El Pao – Page 6 – The Pull Of The Land

Preachy Pop Songs

August 23, 2021August 23, 2021 Richard Barnes

Scott Johnson’s column noted that Jackie DeShannon celebrated her 80th birthday last week, August 21. That in turn spurred me to invite you to briefly visit with me the summers of 1965 and 1969.

The background noise was, of course, the war in Vietnam. This post is not about that, other than to mention it as a backdrop, given that DeShannon’s renditions seemed to be reactions (or purported remedies?) to the controversies swirling at the time regarding that Hot Spot in the Cold War.

The Beatles were still very big in 1965 and their concert in New York’s Shea Stadium was their biggest, in fact the largest attended outdoor event up to that time. Press officer, Tony Barrow said it was “the ultimate pinnacle of Beatlemania … the group’s brightly-shining summer solstice.” During their brief stay in New York they also performed at the world’s fair.

As with all home office employees, my father’s employment contract included annual leave with paid travel to point of origin, which in his case was Massachusetts. That year he took us to the world’s fair and gave me memories which are cherished to this day.

Although Beatlemania was at its peak, a Burt Bacharach – Hal David song managed to break through the British Invasion that summer. I was just an 11-year old, and, when it came to pop music, I did not differ much from my generation in being mesmerized by the “Beatles Sound”. However, DeShannon’s rendition of “What The World Needs Now” caught on, making it into the top 10 that year. In Miami and Miami Beach the song could be heard everywhere, including the more “adult” radio stations some folks played while at the beach.

It is a memorable song which she handles seriously. Dionne Warwick, who was THE Bacharach – David interpreter, had turned it down, considering it “too preachy”. DeShannon agreed to record it and I am glad she did. Her earnest, captivating interpretation is linked below, should you like to hear it.

In a year that saw the Watts Riots, the song seems counterintuitive, but does manage to express a felt longing and seeking.

Other events from that year that I remember from childhood were Hurricane Betsy, which I excitedly anticipated and witnessed as it hit us in Miami, and the phenomenal Comet Ikeya-Seki which I wrote about here. This was the brightest comet of the past thousand years, and I’ll be forever grateful to my mother and father for waking us up hours before dawn and driving us to the labor camp to behold a sight of a lifetime.

And I also remember the excitement of the St. Louis Arch having been completed. I would visit it with my father and brother about 15 years later.

In 1969, as the pop world continued to move away from the existential exuberance of the early Fab Four and into a more cynical, psychedelic phase which 1967’s Sgt. Peppers album is usually thought to have unleashed, DeShannon again broke through with another “preachy song” which she wrote herself. Obviously taking her cues from her 1965 hit, DeShannon recorded, “Put a Little Love In Your Heart”. And, again, she spoke to teens as well as young adults, the song charting high in both markets. See link further below if you wish to hear it.

Both the 747 and the Concorde celebrated their maiden flights that year; I remember wanting the opportunity to fly in each. My wish for flying the 747 was fulfilled; not the Concorde. Man landed on the moon and I still hear Neil Armstrong’s “That’s one small step for (a) man, one giant leap for mankind,” as we sat around my father’s short wave radio, listening to Voice of America in El Pao.

But those exciting technological and American can-do achievements were accompanied, if not overshadowed, by many other events reflecting trouble beneath the surface. Massive, angry “anti-war” demonstrations and marches were launched; Senator Edward Kennedy drove into a pond in Chappaquiddick Island and reported the incident over 10 hours later, prompting rescuers to the scene only to retrieve the corpse of a young woman, Mary Jo Kopechne. This event was taking place while most of us were avidly following the course of the Apollo 11 lunar flight.

And then there was Woodstock, which is still reported as a pristine shout for love, freedom, peace, and harmony. It was none of those, although I do not doubt the sincerity of the hundreds of thousands who attended. One after-the-fact look at the farm where the event took place ought to be enough to cast doubt on the promotion of Woodstock as some sort of Elysian Fields, dreamscape sojourn. It was pretty filthy. But, one could argue (and many have argued) that hundreds of thousands more showed up than were expected and hence the defilement and devastation. Even if we stipulate that, we can still ask, if this was such a massive promotion of peace and love and harmony, has that been its progeny? A quick look at crime statistics, suicides, divorce, and utter breakdowns in society since Woodstock should be enough to cast doubt. Maybe it was no more than what many of the participants described: drugs, sex, and rock and roll. Jesus said, by their fruits ye shall know them, and that includes events such as Woodstock.

