Reflections: an Engineer's Story

By Aldelmo Ruiz PE

Few have encountered the rich tapestry of experiences that Ruiz has known. After he fulfilled His childhood dream of becoming an engineer he traveled a path that eventually led him to alleviating harsh conditions faced by third world countries that lacked infrastructure necessities such as sanitary water and roads fit for travel. His book, Reflections, weaves Ruiz's story through his memories of challenges running a highly successful engineering firm and working tirelessly as a foreign service officer. Reflections gives readers a refreshing perspective on an autobiography that stands heads and shoulders above others that solely focus on descriptions of accomplishments.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 14, 2013
• ISBN: 9781469166902

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Copyright © 2013 by Aldelmo Ruiz, PE.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 01/26/2022

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Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

Introduction

Preface 1

Preface 2

CHAPTER I

The Early Years (1923–1936)

CHAPTER II

Urban Experience (1936–1942)

CHAPTER III

Military Service (1942–1945)

CHAPTER IV

Military to Civilian Transition (1945–1946)

CHAPTER V

College Years (1946–1950)

CHAPTER VI

College to First Employment (1950)

CHAPTER VII

Sanitary Commission Design Engineer (1950–1951)

CHAPTER VIII

Sanitary/Project Engineer (1951–1955)

CHAPTER IX

Construction of Our Home (1951–1952)

CHAPTER X

Far East Division (1955–1958)

CHAPTER XI

My Own Firm (1958–1962)

CHAPTER XII

Director, Water Supply and Environmental Sanitation Department (1962–1967)

CHAPTER XIII

Development Officer—USAID/Yemen (1966–1967)

CHAPTER XIV

Engineering Officer—USAID/Afghanistan (1967–1971)

CHAPTER XV

Industrial College of the Armed Forces, Class of 1971–1972

CHAPTER XVI

Engineering Coordinator for Interregional Programs (1972–1973)

CHAPTER XVII

AID Affairs Officer—AID Representative—Mission Director (1973–1977)

CHAPTER XVIII

Agency for International Development, Washington, DC (1977–1978)

CHAPTER XIX

Mission Director—El Salvador (1978–1979)

CHAPTER XX

Mission Director USAID Panama (1979–1981)

CHAPTER XXI

Retirement

References

Acknowledgments

To Dr. Ronald Barbaro. Sometimes in life you meet a person who becomes a true friend. The author had that good fortune. Dr. Barbaro edited, reviewed, and made suggestions and recommendations. Having persisted until the last draft was finished, his closing remark, It was fun.

To Dr. Gavin Faulkner, who created the first layout of the book including editing, computer work and providing helpful advice.

Thanks to Ms. Tracey Silcox for looking over many slides and photos, and designing the cover; to Mr. Paul C. Miller, PCL attorney at law, for his legal advice; to Ms. Denise Sediq Ryan for helping to locate villages that did not appear on the maps of Afghanistan; to Ms. Diana Laura, who provided editing support; to Mr. Benjamin Ruiz Jr. for his computer assistance; to professor Ana Lydia Santiago for the final review; to my

son-in-law, Glenn Jones for his support.

Of course, to my wife Mary, our daughter Stella, and son Michael, for their unwavering support, editing and assistance. They shared with us many of the experiences related herein.

Dedicated to my

My wife

Mary

Over the past 64 years Mary was always there for me. She readily adjusted to a broad range of customs and cultures in developing nations. She experienced political instability, an evacuation, typhoons, floods and hurricanes. To manage the households in different environments, she often had to improvise and find ways to make do with whatever was available. However, she remained steadfast in her support and without her love and understanding it would have been difficult for me to have accomplished my goals. She organized and served as hostess at events designed to officially foster our relations with the host country. Further, because of her background as a licensed teacher and having taught in the State of Virginia she was called to teach in most of the areas where we served. These included Okinawa, Puerto Rico, Yemen and Afghanistan. In Yemen, she spearheaded the establishment of the American School and prepared the curriculum.

Throughout the writing of this book, Mary reviewed, edited, made changes, suggested inclusions and selected the title and illustration for the cover.

