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. Saturday Evening Post, November 7, 1953 Saturday Evening Post, April 17, 1954
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 6th 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 8th 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 8th 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! Dad at 90
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.
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)
…Mom would always say that the best time of her life was in El Pao with all her children about her….
Moving In:
I can’t be sure but I think we moved to Venezuela in 1953 (I was 6 and my sister was 2). Dad was an IMCOV employee hired as a Mine Foreman and left there in 1961. Our first on Delta DC7 going from New Orleans stopping in Havana, Kingston, Montego Bay and onto Maiquetia (I can’t be sure but I think flight time was 7 hours). From Maiquetia to Ciudad Bolivar on a bumpy DC3 (Plenty of barf bags on board) and by company vehicle to El Pao. Our first night in camp was really something. Red Howler monkeys would growl like lions and all of us were too afraid to sleep. My sister Mary Ellen and I ended up in bed with the folks for a couple of weeks! The camp weather was nice all year round including the rainy season-no HVAC.
Most of my memories were from a kid’s perspective and Venezuela was a great adventure for me but I knew it was very different for an adult. It takes a special person to spend a lifetime in a place where there is considerable isolation in language and culture not to mention the absence of family connections (my Grandmother the daughter of a New York City policeman lived in a mining camps in Chile and Mexico for almost 40 years). Outside, communication was not possible when we lived there, we had a short-wave radio and when atmospherics were right about 7-8PM we would get the news from the US, but not too often. The mail service was always touch and go. The commissary was in the labor camp. I remembered my mother would bake bread twice a week and would have to sift the flour to get the hundreds of black bugs out. We still managed to get some protein from the bread even after the sifting. Sanitary conditions were not optimum there. I remember that the women would travel to the Oil Fields to get frozen vegetables and Ice Cream about 3 times a year. Meat processing was done at labor camp the which took sanitation to a whole new level.
Bo Johnson was an exciting character, a geologist and a Pilot with a lot of flight hours in Venezuela and other parts of South and Central America. He would take off and land on the top bench of the mine until the day he crashed landed. He and Ted Heron salvaged most of the plane and stored the parts in the machine shop with the idea of rebuilding it. I left for school in the states around that time, so I don’t know if that ever happened. If anyone could fix something it would be Ted. Ted and Dad worked together in Inspiration Az-(Anaconda Copper) Ted’s expertise was in mining equipment maintenance.
Looks a lot like Bo’s plane.
In 1953-54 El Pao had a serious maintenance problem. Dad convinced management to hire Ted to solve the issue, which he did. When Dad went to Mexico in 1968 there were a similar maintenance issues with the Autlan’s Molango Mines and Ted was back in business. As I recall, Bethlehem Mines had a longwall shipped there from “I think” Mine 131 Boone Division that was giving them fits I don’t know if that problem was ever fixed.
Camp School:
The camp school was a one room structure. There were two teachers, Mrs. Dorsey and Mr. Shipe. Mrs. Dorsey’s husband had died in El Pao, but she continued teaching there. When my mother went to the States to have my brother Tim, I stayed with her, a great lady. I had one year of Mr. and Mrs. Eller. Both were very nice, however I thought Mr. Eller was a little strange wearing sandals in the jungle which was always a topic of conversation with the kids. Mrs. Ivanoksy was my piano teacher. She was a very eccentric but a wonderful French lady whose latest husband Boris Ivanosky was a huge Russian, who drove a very small sports car and always wore his French beret while driving. Both of them were getting up in age and she would sometimes speak to me in French, sometimes in Spanish and rarely in English. She would always have a snack for me after practice to soothe my invariable headaches? Needless to say, I really didn’t progress very far as a musician but loved my teacher.
Top picture is circa 1955; bottom picture is circa 1958
The Mine:
I spent a lot of time at the mine with my Dad most likely to give my mother a break (I was a handful). The crusher was a constant issue and the greatest bottleneck in the operation, so we spent a lot of time there. There were a couple of nasty crusher accidents one incident involved a third shift worker who had climbed onto the conveyor belt for a nap and didn’t wake up when the crusher started up in the morning. He was dismembered when he reached the head frame, just an awful accident. There was another accident (luckily no one hurt) when a dump truck unloading clay overburden tipped over while unloading and ended up about half way down a very steep and high dump site (a buildup of clay inside the bucket might have caused the accident or maybe operator error). Shortly thereafter one of the trucks was outfitted with a device to scrap clay buildup off the buckets, improving productivity and safety.
