A friend sent me a note this week which I’d like to share with you as encouragement as well as challenge. If you have children or grandchildren, do your best to inspire them to love God and country.
That is easier said than done, of course. But reminiscences like those of my friend are a good starting point.
He alludes to the “shacks around Caracas”. For more on that, see my series on “ranchitos” beginning here: Ranchitos I.
Here is his letter:
Dear Richard,
Thanks for the info about Venezuela. It’s sad to see a beautiful country taken down by evil men. The people are the ones who suffer. I remember all the shacks in the area around Caracas and that the city was noted as the pick pocket capital. I know I lost all the Upjohn travel money I had to a gang of pickpockets. It makes me worry about the US and the direction we are headed.
I remember life in Kalamazoo when I would walk to school and to church, about 6 city blocks; we had no car. We would see the little flags with the blue and gold stars in the homes of individuals with sons in the war. But I still remember Sundays as a day of rest: no lawn mowers, no sports, no car washing. But the sound of church bells announcing the start of church services. There were 3 large churches in our neighborhood, and we attended the farthest away. We walked there 3 times a Sunday, rain or shine, seeing all our friends on the way.
Now, no church bells; they may offend someone. It’s all about sports, baseball, golf, basketball, football, and only one church service on Sunday.
And political corruption.
Are we headed in the same direction?
God bless you and yours.
J.V.
Looking north on Burdick St., Kalamazoo, Michigan, 1950s Looking east on Michigan Ave., Kalamazoo, Michigan, 1950s.
(Although I found photos of individual Kalamazoo churches in the 50s, I was unable to find any panoramic prints that showed at least several of them in one photo)
On May 21, 1927, not far from Paris, France, the first modern traffic jam developed.
Colonel Charles Lindbergh, having flown for 33 hours and 30 minutes, and not having slept for 55 hours, touched down and was instantly swarmed by tens of thousands (some estimates range up to a million) of men, women, and children, all seeking to see, touch, embrace, and take mementos from the man and his plane. Incredibly, only 10 people were hospitalized. Parisians feted Mr. Lindbergh like no one else before. By the end of the week, millions (no debate on this estimate) had seen or greeted him as he was driven from ceremonies, to banquets, to historical sites, such as the Champs-Élysées. Throughout, the twenty-five-year-old pilot behaved with modest aplomb and his speeches were gems of diplomacy.
The adulation and joy followed Mr. Lindbergh to Brussels and London, where the behavior and lionization exhibited by the phlegmatic British could not be distinguished from that of the exuberant French.
By mid-June, Charles Lindbergh was back in his own country, where New York City feted him with a ticker tape parade in which several millions joined in the celebration.
President Coolidge, whose July 4th, 1926 speech on the 150th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence (see here) evinced a disquietude with the spiritual reality of the country, and who urged a return to eternal verities, apparently saw in the young pilot something of a personification of what he had in mind. Below is the transcript of President Coolidge’s welcome and Charles Lindbergh’s response before a large crowd in Washington, D.C.:
Calvin Coolidge: On behalf of his own people, who have a deep affection for him, and have been thrilled by his splendid achievements, and as President of the United States, I bestow the distinguished Flying Cross, as a symbol of appreciation for what he is and what he has done, upon Colonel Charles A. Lindbergh.
[Applause]
Intelligent, industrious, energetic, dependable, purposeful, alert, quick of reaction, serious, deliberate, stable, efficient, kind, modest, congenial, a man of good moral habits and regular in his business transactions.
[Applause]
Charles Lindbergh: When I landed at le Bourget, a few weeks ago, I landed with the expectancy, and the hope, of being able to see Europe. [Laughter and applause]. It was the first time I had ever been abroad [Laughter], and I wasn’t in any hurry to get back [Laughter and applause]. And I was informed, that while it wasn’t an order to come back home [laughter], that there’d be a battleship waiting for me next week. [Laughter and applause].
President Coolidge requested Lindbergh, who the world saw as an embodiment of America, to fly to South America as a goodwill ambassador for the United States. Lindbergh did so, taking off on December 1, 1927, on the famed Spirit of St. Louis, the same plane he flew across the Atlantic Ocean. His itinerary took him to Mexico City, Guatemala, Belize, El Salvador, Tegucigalpa, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Panamá, Cartagena, Bogota, and Maracay (Venezuela), where he touched ground on January 29, 1928.
