BALTAZAR ALVAREZ

By Dan Garza

It is Christmas Eve 2004 and it is snowing in Houston, Texas. What is even more odd, is that it is snowing in Brownsville, which is located in the most southern tip of the state. It is also snowing just south of Brownsville across the border in the town of Matamoros in Northern Mexico. According to the reports, it has not snowed there since 1895. I believe my grandfather Baltazar may have been too young to understand what was happening, since he must have been only 3 years old at the time. He was born south of Matamoros sometime in 1892 in a small village called Quijano. Before I continue to write about my grandfather and my mother Bertha, I would like to acknowledge the significance of the Angel of Goliad and the AOGDHP web page.

First of all it is a great thing what Francisca Alvarez did in saving the lives of Texas Revolutionists in the 1830’s. It has been the norm in the history of mankind to cut lives short through battles and/or self-infliction before their natural lifetime. I think she understood the value of life a lot better than most men did, and it is evident from what she did. It is a privilege and an honor for us to know that we are descendants of Francisca Alvarez. I thank the creators of the Angel of Goliad Descendants Historical Preservation for providing the means for learning more about our ancestors.

My mother is Bertha Alvarez, daughter of Baltazar and granddaughter of Gerardo. Gerardo’s father was Matias who was the son of Francisca and Telesforo Alvarez. Bertha was born June 13^th 1927 in Corpus Christi. Unfortunately, her mother Maria Benita Robles died of tuberculosis sometime in 1933 in Brownsville. It was a tragic event and hard for her to comprehend at such a young age. Needless to say, she never got to know her mother. She does recall the trip to the Brownsville City Cemetery with her sister Anita and saw where her mother was buried.  

 She was raised in a Children’s Home in Brownsville with her brothers, Domingo, Alfonso, Manuel, and sister Anita. Her older brothers Hilario and Gerardo died of tuberculosis. Her older sister Clarita also met the same fate, at a later date. Clarita supposedly was born around 1911 in Goliad, Texas. Bertha and Anita attended Via Maria school in Brownsville and as young teenagers; they left the school and went to live with her mother’s friend, Ninfa Quintero, in Corpus Christi, Texas. However, her younger brothers, Manuel and Alfonso were sent to St. Peters orphanage in San Antonio, Texas. In 1945 she met Jesus Garza and they were married in Harlingen, Texas. They raised 5 children, all born in Harlingen. They were, Jesus 7/15/1945, Gloria 9/13/1946, Daniel 12/25/1948, Linda 4/16/1950 and Ana Bertha 12/01/1956. In 1947 they lost their 3 month old baby Gerardo during a cold winter in Mexico. He caught a severe case of pneumonia and died in Los Ramones, Nuevo Leon. He is buried at the local cemetery close to my grandparents, Apolonio and Natalia Garza.

I do not know much about my grandfather Baltazar Alvarez but I am hoping that someone will read this and maybe be able to provide much more information than what I have. I was able to obtain only a few stories from him before he passed away in 1987. One of the most intriguing challenges for me, and I am hoping to confirm this, is whether my grandfather was one of triplet boys born to my great-grandfather Gerardo Alvarez and his first wife Clara. My grandfather mentioned that he had a twin brother that died named Melchor. According to my uncle Domingo, a friend of Gerardo Alvarez raised Baltazar until he was 10 years old. That friend was the one who gave him the name. He could have been Baltazar’s uncle, since he had relatives in that area, but he did not know.

I can only speculate that he was one of triplet boys because he and his brother were named after two of the three Kings that visited Christ at birth, Melchor, Gaspar, and Baltazar. He told me that at a young age he remembered being raised by a man and his family in Matamoros. Supposedly, the reason was because his mother Clara died and his father Gerardo went North to work at King’s Ranch. He recalled seeing the cemetery where his mother was buried in the middle of a crop field. He also remembered how one day the graveyard had been plowed over and he could no longer see where she was buried.