WHO’S WHO IN AMERICA

42nd edition

1981-1982

Volume 2

Thought of life

Ruiz, Aldelmo. ‘Fostering modernization in developing nations in their process of social, economic and political development will be a major contribution by the western world industrialized and developed nations toward mankind in the 20th century.’

Introduction

The book is about my life, beginning when, as a child, I experienced the worst of the great depression. I chronicle my experiences during most of my career as an engineer involved in development in the less developed nations, helping to build good ‘people to people’ relationships. Events range from my humble beginnings to retiring from the Agency for International Development (USAID) as mission director and concluding my career as an international consultant.

The United States contribution to the developing world during the last century cannot be over emphasized. Our nation has been at the forefront in assistance to the developing nations. To provide the reader with the magnitude of the aid program worldwide, I present examples of USAID funded projects in countries where I served and the favorable impacts of those projects.

A democratic nation is built by the dedication, honesty, and strength of its people and not by its wealth. Establishing good relations with people in other countries is a dominant message throughout the book and cannot be over emphasized. As world events and circumstances change, so do the perceptions of our country. However, experiences of those from my generation who spent their careers helping to build a positive image of our country should not be forgotten. This book is intended to record and communicate ‘lessons learned’ by a retired professional engineer with worldwide experience in private industry and the Foreign Service.

Preface 1

This is a story of the memorable events in the life of a boy born to a family coping with the depression and societal oppression in Puerto Rico in the 1930s. The wisdom born of these harsh times — the love of family, and the steel of grim reality told him that education was the path out of poverty; taught him respect for others and their beliefs, and made him an iron willed advocate for betterment of the conditions of those living in poverty.

This is the story of events in the life of a teenager, suddenly a soldier serving in the army during WWII. His work ethic and struggle to overcome prejudice, inefficiency, and inappropriate inequality within the ranks made him a very young and very capable first sergeant in a very short time. Anyone who seeks to win the respect of their comrades and commanders and rise in the ranks of their profession should take notes.

This is the story of a man, a student, and how his dogged pursuit of education, reluctantly but positively, made room in his life for the lady of his life, Mary.

This is the story of an eager young couple, working through the first stages of marriage and professional development and their progression as a team through a series of jobs and geographical locations. She the educator. He a young engineer in private and then in federal government service. He performed dutifully, with professional pride and personal pleasure; but feeling the troublesome tug of a missing passion. An unexpected, slightly comical, and potentially disastrous adventure as an engineer with a consulting firm found him in the Far East, sometimes professionally isolated, and working on broad ranging and enriching projects. He rapidly gained perspective.

He returned to his birthplace, created a successful private consulting firm, and fulfilled his promise to help his family and his country. This promise and his service in the Far East better defined his missing passion. Seeking to expand his opportunity to serve others, particularly the poorest of the poor, led him into USAID and postings in Yemen, Afghanistan, El Salvador, and Panama. As engineer, and chief engineer, and Mission Director, he studied, met with the people, and learned their needs, surveyed the land, met and learned from officials at all levels of government, friendly and not so friendly. Always, and at all levels, he strove to establish good relationships, while working on roads, water supply, education, or just about any project that bettered the condition of the land and the status of the poor. He had found his passion — helping the poorest of the poor to help themselves — luckily it was shared by and with his family. In retirement, he continued to feed the passion, as an international consultant.

Tucked into the parables he relates, Ruiz has a virtual list of Do’s and Don’ts for those who share the passion for helping others, poor or not, without assaulting their humanity, culture, or religion. He helped a lot of people, built a lot of projects, met and dealt with a lot of people, all in a lot of places. He went from poverty to become a very successful professional. He, his wife Mary, and their family hope that others might benefit in some way from the precious information and experience contained in these pages.

With God’s blessings ...

Ronald Barbaro, Ph.D.

