Texas State Historical Association - My Texas

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Santa Rode a Fire Truck

When we lived in Brownsville I was under the nuns' care, and Mother worked as a kitchen maid. Her week, when she related it to me, was filled with names of people like Jean Macmillan, a model; the Sweeneys; a pilot named Payton, the son of one of her employers; and the child of another employer, named Christopher Christopherson. (Mother never wrote his name, so I'm not sure of the spelling, but I still wonder whether this was the singer/actor who later became famous as Kris Kristofferson.) She kept Jean's studio portraits for many years, and tiny snapshots of the little boy. I've asked myself why I should recall the names and details about these people I never met. Perhaps I remember the details because they sparkled. And as we only spoke Spanish, these names in English sounded musical. The things I remember were not imprinted on paper.

Every evening during the month of May Mother took me to offer flowers to the Virgin Mary at the cathedral. All of us little girls in white dresses and veils wearing wax orange-blossom coronets filed up the aisles; an illusion of ruffled organdy and tulle, mingled with the overpowering perfume of flowers and frankincense. On the last day of May our crowns were collected and offered to the Virgin. One day we passed by the smouldering ruins of the cathedral where I'd offered my May flowers. The newsstand across the street, owned by the father of Mother's friends Cora and Eva Hernandez, had burned down in the fire too. Streets were very narrow in the older parts of town. The old man wasn't even allowed to look among the ruins for the tin box in which he'd kept his savings.

Our last Christmas in Brownsville Mother said she'd pick me up after work so I could see Santa Claus in the Christmas parade. She was late. I was fretful and close to tears, especially when I caught sight of him riding on top of the shiny red fire truck going up another street, moving away from us. She reassured me that he'd turn down our street any moment. And he did.

I thought that firemen must be very special people because they got to ride up there with Santa. They used to hold dances on the top floor of the fire station. Sometimes Mother took me with her, and we stood outside on the sidewalk, listening to the music and looking up at the people dancing.

That last Christmas I was with the nuns Mother bought me a beautifully dressed blonde doll she named Loma Lee. Her employers had presented her with a plainly dressed grey doll for me. Previously they'd shown her a couple of very pretty dolls, and she'd assumed one of these was mine. When she was given the inferior doll, she decided to buy me a special doll, at much sacrifice. And she took me, with Loma Lee, to work with her the following Christmas day.

As an only child I got used to my own company and learned to love books. When I was around nine years old I asked Santa for a typewriter. I probably believed in Santa longer than most children, despite Mother's sceptism, because I liked the story. Children said that across the river, in Mexico, the Reyes Magos brought gifts to all the children on January 6. And Tevele, a Jewish boy who walked past our convent, didn't celebrate Christmas at all.

Mother sang Las Posadas for me, explaining that these began on December 16 and were traditionally sung from door to door, as Joseph and Mary sought room at the inn. A sung reply from within denied them room until Christmas Eve, when their request was granted, with refreshments following.

We ate tamales during holidays. Mother made hers out of pork roast, but they were made traditionally from a baked hog's head. We bought corn husks from a molino, where fresh corn tortillas were hand-made from maize masa. The husks were soaked soft before using. Maize meal was flavoured with chile and pork fat. Meat was flavoured with herbs and spices before the layer of corn masa was spread lightly on the husk and the meat filling added. The husk was then rolled over and folded to stand in a steamer to cook.

Everyone had a special tamale recipe. The women, tamal gourmets, compared their subtle flavours. We even had a "tamal borracho," a bigger white sweet tamal. Tamales go back to pre-Spanish times. They represent new life and renewal, and therefore are specifically eaten at Easter. And their sacred meaning is a secret.

Buñuelos, thin crispy fried breads sprinkled with sugar and spices, were also served at Christmas. Mother preferred making capirotada, a bread pudding on a corn tortilla base, spiced with piloncillo, cinnamon, cloves, raisins, and just a touch of strong Stilton-like cheese bits.

During Christmas season the living room exuded the scent of pine needles. Fairy lights and decorations on the tree cast shimmering reflections, but overall, Christmas celebrations seemed to be more geared to adults and their expectations than to us children.

Easter involved the making of cascarones, and children participated more in these celebrations. For weeks, Mother saved egg shells with a small hole through which she'd released the yolk and egg white at one end. When dried, these were filled with confetti and sealed with a tiny piece of coloured tissue paper. Then we hand-painted them in gaudy designs. We collected dozens to break over friend's heads when we caught them off guard on Easter Sunday. We took our baskets of cascarones to Mass and waited anxiously for Mass to end so we could crash them over the heads of unsuspecting victims. The meaning of these cascarones was secret, and you only discovered the meaning when you reached adulthood.

Adults shared many mysteries, but magic for me was my first sight ever of Santa, riding on top of a fire truck.

Alma Iris Ramirez
Adelaide, South Australia
Published: November 14, 2005