PÅLE' PONS

FR. JUAN PONS, SJ

The three main islands of the Marianas before the war - Guam, Luta and Saipan - Tinian had no stable Chamorro population until after the war - all seem to have had one priest who stood out.

Guam had Påle' Román; Saipan had Påle' Tardio; and Luta had Påle' Pons. His story is one of unusual suffering and religious piety. The people of Luta who knew him at the time considered him something of a saint. Stories about him were passed down to younger generations who, now in their old age, can still remember them.

BEFORE LUTA

Juan Pons was born in Manresa, a town in the province of Barcelona, Spain in 1876. He then joined the Jesuits (Society of Jesus) and was ordained a priest in 1911. In 1921 (he was 45 years old already!), he came to Chuuk to serve in the Jesuit missions of the Carolines and Marianas. He even became mission Superior for a time.

In 1935, he was sent to serve in Saipan, and now had to acquaint himself with a new language - Chamorro. It was the style in those days for the priests of Saipan and Luta to switch places every so often, so Pons also got a taste of life in Luta while serving in Saipan.

FR. JUAN PONS, SJ

IN TATÅCHOK

In 1937, Pons was permanently assigned to Luta. Around that time, the Japanese decided to relocate all the Chamorros from Songsong to a new location in Tatåchok. Songsong would be a totally Japanese community (with their Korean and Okinawan associates), with emphasis on the sugar industry. The big sugar company, the Nanyo Kohatsu Kaisha (NKK) paid for the building of a new Catholic church and konbento (priest's residence) in Tatåchok. Pons and a Jesuit brother companion, Miguel Timoner, took up residence there.

All that is left of the konbento Pons lived in at Tatåchok

THE ULCER

While in Luta, Pons' suffering began. Ulcers developed on his legs. Supposedly, the condition began while he was still in Chuuk but it seemed minor, at the time. But when he arrived in Luta, the ulcers began to ooze pus and also a clear, watery liquid. Doctor's treatments did nothing to heal it. He even went to Saipan to get medical attention from the Japanese doctors there, to no avail.

So, these awful ulcers became something Pons just had to live with, but not just Pons, but also those who cared for him and those who came in close physical contact with him, because these ulcers also smelled horribly.

Pons accepted his physical suffering with Christian resignation, and did nothing to stop flies from settling on them, which in time produced maggots. It was believed by others that Pons welcomed such mortification.

As the condition worsened, Pons would have to be carried into the church to say Mass. While he stood saying Mass, one or two adult men serving Mass had to wipe away the stinking pus on his legs, brace him up to avoid falling and catch him if he did lose his balance. When Pons distributed communion, two people needed to hold him on both sides. Despite the suffering, Pons never missed a single day of Mass until just a few days before he died.

His signature

THE RAIN

What really convinced the people that Pons was a holy man was the way his prayers on their behalf were heeded by God. Perhaps, they believed, God answered his prayers on account of the suffering he willingly endured.

When the farmers needed rain, Pons would look up to the sky, raise his hands and pray. Within hours, the rain would fall. It would be just enough rain, not too much.

When there was too much rain, and the crops were at risk of being damaged, Pons would pray again and, this time, the rain would stop.

When the ocean was too rough, and the fishermen couldn't go out to catch fish, Pons would pray for the sea to calm, and it did. Families could eat that day because the fish was caught.

People tolerated the horrible smell of Father's ulcers because they depended so much on him for these blessings.

These ladies from Luta tell me stories they heard from their parents and elders about Påle' Pons....

• How he let the flies come around his open sores
• How his prayers had power over the rain
• How he foreknew he would be dead in three days

A DEATH PREDICTED

In March of 1944, the Japanese came to Pons' konbento in Tatåchok. The Japanese told him he had to vacate the house; the Japanese would be using it from now on. This was just months before the Americans came to the Marianas and the Japanese were already preparing for it.

The Japanese came back a second time on March 20 only to find Pons (and Brother Timoner) still living in the konbento. "Come back in three days and you can have the house," Pons told the Japanese. It was as if Pons knew in advance what was going to happen.

Pons could not get up from bed from that point on. He stopped saying Mass. On March 23, close to midnight, going into March 24, Pons died. In three days, he said, the Japanese can have the house.

Those taking care of Pons at his death noticed that the ulcers had disappeared, and so did the stench. Brother Timoner, Corbiniano Ayuyu and Bonifacio Esteves buried the body of Father Pons. It remains to this day in San José cemetery, behind San Francisco de Borja Church in Songsong, Luta.

