El Pao – Page 9 – The Pull Of The Land

Something Lost

July 11, 2020July 11, 2020 Richard Barnes

A few years ago I visited Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, on a personal matter, after an absence of close to four decades.

To drive and walk around was to invite affecting memories, not only of Bethlehem, but of family, of childhood friends, of the steel company, of Venezuela, of what could have been. I was offered the opportunity to visit my Uncle’s old former apartment site on Market Street, from which the Bethlehem Steel stacks are clearly, and augustly, visible decades after her bankruptcy in 2001 and dissolution in 2003.

While in town, I came across the transcript of an interview of the late Earl J. Bauman, a teacher in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania high schools for 30 years, who also worked for several years at Bethlehem Steel during World War II, and who otherwise led an eventful life.

Our teachers in El Pao were recruited in Bethlehem, although not all were from there. For instance, one of my teachers, Mrs. Miller, was from New Mexico and boy did she resent Florida being named “The Sunshine State”! She firmly believed, and could “prove”, that New Mexico was the true Sunshine State.

Mr. Bauman’s comments seem to be coming from my own Bethlehem Steel teachers in El Pao, Venezuela.

I believe the reader will appreciate the commentary by Mr. Bauman (1910-January 12, 2000), born in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. He was the son of George and Matilda Bauman née Shearer. He was married to Grace E. Bauman, née Shoenberger.

Mr. Bauman taught history, government, and economics. A full transcript is linked below for those readers who would appreciate reading more of what he had to say.

Excerpts:

Well, I was born here in Fountain Hill [now a suburb of Bethlehem, Pennsylvania] in 1910. We’ve been residing here ever since that time.

I attended the Fountain Hill School, and then went to Liberty High and then I quit. I was making more money than my dad was playing with a dance orchestra. We used to make as much one night as he made in a week just playing with the big bands. And then one thing led to another and the Depression hit. And finally, there was no music market. I went to South America in one summer playing with a band, and come back, and then it was difficult to find any kind of work, because the Depression hit. It hit pretty hard. And then I had an opportunity to go back to school, then I went to Moravian Prep. And I finished up my high school work there.

Then I went to Moravian College and earned my Bachelor’s. And then, of course, it was still difficult to get work. I worked at the steel company as a clerk in the beam yard offices, and on their police force during the early period of the World War II. And then finally a teaching job.

….

And then I taught until I guess it was about the late Forties [1948] when I decided to go back to Lehigh for my Master’s degree in history, and I finished that, I believe it was 1954, somewhere around in there. Men like Dr. Harmon was the head of the history department, Dr. Gipson, Dr. Brown, and I don’t think any of them are there anymore. Some may have died, passed on, retired. And then I kept on teaching.

….

Teaching wasn’t quite the pleasure it used to be. Yeah, that changed quite considerably.

….

That’s the flu epidemic you’re talking about, yes. I remember because, and I can even take you where the hospitals were and they died like flies [emphasis mine, RMB]. It would have been right across the street from where I did my undergraduate practice teaching where this junior high school is now, right across the street in that area there, they had built these temporary wards. The hospital up here couldn’t handle it. It was too small. I remember that, yes. I remember a lot of— You’ll see in the pictures, see at that time I would have been nine years old, and I did get around and my parents talked, but that wasn’t the only thing, we had a lot of things like there was scarlet fever, and diphtheria, and polio. So many of my classmates were afflicted….

…. You had to put on your porch, your house would be quarantined, that’s the word, diphtheria here and scarlet fever there, and measles here, measles there, and today it’s wonderful how all these youngsters have been protected against these physical ailments, which make them more competitive in their life today.

[Note: the sick were quarantined. The rest went on with their work and lives. For discussions on quarantine and the current approach in most states and countries, see here, here, here, here, and here. Mr. Bauman’s allusion to the “flu epidemic” where “they died like flies” is a reference to the Spanish Flu, or The Great Influenza. See here for more.]

….