And in the midst of this psychedelic haze, Jackie DeShannon had her 1969 “preachy song” hit.

Her 1965 song did not improve things and neither did her 1969 version. Both merely gave a voice, albeit weak, to the longing for meaning and love in lives. These are very real needs we all have, but few attain. In this, Thoreau was right: most men live lives of quiet desperation. And they seek for those eternal verities in the wrong places. Such can only be found in the Creator of life and of all there is. Man cannot create or be the source of absolutes. Only God can and is.

Iconic image immediately evoking the New York World’s Fair of 1965 – 1966.

Car driven by Senator Edward Kennedy the day after the incident where Mary Jo Kopechne died (1969)

Lizbeth and Cyril

July 19, 2021July 19, 2021 Richard Barnes

I am pausing the series on the Cuba – Venezuela nexus in order to pay my sincere and loving respects to two childhood friends who (after my family) are among the first memories to come to mind every time I think of El Pao or Venezuela. And I think of El Pao or Venezuela on a daily basis.

Elizabeth (Lizbeth) Beran was born on a Saturday in 1953, November 7, to be precise. I was born exactly 10 days after she. We often joked about that. Children in my generation sought to be adults as quickly as possible. So, for instance, I did not like to wear short pants, because those were children’s clothing; I fought long and hard to graduate to long pants and after I did I never looked back. So, to me, Lizbeth was 10 days ahead and I could never catch up, no matter how hard I tried!

She was kind to me and always courteous to my parents. Once, in class (5th grade?), the teacher asked us what would be the proper thing to do if we were at a dinner and found that we could not properly chew down a piece of meat. I proposed that the proper thing to do would be to surreptitiously wipe your mouth with a napkin, deposit the offending morsel therein, and later dispose of the napkin. After several equally imaginative solutions offered by my classmates, Lizbeth finally spoke up, “You should use your fork and take the piece out of your mouth and place it on your plate,” she offered. And, of course, she was right.

I was fond of penguins in those days; therefore, when the class worked on a paper mache project, I made a penguin and offered it for sale, “It is yours for Bs (Bolivars) 20! And, if you buy 2, you can have both for Bs 40!.” That was my pitch. She smiled. Later that evening, at the club, before that night’s movie, her father approached me, “Ricky, if you have a product for Bs 20, and you want people to buy 2, you should offer the two for something less than Bs 40.” She was too embarrassed for me to tell me to my face. So she told her father.

Cyril (Cirilito) Serrao was born in British Guyana 5 months after Lizbeth and I were born. His family then came to El Pao and we became close childhood friends. A very vivid El Pao memory, one of the first that comes to mind whenever I think of Venezuela, is my racing, along with several buddies, down “the hill” of the mining camp. The hill was steep enough to propel us to high speeds. It was one of our daily adventures for a while in our early childhood. On one occasion, I had come down the hill, exhilarated and happy, had set my bike aside, and then waited for my fellow cyclists to come on down. As I strained to see who might come next, I saw Cyril expertly taking the next to last turn, a left from “up-the-hill” down towards the mess hall where he would then have to take a right towards the club’s parking area. But as he flew towards the mess hall, his countenance took on a look of horror (his brakes had failed) and he realized he would not be able to turn right. He let out a loud, guttural yell as he opened his eyes as wide has I’d ever seen them. Sure enough, he missed the turn and catapulted into the 4 foot deep ravine. We ran to him, fully expecting him to be dead. But no, he was OK and was bravely extricating himself from the wreck, saying, “I’m OK. I’m OK.”

His family moved to Bethlehem, PA, in 1962 and he and at least one of his brothers deeply missed El Pao for many years afterwards. His brother was the little boy I told about in my June 29, 2019 post, Gone Fishing. He had “run away from home”, telling a baffled policeman that he wanted to be taken to El Pao. We stayed in touch for many years, including my visits to Bethlehem and Los Angeles, where he lived for a while. He always sought to help me with my Uncle’s case and was one of the first to call me upon the death of my father in 1982. Once, when we had sought to look into some leads on my Uncle’s death, he said we should be called The Hardy Boys.

Lizbeth and Cyril have been the source of good memories and are reminders of the importance of decent childhood friends. I thank the Good Lord for having known them.