Although Caracas was the capital of Venezuela, the president, General Juan Vicente Gómez (see here and here) had made his home in Maracay, about 75 miles west. And that is where Lindbergh landed and where he was met by Gómez. But, first, he had flown over the capital city where enormous crowds had gathered in plazas, streets, and balconies, cheering loudly and waving frantically. In this, Venezuelans behaved like Parisians, Londoners, and New Yorkers.
Along with the crowds from Maracay and multitudes from Valencia, Puerto Cabello, and Caracas, innumerable automobiles invaded the roads converging towards the airport, creating Venezuela’s first massive traffic jam, immovable since the early afternoon. Many of the cars’ hoods displayed the national colors of Venezuela and the United States. By the time the plane landed, the airport was encircled by vast and loud multitudes, who gave the Águila Solitaria (Lone Eagle) an apotheotic reception.
The president himself walked to the hangars urging the crowds to give distance to the plane. Colonel Lindbergh had stayed a few minutes in the hangar, checking his plane’s fuselage and engine. The president’s entourage, seeking favor (a common phenomenon in all countries), expressed “concern” to the chief of staff that the American was being rude. But the chief brushed them aside, reminding them that President Gómez respected a man who “first took care of his horse”. This was true of Gómez. He was known to enjoy and to converse and seek good counsel on ranching and cattle breeding.
Two of Gómez’s daughters came forward and handed a magnificent bouquet of tropical flowers to the the famous aviator. “Are they natural?”, he asked. The president replied, “Yes, they are, but they are recognized and come from good families.”
This anecdote quickly made the rounds throughout the country, as the president had 74 children from numerous concubines. Lindbergh was referring to the flowers; however, depending on context, natural also refers to the status of children, in which case the word alludes to offspring of an unmarried couple. These become “legitimate” once the couple marries. It was in this sense that Gómez had understood the question, and he wanted to make clear that he “recognized” his daughters, having given them his name. But Gómez genuinely liked Lindbergh and no offense was taken, as none was intended.
The next day had been declared a national holiday, with Lindbergh being feted and honored in Maracay and Caracas, where he laid flowers adorned with Venezuelan and US flags at Simon Bolivar’s grave. Upon exiting the National Pantheon, he was instantly greeted with deafening ovations by the thousands who had gathered to see the American hero. The festivities culminated in a sumptuous banquet and dance in Caracas. Lindbergh did not dance, but, as in Paris and London, he was a gracious guest.
On January 31, 1928, the third day after having arrived, he took flight again and, after visits to St. Thomas, Puerto Rico, Santo Domingo, Port-au-Prince, Havana, he flew back to St. Louis.
Upon Lindbergh’s departure, Presidents Coolidge and Gómez exchanged warm greetings by diplomatic cable and Lindbergh himself wrote the following farewell:
I wish to give my thanks to President Gómez, to the officials of the army, to the functionaries of the government, and to the people of Venezuela, for the heartfelt reception they have so graciously given me during my visit and I also wish to express my gratitude to the press for their cooperation.
I am very impressed with the efficient manner in which the Corps of Venezuelan Aviation prepared the landing field and for the warm manners and gracious behavior of the people of Venezuela towards me.
Colonel Lindbergh returned to Venezuela in September of 1929, inaugurating the first experimental flight of Pan American Airways on a Sikorsky S-38.
The Spirit of St. Louis was donated by Charles Lindbergh and is displayed in the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum in Washington, D.C. The aluminum exterior of the plane reflects the national ensigns of all the countries visited by the young man. Among those ensigns is the flag of Venezuela.
With the President of Venezuela, General Juan Vicente Gómez, January 29, 1928 Charles A. Lindbergh, 1902-1974 North of Paris, May 21, 1927 Arriving in England, 1927 Charles A. Lindbergh posing with the Spirit of St. Louis Pan American Airways, Sikorsky S-38
I recently read a fascinating book, Vida de Hacienda en Venezuela (Hacienda Life in Venezuela), by José Rafael Lovera. The author performed meticulous research into the lives, customs, and mores of Venezuelans from the early days of her colonial era to the mid 20th century, when haciendas had largely disappeared (see the series on ranchitos, here, here, here, here, here, and here.). I found it to be an absorbing study.