Professor (retired) and a friend

Southern Shores, North Carolina

Preface 2

"Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die,

Life is a broken winged bird that cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams go,

Life is a barren field, frozen with snow"

— Langston Hughes

As I recall events that occurred long ago overseas, I recognize words cannot capture the essence of how rewarding the relationships were that we established with many fine people from diverse cultures. The kindness and generosity of many individuals, from many cultures, impressed me the most. Despite the limited educational and economic means of many we met, we found abundant caring and generosity. This would have a lasting impact on me as I matured over a lifetime. As I interact with many cultures to this day, I continue to appreciate these qualities.

Humble roots enabled my mother and father to have a perspective of the plight of those in countries that faced economic, educational, and health challenges. My mother was influenced by a father who escaped socialist persecution and poverty in Europe; and a mother who was raised on a farm in Virginia. My father was influenced by the Spanish culture, and was also raised on a farm in Puerto Rico. My parents experienced many hardships in their youths, but their parents managed to train them to better themselves, so they in turn could better others. My mother, a teacher, touched the lives of many youngsters eager to learn about life in America. My father, an engineer, worked tirelessly to improve lives through economic development.

As you embark on this journey through many lands and cultures, the true success of what my mother and father accomplished in the Foreign Service lies not in physical infrastructure development, but in the genuine passion and caring that they shared with so many fine people. The kindness and generosity bestowed upon my mother and father, from so many they worked with overseas, provided them far more than they were ever able to give. The many positive interactions shared with people from multiple cultures enabled my mother and father to hold fast to their own dreams, while sharing in the dreams of so many others.

Michael L. Ruiz

Chapter I

The Early Years (1923–1936)

Education was the pathway out of poverty.

A concerned teacher made the road accessible.

The earliest memories of my childhood are rooted in Puerto Rico, one of the most poverty stricken and underdeveloped areas in the western hemisphere until the early 1940s. The area of this densely populated island is 3,435 square miles (8,897 sq. km.), including Culebra, Mona, and Vieques islands and 14 sq. mi. (36 sq. km.) of inland water. Greatest distances: east to west, 111 mi. (179 km); north to south, 39 mi. (63 km). Coastline: 311 mi. (501km). At that time, landlords controlled most of the highly productive land where the main crop

was sugarcane. These privileged landlords hired jibaros (term applied to country

people in Puerto Rico) as sugarcane cutters and paid these workers bare, subsistence wages. Jibaros lived in deplorable conditions. Families lived in small two to three room wooden houses with a kitchen area, either attached or adjacent to the house, covered with a corrugated metal roof and supported by wooden stilts. The houses had neither water nor electricity, and some did not even have outside latrines. People used the open fields to relieve themselves.

1A.jpg

A Puerto Rican mother poses with

her children outside their shack

during the Great Depression of the

1930s. (Photo by F. Wadsworth.)

Malnutrition and diseases such as tuberculosis, malaria, and intestinal

parasites, among other scourges, constantly plagued the jibaro. Children with distended stomachs (caused by malnutrition) were a common sight. There were no roads; the very sick were carried on horseback, or in hammocks, to see a doctor in town.

The main sources of drinking water included rain collected in drums, and springs usually located at a considerable distance from the house. Women and children carried water in five-gallon metal cans on their heads. Fortunately, the water emanating from the mountain springs was safe. To bathe, people would walk to the nearest creek.

Land barons usually hired a foreman (majordomo) to operate their estates. The majordomo provided the landlord with full-time management, maintenance, and protection of the hacienda twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, and 365 days a year, for which he received a meager salary, a place to live, and enough of the farm produce to feed his family. His house was small, usually two or three rooms, shared by several family members.

1B.jpg

The Jibaro Ambulance

An ailing Santa Claus represents a ‘jibaro’ being carried ill

from the countryside to seek medical treatment in town.

(Courtesy of the artist Jorge Luis Rivera Alverio, San Juan Puerto Rico.)

The landlords could hire labor on their own terms because of the abundant labor market and the desperate need of many who were without work. Landlords maximized profits by overworking the honest, naive, uneducated jibaro.

Life for the jibaro was very difficult.

Landlords used other means to dominate the jibaro:

a) They issued vales (vouchers) to the jibaros in payment for their labor to be used for purchases at local stores.

1C.jpg

A Jibaro with a cart full of sugar cane.

