Boxcar Bennie: A Journey from the Barrio to a House of Prayer

By Ben Castillo

A LIFE JOURNEY CAN BE FASCINATING. BOXCAR BENNIE'S JOURNEY BEGAN IN A HOT, BARREN LAREDO, TEXAS BARRIO NAMED EL RINCÓN DEL DIABLO.

It led him to Sterling Illinois' Silver City boxcar settlement as a youngster where he picked up the nickname Boxcar Bennie, The boxcar

exteriors in the settlement were painted silver so it wa

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing Group
• Release date: Aug 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9781649900463

Book preview

INTRODUCTION

Storytelling for the Family

As a retired minister, I have shared the life story of Jesus Christ through my sermons, but my first public speaking appearance to share my life story came about when my younger sister Consuelo Castillo Kickbusch (Chelo), a retired US Army Lt. Col. and the CEO of Educational Achievement Services, invited me to address a Family Life Institute her firm was conducting in San Antonio, Texas. Why don't you tell the audience who Boxcar Bennie is? Consuelo asked. I agreed and was assigned the topic Storytelling for the Family Unit.

For the next half hour, I shared Silver City boxcar stories, one experience after another, until I was signaled by the summit coordinator that my time was up. It felt so natural to tell people about those challenging days that helped fuel my inner drive and also planted a spirit of gratitude for the people who impacted my life. The experiences I was privileged to witness remained affixed in my inner being, so it was easy to share them. As I looked across at the crowd, I could tell many were eager to hear more. I determined it was time to get serious about sharing what I consider some of the most important days of my life.

Storytelling can help achieve several purposes. As a source of entertainment, storytelling can birth dreams or stir dormant ones, motivate and redirect motives, ignite faith, spur self-examination, and bring restoration. Little does one comprehend as a youngster how one's life could end up playing a small part in the shaping of history. Boxcar Bennie was but one of hundreds of immigrant sons and daughters who, alongside their parents, answered the call when America needed to fill a most significant place in moving forward after the very devastating World War II.

Boxcar Bennie is not really about the role of a sole contributor in the mighty effort of rebuilding America, but hopefully it brings to light the price that many Mexican American families paid in the process.

In the short time since I began to put my story together, I have lost two precious brothers who made the original trek with me from El Rincón del Diablo barrio of Laredo, Texas, and became occupants of Silver City. Pete was called home on May 14, 2018 and Danny on November 14, 2018. Another brother, Ismael, although not born in Silver City, passed away on October 14, 2019. Losing three brothers in a span of seventeen months has not been easy. Their fellowship, love, and partnership in struggle will remain in my heart until I join them in a home not prepared by mortal hands.

CHAPTER 1

Barrio Life in Laredo

World War II started in 1939 when I was one year old. My oldest brother, Pete, was four. Both of us were delivered by midwives in Malakoff, Texas during the time Mom and Dad lived there. Dad worked the lignite coal mines of East Texas while the war was going on. Pedro and Consuelo, our parents, were devout Christians. They often made efforts to deliver the gospel message to the miners by holding prayer meetings in their home.

In 1942, with the discovery of natural gas, a cleaner and less costly fuel to produce, in East Texas, the mines were shut down, and hundreds of miners became unemployed. Using their savings, our parents traveled in a Ford Model T to Laredo, Texas, on the border between Mexico and the United States, where they settled. Here, Dad continued preaching in spite of lung and respiratory issues caused by exposure to dangerous toxic gases and coal dust while working the mines. Using the front porch of our house, he delivered his sermons. The neighbors seldom complained but eagerly waited and listened from their own porches. Later in this book, I will share the story of a neighborhood boy whose life was impacted and revolutionized by listening to messages from this neighborhood preacher.

Not everyone knew that as a child, aged eight, Dad had received third-degree burns over large portions of his body in an explosion at a migrant work camp in Pearland, Texas. He lost part of the digits of both hands, but still found ways to overcome his handicap. Life was hard, and jobs were scarce, but Dad persevered and never complained. With Spanish as his primary language, he still managed to study, apply himself, and succeed in obtaining his United States citizenship.

Strict disciplinarians, Mom and Dad made sure we treated adults with respect and always revered the House of God. We became accustomed to being taken to church three to four times a week, and often more if a revival was in session. On many occasions we fell asleep beneath the wooden pews during a drawn-out sermon.

As World War II continued, rationing of goods was implemented by the United States government, and our family found itself in dire straits. Unable to purchase gasoline, Dad was forced to sell our only means of transportation. Even as a nine-year-old, I found it embarrassing having to walk the few blocks to the neighborhood grocery store with ration cards in hand to bring home a pound of sugar and flour. The experience left an indelible scar on my spirit but also ignited a desire, even as little as I was, to do everything I could to help Mom and Dad. Anything I found along the street that I felt was usable, I brought home. Any little thing, no matter how big or small, would help with expenses.

The railroad tracks were located two blocks from our house. Row upon row of warehouses lined the tracks. Most were used as export and import storage for merchandise either entering or leaving Mexico. It was here the older boys of the barrio gathered after the businesses closed, to play their guitars and sing. I watched closely as the older boys strummed and picked their instruments and listened as they called out the chords. In time, I bought a guitar in Mexico for $3.50 and joined them during their sessions.

We walked past the warehouses every day on our way to school. The foreman at Jose Montemayor Warehouses was my dad's friend, and he would yell out at me, Tell your dad I have a load of cardboard and pallets for him. Through his friendship, Dad often received used wooden pallets and cardboard that were being thrown away. With great patience he would remove the nails from the pallet boards, straighten them, and store them in a jar for future use. The stacks of boards were stored in a small shed