I got a chance to operate dozers and went to countless blasts with Sam Wright and my Dad which was really fun. The shovels would be positioned outside the blast zone and we would go inside the shovel bucket for protection. Dad or Sam would keep the pickup running, light the fuse, jump in the pickup, and race down the bench out of the blast zone (which was relatively large). The blasts were really something and everyone was different, a cloud of red dust and large sized debris (mostly 2-4” rock projectiles) flying in all directions. I was almost killed by a dump truck driver, so I was confined to the pickup after that when the mine was operating. IMCOV safety is a little less stringent than Bethlehem Steel’s!
Labor Unions were strong there. I remember one time Dad had a rather nasty disagreement with the union and he was arrested by the Guardia and put in jail. In Venezuela the police were actually not local but a Federal Military force called the Guardia Nacional. I do believe that Dad was taken into custody for his own safety but really not sure of that. I always thought the Guardia was a good organization but who knows nowadays.
Fishing Tales
Full Fine Print DisclosureI hate eating fish- so catch and release was the operative action.
Actually, there was considerable risk in living in a remote mining camp. Dick Guth was my Fishing Buddy and we went fishing at least a couple times a month. He would pick me up at 4:30 and drive down a dirt, sometimes gravel road to Palua (with Conucos on both sides of the road). It was right before daybreak that we would be on the Orinoco. It was beautiful calm water like glass with flocks of parakeets, parrots, and occasional guacamaya overhead. We would go downstream to our favorite fishing bend in the river and during the dry season come ashore. During the rainy season the Orinoco would overflow its banks flooding the surrounding low lands then would recede during the dry season, leaving behind lagoons full of fish (great opportunities for the Caiman and us) We’d head back (Orinoco would begin to get rough at midday) and troll upstream.
We would always get a Payara strike-AKA saber tooth barracuda great game fish average size 30-40lbs with two 2-3” long fangs in its lower jaw and go up to where the Orinoco and Caroni merged (amazing line of clean “Caroni River water and Brown Orinoco Water”) just upstream on the Caroni past Puerto Ordaz and back to Palua and head home.
I didn’t think about it at the time but it would have been a real problem if the outboard 30HP motor would have quit on us when we were downstream from Palua – since the banks of the Orinoco were impenetrable at that time. Amazing rivers full of fish, river dolphins, tarpon, sharks Crocodiles. I’m sure you know that the camp water was pumped up from the Caroni. Pumping station was slightly downstream from the amazing Falls (which was somewhat ruined by the dam). See below:
Somehow I misplaced my pictures of catches. This is a stock picture of a Payara. When landing one, you needed to watch out for their teeth!
Dick Guth, Ted Heron, Ted Jr. and I would go spear fishing off the coast. We would travel to Puerto la Cruz take two Zodiac type boats and motor out to an uninhabited island about 1- ½ mile off shore and stay there for 3-4 days. Great adventure for all of us. The water was very clear and relatively calm. We’d catch Longostinos (Spanish for little lobster) and boil them over an open fire. We were all strong swimmers and would sometimes venture out into blue water. On one occasion, I had gone out pretty far and Dick and Ted were yelling and screaming for me to get out of the water. I thought they were yelling because I was out too far. As it turned out they were yelling because there was a large shark close to me which I failed to see.
As you might have already guessed, fishing was really an important part of my life since organized sports of any kind was not an option for me. It didn’t stop when I was not in Venezuela. My Uncle Bob Broadley (a great angler) taught me a great deal about fishing during summer trips to Pensacola Florida. We would go out early mornings stop off at B&B Donut shop around 5:30 and off to the Pensacola Beach Pier on Santa Rosa Island and fish for Kings and Lings (Cobia). If the fish weren’t biting there, we would go to the pier at Fort Pickens and fish for Spanish (Spanish Maceral).
No one would believe the number of 8–12-foot hammer head sharks that used to circle the Pensacola Beach Pier. In those days the beach was packed with swimmers! Uncle Johnny McCluskey was another angler that I loved dearly. He was a great man of character, that I was fortunate to be a part of my life. He took an interest in my life and was always my buddy. He was a boxing fan and we would watch the Gillette Saturday fights together along with his son Mathew McCluskey. Just great memories. Johnny would fish for Mullet with a net since that was the only way to fish for Mullet.
Ling/Cobia
Also, it’s important to understand that, although it was fun to fish, the relationships with my fellow anglers’ memories of them were and still remain the most important for me.
Many of us mining camp brats can appreciate how much our mothers sacrifice for their families. They are the true heroes of the mining camp life. Without them we would have not survived it.
My mother a Pensacola, Florida gal, met my Dad on a blind date in 1943. Dad was in flight training in the Naval Air Station there and after a six-month courtship they were married in Jacksonville, Florida.
Pensacola was always home base for us. Even today we always manage to return often to visit my brother and parents’ gravesite there.
Mom would always say that the best time of her life was in El Pao with all her children about her.
