On a nice, warm, and sunny afternoon during the second summer session at St. Mary’s University in 1969, I was a graduate student and was walking from the History Department towards my dorm (Charles Francis Hall) when I was stopped by a friend and fellow classmate. He asked me pointblank if I needed some extra cash. I looked at him with a puzzled look on my face and slowly responded in the affirmative. Working half-a-day in the History Department under the Work-Study Program was barely enough to meet my personal and academic financial needs. But, at least I had a job! Knowing that I had previously worked with Miss Carmen Perry in the Laredo Archives housed on the third floor of the Academic Library (now the Louis J. Blume Library), he knew my experience in cataloging archival documents.
“Would you be interested in helping an old man with his collection?” I asked what the old man’s name was and my friend responded: “Don Eleuterio Escobar.” I had never heard this name before. And, then I asked what sort of papers the old man needed help with. “Oh, he has a huge collection of letters, photographs, and other documents. He was well known in San Antonio during the 1930s and 1940s.” Now, this piqued my curiosity because I just had a meeting with Dr. Hubert J. Miller, my graduate advisor, and he wanted me to start thinking about a possible topic for my M.A. thesis.
Unlike most graduate students who were pursuing a Master’s degree in history, and who were in their final year, they took two additional courses or six graduate hours to finish. I, on the other hand, had opted to write a thesis knowing full well the perceived trauma of researching primary sources to support such a project. Hence, I chose the higher ground mainly because of my professor and mentor, Dr. Félix D. Almaraz, Jr., who instilled in me what his former professor and a distinguished scholar in Texas history, Dr. Joseph W. Schmitz, S.M., had strongly advocated and encouraged his graduate students to, “Leave footprints in the dust on the floor of the archives! If you research and compose a thesis, you will be among a select few who contribute to the storehouse of knowledge from which you generously borrowed during the formative years.” And thus, I pursue my search to find a suitable topic that needed exposure to a wider audience.
The idea of exploring this viable opportunity caught my attention. I said, “Yes,” and that I would be interested in looking into it. This comment made my friend very happy. Before he left, I asked him where did the old man lived and his reply was that he lived on the West Side of San Antonio. A couple of days later, on a Saturday morning, my friend came by my room with a slip of paper that had Don Eleuterio Escobar’s address: 1705 Delgado Street. I had borrowed my Dad’s 1963 red Ford Galaxy, so I decided to pay him a visit that afternoon. My friend had told me to Culebra Street and turn right on 24th Street, like if I was going to Our Lady of the Lake College, and then to turn left on Delgado Street. Finding the house was not a problem. What I encountered was a simple, modest wooden frame house with a small lawn in the front and a four foot chain link fence all around the property.
Mr. Escobar answered the door and graciously invited me in. He was tall, about five-ten, had a full set of gray hair in a crew cut style, and did not have a wrinkle on his face. I introduced myself and he already knew the purpose of my visit. I found out that he lived alone and that his wife had passed away a few months ago. Moreover, I found out that he was from Laredo and being that I was also from his hometown made for a mutual friendship. After we exchanged niceties, he ushered me into a bedroom that he had converted into an office. He explained to me all the photographs that were hanging on the walls and the names of each person. Then, he showed me his extensive collection of letters and documents, and a plethora of newspaper clippings, which he had in two metal file cabinets, in boxes, on top of book shelves, and on top of a small worn-out wooden desk. After a quick review of some of his correspondence, and from what I could deduce, this old man had a gold mine of historical archival material and definitely worthy of a Master’s thesis.
He looked at me and offered to pay for my services in cataloging his collection. I thought about it and said, “No, I will not charge you a penny.” He stared at me in surprise through his black rimmed glasses, not knowing what to say. But, it’s a lot of work and you have to drive all the way from the university.” I offered him a proposition, “I will do all the work that will be required by coming three times a week in the late afternoons and only on one condition.” Mr. Escobar kept staring at me while I had him in suspense. “What is that?” My response was if he would allow me to do my M.A. thesis on his life as a pioneer civil rights fighter. He gently smiled and we shook hands on a gentlemen’s agreement. At my next meeting with Dr. Miller, I eagerly told him that I had a topic for my M.A. thesis. I discussed the work I was going to do for Mr. Escobar and without any hesitation, he approved my topic and said that he wanted to meet him. So, one afternoon, I took Dr. Miller and Dr. Almaraz to his house to meet him.
For about six months, except for the Christmas Break when I took the opportunity to visit my parents in Laredo, I went to Eleuterio Escobar’s house, three times a week, and usually after I had supper in the university cafeteria. He was always gracious and every time he offered me cold Kool Aid or a soda drink with cookies. From what I had read in the newspaper clippings and in his correspondence, he was quite an eloquent and vociferous orator. Even though by now, he had mellowed a lot, he would still relive those past memories by getting up from his recliner and looking at the framed photographs on the wall in front of him, he started declaiming in a stentorian and bombastic voice. His eyes became alive again with the fire inside him. I will never forget his words, “I believe all persons should be proud of their ancestors, but should first of all feel proud to be Americans.”