[Was crime a big problem?] No. No. You had nothing like—I can remember, we used to— I don’t think any of the neighbors really did much in the way of locking doors, no such thing. (chuckles) As a matter of fact, maybe this is something we should have kept in Fountain Hill here. In those days when I was a youngster we had a curfew. When that whistle blew, you got off the street, you better not be out on the street unless you were with a parent.

….

So they said to me, ‘Well, would you do it?’ I said, ‘You’re asking me?’ I said, ‘I know that you squeeze a trigger somewhere and the projectile comes out the front, that’s all I know.’ I said, ‘I don’t think I can do much for them.’ Somebody said, ‘Well, why don’t you try it?’ One person suggested that I call the Marine barracks and get help. So I did, and you’d be surprised how much fun I had over the years teaching safety and all this and that and I can’t hit the broadside part of a barn, and I coached for 15 years and one of my teams went to the state finals, so we won (inaudible) of the division title after I got to Liberty where we got a large student body. Two southern divisions and we had a District 11 and a Northeastern regional championship and we went to the state finals. Now my youngster has, he picked it up, but we wouldn’t let him have any rifles here at home until he became, I thought qualified. I hate to put material like that in the hands of kids. Now of course, he’s a specialist. He loads his own ammunition. He has guns and pistols. He’s in a pistol league and he can shoot. He stands 75 feet away and he’ll knock your ears off. He has terrific scores, close to 300, shooting at 75 feet with high-caliber pistol. He (inaudible) shoots better than a lot of the policemen. He says, one of the faults of the policeman, he said the policeman doesn’t know his tool that well. He said they misuse it.

….

Well, I remember, you wouldn’t remember this, but I remember when the Lord’s Prayer was banned from school and that was like—I don’t know, I can’t see it because of that, but I think the morale tone of the school began to decline. The mode of dress became careless. The mode of conduct became care— Not by all the students. Some students still come from a home that’s still a home and that insists on certain moral standards.

And I guess a lot of it came from the aftermath of the wars and there would be a lot of things that influenced it, but I think the dropping of that in school was one thing that wasn’t good, because I remember we always had—I used to have my youngsters, and I never had one refuse, and I had Catholics, Protestants, Jewish students in my class, and I always used to read our schedule. And I think once a week we got a guidance period and I used to plan, I felt the kids should take part in opening exercises. It exposes them a little bit into leadership. I used to have them all read passages, and I didn’t insist that anybody read any specific passage, but they were allowed to read from the Old Testament, the New Testament, whatever they would like to read, and then they would lead the Lord’s Prayer, and then we’d have the salute to the flag. It was sort of starting the day off in a sort of moral tone in a way.

Then from then on, things would go from one thing to the other. But I missed that, and I thought it was something that was lost through it. I can’t prove it. I’m not sure. Maybe it were the other factors that made this moral tone of dress and carelessness go down, because as soon as kids start coming in my classes with jeans on and patched—And it wasn’t that they came from poor parents because they had money, because the kid had more money in his pocket as spending money than his new pair of pants and shirt would cost, and they had weeds galore in them. If they weren’t smoking Chesterfields20, it was something else. They were loaded with money. And that may have had something to do with it, the income of the families.

So I don’t know, I think there’s a lot of factors and the fact that we dropped the reading of the Bible and the Lord’s Prayer and all that sort of thing sort of took something out of the classroom. I don’t know. I felt something was lost.

After it was gone, well, then what could you do? I mean, the law said you didn’t dare do it, so you didn’t do it. You still had the salute to the flag, and then oh, in the beginning I didn’t stop altogether, but I didn’t break the law. I asked them to have a moment of silence, soft prayer to themselves. I don’t recall ever anybody objecting to that, and then we turn around then and had the salute to the flag, the Pledge of Allegiance and that sort of thing.

But I feel there was something lost, truly I do.

….

For those interested in reading further, the full transcript is linked below.

http://digital.lib.lehigh.edu/beyondsteel/pdf/bauman_95_101.pdf

Bethlehem Steel main plant, Bethlehem Pennsylvania.

The stacks as seen from Fountain Hill borough.