(Courtesy of the artist Jorge Luis Rivera Alverio.)

b) They would buy the votes of the jibaro to elect officials who would protect the landlord’s interests: Vote buying could not be done with educated people. The well to do did not encourage the jibaro to send his children to school.

After, or sometimes before, finishing second grade, some children would be taken out of school by their parents, sometimes because of poor grades, but more often because the parents needed the children to become family supporters. Child laborers would pick coffee, carry water for laborers on sugarcane plantations, spread fertilizer in sugarcane fields, and accept whatever work was available. Families used to have as many children as they could in order to have more family supporters. The oldest would take care of the younger. Jibaro men married young, produced offspring, and became virtual slaves to support their families.

I WORKED during summer vacations from school, spreading fertilizer at twenty cents per day.

Men would leave home early in the morning and travel long distances to wait in line for work. Often, they would return home, having been unsuccessful in their attempt to find a job. Others would take farm produce to the town and find no one to buy it. Families had to survive on the breadwinner’s sparse earnings and the small amount of money some of the wives earned by sewing, raising chickens, and selling eggs and farm produce.

The people in the highlands were more fortunate; rainfall was more plentiful and residents were able to grow all types of vegetables and tropical fruits. My uncle would travel to the highlands on a horse laden with produce grown in our area, such as tobacco, to barter for produce grown in the highlands. In this manner, we were able to get through the most difficult times of the year. The generosity of neighbors and the abundance of the natural fruits that grew in the country—such as avocados, mangoes, oranges, grapefruits, tamarinds, and papayas—provided sustenance to children and assuaged their hunger.

ONCE, A COUSIN AND I ate nuts from a tree that was poisonous, and we almost died. My cousin’s resistance was so low that he later succumbed to a bite by a scorpion.

It was into these deplorable conditions and humble surroundings that I, Aldelmo Ruiz-Santiago, was born on June 12, 1923, in Barrio Quebradas, a political subdivision of Yauco, a town in the southern part of the island. This was one of the most depressed areas in the countryside.

I was the fourth of nine children born to Mercedes Santiago de Ruiz and Hipolito Ruiz Ramos, but the second and third children died, leaving me, at an early age, the second of the seven surviving.

IN THE PUERTO RICAN SYSTEM, the child bears his first name, middle name, and surname of his father, and then the mother’s maiden name.

It was the custom for the oldest child to be responsible for seeing that the daily chores were performed. These chores included carrying water up from the stream, gathering and carrying dead wood for cooking, planting gardens, and caring for the chickens and other animals.

By the time that I was old enough to enter the first grade, my older brother was living in town with some acquaintances while attending school. He was named León Antonio after his paternal and maternal grandparents, and later on reversed his name to Antonio León. When he transferred from the rural to the town school, he was demoted one grade according to the rules at that time. Students from rural schools, transferring to town schools for further education, were demoted one grade. Further, they were required to wear shoes, a luxury our parents could not afford to give all of us. My mother made arrangements to board him in town, leaving me as the oldest at home. Since the other children were too young to work, the heavy burden of the chores became mine.

Carrying water from the stream up a steep incline was the most arduous task. By the time I entered first grade, I had been responsible for this chore for quite some time. I carried so many cans full of water on my head that I am the shortest of my brothers and sisters. My mother and father were tall. When my father was home, he would occasionally help me to carry the water; those were some of my happier days.

1E.jpg

Nuestro trineo (Our sled).

(Courtesy of the artist Jorge Luis Rivera Alverio.).

My father worked a few miles from home during the sugarcane season, and I had to take his lunch to him. During other seasons, my father had to look for work in other places. He would travel where work was available—road construction, building, or whatever, and this kept him away for weeks, depending on the location of the job site. Once, he returned with a bandage on his face. When he removed it, we saw a deep cut that had been made in his face, and the scar remained for the rest of his life. When I was able to understand, I was told that he had an abscessed tooth and the operation was the cause of that scar. He was fortunate that, because he was a World War I veteran, the Veterans Administration covered the cost of the surgery because if left untreated it could have been fatal.

