FUNERAL RECEIPT FROM 1930

 

FUNERAL RECEIPT 1930

Once in a blue moon someone needed proof from the village priest that they paid the Church for funeral services, so that they could prove to a judge either that the person is the chief next-of-kin (and can thus be awarded certain rights over the estate) or to be reimbursed.

Juan Pablo was the half-brother of the deceased, Francisco Pablo Torres, and both were the sons of Angela Pablo, who had been married to a Torres and then later to a Castro. The deceased had no children so his half-brother paid for the funeral expenses.

What is of interest here is also the language used. This receipt is written in Chamorro by a Spanish priest, Father Bernabé de Cáseda, a Capuchin. He spent many years as priest in Inalåhan, where a few boys were named Bernabé in his honor. But this receipt was written when Father Bernabé was stationed in Hagåtña.

Here's what he wrote  (I will use my own spelling and make some corrections of his typos) :

Guåho si Fr. Bernabé de Cáseda hu na' magåhet na si Juan Pablo ha apasiye pot i funeråt Francisco Pablo Torres ni måtai a 27 de Disiembre de 1929, ini mo'na na salåppe' :

Pot i entiero primera klåse $21.00

Pot dos responso gi gima' $12.00

Pot i Misa Kantåda $5.00

Totåt $38.00

Which means :

I, Fray (Friar) Bernabé de Cáseda certify that Juan Pablo paid for the funeral of Francisco Pablo Torres who died on December 27, 1929, the following money :

For a funeral first class $21.00

For two prayers for the dead at the home $12.00

For a sung Mass $5.00

Total $38.00

NOTES

Fray. This priest gives himself the abbreviation Fr. which does not stand for "Father" but rather "Friar." Father Bernabé was a Capuchin Franciscan, who are friars, in Spanish "Fray."

Hu na' magåhet. Literally means "I make true," meaning that he certifies, or he assures the truthfulness of. He could've just as easily said "Hu settifika" for "I certify" but he uses indigenous terms instead.

Apasiye. It is misspelled "apasise" in the document. It means "to pay for."

Måtai a. This is a mix of Chamorro (måtai, died) and Spanish (a, at). Meaning on December 27. Strictly Chamorro would have been "måtai gi."

First Class Funeral. In those days, funerals came in first class or not first class, which meant less services or less ceremonial additions.

Responso. This was a prayer said for the dead, usually said in the home but sometimes at church or at the cemetery.

Sung Mass. In those days, Mass could be recited, without singing, or Mass could be sung, meaning the priest chanted a lot of the Mass. A larger fee was paid for the priest's extra effort at a Sung Mass.

In today's value, $38 back then is now worth $738.00.

FATHER BERNABÉ DE CÁSEDA

ONE BAD THING ABOUT THE PÅPA' SÅTGE

 

Felipe was arrested in 1930 by an American Marine patrol man in the San Ramón district of Hagåtña. This area is behind the Cathedral, all the way to the bottom of San Ramón Hill, mainly taken up by the Courthouses today.

What was Felipe's crime?

Peeping through the cracks of the floor board of the house of a man named Vicente and his wife while the couple were in the house.

Felipe was hiding in the påpa' såtge, the open area under a house raised on stilts or columns.

The patrolman caught Felipe and called him out, and Felipe ran, but then stopped running.

Appearing before the judge, Felipe said he was in the påpa' såtge to answer the call of nature, and when he realized a patrolman was chasing him, stopped running.

The patrolman's version of the story was that he noticed the legs of someone under the påpa' såtge, so the patrolman crouched down to inspect who it was and aimed his flashlight at Felipe. Felipe ran and only stopped because the patrolman shot his pistol once in the air.

Due to Felipe's admissions, despite his own reasons for doing what he did, he was found guilty of prowling and resisting arrest.

Raising houses above ground kept the house cooler, kept flood waters and critters out and created storage space underneath.

But, if one was not careful, a raised floor meant people could take advantage of peering through the cracks between the planks or floor boards.

THE PÅPA SÅTGE'

is the open area created under a house on pillars

HE SAID, SHE SAID

 

There are many stories of pregnancies outside of marriage in olden Guam, but this court case from 1929 is interesting to me because it involved a Catholic man and a Baptist woman.

I usually don't include the last names of people in embarrassing stories, in order to spare their descendants (some are old enough to have known the individuals involved) further embarrassment. With this story, even their first names are so uncommon that they could be identified, so I'll change their first names, too.