Mrs. Miller never forgave Florida for “stealing” New Mexico’s logo. Above is a 1932 license tag proving her case. The logo was first used by New Mexico in the 1880’s. Florida was known as “The Citrus State”. But they cleverly adopted their current logo by formal resolution, something New Mexico had failed to do. And the rest is history.

https://video.foxnews.com/v/6038557472001

The demolition of the former World Headquarters of Bethlehem Steel.

Fourth and Fifth of July: Declarations of Independence

July 4, 2020July 4, 2020 Richard Barnes

Those who grew up in El Pao will remember celebrating both the Fourth and the Fifth of July, reflecting yet another similarity between the two countries. The American and Venezuelan holidays afforded an opportunity for executives to declare and affirm ongoing genuine friendship and a collaborative spirit between both peoples while we children looked forward to having our fathers home for a more extended time than usual, and also learning a bit more to understand and appreciate our liberties. I was fortunate to have had a father and mother who, as best they knew how, taught us appreciation and gratitude for America and also for Venezuela.

Venezuela history was a required subject in school. And a most frustrating one it was for me. For the life of me, I could not understand what the early 19th century fighting was about. My teachers seemed to tell stories assuming we students possessed presupposed knowledge as to why the revolutionaries rose against Madrid. But I had no such knowledge. My father had told me about the North American colonies and how they had a history of self-government and liberties and how England had begun taking those liberties away, even to the point of stationing mercenary troops in private homes where they abused and in some cases even defiled the mothers and daughters.

Furthermore, the English parliament had decreed the assignment of Church of England bishops to the colonies: a last straw. I could see why folks would resist and seek to stop that, even if it meant overthrowing the rule of the English king.

Although my mother and father taught me to respect and honor Venezuela, my teachers told no stories about Spain’s abuses against Venezuela. We heard much about concepts of liberty and fraternity and equality. However, all stratospheric disquisitions about intangible concepts did not satisfy me as to why the criollos rose against Madrid initially, let alone explain the eventual extermination of over one-third of their number. The entire country churned with violence and at the end had been practically depopulated. It was clear to me that the savagery and atrocities occurred not prior to, but during the Revolution. I do remember hearing a teacher quote the words uttered by Simón Bolivar as he approached death in the late 1820’s, “I have plowed in the sea…” And, “…those countries will infallibly fall into chaos and dictatorships…”

But why cast off Spanish rule for intangible concepts only to install tangibly cruel “chaos and dictatorships”?

To read the July 4, 1776 and the July 5, 1811 declarations of independence back to back is an instructive exercise which might help explain why.

The Venezuelan is over 800 words longer and reflects allusions to French revolutionary thinking that is absent from the American. Consistent with the American, it also alludes to the Christian religion which sounds discordant if one has a basic understanding of Rousseau and the Declaration of the Rights of Man.

The Venezuelan opens by alluding to a former declaration (April 19, 1810) which was adopted as a result of Spain’s occupation by France. It goes on to complain about three centuries of suppressed rights and that recent political events in Europe had served to offer an opportunity to restore those rights. They then, following the 1776 Declaration, proceed to justify their actions.

The United States [American] declaration does not complain about 150 years of colonial rule. Rather it expresses concern that, when abuses make it necessary to dissolve long-standing political bands, that such action must be taken carefully and with strong justification. It expresses the need and the willingness to “suffer, while evils are sufferable” before abolishing government and relations to “which they are accustomed.”

I know this is simplistic, and historians will disagree, but to the layman, the 1811 comes across as willful, the 1776, as reluctant.

The longest body in each is the justification. The Venezuelan uses 1,156 words, beginning with another allusion to 300 years of Spanish rule and affirming that a people has a right to govern themselves. Then the author expresses a willingness to overlook those 300 years by “placing a veil” over them (“corriendo un velo sobre los trescientos años“) and proceeds to recent European events which had dissolved the Spanish nation. It goes at length criticizing the Spanish monarchy for its abandonment of her throne in favor of the French and how this state of affairs had left Venezuela without legal recourse (“dejándola sin el amparo y garantía de las leyes“).