A section of the book focuses on the wars, earthquakes, plagues, heartbreaks, and deaths that ravaged Venezuela. They were events which, added to the hard work, would seem to have made life unbearable, if not impossible.
As an example, this post addresses one of the many disasters that the haciendas, their owners, laborers, and slaves confronted for about a decade in the latter half of the 19th century. Locusts may be something we read about in the Bible, but it is a plague most of us know little about experientially.
The first extract is from a letter written by the English Baroness, Lady Annie Brassey, who made a brief visit to the port of La Guaira and Caracas in 1883 and who, on her way from the port to the capital, encountered a locust invasion. Let us see how she described this:
At each step, the landscape changed, till we finally came to an open space, sown with sugar cane, bananas, sweet potatoes, and other crops. Here we discovered the source of some extraordinary noises which, mixed with the far more harmonious birdsong, we had been hearing during our ascent. A vast cloud of locusts was fluttering, and, as is also done by the peoples of Chile and Peru — actually in all of South America where these plagues ravage the land — the inhabitants were beating drums, tin trays, pots, pans, and any other like objects they might have at hand, besides screaming and calling out and blowing horns and firing weapons, to drive away the swarms of these cruel devastators, whose brightly transparent wings trembled agitatedly in the sunlight reflected thereon, like silver snow caps.
As beautiful as it might be to see them so, the damage that these insects cause is terrible to behold. At that moment the traces of their visit were very obvious in the great banana leaves, reduced to their naked veins; the sugar canes and other crops slashed to the ground, and all trees stripped of their leaves, sprouts, and small branches.
Even the robust plantain … with her glossy yellow stalk and her scarlet flowers — like to an ancient galleon — were reduced to naked trunks and branches.
Elizabeth Gross, the wife of a German businessman, was in Venezuela in 1883 and 1896, and in a letter to her friend, told of her travel by mule back to the interior regions:
It was almost impenetrable, since the trees were very near to one another, covered with vines, parasitic plants, and others which hung picturesquely from them. The vegetation beneath the trees consisted of palms and other magnificent tropical plants, within and between which slid snakes, lizards, and perhaps also, towards the deeper interior, monkeys and tigers.
We observed as an interesting fact how the lower plants were covered with small, brown creatures, like grasshoppers. It was a depressing discovery, because as these grow and lift flight, they can travel as far as Maracaibo where, about seven years ago, they caused a total devastation.
[Mrs. Gross, now back in Maracaibo, writes her friend a few months later]….
… the locusts that we had seen in … the jungle are already here. A while ago I wanted to go shopping in the afternoon, with Mrs. Lüdert and her husband told us to not delay because it looked very dark over the lake [Lake Maracaibo], as if rain was threatening, even though we are not in the rainy season.
We had visited two stores when, suddenly, it became night and nothing could be seen. Clouds of locusts obscured the daylight. They came with such density that we had to defend ourselves with our umbrellas in order to advance. It was somewhat disgusting how these frightful critters slapped against our faces. They demolished absolutely everything.
After a half hour, the beautiful coconut trees had become brooms. The locusts had devoured all the greenery in the gardens. Despite our having closed all shutters and windows, two men had to dedicate three hours to kill the locusts which had slipped into our house. They got into everything: in closets, in the seat backs, and in the smallest corners. Five of them penetrated through my mosquito screen and were on my bed in the morning. They had also begun to eat the socks that were on the chair in front of my bed, as also the hairdresser cushion. They eat everything that has any starch whatsoever. They got into my dresses.
It was something truly disgusting. When it becomes dark, they fall where they are, thereby dirtying our roof. Tens of thousands of them were swimming on the lake….
The repulsive spectacle described by Mrs. Gross during her stay in Maracaibo was seen across other cities in Venezuela. We’ll conclude by citing a French traveler in Caracas in 1886. He writes of resting near a window of Hotel St. Amand where he was residing:
Suddenly, an infernal noise compels us to rush outside. Gunshots sound from all sides. In this country of endless revolutions, were we about to witness yet another? No, we see a cloud of locusts. It comes bleakly, threateningly, darkening the daylight, and stinking the air.