Let's call her Rosa. Rosa went to court in 1929 to lodge a complaint against Juan for making her pregnant. Both Juan and Rosa were single. Rosa was Baptist, and Juan was Catholic. Rosa claimed that she consented to have intimate relations with Juan four times, on the sole basis that Juan promised to marry Rosa very soon.

Rosa became pregnant, and Juan dragged his feet about marrying Rosa. 

Soon, Rosa's pregnancy couldn't be hidden. Rosa's female cousins at school told their mom, Rosa's auntie. The auntie told Rosa's mother. Rosa admitted to her mother that she was pregnant and that Juan was the father. Rosa's mom called Juan's mom.

Juan's mother agreed that Juan should marry Rosa, and asked Rosa's mother if she, Rosa's mother, a staunch Baptist, would agree to have Juan and Rosa marry before a Catholic priest.

Rosa's mother, the staunch Baptist, said "yes." Getting Rosa married and sparing everyone the shame was more important than where the marriage took place.

But Juan never went through with the wedding. And that is why Rosa went to court.

Juan was charged with seduction on the pretense of marriage, and Juan plead not guilty.

Rosa's problem in this court case was a lack of witnesses who could say they saw Juan and Rosa in carnal relations. Juan denied having ever touched Rosa.

Furthermore, witnesses were called in to testify that Rosa had had prior boyfriends, including a Filipino working for the Navy who seemed to be in high demand among the single ladies of Guam, since female rivals for this Filipino man's attention had quarrels with Rosa over him.

Rosa, according to some witnesses, was known for being a flirt with some of the young men, Baptist and Catholic. All of this was to insinuate that there could be more than one candidate for who impregnated Rosa.

In the end, the court acquitted Juan. There just wasn't enough evidence to convict him.

It was a matter of "he said, she said." There were no paternity tests, yet, to scientifically prove who the father was.

To this day, however, the family that Rosa eventually raised with a husband consider Rosa's first born the child of Juan, even though the child never took Juan's last name.

CHILD CRIMINALS

 

Juan was just 12 and Francisco was just 11, but they may have been the youngest individuals ever arrested in Guam history, at least before the war.

Court documents describe the two partners in crime as "incorrigible" and totally beyond the control of their parents.

In 1929, at around 10 in the morning, apparently when no one was home, Juan and Francisco broke into the house of a Navy Lieutenant working for the Naval Hospital in Hagåtña. Having free rein of the house, they helped themselves to the following list of items :

The two boys were caught and all the items, save one, were retrieved.

But, even as young as they were, the two boys were arrested and had to face the judge in court!

They plead guilty and were sentenced to two months' jail time plus court expenses, paid for, I'm sure, by the parents.

This was not the only time the criminal boys stole private property. They also stole a tricycle and a "kiddie car" from the front porch of Thomas Edward Mayhew, an American married to Emilia Duarte, born in Guam of a Spanish father and a mixed Chamorro mother.

DIALING A WRONG NUMBER IN 1972

 

In modern times, dialing a wrong number brings you to a dead end. Lucky if the other party even says goodbye before they hang up. Lucky if the other party even answers the phone, since they probably won't recognize your number.

But in the good old days, there was no caller ID. Every time the phone rang it created suspense. Who could it be? What was the call about? And so many people were excited to answer.

Calling a wrong number in the south of Guam (and maybe even in the northern Marianas) meant you had a good chance of not only dialing the wrong house but finding out news about the house you were trying to call. Such was island life back when everyone knew everything going on in our small, tight-knit communities.

Here's an example :

~ Alo? Marikita?
~ Åhe', ti si Marikita este.
~ Oh pues hu espipia si Marikita.
~ Håye na Marikita?
~ Si Marikita'n Santiago.
~ Åhe' adei. I numeron-ñiha 2147 ya hame 2174.
~ Ai sa' hu na' lachi.
~ Lao mungnga ma ågang siha på'go. Manaigue gi gima'.
~ Oh?
~ Må'pos i dos para i mediko.
~ Ada malångo si Marikita?
~ Åhe'. Depotsi para ma reseta gue' åmot hai blåt.
~ Oh. Po'lo sa' tiene ke bai li'e' gue' gi otro Såbalo para i fiestan-miyo.
~ Esta. A las singko i Misa.
~ Ok. Si Yu'us ma'se'. Adios.