It asserts, furthermore, that the vast territories of the Americas with far more population than Spain itself cannot be governed from afar, etc. Here, the author presumes to speak for all the Spanish Americas. The layman is justified in wondering if this misdirection is inserted to remove attention from special pleading in the document that does not wholly stand up.

This section is not easy to follow today without some knowledge of the events current in 1811.

This was not a unanimous declaration; three provinces did not join, presaging the terrible bloodletting which was to follow.

For its justification, the American declaration uses 824 words (332 less than the Venezuelan), to list the abuses and their attempts to humbly address these legally only to have their attempts rebuffed. They make no allusions to 150 years of oppression or of unhappiness with their colonial status. They address only relatively recent abuses, including violence against life and property, mercenaries on their way to fight against them, war waged against them, threats to their religious liberty (the Quebec allusion), and much more. These are listed almost in bullet point format, but without the bullets, and are easy to understand, even 244 years later. It reads as if the document were a declaration of the right to self defense.

This was a unanimous declaration signed by representatives of each of the thirteen colonies.

In their conclusion, the Venezuelans, yet again, allude to centuries of oppression and their natural right to govern themselves. They assert they have a right to establish a government according to the general will (“voluntad general“) of her people.

It is hard to miss the influence of French revolutionary thinking in the Venezuelan document, despite allusions to a Supreme Being (“Ser Supremo”) and to Jesus Christ (“Jesucristo”). Its reference to the “General Will” is Rousseauean and is also found in the atheistic French Declaration of the Rights of Man.

They also state they will defend their religion.

The layman can’t help but be impressed by the schizophrenic nature of this document which contained appeals to atheistic revolutionary thinking then in vogue, while recognizing that the “regular folk” were still very religious and needed to hear allusions to religious fidelity.

The American conclusion appealed to the Supreme Judge of the world and in the name and authority of the people in the colonies they declared independence.

I know that professors delight in pointing out that Thomas Jefferson was the “author” of the American declaration and that he was not a Christian, etc.

However, one does not read the Virginia Fairfax Resolves (1774), or the Virginia Declaration of Rights (May, 1776), both of whose primary author was George Mason, a Christian, nor does one read clergyman, John Wise, who in 1710 wrote, “Every man must be acknowledged equal to every man,” and “The end of all good government is to cultivate humanity and promote the happiness of all and the good of every man in all his rights, his life, liberty, estate, honor, and so forth…” and “Democracy is Christ’s government in church and state.” Jefferson drew from a rich, deep Christian well. According to President Calvin Coolidge, Jefferson himself “acknowledged that his ‘best ideas of democracy’ had been secured at church meetings.”

The American declaration was followed by seven more years of war whose official end was the Treaty of Paris in 1783 and a constitution, still in effect, whose final ratification was in 1790. The Venezuelan declaration was followed by nineteen years of wars (plural) characterized by unspeakable cruelties and tortures, including a proclamation of “war to the death” by Simón Bolivar. By their end in 1830, one third of Venezuela’s population had perished. These wars were followed by more wars and rebellions which continued to the end of the century. She’s had 27 constitutions.

In sum, the American hearkened to her Christian heritage and history; the Venezuelan, to French revolutionary atheism, most starkly demonstrated by yet another revolution, the Russian, in 1917. Both the American and the Venezuelan shed blood. But the latter, like the French, shed it more abundantly.

I love the United States of America and its history. I love her Christian heritage and her pioneers. She is a wonderfully great country with a people who will always pull at my heart. I also love Venezuela and the warmth and genuine friendship of her people. I am grateful the Good Lord has exposed me to both and shown me that, in Christ, our best days are yet ahead.

Declaration of Independence – Text of the Declaration of Independence

Text of the July 4, 1776 Declaration of Independence

Acta de la Declaración de Independencia de Venezuela – Wikipedia, la enciclopedia libre

Towards the bottom of article linked above, the reader will find the text of the July 5, 1811 Venezuela Declaration of Independence. It is in Spanish.