Lizbeth passed away yesterday. Cyril passed away in May this year, but I only learned about it a few days ago.

I miss them dearly.

Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was: and the spirit shall return unto God Who gave it.

Lizbeth at one our birthday parties in El Pao, circa 1958.

Lizbeth to my left, as I spoke with Mr. Beran in Puerto Ordaz, Venezuela, 1978.

Cyril at an El Pao birthday party, circa 1959.

Cyril (left) with his brother Gregory (center) and me years later, when we were more mature.

Mining Camp Memories (conclusion): Part 5

May 16, 2021May 16, 2021 Richard Barnes

With this post we conclude Mike Ashe’s Mining Camp Memories. This final part of his memories speaks of his having to leave the camp for schooling as well as a bit about his parents’ background.

Just about every one of us in that time of El Pao history, early 50s to mid 60s, left home “early” to go to school. As one of the “small kids” I’d wonder where the big guys went during the year. My father would tell me about military academies and whatnot. But that was like telling me they all went to Siam. And then it was my turn in the mid 60s and, like Mike, I was told to write home every week and I did so “religiously”, as Mike puts it. In the 50s and 60s leaving El Pao to go to school in the US was like going to the moon. Very little communications and you truly were “far, far away.”

As to his parents’ background, I was reminded that no one comes into this world a “blank slate”; we all bring a heritage of the previous generations and much more. Sitting at the club bar as a kid in a time and place where that was not frowned upon, I heard the men there talk about mining accidents and lessons learned before coming to El Pao and how they applied such lessons to their current employment, not to mention their own parents or grandparents, and even politics and religion, at a time and place where such topics could be discussed without ending in blood and warfare.

Many years later, I realized that, listening to those men, I was developing an inchoate understanding that no one comes into this world with nothing. We are born into homes we did not build, eat food we did not grow, learn languages we did not invent, and much, much more.

El Pao welcomed men and women and children with manifold exciting backgrounds and experiences. Those of us whose childhood was nurtured there were very fortunate.

As you read these last few paragraphs in the Memories, I hope you too are reminded of your own heritage and grateful for it, whether good or bad, because, properly understood and viewed, it all works for your and my good.

And I know you will appreciate the photos Mike appended at the end. I am pleased to remember and respect all the men Mike names.

Thank you again, Mike.

Michael John Ashe II

Admiral Farragut Academy

In 1959 I had to leave Venezuela at age 12 (Company School only went to the 6^th grade). The company paid for me to attend Admiral Farragut Academy in Saint Petersburg Florida. Getting into Farragut was not easy, you had to have good grades, pass an entrance exam and obtain a letter of reference. Mr. Shingler and Mr. Belfonti provided a letter of reference. Mr. Shingler’s son Jimmy thought I was pretty cool (the one and only that thought that) he and his Dad built a log cabin fort on the water tower road and Called it Fort Farragut. Seventy-five % of Farragut graduates made it to Annapolis (US Naval Academy). Apollo Astronauts Alan Shepard (first US astronaut in space) and Charles Duke are Farragut Astronauts.

The Academy was very demanding with extremely strict discipline and academically challenging. Reveille at 0600 taps at 2100. God, Duty, Honor, Country and welfare of fellow cadets and teachers was a part of life at Farragut. Although not a denominational school, the practice of one’s religion was expected and prayers were said before all meals and at assembly. Honor meant that cheating was not tolerated and anyone caught cheating was expelled. The Flag was raised daily at reveille with all cadet’s present, accounted for, and at attention. Retreat required that those outdoors stop activities and face the flag being lowered. Those in uniform were always required to face the flag being lowered and salute. At Farragut there was a live bugler at the all-daily ceremonies. Love of country was taught by staff and teachers.

Inspections were performed twice a week without warning. Barracks, bunks, uniforms, shoes. foot lockers, and the bathrooms, “AKA-The Head”, were all under close scrutiny. Demerits were issued for non-compliance, missing homework assignments, talking in class or assembly. For every demerit over three a week resulted in one hour of marching in uniform with rifle on the parade grounds. More serious offenses such as fighting would result in a “Captains Mast”. Rule of thumb: if you needed to fight don’t get caught.

