Michael John Ashe II (Mike) came to El Pao as a little boy with his beautiful family in 1953, the year of my birth. I remember his sister and twin brothers, who were closer to my age back then, when even 2 years was a big deal.
It’s been great to have gotten back in touch with Mike, even if only through email.
He has graciously agreed to let me post his reminiscences in this blog, something which I will do over the coming weeks and months, with a few interruptions here and there.
His writings speak for themselves, but if I have something to add I’ll do so in parentheses identified by “RMB”
For now, I’ll only say that Mike’s family is a microcosm of the many families who came to El Pao and similar mining camps throughout South America in the 1940’s and 1950’s. The backgrounds varied greatly and the adventurous spirit was very high.
I know you will enjoy these.
Thank you, Mike!
Michael John Ashe II
Foreword
Personal Narrative of Living in a Mining Camp
Now in my seventies, I thought it be best to delve into my memories of a an extraordinary childhood adventure before they escape me.
Memories of Mining Camp living was akin to Time Traveling from a modern world to a far more basic and remote jungle life.
My parents, Herbert Carroll Ashe and Gloria McCluskey Ashe provided me with this great adventure to which I dedicate this humble accounting of our camp life together.
My grandmother Mama-Mary Ellen McCluskey I will always be thankful for her unconditional love.
To my El Pao classmate, Cheryl Serrao who suffered greatly from a genetic disorder that ended her life in her early teens. You are gone but not forgotten.
To Mike Ashley, Richard Barnes, and my wife Maria Cristina Ashe for their participation, help, and inspiration.
To my children and grandchildren, you are our greatest gift from God. Your love has always been unconditional and cherished by Nana and I. You have made us very happy. God bless you always.
Copyright 2021 by Michael J. Ashe
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage on retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
Mining Camp-Memories-from my childhood’s perspective (Risk Takers and Adventurers)
Prologue
Pat Korb and Mike Korb were kind to send me an audio interview of their life in El Pao (1969-1970) a mining camp situated 36 miles south of the Orinoco River in the state of Bolivar. This prompted me to prepare these series of short stories about my experiences in growing up in several mining camps but primarily in El Pao circa 1950s.
In the 1950s the State of Bolívar was sparsely populated. Cities and towns in the state included Ciudad Bolívar, Puerto Ordaz, Upata, San Félix, and Palúa. Ciudad Bolívar (aka CB) was the largest city and the state’s capital. CB’s population was less than 50,000 then and over 400,000 now. Palúa, Puerto Ordaz, Upata, and San Félix population I would estimate at less than 12,000. Now, a new city, Ciudad Guayana (formerly Puerto Ordaz, Palúa, and San Félix) population is about 1 million. The total population of the State of Bolívar is more than 1.4 million now. The country’s birth rate is one of the highest in the world. Needless to say, the State of Bolívar is a much different place now and most likely not for the best.
Pictures of Angel Falls — Water falls from a flat-topped top mountain (Tepuis) Auyan Tepui (Devils Mountain) in the State of Bolivar. The highest waterfall in the world which drops over 3000 ft. In the 1950’s and today, travel is limited to a fly by with a small aircraft. Dense jungle surrounding the falls and given its remoteness, the trip would be very risky. We never went there.
Chapter #1-Our First Mining Camp-Inspiration Arizona:
Before moving to Venezuela, Dad got a job working for an Anaconda Copper Inspiration Arizona, starting as a mucker (as a reference Inspiration lies between the towns of Globe and Miami). The company furnished houses for the workers. The only thing I can remember was that there was a stove in the middle of the living room that I got burned on. Inspiration was a very typical company-run camp at an altitude of about 3,500 ft located in a beautiful part of Arizona. The area was isolated from the rest of Arizona and was considered as the state’s frontier, mainly due to its proximity to the famous San Carlos Indian Reservation. The towns in the area remained frontier outposts well into the 20th Century. Plenty of murders, lynching and really bad hombres. All of which was part of the lore of American Cowboy and the Western lifestyle. Even now Globe is considered to be the most dangerous city in Arizona. The western movies captured the conflicts and violence between settlers and Apache warriors like Geronimo and Cochise, but there were many others (notice how the bad guys were always the Indians maybe not a fair representation of history). They also captured the lives of colorful characters like Wyatt Earp, Doc Holiday and Big Nose Kate (hands down the most colorful woman in the frontier west). I must say that the movies captured the most important stars- the beautiful western landscapes-John Ford’s work was the best.