Speech on the 150th Anniversary of the Declaration of Independence

Highly recommended to all, not just Americans

El Loco

April 17, 2020 Richard Barnes

El Loco’s haunts were unknown. For the most part.

Mining camp residents spotted him occasionally, and only when they journeyed to or from San Felix, the port town on the banks of the Orinoco River, about 40 kilometers north. If they were lucky, their trip would coincide with an El Loco sighting. He’d be seen walking jauntily, swinging his arms in an exaggerated, yet nonmilitary-type, arc; unmindful of the storms of dust raised by cars or trucks as they passed him, always slowly, because everybody wanted to see El Loco and laugh with him, and the sightings seemed too few and too far between.

He’d always laugh and lift his arms in childlike, yet firm salute; one hand always gripping a staff, as if some sort of rudderless Moses wandering the El Pao – San Felix road for generations.

Probably no American had seen him up close. But, judging from 30 or 40 feet away, a consensus of sorts had developed among them affirming El Loco was probably in his early thirties

He seemed to be much taller than average in that era and in those regions, maybe five feet nine or ten inches; wiry, strong, virile, and with huge hands. These judgments-from-afar were about as much as could assuredly be said about him, as the distance did not permit inspection of his physiognomic features. More on that further below.

Of course, everybody understood that someone had to be “taking care of” El Loco, else he could not survive. Here, perhaps, the legendary Venezuelan hospitality played a critical but hidden role.

An American cattleman with business interests in Venezuela once wrote his personal impression of Venezuelan society saying that it was the most open and cordial in all of South America. He further noted that, unlike the Argentines and Brazilians, who used hotels or restaurants or clubs to entertain visitors, the Venezuelans entertained in their own homes; in that respect, he concluded, they were very much like the Americans.

That observation was true, though too limited. Venezuelans didn’t invite only known, or business, guests to their homes; they compelled strangers, especially the poor, and the “locos”, apparently mindful that, at times, some, unawares, had entertained angels.

Then weeks would go by with no one having seen him. Where was he? At such times I would hear speculation when accompanying my mother at the commissary in the Otro Campo (known to the Americans as the labor camp), or with my father in the American Camp bar. Some voices affirmed, as if they were eye-witnesses, that El Loco was still on the road, but, in fact, no drivers or passengers had seen him. Others rumored El Loco was on jungle paths, headed temporarily for other destinations, as if looking for side adventures to spice up his El Pao – San Felix routine. Still others did not really care or think about it, and just assumed El Loco would reappear on his favorite road soon enough. And he eventually did, as if he had been nowhere else. As if he would live forever.

Regardless of opinions as to his whereabouts, the Venezuelans along the El Duo road just shrugged, confident in the truth of the old Spanish aphorism, “God takes care of the widows, the orphans, and the crazies.” It did not occur to them that God used them to do the caring.

El Loco walked with a swinging gait, a long, thick staff in one hand. His dusty jet-black hair shagged over his collar and a bit over his ears. He always walked with, never against, the traffic. Whenever I heard or read about a man in rags, I’d picture El Loco. His rags were always in khaki, just like the men in El Pao, only very worn and torn. And, instead of a dull yellow, El Loco’s khakis seemed rusty red.

Once, on a drive to San Felix, we saw him up close.

As we approached him in our car, to my utter, indescribable delight, El Loco swung round and stopped, looking toward the Oldsmobile as it slowly approached. El Loco began jumping in place, raising his arms and waving them. He was strong; he could wave the arm carrying that staff as easily as the other. Then he yelled a loud, croaking-like cheer as he laughed. His entire face laughed. And his teeth shone a bright white.

To me, laughing with my parents as we all saluted El Loco, it seemed even the Oldsmobile laughed. We drove slowly by El Loco, as we waved at him while he waved back, croaking, yelling, laughing, screaming, jumping. His cheeks’ bony arches seemed like sharp hills guarding his oviform eyes, whose color matched his hair, only brighter. And they seemed, to the boy, to be looking right into his own eyes.