My weekly allowance was $2.50 most of which was spent at the canteen (owner was not part of the Academy) for candy and soft drinks. In the front of the canteen there was a coke machine sitting on a wooden deck with boards that were spaced so that any coin dropped would quickly end up under the deck on a wire screen. Latticework blocked any attempt to retrieve ones lost treasure. Chuck snooped around and discovered that there was a hidden entrance that would lead to the coins but would involve crawling about 20 feet in a very dirty space. So, one Saturday evening right before sundown (when everything was quiet) we executed operation treasure hunt. We made quite a haul: enough to keep us in coke, candy and movies in downtown St. Pete for a long time. The canteen owner sealed up the entrance after that so no more treasure hunting, but we couldn’t complain.

My best friends were Keller (from Cuba), Gould (from Michigan) and Freeble (from Florida). Chuck Gould was my roommate the years that I was there he was 6’2” 210 pounds and a very fast runner. All four of us in 8^th grade were invited to spring training with the High School Football team. Chuck was faster than all the high school players and he ended up playing football for one of the Big Ten Schools (maybe Michigan State)

Keller was the top cadet and I was second. The award was limited to just two cadets per year and it was the first time that two Latin American cadets received this award. The best athletes at Farragut were the Cubans, hands down.

A lot of the boys there came from Cuba and South America. Even though I was 12 when I left home, I had always been mature for my age and adapted well to being on my own. However, I must confess that when you only get a couple of letters a month (only communication with the family) sometimes was a bit of a letdown. I was required to write the family one letter a week, which I did religiously.

When my parents returned from Venezuela, I had to leave Farragut which was not at all what I wanted.

The Chile Connection

Not Completely Related but interesting is Herb Ashe’s story-for his Brother Don Ashe who is now 93 years old:

Dad’s father Michael was a self-educated man who was orphaned at a very young age. He managed to secure a career with a lot of determination and hard work in all things electrical working for the New York Subway system. Along the way, he thought it would be a career changer if he could move to Anaconda’s mining operation in Northern Chile. The mine was the largest open pit mine in the world at that time and for many years thereafter, Chuquicamata or referred to as simply Chuqui.

During that time, he was dating my Grandmother Martha, whose family seriously objected such a wild idea from a guy driving a motorcycle. Without getting into the weeds, my father Herb was born in 1922 and the three traveled by steamship to the northern coast of Chile. I believe in 1923 after Anaconda Copper bought the mine from the Chile Exploration Co (Guggenheim) but I don’t know how Grandpa was hired by them. Mine development was mostly done by the Guggenheim group, bringing Andes water to the desert and providing electric power for mine operations was critical. Also, I don’t know if the steamship was able to unload in Tocopilla or they might have disembarked using long boats when arriving in Chile.

The mine is located about 800 miles north of Santiago at an elevation of over 9,000 Ft in a high plain desert (Atacama the driest desert on Earth). Grandpa was assigned to the power plant and remained there, until he was offered a job for Anaconda’s Copper mine as the power plant superintendent around 1942-43 timeframe in Cananea Mexico until he retired in the early 60’s.

Martha was a business woman. She represented Ramos Catalan (a very accomplished and famous Chilean Artist) while in Chile. She knew how to pinch pennies. One of the stories involved Grandma’s trip to Naco, AZ for groceries. She arrived at the border with no gas in the tank and stopped in the first gas station she could find only to find out that they did not offer S&H green stamps so she drove on looking for an S&H gas station before running out of gas. I always admired my Grandma.

Dad’s brother (Don) and his sister (Aunt Carroll) were both born in Chile. Herb and Don where really handfuls for their parents. Dad was six years older than Don: maybe a good role model or maybe not? Camp schooling was provided through the 8^th grade so dad had to leave Chuqui for a Christian Boarding School (I think it was St Andrews Affiliated with the Presbyterian Church). Anyway, Dad boarded a train in Chuqui for transport to Santiago, he arranged transport across the Andes to Mendoza Argentina and then by rail to Buenos Aires. Below is the famous switchback road from Santiago to Mendoza Argentina. Not an easy trip alone for a fourteen-year-old?

Dad and I traveled to Chile together on business in 1993 it was a great experience; something I will never forget. Chile was simply breathtaking. I would like to take Cristy there when COVID is over to see Venezuela and Chile. Allende was a big mistake that did a lot of damage in Chile. General Augusto Pinochet cleaned this mess up in short order. The US left-wing media portrayed the General as a terrible villain but in reality, the country became an economic model for South America thanks to his reforms.

