The Grant/El Grante: Compilation of Short Stories Growing up in a Small Country Town 1944 to 1964

By Marshall Beaty

The title of my short story novel pertains to a small country town and a piece of land that perhaps prepared me for the better part of my life. This land was part of the Old Spanish Land Grant known as the San Jose de Sonoita Spanish Land Grant.

Growing up in a small country town next to the Grant/El Grante impacted my childhood and later years as a young man. I thought about all those childhood adventures I experienced in a small country town and on this piece of hallowed ground called The Grant/El Grante. However, like every child or young person growing up in this world, we all have that lasting memory encrypted in our minds about a particular unforgettable place and time that is haunting.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781669844747

Marshall Beaty

Marshall Beaty became interested in writing about a time he spent as a child, adolescent, teenager in a small country town mainly supported by cattle ranches and the mining industry. The periods of his experiences are from birth in 1944 to 1964. He is a novice writer, with this being his first novel. Currently, he is working on two other books that are forth coming.

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My Family

The best part of writing is bringing family into my novel and connecting my memories to each family member. Learning a bloodline connection to my heritage was a blessing and an eye-opener. Therefore, I will start with my father and mother.

My father is my first choice since he was head of the Beaty household. In the beginning, my father was a lot older than my mother by about 40 years, and his name was Clarence Lamar Beaty. I never understood why my father or mother would want to marry at such an age difference. My mother said it was the hard times back in the economic depression era of the 1920s and 1930s, and everybody was trying to make a decent living, let alone just trying to survive – but she did admit that she fell in love with my father.

My father was 58 years old, and my mother was an 18-year-old young woman when they both decided to marry – they eloped to a small town called Warren, Arizona, and became legally married. After losing the Beaty Ranch to the nation’s economic depression, my father worked on ranches in the Sonoita and Elgin, Arizona, cattle ranches. He also worked for the US forest service as a mule packer. His final workplace was at the Flux Mine, approximately three miles from Patagonia. He was employed as a security guard at the mine for about twelve years.

My father and mother were in a mixed marriage. He was an Anglo person, and my mother was of Spanish/Indian descent. My mother’s parents were immigrants/refugees from Mexico fleeing the Mexican revolution and human suppression, and they immigrated to the United States before the turn of the century. My father came from the southern state of Georgia, and his ethnic background was Scott/Irish. So the children they had were of mixed race – Spanish, Indian, and Scott/Irish.

The maternal head of the Beaty household was my mother, who had raised all four sons by herself since my father was away working at the mine, and he would come home on weekends. My mother did have a daughter, but she died at the age of two. My mother was the Rodriguez family’s youngest child (the baby). At 13, her mother passed, and her father and two older sisters raised her. The two older sisters lived with her until she married my father. The older sisters were named Guadalupe and Isabelle, with Guadalupe being the most senior and Isabelle being the middle sister.

My brothers were named Gilbert (the oldest), Clarence (jay), and Doss; my name is Marshall, the litter’s baby. My sister Louisa (belle) died at the age of two. She was five years older than me. My brothers and I went to the same schools in Patagonia. Gilbert and I graduated from high school.

My brother Gilbert graduated in 1952, and I graduated in 1963. Clarence (Jay) and Doss did not graduate from High School. Gilbert went to Arizona State University and enlisted in the Army during the Korean War in 1952. My brother Jay joined the Army in 1952 and later joined the Marines.

At different times, my brother Doss (1956)and me (1964) both served in the Army National Guard, and we both served six months of active duty before being released to the state army national guard to complete the rest of our six-year commitment. However, I got drafted into the US Army in 1966, but I did not pass the physical examination due to a head injury - I had suffered a gunshot when I was a young boy. However, because of the head injury and prior military service in the Army National Guard, I was awarded an honorable discharge from the United States Army - the Vietnam war was in full swing – I missed my calling.

The Hispanic Connection

The Hispanic connection within my family varied to the extent that my connection was a cultural mix of indigenous people of Sonora, Mexico, and Spanish/European connections. My cultural background became highlighted in my DNA. It revealed that my Spanish relationship with my Mexican heritage was minimal, and the indigenous link was more significant than my Spanish/European connection. My father’s DNA revealed I had Nordic and Scott/Irish in the mix of my DNA.

Based on family records from my mother’s side, she was more indigenous than her Spanish connection. Using my DNA as a baseline to measure my mother’s DNA, I would anticipate her DNA makeup was somewhere between 60 to 70 percent indigenous.

Further analysis found the indigenous connection between my mother is more in line with the Yaqui culture, a Mexican Indian tribe located in Mexico and southwestern states. Therefore, for the record, my DNA is 50% Scott/Irish, 30% Yaqui, 15% Spanish, and 5% other (Portuguese, Italian, Arab, Jewish, Mediterranean)

In social interaction with my friends, they understood me as more of a Spanish descendant than any other race. But in reality, the truth was far from being considered a Mexican since my DNA proved otherwise. I suppose my cultural bearing would think of me as a half-breed since the preponderance of my heritage is more Anglo/Indian than Spanish.