AT AN EARLY AGE I was witness to the conditions that the jibaros had to endure to make a meager living. I was determined to search for better pastures; soon I knew that education was my way there.

There were times when my older brother would come home on weekends. He was mother’s favorite, and so he was provided with treats and privileges that the other children would forgo. While at home, he would stay close to my mother, helping her with her chores such as taking care of the siblings, cooking, sewing (my mother used to sew clothes for a store in town), ironing, and other household chores, while I was doing the outside work.

I accepted it without resentment as it was the custom that the oldest child was entitled to special privileges. On occasions, my mother would ask him to help me with some of the chores and he did, reluctantly. Even though he would grumble and pout while I did most of the work, I greatly enjoyed his company, especially when we gathered wood for cooking. Those outings were educational and revealing for me because I had the opportunity to listen and learn about my brother’s experiences in town. I looked forward to his visits, but we never played; our need to work did not leave time for play. We matured quickly.

Even though I was younger, my brother looked to me for guidance and support. He would ask me to solve riddles, and when I did, he acted surprised.

On one occasion, when I was about eight years old, our mother ordered us to go to a corn field about two miles from the house where she had obtained permission to gather vines to feed the only cow that we owned. It was late in the evening when we had filled the burlap bags. I suggested that we take two ears of corn from the field, and my brother readily agreed. It began to rain and we rushed home, arriving at dark. Upon arrival, our mother opened one of the burlap bags and saw the two ears of corn. She became angry, gave us a lecture, provided us with a lantern, and instructed us to go to the same spot and place the two ears of corn on the same plants. We did as instructed and returned very tired, hungry, and soaked. I felt guilty and accepted the blame, and my brother never held it against me.

At that time, midwives handled childbirth in the countryside. One evening in the summer of 1931, while my brother was at home, my mother started having labor pains. The midwife lived far away on the side of a mountain. My brother and I were ordered to go and get her. We were given a small lantern. The trail through the mountains and the creek beds was steep and arduous to climb; in some cases, there were no paths to follow. I led the way. It was very dark, and there were only sparsely located houses on the way. A jibaro invited us into his home and wanted to know what we were doing there that late at night. We told him, and he offered us something to eat. We ate hurriedly and continued our difficult journey, finally reaching our destination. The lady invited us inside, fed us, and we departed after midnight. The baby, our second sister, was born at dawn.

During the times that my father was away, I was responsible for taking care of the family. It was the time of the depression, and times were difficult. I felt that it was my responsibility to do whatever I could to bring some relief to this unbearable situation. A lady in the barrio made pasteles, a confectionary of ground bananas with pork inside and wrapped in banana leaves. She gave me the opportunity to sell them and get for my efforts whatever she felt appropriate. On Saturdays, I would go to her house, located some distance from our home, to get a container full of them. I would walk all day long to houses sparsely scattered throughout the mountainous area in search of customers. My pay would consist of a few coins or some unsold pasteles at the end of the day. Some days, I would return home tired and depressed because I was unable to sell many pasteles. My mother always understood and recognized my efforts. On one occasion, I knocked at the door of a house, and a man came out holding up his pants and raised hell. When I came home and told my mother, she told me to discontinue this endeavor. I quit the job.

Our mother was mainly responsible for our survival. She was skilled in the remedial use of herbal treatments and home remedies. People would travel for miles to come for diagnosis and treatment. I saw people being brought in hammocks and returning to their homes walking and other similar experiences. For her services, she would receive a chicken, fruits, vegetables, a few coins, or just thanks.

My mother had a small 10 × 12 foot chapel built of rustic materials. The roof was of palm tree branches. There was a wooden altar with religious statues, crucifixes, and rosaries, many of which were made by my artisan uncle. Residents of the countryside would assemble in the chapel once a week for services. It was rebuilt on several occasions. Later on, when finances permitted, the new larger chapel was built with galvanized corrugated metal covering both roof and walls. After my mother’s death, other members of the community used it until the early 1970s. Members of the family from my mother’s side watched over it and kept it until it deteriorated. The religious items were removed, and it was abandoned. It collapsed in the early 1990s. Soon thereafter, it was replaced with the help of my wife, Mary, my cousin Krimilda Santiago and her husband, Felo. It is now a 12 × 20 foot reinforced concrete-and-blocks structure with metal windows and doors.