Rare picture of Dad and Mom together in Venezuela

Dad, Ted Heron, and Dick Guth at the El Pao mine site. Notice all wore khaki and most sported their military style belts.

Dad showing off mining techniques and really looking like Castro! Dad was about 5’8” but his hands were huge. When you shook hands with him it was like shaking hands with a bear.

Couple of mining camp engineers: Dad and Corky. Great photo.

Left to Right-Lou Hintshaw, Dad, Walfredo Jimenez, and Bernie Gerbrecht talking mining on the front porch of our company house. Mr. Jimenez was the head of mining operations in El Pao.

Olive Ruff on left and Mom on the Road to Cananea Mexico. Art Ruff was a classmate of Dad’s at Colorado School of Mines. He worked in Cananea and was the General Superintendent of Cerro Bolivar, US Steel Property in Venezuela, Circa 1955

Passport Picture of Mom, Me and Mary Ellen taken just prior to leaving the US for Venezuela.

Ted Heron-always Dad’s friend and colleague for life.

Michael Ashe -Farragut Picture at age 14.
Now the family knows where they get their ears!

Mining Camp Memories (continued): Part 4

May 8, 2021May 8, 2021 Richard Barnes

With gratitude I am pleased to continue posting Michael John Ashe II’s recollections of his life in El Pao and related events. As he remembers certain individuals, especially those we used to call “the big guys and gals”, my own memory is awakened to recall those years, those folks, and the joys lived. Also, as readers know, I was one of those who had great fun running behind the DDT truck (see Clouds) and I do remember that green poisonous snake and the Picaojos and Conucos. Most of all, the lifelong friendships and life lessons. We were — we are — truly blessed.

I am grateful for Mike’s wonderful powers of recollection and his gift in putting these down so vividly.

Thank you again, Mike.

Mike Ashe:

Risks to be Considered:

Health care was an issue, in an emergency there were no good options. During the polio epidemic they would spray the camp on the roads with clouds of DDT. All the kids thought it was fun to run after the truck! Billions of tons of DDT were sprayed in the US and throughout the world with disastrous results, all on false premises offered up by the so-called experts. The Salk vaccines were made available in 1955. The spraying continued in El Pao to combat malaria. I believe DDT was banned in the US in 1972. DDT is currently being produced in China, India and North Korea but most of the world has outlawed its use.

My mother lost several children in child birth in a Mining Camp in Arizona, so when my mother got pregnant with my two brothers, she traveled to Pensacola FL to have them. Women with high-risk pregnancies rarely stayed in camp.

There was no dental care available in camp or elsewhere, the long-term impact of poor dental care and the lack of fresh dairy in the diet did impact children growing up in the camp. Any emergency oral issue would almost always guarantee an extraction by the one doctor in El Pao.

I can’t remember who had a serious stomach blockage issue that required emergency surgery, but the camp doctor had little to no surgery experience. Dad said several folks would read the surgical procedure during the operation while the doctor did his best to perform the operation. I understand that the patient had years of painful side effects and several additional operations but was lucky to survive an operation under such conditions.

I can’t imagine anyone surviving a major heart attack or stroke in the camp. I remember my brother Tim came down with amebic dysentery, which proved to be hard to treat. At one point they did consider asking that the company plane be used to get him to a hospital in Caracas. Thankfully, that was needed.

Snake bites were the main concern for parents, I was bitten several times but the snakes were not poisonous. There was a green snake that hunted in the tree tops which are very venomous so we would always look for green snakes and bee hives before climbing. My mother would find snakes in her washing machine which was on the back porch. I don’t know how they got in there, in her garden and on the front porch. I was told when they built the RR and cleared the land around El Pao workers suffered some serious safety issues including many venomous snake bites. The dozers used to clear trees would be equipped with safety steel enclosures and wire to guard against falling trees and snakes. Workers would also sport leather snake bite leggings.

Boys will be Boys:

One of our sports was to crawl into a very long storm water culvert pipe running though the bottom of the staff camp — “not too smart”. We would also play in the Johnson Grass (grass would cut you) and there were bees’ nest in the grass. I happened to grab a nest and the bees would attack the eyes. My mother didn’t recognize me when I came home. It was a miracle that I didn’t get really sick from the poison. Richard Barnes calls them “PICAOJOS” (well named).