FATHER PONS' GRAVE


EN ESPAÑOL

LLEGADA A ROTA

En el año 1937, el P. Pons fue enviado a Rota permanentemente. Alrededor de ese tiempo, los japoneses decidieron mandar a todos los chamorros (los indígenas de las Islas Marianas) en Songsong a una nueva localidad en Tatáchok. Songsong sería una comunidad japonesa (con sus socios coreanos y okinawenses), con énfasis en la industria del azúcar. La impresa grande de azúcar, la Nanyo Kohatsu Kaisha o NKK, pagó por el edificio de una nueva iglesia católica y convento en Tatáchok. Pons y un hermano jesuita, Miguel Timoner, fueron a vivir allí.

LA ÚLCERA

Cuando llegó a Rota los sufrimientos de Pons empezaron. Las úlceras se le desarollaron en las piernas. Se supone que esa condición empezó cuando él estaba todavía en la isla de Chuuk (o Truk o Ruk, en las Carolinas), pero la condición parecía muy pequeña en ese tiempo. Pero cuando llegó a Rota las úlceras empezaron a tener pus y tambien algo como líquido aguado. Los tratamientos de los doctores japoneses no servieron nada para curarle. Él incluso fue a Saipan (capital de las Marianas japonesas) para que los doctores japoneses le atendieran medicamente pero tampoco sirvió para nada. Así que estas úlceras horribles fueron algo con los que Pons tuvo que aprender a vivir. Pero no solo Pons sino tambien los que le cuidaron y los que acercaban a él. Esas úlceras olían horriblemente. Pons aceptó esto con resignación cristiana y no hizo nada para parar a las moscas por posarse en ellas. En poco tiempo se le produjeron gusanos. Algunos creyeron que Pons se gozaba en esta mortificación.

Cuando la condición se hizo peor Pons tenía que ser llevado a la iglesia a decir Misa. Cuando él se levantaba para decir Misa, uno o dos hombres tenía que limpiar el pus de sus piernas y cogerlo para evitar que cayera en caso de que perdiera su estabilidad. Cuando Pons daba la comunión, dos personas necesitaban sostenerlo en dos lados. A pesar del sufrimiento Pons nunca dejó decir Misa un solo día hasta solo unos días antes de morir.

LA LLUVIA

Lo que de verdad convenció al pueblo que Pons era un hombre santo fue la forma en que Dios escuchaba sus oraciones en favor de ellos. Cuando los labradores necesitaban lluvia, Pons miraba al cielo, levantaba las manos y rezaba. A las pocas horas empezaba a llover. La lluvia era suficiente y no demasiada. Cuando llovía demasiado y las cosechas estaban a punto de perderse, Pons volvía a rezar y esta vez la lluvia paraba. Cuando el mar estaba muy bravo y los pescadores no podían salir a pescar, Pons rezaba para que el mar se calmara y se calmaba. Las familias podían comer ese día por el pescado que habían cojido. La gente toleraba el espantoso olor de las úlceras del Padre porque dependían mucho en él por sus bendiciones.

UNA MUERTE PREDICHA

En marzo de 1944, los japoneses llegaron al convento de Pons en Tatáchok. Le dijeron que tenía que moverse de la casa. Los japoneses la iban a usar de ahora en adelante. Esto fue pocos meses antes que los norteamericanos vinieron a las Marianas y los japoneses estaban ya preparándose para ello. Los japoneses volvieron una segunda vez el 20 de marzo solo para encontrar que Pons y Timoner estaban todavía viviendo en el convento. "Venir dentro de tres días y tendréis la casa," Pons les dijo a los japoneses. Parecía que Pons sabía de antemano lo que le iba a pasar. Pons no se pudo levantar de la cama desde ese momento. Ya no pudo decir Misa. El 23 de marzo cerca de la medianoche Pons murió. El dijo que en tres días los japoneses podían tener la casa.

Los que cuidaron a Pons cuando murió notaron que las úlceras habían desaparecido y tambien el olor. El H. Timoner, Corbiniano Ayuyu y Bonifacio Esteves enterraron a Pons. Hasta este día su cuerpo se conserva en el cementerio de San José detrás de la iglesia de San Francisco de Borja en el pueblo de Songsong, isla de Rota.