Everyone immediately arms himself. Some with wire plates, others with iron pots or cauldrons, or whatever might be at hand, metal or not, to make the most noise as possible. They also fire weapons into the air, they light fires everywhere and all this is done to somehow prevent the cloud from falling over Caracas.
For more than two hours this cloud has overflown the city which is submerged in a grey darkness. The amount of locusts was such that, the cloud having passed, there were three centimeters of excrements on the streets. In certain points outside the city, where the tail of cloud fell, we have walked over a thickness of two to three centimeters of dead locusts.
In a twinkling of an eye, the yellow ground has turned black. We could hear a horrible crunching sound of insects as they moved their jaws. All vegetation had disappeared in a few minutes. Not even a leaf remained on the trees. The branches bent down under the weight of the mass of insects. It was a lamentable spectacle, a ravaging even worse than our hail.
Such eloquent descriptions require no further commentary. They transmit the horror that the inhabitants of major cities fought against and the ravages that the numerous conucos, small farms, and haciendas endured. The losses were immense.
The United States has also had its share of this plague in the mid 19th century, perhaps the most (in)famous being the Rocky Mountain Locust Invasion of 1874 of which Laura Ingalls Wilder would write in terms similar to those used by the travelers cited above, including descriptions of the critters invading the houses and the horrible sound of “millions of jaws biting and chewing….”
And the desperate defense measures taken by the Americans mirrored those of the Venezuelans, including fires, shotgun blasts, and beating of metal plates or anything that would make noise.
As Job tells us, “Yet man is born unto trouble, as the sparks fly upward.” So, Venezuelans and Americans, like folks around the world have done throughout history, arose, shook the pests and dust off, and carried on.
Lake Maracaibo Plaza Baralt, Maracaibo, Venezuela, mid-19th century Plaza Baralt late 20th century Caracas in the early 19th century Plaza Mayor in Caracas, mid-19th century Aftermath Somewhere in Africa Aftermath of the Jerusalem Locust Plague of 1915 The Rocky Mountain 1874-1875 Locust Invasion
The image below gives us an idea of the massive migrations from Venezuela:
Unlike other parts of the world, Venezuelan migrants are usually family units or women with young children, as opposed to young men traveling on their own or in groups as has been seen in other recent mass migrations from other parts of the world. This is significant but is not the focus of today’s post, which is an update to comments posted recently (here).
When asked, many refugees cite the economic reality gripping the country, but in the same breath they also cite “crime” as a major concern to them and their families.
Of the top ten most dangerous cities in the world, based on murder rates, five are located in Mexico, and those rates are principally due to the drug wars. Of the remaining five, three are in Venezuela, and two in Brazil. Only one capital city has the dubious distinction of being on the list: Caracas, Venezuela, earns the bronze at third place.
The other two Venezuelan cities in the top ten are Ciudad Bolivar and Ciudad Guayana, both of which readers will recognize as I’ve mentioned each frequently in these posts. My father used to pick up the company payroll in Ciudad Bolivar and sleep under the stars on the long drive back in the 1940’s. Ciudad Guayana is the new metropolis composed of the old town of San Félix and the U.S. Steel mining town of Puerto Ordaz. By the time I left the land of my birth, Ciudad Guayana was a 40 to 50 minute drive and Ciudad Bolivar, about 2 hours from home.
In 1978, during a 3-week visit there, I had the doubtful honor to be present in Ciudad Guayana when it witnessed a shoot out worthy of Hollywood’s Gunfight at the OK Corral. A gang of armed thieves cased, broke in, and robbed a major jewelry shop while holding the owners and customers hostage. As they exited the store, they were met with a hail of bullets from the National Guard. Two slipped back into the store, tended their wounds, and discussed their escape. One ran out the back and was stopped cold in a volley of gunshots. The other ran out the front and he too was met by a broadside but somehow managed to crawl and limp into another store. Then he came out firing away, à la Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, before being cut down for good.
But most crimes do not end so spectacularly as they devastate homes and businesses, leaving a wake of innocents of all ages and sexes dead or physically and/or mentally maimed for life.