----

~ Hello? Marikita?
~ No, this isn't Marikita.
~ Well I'm looking for Marikita.
~ Marikita who?
~ Marikita'n Santiago.
~ Oh no. Their number is 2147 and ours is 2174.
~ Oh I made a mistake.
~ But don't call them now. They're gone.
~ Oh?
~ The two went to the doctor's.
~ Is Marikita sick?
~ No. She was to get a prescription for high blood.
~ Oh. Never mind because I'll see her next Saturday at your fiesta.
~ Ok. Mass is at 5 o'clock.
~ Ok. Thanks. Bye.

STEALING PORK

 

In March of 1928, Antonio Concepción Pérez from Sumay killed a pig and hung it up to dry, after cleaning it, in his kitchen, which was a separate structure by his house. The pig was to be cooked to feed the men helping him reroof his house. In those days, when most homes had thatched roofs, people joined together to replace the old leaves with new ones. Some people wove, some people threw the fronds up to others who were fastening the new fronds to the roof. Women generally did the cooking to feed the workers.

In those days, people often left their doors unlocked, and that night Antonio did just that. He went to bed without locking the kitchen door. His wife, Ana Rivera Babauta, discovered in the morning that some of the pork had been cut away during the night. Taken away were part of the pig's belly and its hind legs. An estimated 50 pounds of meat had been stolen.

Antonio tried to find out who could have stolen the meat. A woman named Rita happened to notice that a certain José had pork in his house, and Rita asked José's sister how did her brother get the meat. She said José had bought it from Antonio. Now Antonio had a suspect, and he reported it to the Sumay Commissioner (what we call Mayor now), Joaquín Cruz Díaz.

Díaz questioned José, but José denied stealing the pork. José said, at the time Antonio's pork went missing, he had been at his ranch in Chalan Taipilan, an area in the vicinity of Sumay, to look after a sick pig of his. He found the pig dead and cut it up. A witness, Pedro Taitano Santos, testified that he was with José the day after José said he was at his ranch, cutting up the dead pig, and that José was sleepy, and that José explained he was sleepy because he was up all night cutting his dead pig.

PREWAR SUMAY

HE PLEADS GUILTY

And then, just like that, José admitted his guilt before the court.

He was sentenced to four months' imprisonment and to pay Antonio for the stolen pork.

We do not know what induced José to change his mind. Did he think it would just be a matter of time that some evidence is discovered or some witness come forward?

Could it have been a troubled conscience?

It's noteworthy that a good number of accused on Guam before the war plead guilty when brought before the court, for a number of different crimes.

Perhaps people, being more religious before the war, had a stronger conscience. They might be criminals, but they were honest about it.

WASHERWOMAN'S STORY

 

Lavandera

by Fernando Amorsolo

As told to me by a grand daughter....

"My grandmother was married shortly before the war, but her husband was killed by the Japanese in March of 1944. A lot of people were being killed, or went missing or were simply beat up by the Japanese because the Americans were already bombing the island. The Japanese were in a hurry to build airstrips and shelters and everything else, and they were so afraid of the Chamorros, that they would help the Americans. So if anyone was late for work or didn't show up, or acted suspiciously or disobeyed the Japanese, you could get killed."

"Grandma had two children already when her husband was killed. They were just 3 years old and 1 year old."

"When the Americans came back, grandma needed to earn money to take care of her two children. The military had built a laundry facility on the outskirts of the village and grandma was hired to wash clothes for the US military. There were around 10 or 12 soldiers stationed in the village. They were supposed to stay in their area but since grandma washed clothes for them they came to the laundry facility, which was on the border between the civilian area and where the soldiers could be."

"One day an American soldier came to the laundry facility. Grandma was ironing and the American started talking to her. Nobody was around. The American came up to grandma and held her by her waist. She tried to shrug him off but he wouldn't let go, and he was big and grandma was small. At one point he threw her down and she started yelling. I guess the guy was afraid her yelling was going to bring people over, so he hurried even faster. He took down his pants and grandma was still holding the charcoal iron and she slammed it on his dågan (buttocks). The American screamed and got up and ran off."

"Grandma went straight to the Commissioner and reported what happened. The Commissioner went right away to the military commander. Grandma kept telling them, 'Look for the man with burn marks on his dågan.' The commander and the Commissioner rounded up 5 Chamorro men to look for the 10 or so American soldiers in the area, who were at different locations doing different work at that moment. One by one they told the soldiers to lower their trousers and reveal their rears. They saw nothing but, when they counted the soldiers, there was one missing. I guess the guy tried to avoid being seen but he knew he couldn't run forever. He came back to the tent and his dågan showed the figure of a pointy iron, all in red."