I MAN BABAILA NA TAOTAOMO'NA

This taotaomo'na (ancestral spirits) story was told to me in Luta.

The focus of this story is the invitation to follow the spirits into the jungle. God forbid that ever happens, so the older people say. This is true especially of children, who seem to be the preferred targets of the spirits. When found by searching parents, the child is often mute, or dazed or affected in some other way.

Kada uttimon i semåna, siempre man danña' ham ni familia
(Every end of the week, we the family would surely get together)

gi lanchon-måme giya Teneto na lugåt giya Luta.
(at our ranch in Teneto, a place in Rota.)

Singko pat sais åños ha' yo' edåt-ho annai ma susede este.
(Five or six years only was my age when this happened.)

Ayo na ha'åne, ma tågo' yo' para bai maigo' gi halom guma'
(That day, I was told to sleep inside the house)

gi lancho mientras man machocho'cho' i mañaina-ho yan
(at our ranch while my elders)

i mås man dångkulo na mañe'lu-ho.
(and older siblings worked.)

Gi durånten i maigo'-ho, makmåta yo' sa' hu hungok na guaha
(While I slept, I awoke because I heard that there were)

taotao siha mangåkanta. Annai hu gef ekkungok ginen mano siha,
(people singing. When I listened closely where they were,)

hu repåra na man gaige gi hiyong guma' pues hu baba i kuttina
(I realized that they were outside the house, so I opened the curtain)

ya hu atan huyong. Dios mío sa' hu li'e' un dosena ni man lokka' na
(and I looked outside. My God I saw a dozen tall people)

taotao na mangåkanta yan man babaila gi tatten i gima'. Ti man lini'e' siha ni
(singing and dancing behind the house. They weren't seen by)

familiå-ko sa' man eståba i familiå-ko gi me'nan guma'.
(my family since they were in front of the house.)

Humuyong yo' gi pettan san tatte ya sige de hu atan i
(I went out by the back door and I kept looking at)

man babaila na taotao. Man lokka', man åttilong yan man na'
(the dancing people. They were tall, black and)

ma'añao hechuran-ñiha. Ti hu komprende i lengguåhe ni ma
(their appearance was scary. I didn't understand the language)

såsangan gi kantan-ñiha. Guaha unos kuåntos umatan yo'
(they were speaking in their song. There were a few who looked at me)

ya sige de ma kombida yo' para bai hu tattiye siha gi halom tåno'.
(and kept calling me to follow them into the jungle.)

Ti hu komprende ta'lo i fino'-ñiha, lao hu komprende ha'
(Again I didn't understand their language, but I understood)

gi halom hinasso-ko na ma kombibida yo'. Ma'åñao yo'
(inside my thoughts that they were inviting me. I was afraid)

tumattiye siha lao hu tattiye ha' siha, sa' ha na' malago' yo'
(to follow them but I followed them, because their dancing)

i bailan-ñiha. Siempre hu tattiye siha gi halom tåno'
(made me want to. I would have followed them into the jungle)

lao måtto si tatå-ho ya ha faisen yo' håfa bidådå-ho
(but my father came and asked me what I was doing)

gi sanhiyong sa' pine'lo-ña na mamaigo' yo' gi halom guma'.
(outside because he thought I was sleeping inside the house.)

Ha go'te kanai-ho ya ha konne' yo' hålom. Gigon hu bira
(He grabbed my hand and took me in. As soon as I returned)

yo', esta ti siña hu li'e' i taotaomo'na, ya hu tutuhon tumånges
(I couldn't see the spirits anymore, and I began to cry)

ni diruru. Gi sigiente dia, sige ha' yo' de tumånges ya hu kontinua tumånges
(abundantly. The following day, I kept crying and I continued crying)

gi mina' tres dias. Ma konne' yo' para Saipan para
(on the third day. They took me to Saipan to)

bai ma åmte ni suruhåna. Taotao Karolinas este na suruhåna ya ha palai
(be cured by a folk doctor. This suruhåna was from the Carolines and she anointed)

entero tataotao-ho ni låñan niyok pues man ngångas gue' hågon
(my whole body with coconut oil then she chewed leaves)

halom tåno' pues ha tola'e yo' ni nginangås-ña. Ha sangåne yo'
(from the jungle, then she spat what she chewed on me. She told me)

na ti siña yo' umo'mak asta i sigiente dia. Ai na nina' bubu
(that I couldn't shower till the next day. How irritating)

i para hu siente todo ennao gi lassås-ho! Sigiente dia, ha konne'
(for me to feel all that on my skin! The following day,)

yo' i suruhåna gi kanton tåse ya ha na' o'mak yo' gi tase.
(the suruhåna took me to the beach and made me bathe in the ocean.)