Sling shots were very popular in Venezuela. Every self-respecting boy in camp had a well-crafted homemade sling shot and a machete. We would practice shooting rifles but ammo was rather scarce so the sling shot became the go-to weapon. All of us became expert with a sling shot. One of our fun sports was to get close to a bee hive (hanging from the trees and shoot at them with a sling shot and run. The killer bees would chase you for quite a while (slow runner would sometimes pay the price!).

There were not too many boys my age in camp. I had four friends during the time I lived there, John Tuohy, Jorge Menendez, Antonio Ristorcelli and Herman Gerbrecht at different times during my stay in camp. Jorge was my first friend in camp and on occasions we would fight and Jorge would always win, but Jorge had a younger brother Carlos who used to beat us both up. So anytime I had an issue with Jorge, I would get Carlos on board! We managed to get in a little trouble, but kept most of the things that would get us in real trouble to ourselves.

When not in school we would be gone from sun-up to sun-down. The jungle was always a great place to build forts, practice shooting with our rifles. The road up to the water tower was a favorite spot. Whenever we ventured into the jungle, we took our machetes, how would today’s parents react to that! My brothers Herb Ashe Jr and Tim Ashe I think were too young to remember much about El Pao. When I left Venezuela, they were only 4 and 5 years old.

Antonio Ristorcelli and I might have been the original skate boarders at least in El Pao. We would set a board over a skate and sit on the board lift our legs up and cross them and proceed at great neck speed from the top of the camp to the bottom about a half mile all the while shifting our bodies to turn the skate. Needless to say, we’d crash a lot and ruined our jeans (clothing came from the States and I only had two pairs to last the year) not to mention some very badly scrapped knees and arms, but thankfully no head injuries.

Reading was an important part of my life in camp. Books provided a lot of entertainment and I read every book I could get my hands on. It’s too bad that kids now days don’t have that opportunity.

Other things:

Bob Brundage was the Company’s Railroad Superintendent. He had a Trinidadian assistant Mr. Oscar (both were true brothers and great guys). They built a series of miniature rail cars along with a locomotive that was powered with a lawnmower engine (kids would ride on top of the cars). Bob and I laid tracks around his family’s camp house. Great fun for camp kids. I understand when Bob and his family left El Pao they shipped the train and track to the US.

Puerto Ordaz was a nice town we use to travel there sometimes it was an outing since we would go by a two/three car ferry. I understand that the ferry has been replaced by a bridge across the Caroni and Orinoco. They would have the annual soap box derby races there which was always a fun event. Ted Heron Jr would enter the races and all of us would work on his car. Cheap hydro power resulted in a surge in industrialization in the area.

L-R Herman Gerbrecht, Me, Mary Ellen, A man Cannot make him out. Mom. Herb, Tim and Dad Watching Soap Box Derby in Puerto Ordaz.

Conucos:

Conucos, Fincas and Fincas Granderas are the three main agriculture systems in the 1950’s. Conucos or family farms, typically a small leased property for subsistence living. When we lived in Venezuela a feudal system in agriculture was in place where 80% of the land was controlled by 2% of the owners. After we left Venezuela the Government began a land reform program but do not know the results. Most of the Fincas are located in the Llanos (plains).

Conucos lined the road from El Pao to Palua which was typical in a jungle environment. Farming used slash and burn farming techniques.

Traveling by air:

We would only travel to Ciudad Bolivar to catch a flight out to the states. We stayed in Caracas only once, since there was a coup in progress when we landed in Maiquetia and all domestic flights were cancelled. I think we stayed in the Tamanaco Hotel which was beautiful, but under siege, so we had to hunker down in our rooms. Entrance of the Hotel was sandbagged and armed guardia troops on guard outside. Dad said that there were some small arms battles in the street in front of the Hotel, too bad I didn’t see that!

We ended up staying there a couple of days and didn’t get to see Caracas at all. IMCOV had an office in Caracas, my friend Jorge Menéndez’s father ended up being the top executive in Venezuela. He was the right choice for that position since he was from Cuba, but became a Venezuelan citizen and I understand was very well respected and qualified. My recollection of Mr. Menéndez was that he had a Pancho Villa mustache!