Unlike most adults, El Loco was able, with absolutely no awkward self-consciousness, to look at someone in the eye, no matter what the age, and sustain that look until naturally broken. I just knew El Loco looked only at me, as if he knew me. As if we’d met before. Somewhere. There was no fear in me. On the contrary, like all children, I considered El Loco as very approachable, a dear friend and protector.

I stuck my head out the back window resting it on my arms on the frame as I looked back at El Loco, who was still jumping and yelling and laughing, forming a striking, puppet-like silhouette against the green, as the dust rose behind the car.

What most knew about El Loco was limited to the fact that he spent his days and years striding between El Pao and San Felix. Clearly folks cared for him; after all, it was assumed, he ate and slept. The I recall once, and only once, during an unusual mid-day drive to San Felix, seeing El Loco sitting peaceably in a chair in the front, porch-like structure of one of the cabins off the road. The farmer sat across from him, as the wife served him lunch and the children stood by. Sometimes El Loco would not be seen for what seemed to be weeks, before he’d reappear again on the road bringing joy to folks, especially children, who drove by.

I don’t remember the last time I saw him. He just melted away, like a mirage, into the jungle and before I knew it, I realized I had not seen him in years, maybe decades.

But I think about him. I can see him walking firmly, soldier-like, on the right side of the road, gripping his staff with his right hand, wildly swinging the left. El Loco whirls round and there is that wide grin once again, mouth way open, white teeth flashing. He lets off that loud cheer as he raises his hand and staff, pointing to the heavens.

1959 Oldsmobile Delta 88. Ours was white, not two-toned. As my father used to say, “Se come la carretera.”[Roughly translated, “She swallows the road.”]

Picture a cross between Henry Silva and Anthony Perkins in old, raggedy khakis, with hair more like Perkins’, but a bit longer, and you’d have an approximation of *El Loco* as I remember him from early childhood.

Clearing and building the El Pao-San Felix road. The period I remember most about El Loco was when the road was unpaved.

“Venezuela’s Magnetic Mountain”, Harry Chapin Plummer, Popular Mechanics, July, 1949

January 29, 2020January 29, 2020 Richard Barnes

Prep time for this blog has had me looking through old journals and publications partly because I get a kick out of the more un-self-conscious, optimistic (exuberant?) mid-20th century reporting compared to today’s dour, blame-America-first, Chicken Little iterations.

Something else that impresses me upon reading this over 70 years after its publication, is how accurate it was in reflecting the plans being made in 1949. There were, of course, some changes to the plans, as there are in all good plans. However, these great American companies were pretty thorough in their operations.

Enjoy:

When the Conquistadores of old Spain explored the jungle country of eastern Venezuela four centuries ago, the native Indians told them tales of a strange mountain which attracted lightning. Later the Spaniards saw for themselves this magic mound which, when struck by a lightning bolt, game forth a spray of flashes. The Spaniards dubbed the mountain “El Florero” — the Flower Pot — because the lightning flashes looked like flowers growing from the peak.

Today that mound has been found to hold one of the world’s richest iron-ore deposits.

Credit for that discovery goes to an alert Venezuelan mining inspector, Eduardo Boccardo. In 1926 he determined to penetrate beyond the superstitions of the natives and to find out why the mountain was one of the spots most frequently struck by lightning on the South American continent. What he discovered was a fabulously rich lode of iron ore which, by magnetic attraction, drew lightning to the mountain. The Spaniards, intent upon their quest for gold and silver, had passed up a deposit so valuable that even now its riches can be only estimated.

Surveys of that part of the mountain granted to Boccardo show that about 35,000,000 tons of mineral rich in iron underlay his concession. Assays have proved that this ore actually is 55 to 68 percent iron. Absolutely pure iron ore is made up of 72 percent iron and 28 percent oxygen. The iron content of Minnesota’s famous Mesabi range is about 57 to 63 percent. On this basis, the Flower Pot represents one of the most important discoveries of the century in the field of metallurgy.