Magåhet na desde ayo, pumåra yo' tumånges.
(It's true that from then on, I stopped crying.)

NOTES

Karolinas. The suruhåna (folk medicine practitioner) was Carolinian. Carolinians have been living in Saipan since 1815 or so. Chamorros call them by various name, including taotao Karolinas (people of the Carolines).

TENETO

is not far from the main village of Songsong

MA PÅ'OT I NENE

In Luta they have an old custom called på'ot.

When a newborn baby is unusually bothered or can't stop crying, or perhaps is experiencing the opposite and is unusually quiet, making no sound, perhaps even keeping his mouth wide open without a sound, people believe that something happened while the baby was still in the mother's womb. The child heard something going on outside the womb, and was affected by it.

One lady with roots in Luta told me how it happened to her child.

She was carrying her child in her womb and one of her male relatives decided that day to kill a chicken to make lunch. He went out to the coop and chose one chicken. Then, with some of the family members hanging around, including the pregnant lady, the man killed the chicken by wringing its neck. Obviously the chicken let out a squeal as it fought for its life.

When the baby was born, the mother noticed it wouldn't cry much. At times, the baby had its mouth wide open, but made no sound. The baby also had something like a blank look in its eyes.

She expressed this concern to her mother, who was born and raised in Luta and who knew something about traditional herb medicines and practices. The mother listened to her daughter's concerns and replied, "Debe de u ma på'ot i nene." "The baby needs to go through på'ot."

Another lady told me that a wild pig in the jungle was captured and brought to the house to be slaughtered the next day for a party. There was a member of the family who was pregnant at the time. While in captivity, the pig snorted a lot, especially since it was not happy to be caged.

When the baby was born, it also snorted! "Ha hungok nai lossos-ña i babui!" "He heard the snorting of the pig!"

Fermina Blas, a well-known herbal healer from Luta, explains it this way,

Este manhungok este nene nai....

(The child hears....)

taiguihe pa'go i guaha na biåhe na kalan umå'å'a' i patgon 

(as when the child opens it's mouth)

pat eyi i guaha defekto-ña

(or when the child has a defect)

guaha na hiningok gi annai nenene, guaha na manhungok

(there are times it hears, when it is a baby, there are times it hears.)

~ Annai gaige trabia gi halom tuyan nanå-ña.

~ (When it is still in the womb of its mother.)

Guaha este hengok na påtgon

(There are children who listen well)

ya angin håfa bidådå-ña i saina

(and if the mother is doing something)

pat ya-ña este i saina umatan nai

(or the mother likes to look at something)

guaha na manhungok i patgon.

(there are times the child hears it.)

THE SOLUTION

In order to bring the child back to normal, the mother can wave her hand over the child, especially when the child is sleeping, and say

Takhungok, takhungok.

båsta manli'e', båsta manhungok.

Good of hearing, good of hearing.

Stop seeing, stop hearing.

Takhungok means "someone who hears very well." Hungok means "to hear" and the prefix tak means "good," "well," or "very much." We see it in taklalo', meaning "someone who gets angry a lot."

Others say,

Takhungok, takhungok, båsta manhungok.
Takli'e', takli'e', båsta manli'e'.

Good of hearing, good of hearing, stop hearing.
Good of seeing, good of seeing, stop seeing.

Other people say the child should be brought into the jungle, and some say at night when no one can see them. Some also say if a suruhåna (folk doctor) can do it, all the better.

MARRIED IN A BLACK CHURCH

WHALING SHIPS IN NEW BEDFORD

In 1853, eight years before the American Civil War, a Chamorro seaman named Benjamin Crowell, got married in an African American Baptist church in New Bedford, Massachusetts.

Crowell is not a Chamorro surname, but many Chamorro whaling men in the 1800s changed their names, both their given names and their family names. They changed them in all sorts of ways, but sometimes completely! A Chamorro named José de la Cruz might become Arthur Washington, for all we know, once he settled in the United States.

Benjamin was 29 years old, so born around 1824, though people were notoriously imprecise about their ages back then. Many times it was all guess work. Sometimes they told outright lies, to be older or younger as the benefit may be.