Leaving El Pao for the last time Liesha Ten Houten and I managed to get a ride on the company plane (usually reserved for upper management and their families not Liesha and me). Liesha was a very sweet girl with blond hair and glasses and she was scared to death of flying. We sat in seats right in back of the pilot and held hands. Approaching Maiquetia and viewing the Andes on one side and the Caribbean on the other from the cockpit was an amazing experience.

To be continued….

Mining Camp Memories (continued): Part 3

May 3, 2021May 3, 2021 Richard Barnes

With great pleasure and gratitude I continue to post from the Mining Camp Memories by Michael John Ashe II (Mike). These arise from his and family’s sojourn in El Pao from 1953 to 1961.

I think General Lew Wallace had an understanding of the pull that childhood has on the rest of one’s life:

… some there will be to divine [such] feelings without prompting. They are such as had happy homes in their youth, no matter how far that may have been back in time — homes which are now the starting points of all recollection; paradises from which they went forth in tears, and which they would now return to, if they could, as little children; places of laughter and singing, and associations dearer than any of all the triumphs of after-life.” Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ, Book Sixth, Chapter 6, by General Lew Wallace (1827-1905)

Thank you again, Mike!

Mike Ashe:

Organized Entertainment:

Below is a picture of the Castillo de San Francisco de Asis on the Orinoco which is located about 15 or 17 miles downstream from where Dick and I would fish. The company would organize a day trip for the whole camp (once a year) we would all travel by rail to Palua board the YaYa Tug Boat travel down river to the Castillo and have fun exploring the fort. The company would arrange lunch for us. Built by the Spaniards in 1685 to tax travelers on the river by raising a chain until tolls were paid. Children and Adults would have a great time.

Looking at these pictures the Castillo was built on top and around a large boulder. These boulders were everywhere in the Orinoco and the river banks for miles which only adds to the river’s beauty.

A picture of the river near Ciudad Bolivar-note the amount of river current. The mighty river was wide in the rainy Season it swells to a breath of 14 Miles. Average depth of 165 feet in the rainy season to 50 feet in the dry season

Another camp outing would be to travel down to the Caroni River during the dry season, when the water level was low exposing a sandy beach from the tree line to the water’s edge in some places 100 feet. The Caiman would leave their tracks in the sand from the tree line to the water’s edge, which was kind of neat. The families would go swimming in the river and I would go fishing downstream from them. Never told the swimmers that piranhas (AKA Caribes) were all that I was catching, and a lot of them.

The communal restaurant at the Club served good food (big night was Sunday for families) and the swimming pool was also very nice and all of us kids would spend a great deal of time there, mostly swimming. We would also get our haircuts there. The barber had a nude woman tattooed on his forearm and Dad would get a kick out of how I would be eyeballing the barber’s forearm-he never said anything to me about it.

We had movies twice a week. Everyone would bring lawn chairs and watch/wait until the projector malfunctioned!

My favorite person in Venezuela was “Juan the Bartender” Juan like many folks in the camp and in Venezuela, were there to escape the economic collapse in Europe after the War. Actually, I was godfather to his son one of the highlights of my life in the little Church in the labor camp. I did speak with Richard Barnes about Juan who had left before the mine closed. While working in El Pao he had made enough money to buy a bar in Soledad (across the Orinoco from Ciudad Bolivar) which he later sold for a nice profit that enabled him to return to Portugal with his family. Juan’s importance to the community was never recognized and in that he was special.

Encounter with wild beasts and diversity of wildlife:

On one occasion I ran into a rather large Tapir while on a fishing trip on the Caroni River bank circa 1957-58 during the dry season. On the way back from my position on the river bank to the pickup (the rest of the fishing party was waiting to head home) I entered the tree line and I froze, the Tapir was about 15-20 feet away from me. I wasn’t afraid of it but knew that it was a big wild animal and I really didn’t know how dangerous it was. If I had known, I would have started running. When we made eye contact, it turned and moved away, I remained calm but as soon as it was out of sight, I picked up the pace and got out of there. I told everyone what I saw but didn’t get much of a response. No big deal. This actually was a very big deal and I was blessed to be able to experience a contact with an endangered animal. A Tapir (shown below) typically spends a great deal of time around rivers. I would also expect them to be around more in the dry season (calmer waters provided easier access). Their primary predators in addition to man would be the Jaguar.

I ran into this guy “a Tarsiers” (above) while looking into a burrow and it scared me to death.