His fight against the educational establishment in San Antonio started in 1915, when as a young twenty year old salesperson, going door-to-door selling dry goods, Eleuterio Escobar noticed that many Mexican American children were not attending school because there was no room for them. In 1933, he conducted a survey among the San Antonio schools and to his astonishment, he found about 23, 948 school-age children who were not in school. He was utterly angry at this tremendous injustice. And to make matters worse, the schools that served these Mexican American children were in deplorable conditions. Moreover, he felt this was a disgrace to the city. He identified approximately sixty fire traps in buildings that were being used as classrooms. Many of the frame structures were abandoned sheds that had been used for shelling pecans and inadequate fire exits. The outside single privy was not enough for all the students who had to stand in very long lines. There were dogs and cats on the playground that had been dead for days. He took photographs as evidence to support his arguments. He accused every San Antonio Independent School District (ISD) superintendent since 1933 of criminal negligence against defenseless Mexican American children.
To begin his battle, he organized a group of concerned citizens and civic leaders, and named it the Liga Pro-Defensa Escolar (The School Improvement League). Mr. Escobar also invited religious, social, and fraternal associations to join his cause. For example, he asked María L. de Hernández and her husband Pedro Hernández, founders of the Orden Caballeros de American (Order of the Knights of America) in 1927, to help him, which they wholeheartedly agreed. Other notable Mexican American leaders who were recruited included: Gus C. García, Henry B. González, M.C. González, Alonso S. Perales, Santiago Tafolla, and Dr. Carlos E. Castañeda, a historian at the University of Texas at Austin. By now, Eleuterio Escobar was a successful businessman, owning the Escobar Furniture Company and later the International Leather and Importing Company. Over the years, he contributed over $25,000 to the Liga Pro-Defensa Escolar. Over sixty civic and social organizations volunteered their time to support his cause. The members asked him to serve as president of the group, which he humbly accepted, stating in part, “No penalty or sacrifice will be too great to pay, if these innocent school children can be helped out of their plight.”
The Liga Pro-Defensa Escolar had many meetings, developing strategies to approach the school board and the administrators, and the politicians at the city, and state levels. In 1935, with the assistance of State Senator J. Franklin Spears, Mr. Escobar made a courageous plea before the Senate chamber in Austin. He made similar appearances before the San Antonio School Board of Trustees and had a meeting with L.A. Woods, the State Superintendent of Public Instruction. Through the use of English and Spanish newspapers and the radio, Mr. Escobar publicized the educational injustices being committed against the Mexican American children. In the mid-1940s, he also invited his good friend and famous singer from Mexico City–Agustín Lara, to perform at a benefit for the Liga Pro-Defensa Escolar.
On Monday, May 11 1970, I received a telephone call at the dorm from a man who identified himself as Pablo Escobar. He told me that he was the oldest nephew of Don Eleuterio Escobar. He then proceeded to give me the sad news that Mr. Escobar had passed away yesterday, on Mother’s Day, of a massive heart attack at the age of seventy-five. I was in shock because I had just seen him two days ago. On Friday afternoon, May 8, 1970, I knocked at Eleuterio Escobar’s front door and when he didn’t come, I said my name in a loud voice. He was too weak to come and greet me like he usually did. From his bedroom, he shouted in Spanish that the door was open. I walked in and went to his bedroom. He was lying on the bed, looking very pale, and he asked me to sit by his side. He continued to tell me more stories of his fight against the injustices of Mexican American children. His weak voice would rise like a crescendo as he began to relive those past and memorable moments.
Furthermore, Pablo Escobar told me that he was now in charge of his uncle’s estate, which included the archival collection. He also stated that I could no longer continue to work on the archives because there were many nephews and nieces who were now involved in the legal proceedings of the estate.. I was almost eighty percent finished with the work. My only plea to Pablo was to please keep the valuable archival collection intact and not to divide them as they were planning to do. Needless to day, I was very disillusioned because all I needed to finish my Master’s Degree was the thesis and I was determined to write something and not just take the easy way out and take six graduate hours and be through.
After the death of Don Eleuterio Escobar and my pursuit for another topic, Father Carmelo A. Tranchese, S.J., became the subject of my M.A. thesis at St. Mary’s University in San Antonio, Texas, thanks to Miss Carmen Perry, the archivist for the Laredo Archives, who introduced me to this topic. I had been in touch with Father James D. Carroll, S.J., the provincial archivist, by letter and by telephone, trying to get access to the Father Tranchese Papers.
Then, on one warm afternoon after I had finished working in the history department and was in my room studying, I heard a knock. Wondering who it could be, I opened the door and standing in front of me was this small, bespectacled, balding white-haired priest. He smiled and said, “I am Father Carroll!” I stood there stunned and looking down at him. He had driven all the way from his office at St. Charles College in Grand Coteau, Louisiana, to bring me four boxes full of letters and documents belonging to Father Tranchese. My mouth was agape in bewilderment. I could not believe what I was hearing. He proceeded to say that he wanted to help me with my thesis. After I gain my composure, I recommended that we should take them to the Academic Library for safekeeping and that I could commence my research there. He agreed and after we met with Brother Paul Novosal, S.M., Director of Libraries, an agreement was reached. The provisions specified that the four boxes would be kept in the Special Collections Room, and permission was granted only to me. Moreover, after the conclusion of my research, the university was to microfilm them and make two copies—one for their files and one for Father Carroll, which was to be returned with the documents. A final stipulation stated that no one should use the microfilm copy until after twenty years.