He stated that his father's name was Pedro Crowell. The Pedro is believable; the Crowell, not so much.

It's no surprise that he ended up in New Bedford, Massachusetts, one of the main whaling centers of the United States in the 1800s. Quite a number of Chamorro men ended up there, some of them settling there for good.

His bride was Mary Anderson, a native of New York. The minister officiating at their wedding was the Rev. Cummings Bray, who was pastor of Second Baptist Church in New Bedford. That church, located on Middle Street, was founded for African Americans in 1844. The church served as a station for the Underground Railroad, sheltering runaway slaves moving from the South to the North.

Why Benjamin got married in an African American church is a mystery. Was it on account of his (we assume) dark brown skin? Was it on account of his wife Mary's race (we are not sure what it was)? Was it on account of an altogether different reason?

In 1863, Benjamin got married again. His second wife was Elizabeth Howland. They were married by a Justice of the Peace. In this record, Benjamin's parents are listed as Peter and Sarah Crowell.

NEW BEDFORD IN 1876

I MAGÅHET NA GUINAIYA

Kao manhongge hao gi magåhet na guinaiya?
(Do you believe in true love?)

Eståba dos na asagua ni sen umaguaiya i dos.
(There were two spouses who really loved each other.)

Un dia, ilek-ña i lahe gi asaguå-ña, "Kerida, desde ke umassagua hit na dos,
(One day, the husband said to his wife, "Sweetheart, ever since the two of us got married,

tåya' ni un biåhe na ti humihita na dos maigo'.
(there was not even one time that we didn't sleep together.)

Promete yo' na masea håye dumingo este na tåno' fine'na,
(Promise me that whoever leaves this earth first,)

siempre ma håfot i uttimo måtai gi mismo naftån-ña i fine'na."
(the last to die will surely be buried in the same grave as the first.")

Ya taiguennao kontråtan-ñiha i dos.
(And that was how the two agreed.)

Måtai i lahe fine'na, ya para bente åños lumuluto i palao'an ha'åne yan puenge.
(The husband died first, and for twenty years the wife wore black day and night.)

Ti un li'e' i biuda solo gi halom guma'yu'us yan gi propio gumå'-ña.
(You wouldn't see the widow except inside the church and in her own house.)

Taiguennao tinaddong-ña i piniten i bumiudå-ña.
(That was how deep the pain was of her widowhood.)

En fin, kontodo i biuda måtai yan taimano ha' i kontråtan-ñiha i dos,
(Finally, the widow also died and as the two had agreed,)

ma guåddok i naftan i lahe pot para u ma håfot i palao'an.
(they dug up the grave of the husband in order to bury the wife.)

Annai måtto gi ataut i lahe, ma baba i ataut, ha estira i kanai-ña
(When they reached the husband's coffin, the coffin opened, the dead man )

i matai na låhe ni puro' ha' to'lang
(stretched out his bony hand)

ya ha go'te i kanai i matai na asaguå-ña.
(and grasped the hand of his dead wife.)

CHAMORRO EXPRESSIONS

MAIGO' PALUMA

(Bird sleep)

Have you ever seen birds taking a nap while perched on a tree branch or utility cable? Do you notice how they bow their heads slightly, but wake up quickly every few seconds or so, because of a noise?

Some older Chamorros use that image when they see someone dozing off while sitting up. Just as soon as their chin hits their chest, they snap out of it and lift their head. Only to doze off again after a few seconds. Again the cycle repeats.

The sight reminded them of the way birds do the same when they nap on tree branches and other places. Maigo' paluma. Bird sleep.

Maigo' paluluma este na palao'an.

FORGOTTEN CHAMORRO

Trust our mañaina (elders) to come up with a descriptive Chamorro name for a bell clapper; the hanging metal piece that strikes the bell from the inside.

We didn't have bells until the Spanish came and brought them with them, for use in the church, primarily. Thus our word for "bell" is borrowed from the Spanish - kampåna (in Spanish, campana).

So the Chamorro word for the clapper can also be the Spanish name for it, which is badajo (or badåho in Chamorro).

Our elders also called it the panak kampåna (bell striker).

But two other old dictionaries give us descriptive Chamorro terms for the clapper.

Von Preissig (1918) calls it the CHILIN KAMPÅNA.

Påle' Román (1932) calls it the DAMMUT KAMPÅNA.

Both chili and dammut mean the male organ.

Go figure.

BIDA

One of the things that makes the English language so flexible is the wide choice of different words meaning, more or less, the same thing.