MOST of the original religious items were returned to the chapel, which stands as a memorial to my mother.

Children from rural areas remained innocent for quite some time and were led to believe that on the eve of January 6, the Three Kings Day, if some grass and water were placed for the camels, the Three Kings would leave presents. I remember walking to the bottom of the hill and leaving grass and water for the three camels near a trail and returning the next day to look for presents. The water and grass were still there, but no presents. Brokenhearted and disappointed, I walked back home, and that day, my mother told me the truth. I still remember how she felt and how sad she was. From then on, I told all my brothers and sisters, at the appropriate time, so they could avoid the same experience.

1F.jpg

The new chapel.

1G.jpg

My mother’s original chapel-altar in the 1930s.

MOST of the people in the countryside did not own watches, an unaffordable commodity. There were no radios, and time was guessed, but the people were always on time. There was a wall clock in our house.

I was always looking for ways to assist my family. An opportunity was presented when a well-to-do lady visited our home to seek help from my mother and offered me a small female pig. It was our understanding that I would give her half of future litters. Maybe she realized that I would work hard and her generosity would pay dividends. Her residence was miles away beyond a river that had to be crossed at several places. I went to pick up the pig and carried it home in my arms. Every day after school and my chores, I went through the entire neighborhood to get the slop to feed it. The pig became very prolific, and as agreed, I would dutifully take the lady part of the litters. To deliver the baby pigs, I had to improvise, so I built a small cart with four wheels. I made that all-day trip by myself, returning home with some farm produce that she would send to my mother. I will always remember that I had the best meals when I went to deliver the baby pigs. She would give me goodies that were not available to us. Eventually, the lady told me that I had complied with my part of the agreement and not to bring any more piglets. I always enjoyed my visits to her home and appreciated her kindness. Many years later, after I had established an engineering firm in Puerto Rico, I tried to locate the lady and give her my most sincere thanks, but to no avail.

The pig was kept in a secure and well-protected location near a creek not far from home. For breeding, I would take her a few miles away to a coffee plantation, which also grew fruit trees to protect the coffee trees. To pay for breeding the pig, I would assist with the chores on the farm. I worked all day and was provided lunch and returned home late in the evening, carrying farm products, fruits, and coffee given to me by the owner. I was also permitted to go to the plantation on Saturdays to pick up coffee beans and fruits that had fallen from the trees to carry home. My brothers and sisters were glad to see me come home with the burlap bag loaded with all the coffee, avocados, grapefruits, oranges, and other fruits that I could carry. I never took a single bean of coffee or fruit that had not fallen on the ground.

On weekends during mango season, I would get up very early in the morning to search for those that had fallen and help others fall by shaking the tree branches. I would place them in a burlap bag and carry them on my back to town to sell or trade for other products as other country people did. Sometimes I could neither sell nor trade the mangoes and had to give them away or carry them back to feed the animals. On occasions when I went to search for mangoes, I would find that an elderly neighbor had risen earlier and outwitted me.

During off season, when fruits and vegetables were out of season, feeding the pig required additional effort because farther distances had to be traveled collecting slop. Being the only boy in the neighborhood doing this type of work, it was difficult to get the girls interested in carrying on a conversation or socializing, and they tended to be snobbish. Nevertheless, the pig had to be kept well fed and in particular during the period of birth and when nursing. She had the tendency, as pigs will do, to eat the newborn.

I enrolled in the rural school in September 1930 at the age of seven, the minimum age for admittance. The first and second grade was in a one-room wooden house supported by wooden stilts and located over a mile from our house. One rustic outside latrine was available. The teacher boarded at a house near school to avoid riding a horse or walking the terrain from her home. When she found out that I was left handed, she tied my left hand to the desk to force me to write right handed. I suffered for months but accepted this treatment because there was no one that I could complain to who would support me. Since then, I write with my right hand.

AS A CHILD, I sensed that the teacher did not like me.