Picture of Malachite Quartz and Blue ball Azurite from a mine in Globe.
In 1950 during a routine medical checkup, it was determined that Dad had a mass in his left lung, that needed to be dealt with. His doctor suggested that he go to Mayo Clinic (Rochester MN) since lung operations of this type were rare at that time. Actually, the operation they performed was one of the first lobectomy at Mayo. It was a brutal operation with a very large incision on his back (the procedure today is less invasive since it is done from the front). The left lung has only two lobes while the right has three lobes so they ended up removing half his left lung. Thankfully the mass was benign. My mother would always tell me to take care of Dad, as we might not have him around for too long, he ended up living to 91!
I had to stay with my Grandparents in Cananea Mexico (A mining town also operated by Anaconda where my grandfather worked) while my parents went to Mayo. My mother returned by bus to Cananea while Dad remained in the hospital recovering. Aunt Charlene was a nurse at Mayo and had just married my Uncle Don. Their honeymoon plan was to drive to Cananea but that did include Dad tagging alone. Dad would also be complaining about how much the incision hurt during the trip but Aunt Charlene always felt that he was milking it!
The drive from Inspiration to Cananea took about 5 hours so we would make the trip quite often which was particularly fun for me once we crossed into Mexico. The road from Naco to Cananea at that time was not paved and you would have to cross a series of arroyos (steep and not so steep gullies formed by fast -flowing water) most of which were dry or partially filled with water. There were no bridges so the cars would have to enter the arroyos. When it rained, we would have to wait until the water subsided in order to pass. For me the trip was always a great adventure. On one trip Dad and Uncle Don took me jack rabbit hunting. The jack rabbits would stand up on their hind legs which provided an easy target for the hunter. I think I was 4 years old at the time and my dad sited the rabbit and I pulled the trigger. I remember crying and was unconsolable on the way back to Cananea after killing and retrieving that bunny rabbit. At my uncle’s 90th birthday he reminded me of that hunting trip which apparently left a long-lasting impression on both of us!
My grandparents house (owned by Anaconda) was located on a ridge just outside of town. There was a Baseball Park nearby where the Cananea Mineros played as part of the Arizona Mexico League Mineros and won the league in 1955/56. I was lucky to see Claudio Solano once, he played third base and hit over 200HR for the Mineros. Globe Miami Arizona Miners were also part of the league. Any time I would go to Cananea I would visit the park. The Cincinnati Reds were affiliated with the Yuma’s team in that league. I don’t think that the Cananea Mineros played ball after 1958?
There were about 8 company houses on the ridge where they lived and most folks had horses and barns out back. My grandparents didn’t have horses but raised fryer chickens as well as egg layers and turkeys. They had a maid for twenty years; her name was Anita A wonderful woman (anyone and everyone that knew her loved her) I remember she would be in charge of killing the chickens (ringing their necks). One thing for sure chicken/eggs were always on the menu.
Naco on the US side crossing into the State of Sonora Mexico
Both my uncle Don and Dad worked for Anaconda for a short time. I think both felt that opportunities were limited but it did end up giving both a good head start in their careers.
Chapter 2-Second Mining Camp-El Pao Venezuela
Infrastructure
The El Pao ore deposit was discovered in 1920. Iron Mines Company of Venezuela (IMCOV) a wholly owned subsidiary Bethlehem Mines was formed after WWII. In the late 1940’s IMCOV began Engineering Procurement and Construction of the El Pao ore deposit and supporting logistics facilities 1) Rail 36 miles/Locomotives /Gondola Cars used to transport ore to Palúa, 2) two port facilities a river port at Palúa (capable of holding 850,000 tons of ore and seaport at Puerto de Hierro and 3) a fleet of river ore carriers.
Sparrows point shipyard in Baltimore Maryland built 6 ore carriers for IMCOV. The ore carrier Punta Anamaya was the first of eventually five sister ships that were built for the Iron Mines Company of Venezuela. These small ships, each 381-feet long and 64-feet wide were expressly designed and built for service on the Orinoco River in Venezuela to haul iron ore from Palúa to Puerto de Hierro (8,500-ton capacity) and then to be transshipped by ocean-going ore carriers (26,000-ton Capacity) primarily to Plants in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania and Sparrows Point, Maryland. IMCOV also maintained an office in Caracas (capital of the republic) to interface with the Venezuelan Government.
I’d see them in port at Palúa and on the Orinoco. I would always be amazed at how big and beautiful they were.