Naturally, it didn’t take industry long to jump into this whopping mountain of ore. Today the Iron Mines Company of Venezuela, organized as a subsidiary of the Bethlehem Steel Company of the United States, already has a small army of employees in the jungles near the Orinoco. Their task is to form a modern mining industry in the heart of the forests. They are at work between El Pao, the ore site, and Palua, the loading point on the Orinoco.

The task of these workers is staggering. They must build the mines and the port, highway and railway — even their own homes in the wilderness. Already they have completed a highway more than 14 miles long which eventually will serve as the right-of-way for a standard-gauge railway, the vital artery from the mines to the river. This railroad will have a steep grade from sea level to the mines.

When the harbor and dock installations, the roads and railways finally are completed, the ore will move by truck and train from the mines to the ships on the Orinoco. It then will travel aboard a fleet of ore carriers, especially built for the purpose, to the blast furnaces at Baltimore, Md.

It is estimated that production will rise to 3,000,000 tons of ore annually from ore reserves that will last a quarter of a century.

Already rolling along the uncompleted rail line is a 1500-horsepower diesel locomotive. When the track is completed, the railroad will have four locomotives, 100 ore cars with a capacity of 70 tons each, eight boxcars, four tank cars and a crane.

Before the end of this year the ore will begin to flow from the mines atop the magnetic mountain. There crews especially trained for the job will perforate and excavate the rock and earth, which will be picked up by four gigantic electric shovels each capable of taking a huge bite out of the ground. The shovels will load the ore into trailer-trucks hauled by tractors. From there it will be taken to big ore crushers — one of them said to be the largest in the world. The fragments of crushed ore will be carried by an aerial cable arrangement to the waiting ore cars on the railway.

It is estimated that about 10,000 tons of the rich earth will be hauled down the mountainside every working day.

When the ore reaches the harbor, it will be dumped into a huge storage area. An ingenious series of chutes at the base of the area will drop each load into an underground conveyor installed in a tunnel. After passing through the earth, it will climb up a huge loading bridge which extends like a pointing finger over the waters of the Orinoco. The load will slide by toboggan into 4000-ton lighters. Tugs then will pick up six of the lighters form them into a train and haul them downriver to the Gulf of Paria. From there the new 24,000-ton ore carriers will take the ore by ocean to Baltimore.

This modern industrial system in the heart of the jungle is within the orbit of Ciudad Bolivar, the principal river port of the Orinoco and the administrative and financial center of the region watered by the river.

Almost due south of Ciudad Bolivar the United States Steel Corporation has been conducting explorations of another area that appears to have huge ore deposits. it seems likely that the same vein which crops out atop the magnetic mountain also appears in this new area [the author was correct: that ‘new area’ became known as Cerro Bolivar, one of the greatest ore finds ever].

Reports state that the mineral deposits found in this second area are of a high quality, satisfactory for smelting in open hearth furnaces.

These two ore strikes are the second great boon to Venezuelan national within the past half-century. The first was the discovery of petroleum around Lake Maracaibo. Huge investments in drilling and pumping equipment, pipe lines, railways, bridges, community settlements, hospitals, and schools have been made by the participating oil companies.

Venezuela has enacted a law which requires the oil companies, both foreign and national, to refine within the country a percentage of the crude oil that is recovered. The purpose, of course, is to have a supply of domestic oil. It is anticipated that similar legislation will apply to recoveries of iron ore, and that eventually there will be smelting operations within Venezuela [a major understatement, of course].

Such a development would place Venezuela in the forefront of South American nations which at the turn of the century were dependent upon agriculture — cattle, coffee, sugar, cacao, tobacco, and rubber growing.

Thus the magic mountain that attracts lightning may revolutionize the economy of a nation.

Ore Crusher (one of the largest, if not the largest at the time, in the world) in El Pao. Note the administrative (American) camp in the background.

Christmas, 1959

December 19, 2019December 19, 2019 Richard Barnes

Yes, it’s my favorite season. You can blame my parents for that. They abused us by making every effort to ensure we children experienced the joy of Christmas every year we lived in El Pao. Did they not realize that those memories they took such pains to create would endure throughout all the years of our lives? For shame.