Drinking water for the school was obtained from a spring about one mile from the school. The teacher had a ceramic container with a spigot for her personal drinking water. She chose me and another student to go, every other morning, to the spring and bring water to fill the container. That meant that I had to wake up early, take care of my chores, and then arrive at the school prior to the other students’ arrival to go to the spring and carry water and fill the container. The students were not permitted to drink water from her filter. They were so scared of the teacher that they would not ask even if they were thirsty. When the chores at home delayed my early arrival, I would be punished by having to remain on my knees in front of the class. Finally, I had to tell my father that I could not do all my chores and explained why. At the same time, I told him about the teacher tying my left hand to the desk. That was the first time that my father visited the school to talk to the teacher. She assigned additional students to share the water assignment but continued to tie my left hand until I was able to write with my right. Eventually, this practice was discontinued.

I PASSED the first grade, and in the second grade, the teacher’s attitude changed for the better.

During the first school year, a cousin of my age also started school. His father was my mother’s oldest of six brothers. He was a majordomo on a dairy farm where sugarcane, tobacco, and other products were grown. It was owned by one of the few land barons residing in the town of Yauco, but my uncle assumed all the responsibilities, including hiring and firing. Our house was near the farm’s property line. My uncle, aunt, and seven children (three boys and four girls) worked like slaves at the farm for a meager salary of a few dollars per week plus beef, poultry, and farm produce for the family. In addition, he was provided with a small three-room wooden house with an attached kitchen and an outside latrine. Like all other houses in the country, it had neither water nor electricity. His family was better off since he was a majordomo and had resources from the hacienda. Sometimes, and in particular during summers, weekends, and holy days, going to assist them with their work was a pleasant event.

Milking time in the afternoons meant milk to drink, a good dinner, and milk and farm produce to take home. Saturday was the day when my uncle would slaughter animals, and if I assisted on that day, I would bring home beef and pork meat. He would select the prime portions of beef, pork, and poultry to be delivered to the landlord. He delivered milk to the landlord twice a day, seven days a week. I voiced my feelings about the unfairness but to no avail. My uncle’s family felt the same way, but they kept silent. I never knew how he felt about my arguments until years later when my confirmation in the Catholic Church was to take place; he came to my mother and asked to be the godfather. He realized that I was right to resent his treatment by the landlord. I never saw the landlord visiting the hacienda.

My cousin had spent his time at the farm helping his father and didn’t interact with other children in the neighborhood. When he started school, he was timid and the other boys picked on him, and he would not fight back. I intervened, and the other students stopped bullying him. When my uncle found out that I protected my cousin, he offered me a piece of land to plant a garden near our house, and I accepted. This provided us with vegetables and grains most of the year. After the second grade, my cousin’s father took him out of school to work on the farm. It was a common practice at that time.

1H.jpg

A Jibaro roasting a pig for the Holidays.

(Courtesy of the artist Jorge Luis Rivera Alverio.).

My father brought us food whenever he found work, and he helped to build the Catholic Church and other buildings in the town. We had a cow that provided us with milk, a pig that provided piglets for meat, a garden for produce, and a few chickens.

On religious holidays and special occasions, a pig was slaughtered, and my mother would send me to homes in the neighborhood to deliver portions of the meat. Sharing with neighbors was a must.

After I completed the second grade, my mother sent me to attend catechism classes once a week. A priest who traveled from town to the countryside conducted these classes in a house located several miles from our home.

The third- and fourth-grade school was located farther away from my home and required additional time for travel. The class composition changed, adding students from other rural schools; some students wore shoes; and I could write with my right hand. The male teacher was always prepared and was good in teaching arithmetic. However, he was repeatedly critical of the jibaros and would philosophize, at length, about their culture and customs. This discourse bored me. Once, when he was explaining that the jibaro did not want their children to have an education if their fathers had none, I wrote a note mocking the teacher for his remarks and passed it to the boy next to me, who kept passing it around until it reached a girl, who handed it to the teacher.

The teacher dismissed the class but asked the boys to remain to take a spelling test. The spelling test consisted of words similar to those that appeared in the note. He recognized my writing. I