The man didn’t really treat him very well and he slept in a small shack near the man’s house. He remembered going to sleep looking at the stars through the broken boards on the roof. The man was also very strict and did not hold back when it came to whipping him if he did not quickly answer to his demands. He ate leftovers after everybody else finished eating. (Even though he was slim, my grandfather was fond of eating.) He knew he didn’t belong because the man’s wife and children were more important. One day the man finally decided to send him to find his father Gerardo at the King’s Ranch, since he was getting old enough to do heavier and harder work. He welcomed the idea when he was told he would get to meet his father. The year was 1902.

Shortly thereafter, when he arrived at the King’s Ranch, he started working. He didn’t do the hard work though, like his father whom I’m assuming was a vaquero (cowboy), also known as Kineños. He started working as a servant at the big house. He said that the rich visitors that came from the Northeast were big tippers. One time he received a gold $50 coin just because he was doing his job. He didn’t provide much more detail about what he did but he does remember when the King’s house burned down around 1912.

When the Mexican revolution began around 1910, he had told himself that he would go back to Matamoros to help fight for the people. When he arrived sometime around 1913 he saw the piles of bodies and without hesitation he turned around and went right back to the King Ranch. He must have been around 21 years old.

My grandfather told me that life was nice at the Kings Ranch and it was hard to leave when you had all the necessities to live well. However, he wanted to see what was out there and he traveled to other cities like Houston. In Houston, he worked for a while at the elegant Rice Hotel. Some of his bad experiences happened when prejudice against him would raise its ugly head. Because he was of fair to light skin, he was often admitted to restaurants through the front door. Once they heard him speak with an accent, he was often told he needed to go to the back of the restaurant, if he wanted to eat.

It was a very traumatic time for him when he lost his wife, my grandmother Maria Benita. With young children to care for, he turned to drinking his troubles away. Of course this was the wrong thing to do, because his children were taken away from him. They were cared for, by friends and the orphanage. This could have demoralized the children but they survived through faith and the spirit of a Francisca Alvarez.

My grandfather had many children. He was ninety-five years old when he passed away. He was a survivor throughout his whole life, from his birth (may have been one of two of triplets to survive) through his parentless childhood, through the times of the Great Depression and through widespread epidemic diseases that took his wife and eventually found him in solitude without his children.

They tell me he had family in Matamoros, but I have not been able to confirm this. At his funeral 1987, my mother said they were there, but I didn’t meet any of them. It was also the first time that I found out that we had more relatives than I realized. It seems that my great grandfather remarried after Clara died and he had additional children. They mostly live in the Corpus Christi area.

 I was very fond of my grandfather. The amazing thing was that he lived through what we learn in history books and read in storybooks. I wish I could have started earlier to ask him more about his life but like everyone else we have our own lives to live, families to raise, and bills to pay. I have four grown sons now. The oldest is 26 and my triplet sons are 21. I was also fond of my uncles and aunts and I am grateful that I still have my mother and I get to see my Uncle Domingo every once in a while. My mother and my uncles and aunts are some of the kindest people I have ever known. And so, the generations go on. My cousin’s name is Gerardo Alvarez, like my great grandfather. His father is my Uncle Domingo. This may or may not be true about all of us, but I think that some how we carry, in some way a small piece of the genuine spirit of Francisca Alvarez. Time is precious, and we only have enough time to give nothing less than respectability towards our fellow man. I can see it in my relatives, and my mother saw it in the last Alvarez reunion in Goliad, Texas. It brought a tear to her eye when she met another Alvarez descendant who looked just like her sister Anita, in her younger years.

I started writing this on Christmas Eve and it is now May 14, 2005. I really regret missing the reunion in April. My sister tells me that I missed an opportunity to see such an amiable gathering. It seems as though the spirit and graciousness of Francisca Alvarez has surely been passed down through generations to the Alvarez families. She continues to bring so many people together in harmony, which I think was her wish for future generations……….. when she helped save the lives of the young men in 1836.