To describe someone powerful, you can use the words durable, forceful, vigorous, robust and many other words.

The reason why English can do this is because English borrows words from all over the place. The word strong is from German roots, while the words durable and robust are from Latin roots.

Chamorro also borrows from more than one language, but especially from Spanish, the language of the government of the Marianas from 1668 till 1898 (and 1899 in the Northern Marianas).

While the indigenous language has a word for "life," being lina'la', and "to live" being "lå'la'," our forebears also adopted the Spanish word vida or "life." Our pronunciation for it is bida.

BIDA = ACTION, ACTIVITY

The main meaning in Chamorro of bida is "action" or "activity." Certainly, action and activity are signs of life.

Håfa bidå-ña? What did s/he do?

But we can also ask, "Håfa ha cho'gue?" and mean the exact same thing, "What did s/he do?" but using the indigenous term cho'gue ("to do").

Tåya' bidådå-ña. "S/he is doing nothing."

Bida can also be used in a passive sense, meaning "what is done to someone else."

Ai ma bidå-ña! "Oh my, what was done to him!"

Tai bida ("without action or activity") can be used to describe a person with nothing to do.

Malabida is a word meaning "bad life," but can mean a person who has done something wrong.

BIDA = LIFE

But Chamorro also uses bida to mean "life" itself. Fewer and fewer Chamorro speakers use the word in this way, but old writings clearly use it, even though we have had long before the Spaniards our own word for "life," which is lina'la'. So, we have two ways to say "life" in Chamorro : bida and lina'la'.

So, in the example above, from the Apostles' Creed, we can say "taihinekkok na bida" to say "everlasting life," or we can also say, "taihinekkok na lina'la'." In fact, we switch between the two depending on the island or even depending on the techa (prayer leader).

In this hymn from Saipan (which has spread elsewhere), the title of the song is "Jesus Bidå-ho," meaning "Jesus My Life." But one could just as easily say, "Jesus Lina'lå'-ho," "Jesus My Life."

In a Guam hymn entitled "Jesus Pån-måme," or "Jesus Our Bread," there is a line that goes

Yåfai yan mahgef i minetgot-ho

sa' ti dumanña' hao gi bidå-ho,

which means

Tired and weak is my strength

because you are not joined to my life.

And there is a hymn to Saint Joseph that says,

Gef adahe, San Jose, i bidå-ho

på'go yan i oran i finatai-ho.

Watch over my life well, Saint Joseph,

now and at the hour of my death.

So there you have it.

Two ways to say "life." Lina'la' and bida. One indigenous to the Marianas and the other borrowed from Spanish.

OUR LINK WITH LATIN

Because we have incorporated many Spanish words into the Chamorro language, we actually have a linguistic connection with Latin, the language of ancient Rome. Because Rome conquered so much of Western Europe, the Latin language was planted there and over time developed into Italian, Spanish, French and many other languages and dialects of those languages.

So,  in Spain, the Latin word for "life," vita became vida. Then Spanish vida became Chamorro bida.

From Latin vita we get English words based on vita, since French also influenced English. Some of those words are vital, vitamin and vitality.

MIGUEL GARRIDO

MIGUEL SABLAN GARRIDO

Age 20 years in 1928

There's not much to this story, sad as it is. But it's not often we can look into the eyes in a photograph of a Chamorro born over 100 years ago.

Miguel Garrido, like many young Chamorro men, left Guam on a ship in search of a better life, so they believed. Many of them did settle down elsewhere and did well for themselves. Not all of them did.

Miguel, it seems, arrived in San Francisco from Manila in 1926. At least one Miguel Garrido from Guam, born in 1907, appears on a passenger list that year.

It didn't take long, however, for Miguel to find himself in trouble. Just the following year, he was arrested and charged with rape. He was found guilty and sentenced up to 50 years. In January 1928 he entered the gates of San Quentin Prison. He stood 5 foot seven and weighed 133 pounds. He was 20 years old, so born in 1907 as mentioned before.

There was a Miguel Garrido born in Guam in 1907. His full name was Miguel Sablan Garrido, the son of José Garrido and María Agüero Sablan.

He and his family appear in the 1920 Guam census as living in Malesso'. His mother had passed away already. He was only 13 years old and without a mother.

Garrido served 10 years at San Quentin and was paroled in 1938. He died just two years later in 1940, at the age of 33 years. RIP