"My grandpa was one of the five Chamorro men rounded up to look for the American soldiers. So he knew what happened to grandma, and it was that that made a big impression on him. He saw that grandma was a strong woman and she could defend herself. She was courageous. My grandpa couldn't stop thinking about grandma and decided to marry her. He knew he couldn't court her like a first-time bride. She already had two children."

"Instead, grandpa went to grandma's father and said, 'I love your daughter and I will adopt those two children of hers and raise them as my own flesh and blood.'" Grandma's dad was cautious but favorable. Grandpa showed how industrious he was, always working at whatever the military or the Commissioner hired him to do, and he saved every penny. In time, grandpa built a wood and tin roof house and used the front portion as a store. Grandma's father was impressed. So was grandma. The two of them married, and had kids of their own."

AN OBSERVATION

This Barrigada village sign in 1945 reminds American servicemen that the village is out of bounds unless they had a permit.

This story reminds us of the fact that, after the war, the US Military had to keep the soldiers and the civilian population at some distance from each other. Every village had a sign telling soldiers it was off-limits to them. This was to avoid things that happened to Chamorro women, but also to prevent fights and drunken brawls and the like, between Chamorros and military men, and sometimes between the American soldiers themselves. Even the American Catholic missionary priests needed permits to move from one village to another.

An American writes in 1945 that the native villages are out of bounds on Guam.

THE DANGERS OF THE PÅPA' SÅTGE

 

The PÅPA' SÅTGE is the open area under a raised house.

The phrase literally means "UNDER THE FLOOR." Many houses in the Marianas were raised on HALIGI (posts or stilts).

The idea was to let the air circulate around the house and keep it cool. Raising the house kept out flood waters and unwanted animals. The space underneath could be used for storage.

But the påpa' såtge did pose some problems.

For one, somebody could hide themselves in the påpa' såtge. This became a worse problem when the person could find a crack in the floor above, allowing him to peek and invade the family's privacy.

This is what happened one day in 1926 when Alfonso crept under the house of Lorenzo Aguero Sablan. More concerning was that Lorenzo had a teenage daughter living in the house, whose floor had cracks that could be peeked through.

As there were witnesses, and since Alfonso had been found guilty of similar offenses before, he thought it best to plead guilty when he was arrested and suffer the penalty.

SHOES, SLIPPERS AND NOTHING

SHOESTRING SET

Socially elite Chamorro ladies with Americans in the 1910s

An American lady, the sister of the island's Governor at the time, Olga Dorn, wrote an article describing life as she saw it when she visited the island in 1909.

She described three classes of Chamorro women, all based on footwear!

The three classes, in her words, were the Shoestring Set, the Slipper Society and the Barefoot Brigade.

SHOESTRING SET. These were women of the socially elite class. Many of them had Spanish or other European blood. Their fathers occupied positions in the American government or in commerce. These ladies were very eager to adopt American fashions. They always wore shoes and stockings. These were the women often invited to American social events.

SCHOOLGIRLS 

Some with shoes, some without

SLIPPER SOCIETY. These were a much larger group of Chamorro women who clung to the fashion of their mothers and grandmothers. Many of them also had Spanish or some European blood in them, but their preference was for the fashions of old. They mainly wore the mestiza dress and heelless, flat slippers with no stockings. These women were almost never invited to American social events. Among the Chamorros themselves, many of these women were considered elite and prestigious, but they occupied a different world than the Americans.

BAREFOOT BRIGADE. These women were of the poorer class who generally went around without any footwear at all. 

Today, everybody wears something on their feet. Usually.

DON'T MESS WITH ROSA

 

ROSA GUMATAOTAO TENORIO

1888 ~ 1969

Alfonso was a píkaro (naughty) man in his early 20s. He had been caught more than once sneaking into people's homes.

But one night in 1925 he tried once too much.

He made the mistake of sneaking into the house of JUAN NAUTA TENORIO and his wife, the former ROSA GUMATAOTAO.

Rosa was the mother of three young daughters by 1925 : Amanda, aged 18; Rita, aged 16 and Encarnación, aged 15. There were also two young sons, José and Juan, both not even teenagers yet.

But Rosa was no woman to mess with.

It was ten o'clock that night and everyone was in bed, but not necessarily sleeping. Rosa and daughter Encarnación were lying in the såla or living room, evidently on the guåfak or woven floor mat. The two other daughters, Amanda and Rita, were lying on an actual bed in the apusento or inner room/bedroom. The door was shut, but not locked, as was often the case on Guam in those days.