When I was growing up as a young child and teenager, my friends pointed out that I had Indian features, which did not bother me even though, at the time, being an Indian was considered a lower class of humanity. As I grew older, I learned that being part native was not an insult because of indigenous descendants. I accepted and was proud of it- just as proud of being a Scott/Irish descendant. Racism is now on the way out – I reminded myself as I grew into adulthood, Be proud of whatever your culture. Being a minority gives you that extra drive to succeed in life.

My Friends

In a small town, you either get to know everybody, or they get to know you. I did not pay much attention to the older folks living in Patagonia. The friends you made were the young friends you grew up with – of course, the more aging population did matter, and you respected their place within the community.

First, you are born and start growing up with childhood friends; sometimes, they become lifetime friends forever. My best friend was Tim; he and I grew up together and remained best friends until his passing several years ago. Then, when I first met Tim, he could only speak English, and I could only speak Spanish.

The cultural difference was that Tim was white, and I had a mixture of White/Mexican Indian – Spanish. My dad was Scott/ Irish, and my mother was of Spanish/Indian descent - I was in the middle. So for Tim and me, the cultural difference did not matter. Even though Tim and I had other friends in school, Tim and I remained close friends, and we kept our close friendship throughout our school years. We even found our high school sweethearts in high school; ironically, we never married them.

But as I said before, my friends were many since it was a small town and we all knew each other – a screenplay for sure if I wrote about them - but, as I tell my side of a story, they would also have a story to tell – if they wanted to.

The Old House

My father bought the old house we lived in during the last years of World War II – sometime in 1945. I was not born in the old house that my father bought. I was born in 1944 in a rock house in the Town Park of Patagonia. The name of the park is Richardson Park. The old rock house is still standing – it must be over a hundred years old.

I was fortunate to be raised in the new (but old) house at the intersecting streets of Smelter Ave., Costello Dr., and Duquesne Ave. Memories and stories about the old place are so many for sure another novel to tell stories about the home.

The old house got built at the turn of the century. The builders/owners of the old house were Mexicans who worked at the local mines. The house had the Spanish architectural resemblance made of adobe walls cemented outside the house. The adobe walls are about 18 inches thick. The original owners initially built the home with three rooms with an outside patio/porch. The open water well was located directly outside the house next to the patio/porch. Also, the house had a cellar located directly under the wooden floor of the house.

Two of the three rooms had wood floors, and the other room had a dirt floor – the kitchen. The kitchen floor could not be made of wood since the old wood-burning stove could cause a fire. I remember my mother sweeping the dirt floor to keep the dust down – she would sprinkle the dirt floor with water to contain the dust when brooming the dirt floor. The outside style of the house included mesquite logs protruding from the adobe walls – Santa Fe Spanish style.

My father and mother decided to remodel the old house in 1955. The remodeling of the old house included adding a new kitchen, a faucet sink, a septic tank, a gas stove, a water heater, and a back porch with a concrete floor. Included in the remodel is a vast front porch enclosed with screen siding. The house remodeling included new vinyl flooring on the existing wood floors, new concrete floors, cemented/plastered inside walls, and a complete inside bathroom. Before the remodeling, we would use the outhouse as a toilet, heat water by an outside fire pit, and use a washtub to heat the water to take a bath or wash clothes.

The property’s location was ideal for my father since he had horses, mules, and donkeys. My father had permission from the Oak Bar Ranch to keep his animals on their property, the Old Spanish Land Grant San Jose de Sonoita. When my father bought the house, it had two extra lots beside the lot used for the home. At first, he did not like the old house because of its condition but decided to buy it anyway since his animals needed access to the open ranch land.

Just a quick rundown of events at the old house; my grandfather died in the home, except my oldest brother Gilbert, and my brothers (Jay and Doss) passed away in the house. My mother and my father both lived in the house until their deaths. We, as brothers, brought our wives and girlfriends to the old place to visit with our parents at one time or another. My oldest brother’s daughter (Diana) was born in the old house. This old house had many visitors during its existence.

The 1950s TV series of the Arizona Rangers 26-Men had its kickoff event staged at the old house. We met the actors and many other celebrities at the house – it was a big event – covered by newspaper and television. Many visitors would come to see my father as his celebrity status rose in the small community of Patagonia. Our family relished in his fame regarding the new television adventures of my father as a Territorial Arizona Ranger.

We raised many animals and had horses, donkeys, and mules living on-premise - even had chickens, goats, pigeons, raccoons, and a pet crow. Many tragedies also occurred in the old house. The memories of the old place reflect my childhood and teenage years. For example, I left Patagonia when I turned eighteen to work in Tucson after high school. Over those years, many incidents happened at home with my family and relatives – too many to tell.