Venezuela has been struggling with violent crime for more than a generation but it is now experiencing widespread crime not seen since the devastations of the Caribs (if you don’t count the massive bloodletting during its early 19th century revolutions). We should not be surprised that Venezuela, a 20th-century immigration magnet for much of the world, is now a massive source of emigration whose numbers in the 21st-century have exceeded 4 Million, over 10% of its population. Just to give an idea of the scale, comparable number in the United States would be over 30 Million.
Those who point to Socialism as the cause of this desolation and havoc will get no argument from me. I would only suggest that the elephant in the room is not Socialism — everyone can see Socialism and its history of failure and death. What few see or are willing to acknowledge is the wreckage of the home in Venezuela (here).
And, going a bit deeper, seeing that the home is a divine institution established by the Triune God, that elephant also points the need for a return to Christianity.
Not only in Venezuela.
The Venezuelan refugee crisis is the largest ever recorded in the Americas. Sadly, there is precious little reporting thereon in the United States media. Ciudad Bolivar, on the Orinoco River, the 10th most dangerous city in the world. Ciudad Guayana, the world’s 7th most dangerous city, on the Caroní River (background) near its confluence with the Orinoco River (not pictured). Caracas, one of the most beautifully situated cities in the world and the third most dangerous. The only capital city in the top ten. The Elephant in the Room: the need for healthy homes and families
Teresa Carreño is a well-known name in Venezuela. However, other than associating the name with arts and culture, few know much about her.
Born in Venezuela, she played piano for European and American eminences and twice in the White House: once for Abraham Lincoln and the next time for Woodrow Wilson.
In prior posts, including the recent series on ranchitos, you will have noticed the many terrible wars and rebellions in 19th-century Venezuela. This had undeniable effect on Venezuelan society. Perhaps the story of one young girl and her eventual triumphs and failures will help put “flesh and blood” on aspects of such effect.
This post is a translation of a biographical sketch first published by the BBC a few years ago:
Teresa Carreño was barely 9 years old when, in the fall of 1863, she was invited to play the piano for then-president Abraham Lincoln.
The Venezuelan pianist returned to the White House in the winter of 1916 to offer a Christmas recital in honor of President Woodrow Wilson.
Between the first and the second concert 53 years had passed.
In that period, Carreño developed a successful musical career as performer, composer, and singer, which led her to make numerous international tours and to meet or collaborate with maestros such as Gustav Mahler, under whose direction she played with the New York Philharmonic Society.
A child prodigy, her professional trajectory took international flight, driven by wars and exile.
“Girl Genius”
Born in Caracas in 1853, in the bosom of a musical family — her grandfather was a well-known composer of sacred music –, Carreño gave evidence of great artistic sensibility from a very early age.
This caused her father, Manuel Antonio Carreño, to begin piano lessons and to assign complex exercises which permitted her to develop her abilities.
By 1861, little Teresa was considered to be a “girl genius” and had composed numerous short pieces for the piano, including eight waltzes, three dances, and two polkas.
However, the deterioration of the political situation in her native Venezuela — where her father was minister of the Treasury of a government facing a civil war — drove her family into exile in the United States in 1862, where another civil war was raging.
That very same year, at 8 years old, the young pianist debuted in New York City, where she was hailed by the public as a “musical phenomenon.”
“She deserves to be classified, not as a girl wonder, who at the age of 8 years has mastered all the technical difficulties of the piano, but as an artist with a first level sensibility,” wrote the musical critic of The New York Times.
Her talent greatly impressed the American composer, Louis Moreau Gottschalk, who in that time was considered one of the best pianists in the New World, and who became — for a brief time — the girl’s first professor in New York.
After her successful performances in the Big Apple, Carreño initiated her first tour in the United States, including the private concert she offered to President Lincoln in the White House, in which she played several compositions by Gottschalk as well as one of the president’s favorite songs, “Listen to the Mocking Bird.”
Teachers, Friends, and Influences
Her stay in New York does not last long. In 1866, the family traveled to the other side of the Atlantic and settled in Paris, where Carreño performed her European debut.
During her first weeks in the City of Light, the young lady [12 years old] met musicians such as Gioachino Rossini, creator of universal operas such as The Barber of Seville, and the Hungarian composer, Franz Liszt, who offered to give her musical lessons, which she declined.