In walked Alfonso, without so much as knocking or calling out, and he quickly blew out the one lamp resting on the table in the såla. 

Immediately, Encarnación called out to whoever this man was, asking why he put out the light. Realizing he was discovered, Alfonso made a run for the door, but Rosa was no slow poke. She caught up to Alfonso just as he got to the door and she grabbed his shirt, holding him back and preventing him from escaping through the door.

Rosa asked, "Why are you here? Are you asking for the hand of any of my daughters?" Denying that he was, he tried to pull free. But Rosa testified in court, "But being of superior strength, I got a piece of iron rod and hit him by the head with it, and then got a piece of rope and tied him to a post in my house, in order to be identified by the authorities. I sent my daughter Amanda to wake up Jesús Matanane Cruz, better known as Ibang, to look for a policeman, which Matanane went away and and came back with a patrolman..." While all this was going on, one of the daughters had lit the lamp again.

Grabbed his shirt; hit him with an iron rod and tied him to a post with rope. Not bad for a Chamorro matron, with no help from a man. Don't underestimate the capabilities of a protective Chamorro mother.

In fairness to Alfonso, he later straightened out, got married and raised a family. Every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future.

A PERSONAL NOTE

I was only seven years old when Rosa passed away, but I knew her daughters Amanda and Rita, who lived close to Saint Jude Church in Sinajaña and went to Mass every day, all dressed for church in mourner's black until their own deaths, which was the old custom.

Had I known this story back in the 1970s and 80s when I knew the two sisters, I would have asked them, "Sangåne yo' pot si Alfonso!" "Tell me about Alfonso!" I would have loved to know what they remembered of this story.

Thanks to my fellow Sinajañan and friend Patricia Tuncap Andrews, great granddaughter of Rosa, for Tan Rosa's photo and to Carmela Cruz, another great granddaughter, for the photo of Encarnación.

THE THREE SISTERS

WHEN YOUR COMPADRE TAKES YOU TO COURT

 

When the biological father chooses a godfather for his child to be baptized, the two fathers become compadres, also called kompaire. Com (together, with) and padre (father).  Co-fathers. One biological, the other spiritual.

This arrangement creates a bond that lasts for life. Compadres come to each other's aid whenever needed.

In the village of Inalåhan in 1924, Isidoro Chargualaf Taimanglo received a bakiya (a heifer or young female cow) as payment for services rendered to a Japanese settler in the village named Antonio Kamo.

Taimanglo kept the bakiya at a place outside the village but eventually brought it into town to tame the animal and, while it was in the village, Manuel Dueñas Flores claimed the  bakiya as his own.

Taimanglo took the matter to court. Flores, meanwhile, stated that Kamo had given away two bakiya, one to Taimanglo and the second one to Flores. The bakiya Flores took was his, not Taimanglo's. Taimanglo denied Flores' version of the story.

But when the day came for the case to be heard in court, Pancracio Palting, Taimanglo's lawyer, told the judge that Taimanglo wanted to withdraw his complaint, as he and Flores were compadres. He proposed that both Taimanglo and Flores divide the bakiya between them when slaughtered, and share the court costs fifty-fifty.

Flores accepted the proposal and the case was dismissed. All because the two opponents were compadres.

VERSIÓN ESPAÑOLA

(traducida por Manuel Rodríguez)

KOMPAIRE

Cuando un padre biológico elige a un padrino para bautizar a su hijo, ambos se convierten en compadres, también llamados “kompaire” en chamorro. Kom (junto, con) y paire (padre). Co-padres. Uno biológico, el otro espiritual.

Este arreglo crea un vínculo que dura toda la vida. Los compadres acuden en ayuda mutua cuando es necesario.

En el pueblo de Inaraján en 1924, Isidoro Chargualaf Taimanglo recibió una “bakiya” (una novilla o vaca joven) como pago por los servicios prestados en el pueblo a un japonés llamado Antonio Kamo.

Isidoro Taimanglo mantuvo la “bakiya” fuera del pueblo, pero después decidió llevarla y domesticarla y, mientras estaba en el pueblo, Manuel Dueñas Flores reclamó la “bakiya” como suya.

Isidoro Taimanglo llevó el asunto a los tribunales. Manuel Flores, por su parte, afirmó que Antonio Kamo había regalado dos “bakiya”, una a Isidoro Taimanglo y la otra a Manuel Flores. La “bakiya” que tomó Manuel Flores era suya, no de Isidoro Taimanglo. Pero Isidoro Taimanglo negó la versión de Manuel Flores.