The diversity of wildlife was amazing. We had pet parakeets, toucans and a remarkable parrot called Big Parrot. I am convinced that a lot of the birds in Venezuela have not yet been cataloged. Big Parrot was an amazing bird; had long feathers surrounding the back of its neck and when excited the feathers would raise up creating a crown around its head.

The Herons lived next to us; a sloth meandered into camp one day and ended up in one of their trees- stayed there a couple of weeks and died.

There was also a large Burro that wandered into camp when I was 10. I took care of it and would ride around camp. One day the Burro disappeared (did not know how or why) but I was devastated. Somehow the Burro reappeared only to die in the Wrights (Dad’s Boss) front yard.

Silke Gerbrecht had a pet Ocelot in camp a beautiful animal but not too friendly. I never did see a Jaguar but hunters would sell their skins in the worker’s camp so they were not too far from camp.

Each year the camps were invaded by a relative of a cane toad, that littered the roads as road kill. I understand if they are kept in captivity, they will live for 35 years.

We made several trips to Cerro Bolivar (US Steel mine) to visit Art Ruff and his family. Art was a snake expert he had horses so we would go out in the bush looking for snakes. When he spotted one he’d jump off the horse and capture it with his bare hands. Dad and Art went off on one trip and caught a 10-foot red tailed boa. Art skinned it and sent it over to Dad. I don’t know what ever happened to the skin but someone could have made a lot of boots with it!

We ran into a lot of anteaters and porcupines. Our dogs would invariably have run ins with porcupines and come home with white spines all over their noses. Both are dangerous; the Giant Anteater has large front claws and are hunted in Venezuela primarily for the claws.

Birds by the Thousands:

William Phelps a North American from New York City, and Harvard Educated was an ornithological explorer and businessman who arrived in Venezuela Circa 1900, in the states of Sucre and Monagas. He became like myself, fascinated by the country and its birds. In San Antonio de Maturin he met British settlers, the Tuckers and fell in love with one of their daughters Alicia Elvira. He continued his studies at Harvard and returned to Maturin to sell coffee and pursue ornithology. His son William Jr founded the Phelps ornithological Collection considered the largest in Latin America. There are over 80,000 birds in feathers and thousands preserved in alcohol and over 1000 skeletons. William also founded Radio Caracas Radio (RCR) which was only shut down when the communist dictator Hugo Chavez came to power. The collection I believe is still in Caracas and continues to grow.

We ate a lot of bananas in Venezuela. Dad would buy a whole stock of bananas and hang it outside on the porch. The birds would feast on the top of the stock and we would eat the rest as it ripened.

The bird population in Venezuela is simply spectacular in terms of diversity, quantity and habitats. One of my favorites is the Crested Oropendolas that weave sock like nests that hang high up in the jungle canopy. There would be thousands flying into and out of their nests as we drove down the dirt road to Palua.

This is a Hawk Headed Parrot, our pet Parrot in Venezuela-simply called Big Parrot. When he got angry or disturbed the head feathers would go up on his head. He was a great friend and companion. We had several dogs in Venezuela, but Big Parrot was always my favorite.

Insects by the Millions:

Ants were my favorite insects. Army ants are actually scavengers that can swarm and consume a dead carcass in minutes. They provide a great service in keeping the jungle floor clean. When they are in the march they number in the millions and leave a bare trail about 8 inches wide for miles.

The leaf cutter ant is an amazingly strong creature able to carry leaves to the nest in great numbers. They all can and do bite which is always painful.

Beetles came in all types and sizes, we would play with them for hours, we’d get two large Hercules and/or Rhinoceros beetles and arrange gladiator fights just like in the Roman Colosseum. Blood thirsty jerks that we were!

Termites were everywhere, they would magically appear overnight on the walls of our company cinder block home. They would scale the walls inside a mud tube from the floor to the ceiling; don’t know what they were in search of maybe roof rafters (maybe wooden). Anyway, it would always freak out my mother.

Butterflies:

There were over a 1000 species of butterflies in Venezuela. The ones in the rainforest where we lived were amazingly colorful and evolved to blend in, some with wings that looked like eyes.

(I’ll briefly interject here to note that Andrew Neild from England published The Butterflies of Venezuela some years ago. Many of his specimens were from the area surrounding El Pao. If the reader is interested in this, he or she can search for Andrew and find him — RMB)

To be continued….