Father Tranchese, better known to his beloved parishioners as “el padrecito,” faithfully served his parish as Pastor of Our Lady of Guadalupe Church, located in the deep West Side of San Antonio, for twenty years, from the onset of the Great Depression in 1932 until 1953. What awaited him upon his arrival on that hot and humid Sunday afternoon of July 17th, in the predominantly Mexican American community, were high rates of diphtheria, typhus, typhoid fever, smallpox, and tuberculosis. The families lived in overcrowded, dilapidated and unsanitary shacks facing dirt roads, considered one of the worst slum areas in the United States. As a matter of fact, seventy-two percent of all the tuberculosis cases occurred within the parish. At one point, he notified Dr. Murphy, Chief of the Bureau of Vital Statistics in Washington, D.C., to send him more forms to report the number of deaths because he ran out of forms. Many of the people worked as pecan shellers, seasonal migratory workers, and the lucky ones found menial employment in the Apache Meat Packing Company, the Finck Cigar Company, and the Finesilver Clothing Manufacturing Company. Few established their own small Mom and Pop stores, and others were unemployed and without hope of bettering their pitiful existence. Despite these economic, health, and social problems, the community had a long history of Mexican traditions, customs, and culture that Father Tranchese strongly supported and encouraged.
At a regular meetings of the San Antonio Junior Chamber of Commerce, held at the St. Anthony Hotel, he addressed the group on the urgent need for a housing project. His tenacious and persistent efforts for a low-rent housing project paid off when Maury Maverick, Congressman from the 20th District and Alonso S. Perales, Civil Rights Advocate, came to his assistance. On Thursday, June 17, 1937, the San Antonio City Council appointed Father Tranchese to serve as one of five commissioners on the newly created San Antonio Housing Authority. While the application for federal assistance was being reviewed, Mrs. Eleanor Roosevelt accepted the invitation from Father Tranchese to come and visit the slum area. She was alarmed to find out that in one month, there were twenty-nine funerals! Before she returned to the White House, Mrs. Roosevelt vowed to fight for a housing project at Our Lady of Guadalupe parish. In the early 1940s, “el padrecito” witnessed the final completion of the Alazan Courts, a low-rent housing project containing 932 family units in two, three, and four room apartments, with rents ranging from $2.50 a room per month, including gas, electricity, water, and sanitary facilities.
After years of working hard to help the poor Mexican American families of his parish and feeling completely fatigued and exhausted, in 1953, Archbishop Lucey transferred him to St. Charles College in Grand Coteau, Louisiana to recuperate his physical and mental well-being. Three years later, on the afternoon of Friday, July 13, “el padrecito” suffered a fatal heart attack, just five months away from celebrating his Golden Jubilee in the Society of Jesus. He was seventy-six years old. His laborious efforts did not go unnoticed. The eminent journalist, George Sessions Perry, wrote an expository essay in the Saturday Evening Post on August 21, 1948, entitled, “Rumpled Angel of the Slums.”
In May 1972, I finished my M.A. thesis entitled, “Father Carmelo Antonio Tranchese, S.J.: A Pioneer Social Worker in San Antonio, Texas, 1932-1953,” and it was approved by the faculty of the Graduate School of St. Mary’s University in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Arts in History.
Some twenty years later, the extensive Eleuterio Escobar Archival Collection was finally donated to the Benson Latin American Collection at the University of Texas at Austin. And, in 2011, Leigh Ann Wilson, Ph.D., Assistant Professor of American History at Brandman University in Irvine, California, wrote her dissertation on Don Eleuterio Escobar, entitled, “Fighting Two Devils: Eleuterio Escobar and the School Improvement League’s Battle for Mexican and Mexican-American Students Equality in the San Antonio, Texas Public Schools fromn 1934 to 1958.” Dr. Wilson and I are good friends and we continue to stay in touch via emails.
And fifteen years later, on September 13, 1987, Pope John Paul II chose to visit San Antonio and to speak at Our Lady of Guadalupe Plaza. My dusty and forgotten M.A. thesis was revived by the Archdiocese of San Antonio and the Plaza Guadalupe Planning Committee and excerpts from relevant passages and photographs on Father Tranchese were used in the publication of several mementos, including a commemorative brochure they distributed to attendees prior to His Holiness’ arrival at the site. Twenty-five years later, on September 11, 2012, a festive reunion of the former chairs associated with the multi-faceted celebration in 1987 shared recollections of the Pontiff’s historic visit to Guadalupe Plaza. In particular, the chair of the Mexico Relations Committee, whose responsibility was to escort and serve the visiting bishops from the neighboring country, highlighted my scholarly treatise on Father Tranchese in his segment of the program that was also pre-recorded for later viewing at the banquet.