She did study with Georges Mathias, who had studied under Frédéric Chopin and whose lessons served to make the Polish composer Carreño’s favorite.
During a tour of London, the Venezuelan pianist met Anton Rubinstein, ex-tutor of Tchaikovsky, who became friend as well as an important musical influence to her.
But the artistic career of the Venezuelan in Europe also took other paths.
Carreño was blessed with a beautiful mezzosoprano voice which was discovered by Rossini, who gave her singing lessons which became useful in exploiting another facet of her musical talent: operatic interpretation.
In 1872, in Edinburg on a concert tour, a soprano who was to interpret the role of the queen of Navarra in the opera, The Huguenots, fell ill and Carreño, who had never sung in public, substituted for her.
“In four days she learned the difficult role and performed in the opera with great success,” wrote The New York Times critic in 1916.
Shortly after that episode, Carreño returned to live in the United States, where she continued to perform for several years as singer in roles such as Zerlina in Don Giovanni.
Personal Difficulties
During her first stay in Europe, in 1873, Carreño married the violinist, Emile Sauret, which whom she had a daughter, Emilita, whom the couple left in the care of a German friend in order to continue touring to meet their professional commitments.
Then, a series of problems hit the pianist: the tour failed, she suffered the loss of a second pregnancy, her marriage with Sauret ended in divorce, and her father died in France, which left her in a difficult financial situation prohibiting her from providing for the care of Emilita, who ended up being adopted by the family of her German friend.
She returned to the United States, where she met the Italian baritone, Giovanni Tagliapietra, whom she married in 1876. The couple had three children, but the marriage also ended in divorce in 1889.
The Valkyrie of the Piano
Towards the end of 1889, Carreño returned to the Old Continent to settle in Berlin.
There, that same year, she married the pianist and composer Eugen D’Albert, with whom she had two daughters in a marriage that lasted only three years.
In Europe, Carreño toured several times through Germany, Russia, and other European countries and met the Norwegian Composer, Edward Grieg, and she becomes a proponent of his works.
In Germany, she is named “The Valkyrie of the Piano” and “the lion of the keyboard,” because of her strong, impetuous style interpreting compositions.
This was one of the characteristics for which she was known since childhood, when the critics reported that the strength with which she played the piano was like that of an adult male.
“It is difficult to adequately express what all musicians sensed in the presence of this great woman who looked like a queen among the pianists and played like a goddess,” wrote Henry Woods, director and founder of the London Summer Concerts which are now known last the BBC Proms.
“Her masculine vigor in tone and touch and her marvelous precision in execution excite the world,” he added.
With the passing of the year, however, Carreño began playing with a different type of energy.
After her death, a critic writing for The New York Times highlighted how the Venezuelan pianist had changed throughout the course of her career.
“I remember her as young, and, now, after all these years, it was a pleasure to sit and hear her play again,” he wrote.
“When I heard her recently, it seemed to me that the woman with the kind face and the gray hair played in a way that was much more artistic than how she had played when she was a young woman with a more passionate mood,” he added.
Carreño fell ill in Cuba, when she was about to initiate a tour through South America in March, 1917. She died in June of that year in her apartment in Manhattan, where she lived with her fourth husband, Arturo Tagliapietra, the brother of her second husband, Giovanni Tagliapietra.
Her last concerts in the United States were in Carnegie Hall, where between 1897 and 1916 she gave 32 performances, according to research done by the historian, Anna E. Kijas, of Tufts University (Massachusetts), creator of Documenting Teresa Carreño, a digital project which gathered numerous materials and primary sources about this Venezuelan.
Throughout her career, Carreño offered over 5,000 concerts and composed over 70 original musical pieces.
And, in all those years, she returned to Venezuela only twice. The first time, in 1885, for a recital tour. The second, in 1887, when she had planned to direct an opera company, which ended in failure.
She was cremated and, in 1938, her ashes were sent to Caracas, where they now rest in the National Pantheon.
Since the beginning of the 1980’s, Venezuela’s most modern theater bears her name.
Teresa Carreño in the United States. Initially after exile, she helped support her family with her concerts.Promoted in The United States as “The Child Pianist”.