They also forced us to receive visits from my mother’s side of the family who, every Christmas, drove over an hour on the dirt/rock road (later, when the road was asphalted, it took 45 minutes or so) to our house in El Pao for Christmas dinner (something we’d reciprocate by visiting them, every year, on New Year’s Day). Ah, what visits! All the laughter and joy. How did we ever endure such mistreatment?

We even believed in Santa Claus! Yikes!

I recall rushing through our front screen door, which led to the screen-enclosed, spacious porch area, sparsely outfitted with a rattan lounge chair and small sofa to the left, and a tall wooden bookcase, built to order by Señor Montaño, the camp’s carpenter, to my right. These furnishings seemed, to me, to be permanently covered by what appeared to be clear plastic shower curtains to protect them from the mists and drizzle which would drift in through the screen windows during the rainy season. However, since Christmastime was not the rainy season, the diaphanous coverings were absent. But I’d see them anyway.

Then I’d hear the at once familiar diapason sounding forth from the living room, where the record player sat. The vinyl disc was a Christmas album by The Randolph Singers whose broad tessitura instantly announced the upcoming joyous season. It must be 1959, because we are only two children. To this day, whenever “The Boar’s Head Carol” or “The Wassail Song” or “Fum Fum Fum” is performed on radio or stage or disc, I can’t help but to compare such to The Randolph Singers.

A few nights later, the camp would shine with a host of blinking white lights interlaced among the scores of steady, multi-colored bulbs entwined throughout overhangs, bushes, and large boughs, and stately trunks and throughout the vast coronas of the Araguaneys. The lights were so many that the camp seemed a mini-Times Square in the eye of the jungle, forever stamping in my memory an enduring association of lights with Christmas.

A most apt association indeed as Jesus Christ is the Light of the world.

The aguinalderos would soon begin their sporadic visits, going door to door, singing with good cheer and hilarious make-them-up-as-you-go carols. The aguinalderos were the Venezuelan version of 20th century descendants of the medieval jongleurs, or English and French minstrels. These men were adept at playing the “cuatro”, a four-string, mini-guitar, the tambour, a lightweight, slender, but sufficiently long and loud percussion instrument, maracas, and, often, the guiro, a conical instrument with washboard-like grooves across which the musician would rasp a small wooden board.

But these men were even more adept at making up songs with pointed, relevant lyrics, often detailing some physical characteristics of the house at which they sang, or quirks of its inhabitants, along with some historical anecdotes about them; but all tying back to Christmas somehow, and all at the spur of the moment. Those who knew Spanish, would laugh uproariously, fully understanding and marveling at the jokes, the light sarcasm, the sweetness, but most of all, the agility. Those homes with little or no Spanish knowledge enjoyed the lively music, but only for a little while because it quickly began to sound repetitious, which it was to those not understanding what was being said.

Another two memories which come immediately to mind at Christmas.

Mrs. Bebita De La Torre had a beautiful and sweet singing voice. At Christmastime, events would be held at the camp club. One Christmas season night, it seemed the entire camp population fit into the main club hall and we stood around the hall about two lines deep and sang “Silent Night” in English and Spanish. I happened to have been placed right next to Mrs. Bebita. To me, her voice seemed to waft, to carry across the hall, even though it was not loud or overwhelming, and certainly not ostentatious. Towards the last verse, I just pretended to be singing, because I preferred to just hear her as she sang “Silent Night” next to me.

And then there’s “The Christmas Song”. The record player sits across the room from the tree under which many wrapped presents are placed and we children are being readied for bed. The silky soothing voice of Nat King Cole issues forth from the player and I know it is Christmas night.

https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=the+randolph+singers&view=detail&mid=91822C3C81A5C580039B91822C3C81A5C580039B&FORM=VIRE
Should you like to hear one of The Randolph Singers Christmas albums

Should you like to take 6 minutes to see snippets of a family Christmas in 1958. You’ll see four generations here, including the pipe smoking great-grandmother. This is around the same time of the events in this post.

Should you like to bask in the late, great Nat King Cole’s voice singing “The Christmas Song”