Just the logistics of getting equipment through the jungle was a monumental task not to mention the amount of planning and engineering supporting this major undertaking which was extremely expensive. Potable water from the Caroni, Fuel to Run the Electric Generator at all locations, not to mention the camp and ports’ housing roads and infrastructure. Don’t know if the returns justified the investment? Puerto de Hierro IMCOV Deep water port in the state of Sucre.
As I pass through my incarnations in every age and race,
I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market-Place.
Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.
We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn
That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breadth of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.
We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market Place,
But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.
With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch.
They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch.
They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings.
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.
When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.
They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.
But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "Stick to the Devil you know."
On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life
(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "The Wages of Sin is Death."
In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,
By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "If you don't work you die."
Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew,
And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true
That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four—
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.
As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man—
There are only four things certain since Social Progress began:—
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool's bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;
And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins
When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,
As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!
Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936); Nobel Prize in Literature, 1907
In his time, sermons were published in their entirety in newspapers and magazines. “Copybook Headings” refers to concise summations of sermons or proverbs or maxims. They were considered to reflect age-old wisdom and warnings and schoolchildren were required to copy them repeatedly in their notebooks (copybooks). These were considered moral education as well as penmanship practice. It’s a good idea to re-read the poem today.
“It began to dawn upon me uneasily that perhaps the right way to judge a movement was by the persons who made it up rather than by its rationalistic perfection and by the promises it held out. Perhaps, after all, the proof of social schemes was meant to be a posteriori rather than a priori. it would be a poor trade to give up a non-rational world in which you liked everybody, for a rational one in which you liked nobody.” — Richard Weaver, “Up From Liberalism” (1958)
“We must address broader issues, social boredom, wants, the mind, the heart — nothing to do with politics, or very little so.” — Russell Kirk
“The State exists simply to promote and to protect the ordinary happiness of human beings in this life. A husband and wife chatting over a fire, a couple of friends having a game of darts in a pub, a man reading a book in his own room or digging in his own garden — that is what the State is there for. And unless they are helping to increase and prolong and protect such moments, all the laws, parliaments, armies, courts, police, economics, etc., are simply a waste of time.” — C. S. Lewis
“And Judah and Israel dwelt safely, every man under his vine and under his fig tree, from Dan even to Beersheba, all the days of Solomon.” — I Kings 4:25
Earlier this year, I was asked whether social gears ground with difficulty living in El Pao, considering the differences between the Anglo and Spanish Americans not only in culture but, in some cases, also in class. The question forced me to pause and think back on my childhood in El Pao.
Upon reflection, and not meaning to be a Pollyanna about this, I must say that, in El Pao, I lived among the type of people I would ally myself with in the quest for the good life, that life of finding and pursuing your calling with all your might knowing that you will have the support, the criticism, and the encouragement you need to realize that life.
For those readers who grew up in small town America, I believe your experiences were most likely very similar to mine and to those of my childhood friends, especially early childhood.
Long before the television show, Cheers, gave us the refrain, “Where Everybody Knows Your Name”, I knew this to be the case, not in a bar, but in El Pao. We could name every person, not only in our school, but in every house. We could not get away with dialing the telephone and hanging up unless we did this only once or at most twice. Beyond that, you were very likely to be caught. Doors were left unlocked, your teachers knew not only your parents but every sibling and cousin, and upon your return from a long vacation or from an even longer absence for school, everyone knew all about where you were and how you had been doing.
No one expressed concerns when you and your buddies, rifle in hand, explored the surrounding jungles, unless you stumbled upon the secret dynamite depository, which we did on one occasion. However, once the national guard ascertained who we were, they let us go with a mild admonition, but not before they requested us to demonstrate our shooting skills (which duly impressed them, I might add).
Our friends included Venezuelans, Americans, Chileans, Cubans, English, German, Spanish, and Russian. From all “classes.” This was in addition to relatives, friends, and acquaintances outside the camp, who lived in San Félix, Puerto Ordaz, and Ciudad Bolivar, along the Orinoco, Puerto de la Cruz on the northern coast, Caracas, and more.
I do not recall hearing the social gears grind, let alone bumping into them, until well into my adolescence.
Those gears ground so smoothly for all those years because we, in a very real sense, lived in a classless society.
I do not mean there were no distinctions, for that will simply never be. We had distinctions, whether fathers, mothers, and children, or priests, pastors, and laity, or teachers and students, or bosses and subordinates, or general managers and miners, or heads of households and gardeners. Distinctions abounded all around us. We respected them; we gave honor to whom honor was due. But, paradoxically, we didn’t notice, let alone dwell upon them. And skin color did not even come into our thinking.