Perhaps I will write about those incidents once I finish this novel –if I still have the energy to do so. The old house remains abandoned, but I keep the old house in fair condition by visiting the place every month to perform maintenance. The old luster is gone, and the old home sits alone as though waiting for one more revival of living souls, and it never comes, and it sits alone, waiting for the inevitable ending, which will happen to all of us.

With my mother, father, sister, and brothers’ passing, I remain the sole survivor of the Beaty family in Patagonia. I have inherited the property, the old house located on half a lot. The old home now sits like an abandoned relic of an old house which is my affliction because of memories. I cannot make myself sell the house or rent it for profit. I continue to make utility payments and pay the yearly property taxes. My mother has been dead for ten years, and nobody has slept in the house since then – someday I will stay and sleep overnight – I dare myself.

House Bio:

The property (House) has a permanent location at the southernmost boundary of the Town of Patagonia, adjacent to the Spanish land grant known as San Jose De Sonoita Land Grant. The original historical section of the house has constructed 18-inch dirt adobe walls on a rock foundation with a floor elevation at least 18 inches above natural ground level.

The two main rooms of the old section of the house still have the original wood floors. Underneath the wood floor was an existing cellar. The cellar was permanently closed during additions made to the house. The third room had a dirt floor that was eventually cemented and tiled. The current location of the new kitchen was once an open patio. The water well was located 20 feet from the terrace. The plastered adobe walls were cemented and stuccoed, and the original paint was white.

The addition/remodeling in 1955 that connected to the old house included the extension of the old kitchen, an inside bathroom, a screened large porch, and a back open porch with a utility washroom. My father had a new corrugated metal roof added to the house to cover the original flat roof. The architectural design of the original house remains intact with the old Spanish flat roof style with embedded outside mesquite beams.

The House Cellar

The house we lived in had a cellar underneath the wooden floor of the house. The original owners added a basement to store food and other items. I remember the basement had a dirt floor and dirt walls with dug-out holes on the side to place candles or a miner’s carbide lantern so that anybody using the cellar could see in the dark.

My parents did not use the cellar for anything other than keeping it closed. But I would use it as a hideout with my friend Tim. Over the years, the basement had a door closed with a lock and key, and nobody could get into the cellar. Instead, the basement cellar entrance was eventually covered with a concrete slab and permanently closed. I can still feel the wood floor sink a little when I walk over to the cellar area on the above wooden floor.

I would dare say the wooden floor is more than a hundred years old, is starting to weaken, and probably needs replacement. The upgrading of the floor will be another project for the remodeling of the old house. But, history would be lost if the wooden floor got removed. The old house is the only one in Patagonia that I remember that had a cellar.

Out Houses

I remember the waste disposal at each house was an outhouse, and some homes had two outhouses. In addition to an outhouse, the next-door neighbor had an indoor bathroom depositing into a septic tank. There were quite a few homes that had both types of facilities. But for the most part, the homes in Patagonia had the infamous outhouse, which was an acceptable way of living. Later, my father remodeled the old house and installed an indoor bathroom with a septic tank. But we kept two outhouses to ensure a facility was available if the inside bathroom did not operate when the septic tank was full.

The Town of Patagonia installed the municipal water and sewer system during the early 1960s. The main concern for the Town was that underground water pollution could occur with outside contamination from outhouses and the septic systems leaking into the groundwater. Also, there was a scare that typhoid fever could be a health concern.

That was the main reason for bringing the sewer and water system into the community – it was a health necessity for the Town. However, the Town significantly improved health requirements by making waste disposal and water distribution safe and clean.

Once the Town incorporated the waste disposal system, purification of waste contaminates occurred next to Sonoita Creek. Because of its location, the human environment changed forever because of local suspicion that treated water flowing from the sewage plant into Sonoita Creek was not safe. So the favorite picnic areas and swimming spots on Sonoita Creek ended, let alone drinking and swimming in the water, as I did when there was no wastewater treatment plant upstream from the recreation area.

Perhaps engineering could have done a better job designing and operating the waste treatment plant to preserve what was once a premier recreation area. – but then again, the State Wildlife Bird Sanctuary intervened and hammered the last nail into the coffin – no human excursions will be allowed to enter the Bird Sanctuary (which is the Sonoita Creek) – a federal and state-protected land. So it would take an act of Congress to reverse the change – I am dreaming big time.

The Old Ice Box

My mother had an old icebox that required the placement of a frozen block of ice to keep the milk and vegetables fresh. My mother has passed, and still, the old Ice Box remains in the old kitchen at the exact location for the past 70-plus years - the generation of memories it has collected are many - the memories are haunting of good times.

The Icebox has several compartments that would hold other perishable provisions. But the main container of the Icebox is where you would place the block of ice. The container has old cork wood siding that prevents the ice from melting. At the icebox’s bottom, a container would collect the melting water from the ice block. Then, when the ice melted, my mother would throw out the ice water and place a

Reviews for The Grant/El Grante

[marshall beaty · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Excellent book for young teenagers coming of age and the difference between country living and big city urban settings.