Recently, many years later, I’ve come into contact with childhood friends who, invariably, tell me that El Pao was a paradise to them. I can relate.
Why was all that collaborative, dare I say, loving, spirit buried under class and race warfare? Like Steve McQueen asks at the end of The Sand Pebbles, “What happened? What the [expletive] happened?”
Well, the man whose most famous publication, The Communist Manifesto, that strident, profane booklet, which, in my opinion, everyone should read, alongside the Bible (that way you know what both sides are thinking) is part of what happened. The Manifesto states, “The Communists … openly declare that their ends can be attained only by the forcible overthrow of all existing social conditions.” Marx made it very clear that progress can only come by means of violence. For that to happen, the home and church must be destroyed. So, it calls the home a brothel, wives and mothers, whores, religion, an opiate, and more. UNESCO registered that insufferable screed to its “Memory of the World Programme”. Why am I not surprised?
The idea of class struggle was not new or original with Marx; what was unique was his re-writing of all of human history with class warfare at the center. The concepts in the Manifesto, published in February 1848, were reinforced with the publication, in 1859, of Darwin’s On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection, or the Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life.
One would think that, with all the contemporary concern with racism, we would hear much more about Darwin’s contribution on “Favoured Races”. One would think so in vain.
As Engels said in his eulogy to Marx in 1883: “Just as Darwin discovered the law of evolution in organic nature, so Marx discovered the law of evolution in human history.” And each made organic nature and human history something ugly.
If you would like to see a contrast between pre and post-Darwinian/Marxist thinking, set aside some evenings to watch the BBC’s The Blue Planet. It is a strikingly beautiful production marred by its constant, almost unbearable allusions to death and sex time and time again. I watched every episode, but as each episode screened, something about it increasingly darkened the beauty that it supposedly intended to convey.
In contrast we have Gilbert White’s publication, The Natural History and Antiquities of Selborne, published in 1789 and never out of print. This parish parson, Gilbert White, spent his entire life in Selborne parish serving his flock and observing and drawing the different plants and animals and natural history of his region. It is an achingly and evocatively beautiful record reflecting the harmony of creation and how everything in nature “fits” perfectly, a reflection of nature’s God.
Both the BBC and White observed the same creation, the same nature. But one saw only blood and sex in the struggle for food and species preservation; the other saw harmony and beauty, reflecting the glory of the Creator.
I would say that my early childhood in El Pao was more akin to White’s Selborne, whereas my later adolescence, for a shorter period of time, saw more of Marx’s Manifesto, although not exclusively. I believe that anyone with a sense of beauty and love and harmony would prefer the former. And, notice, there was no politics in the former. Or very little so.
“Everything was politics. Too much politics. That’s no way to live.” — Mr. Tuohy, my parents’ friend, who later became my friend also, speaking to me about Chile after Allende’s ascent.
“The trouble with Socialism is that it takes too many evenings” — Sounds like Yogi Berra, but is attributed to Oscar Wilde
The popular show, Cheers, where everybody knows your name. Everybody in El Pao knew your name, with or without the bar. The Communist Manifesto (1848) The Natural History of Selborne, Folio Society edition School children in El Pao, circa 1955 Recess, El Pao circa 1960
The Home Page of this blog quotes the late great Whittaker Chambers as the source for its title: The Pull of the Land.
Although crediting Mr. Chambers for the title, I’ve said nothing about him beyond that. Going forward I hope to rectify this oversight, because, in probably the only sentence Arthur Schlesinger Jr. ever wrote with which I agree, “Whittaker Chambers has written one of the really significant American autobiographies. When some future Plutarch writes his American Lives, he will find in Chambers penetrating and terrible insights into America in the early twentieth century.”
Chambers was, and continues to be today, sixty years after his death, a controversial figure. He was a Communist spy, when Americans were told emphatically that no such thing existed. He then converted, after focusing on his infant daughter’s ear and submitting to his epiphany which insisted that such a marvel could not have come into existence absent an all-powerful God.
He went underground to avoid assassination by his erstwhile comrades and emerged publicly as a journalist, writing in The American Mercury and, most notably in Time and Life, two of the famous publications of Henry R. Luce, the others being Fortune and Sports Illustrated. Luce deeply respected and admired Whittaker Chambers, but he could not have anticipated the next, explosive era in Chambers’ life.
In 1948 he was subpoenaed to testify before the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC). However, this was not the first time he had come forward to alert the United States federal government of Communist infiltration in its highest echelons. Almost a decade earlier, he had spoken with a top State Department official, Adolph A. Berle, identifying Communist cells and names of individuals with critical access. Berle took the information to President Franklin Roosevelt, who promptly dismissed it, even though the Communists named included his special assistant, Lauchlin Currie, who would also become the president’s Special Representative to China, Alger Hiss, who would eventually go on to preside over the United Nations Charter Conference, and Victor Perlo, who had clearance at the secret bombsight project at the Aberdeen Proving Ground.
A cursory review of that decade reveals several of the earth shattering events of the 20th century, including the fall of China to Mao Tse Tung, the fall of the Iron Curtain across central Europe, and the creation of the United Nations on terms disadvantageous to the United States. One could bicker about “who lost” what, but one cannot ignore the role played by agents who had been identified by Chambers a few years before Pearl Harbor.
In his testimony in 1948, Chambers repeated his testimony and was promptly denounced by Alger Hiss who went to his grave denying his being a Communist agent. The contrast between the two men was dramatic. And instructive. Handsome, Ivy League, well-spoken, neat, fit vs. Crooked teeth, college dropout, mumbler, disheveled, poor health. President Harry Truman mocked Chambers calling him a “Red Herring” and refused to take action on the allegations.
Hiss was eventually convicted of perjury.
Allen Weinstein researched the case extensively, believing that Hiss was not a spy. But he, like many after reviewing the record, came to believe Chambers. The Venona Project whereby, after the fall of the Soviet Union, many, but not most, by far, files were deciphered and published, confirmed that Hiss was working for the Soviets, as testified by Chambers over four decades earlier. The list of Americans in the files was astounding. Hayden Peake, curator of the Central Intelligence Agency’s Historical Intelligence Collection has stated, “No modern government was more thoroughly penetrated.”
Every single name in Chambers’ testimony was in the Venona lists. And he is hated to this day by the usual suspects.
Whittaker Chambers wrote the deeply moving and genuinely classic American autobiography, Witness, from which I took the title to this blog.
He also wrote what many considered an explosive essay about the Yalta conference attended by Franklin Roosevelt, Winston Churchill, and Joseph Stalin, the WWII allies, in 1945. Explosive because Stalin was our “ally” and the essay did not reflect positively about the Soviet Union’s intentions. The staff at Time and Life rose in outrage and a “delegation” visited Chambers’ editor to urge the essay not be published. The editor, T. S. Matthews was so shaken, that he held the piece for a week, but eventually proceeded to publish it. Time was inundated with what today we would call “hate mail” along with cancellation requests. How could Time question the motives of our faithful Communist ally?
The essay was “Ghosts on the Roof”. The murdered Czar and his family, descend “with the softness of bats” upon the roof of their old palace and meet the muse of history already there. They proceed to discuss the conference now unfolding beneath them and the Czar announces his unabashed admiration of Stalin and his own conversion to Marxism, “What statesmanship! What vision! What power!” he exclaims. “And now … the greatest statesmen in the world have come to Stalin. Who but he would have had the sense of historical fitness to entertain them in my expropriated palace!”
Sitting next to a gravely ailing President Roosevelt was Alger Hiss. Roosevelt would die 3 months later.
Three years later, when Chambers’ prescience could not be ignored, Time republished the essay, saying it was worth a second reading.
We’ll write more about Chambers in future posts.
Lauchlin Currie (1902-1993). Member of President Franklin Roosevelt’s “Brain Trust”. Alger Hiss (1904-1996). High ranking official in Roosevelt and Truman administrations. His guilt has been hotly disputed to this day. However, the overwhelming consensus among historians is that he was indeed guilty, as confirmed by the unanimous report of the bipartisan Moynihan Commission on Government Secrecy in 1997. Whittaker Chambers (1901-1961) A classic autobiography. A WWII US progaganda poster Franklin Roosevelt at Yalta, right of center in the photo. He was ailing at the time. To his left, our right, is Alger Hiss. Josef Stalin is in the shadows at left. “The President seemed placid and frail,” wrote Winston Churchill. Churchill’s bodyguard, Walter Thomson, in his memoirs, recalled seeing Churchill “weeping over the concessions Roosevelt made to Stalin at Yalta. ‘Why, Thomson, did they allow the president, almost dying on his feet, to be there…? All Europe will suffer from the decisions made at Yalta.'”