Cuando llegó el día de la audiencia del caso, Pancracio Palting, abogado de Isidoro Taimanglo, le dijo al juez que Isidoro Taimanglo quería retirar su denuncia, ya que él y Manuel Flores eran compadres. Propuso que tanto Isidoro Taimanglo como Manuel Flores dividieran la “bakiya” entre ellos cuando la sacrificaran, y que compartieran los costos de los tribunales al cincuenta por ciento.

Manuel Flores aceptó la propuesta y el caso fue sobreseído. Todo porque los dos opositores eran compadres.

PREGNANT IN PRISON

 

In the 1920s, María was arrested and taken to court. The crime? Adultery.

She was found guilty and sentenced to serve time in Hagåtña's civil jail.

There was one other factor involved. María was pregnant. Probably by the man with whom she had an adulterous affair.

How could María take care of an infant while serving time? She had no relatives living in Hagåtña either.

When her time came, María gave birth in the Naval Hospital. The doctor entrusted the newborn, a baby boy, to a man named José and his wife Dolores.

Although the court records don't say it, we know from census records that José and Dolores were childless at the time. Childless couples often adopted children from single mothers who were in difficult situations. But how did the doctor know José or Dolores?

Court documents do say there were no relatives available. Census records show that María's parents were deceased by the 1920 Census. Her siblings, if she had any, may have also passed by then.

At any rate, María agreed that José and Dolores take care of her son and, not only that, that they be legally appointed custodians of the boy.

A SURPRISING TWIST

The old Chamorro belief was that a barren couple, by adopting children, would be rewarded by God with biological children of their own making.

José and Dolores did have one son, born five years after they adopted the imprisoned woman's boy. And this one biological son of theirs gave José and Dolores SIXTEEN grandchildren.

FEW OBESE

GRANDMA WALKING BAREFOOT FOR MILES TO THE RANCH

before the war

In the 1990s, an older woman shared with me this description of prewar life on Guam.

Ai, åntes de gera, håssan yommok. 

(Oh, before the war, there were few overweight people.)

Håfa na ti meggagai na taotao man yommok åntes de gera?

(Where weren't there many overweight people before the war?)

Ke sa' megai-ña na in kanno' håfa in tanom gi gualo' pat in kenne' gi tasi. Nahong ha' para in fan lå'la' lao diddide' golosina na klåse. Ayo ha' i in nesesita. Titiyas, atule, guihan, chåda'. I mannok, hame in pepeksai. I hineksa' yan kåtne mås para an Damenggo pat gupot.

(Well because we mainly ate what we grew on the farm and caught in the sea. It was enough for us to live, but very few delicacies. Just what we needed. Flat bread, corn porridge, fish, eggs. The chicken we raised ourselves. Rice and meat were more for Sundays or parties.)

Yanggen para in fanmamåhan gi tienda, ni bes en kuåndo ha' na in che'gue, para arina yan laterías; satmon, leche, latan kåtne. Lao megai-ña na in kanno' håfa in tatanom gi gualo'.

(When we were to buy from a store, which we did only once in a while, it was for flour and canned goods; salmon, milk, canned meat. But we mainly are what we planted on the farm.)

Pues, fuera de ennao, man macho'cho' ham duro guihe na tiempo. Desde ke man makmåta ham asta ke man maigo' ham. Ya ti ma nanangga asta ke sumottera pat sumottero hao para un tutuhon macho'cho'. Yanggen esta hao siña mamokkat, siempre u guaha para tareå-mo. Makkat i lina'la' åntes de gera.

(Then, more than that, we worked hard in those days. From the time we woke up till we slept. And they didn't wait for you to be a teenager for you to start working. If you could walk, you would have your task. Life before the war was hard.)

Mañåga ham Hagåtña lao gaige i gualo'-måme giya Lu'ayao pues debe de in fanmamokkat desde Hagåtña para ayo na lugåt katna ha' kada dia. Guaha karetan guaka lao ti todo siña man hulat man ma udai guihe. Para håfa ham ni "diet" sa' esta nahong i diårio na cho'cho' para bai in fan dalalai.

(We lived in Hagåtña but our farm was in Lu'ayao, so we had to walk from Hagåtña to that place almost every day. There was a bull cart but not everyone could fit to ride on it. We didn't need to 'diet' because daily work was enough to keep us thin.)

Åntes de gera, i yemmok kumekeilek-ña na riko hao. Kololo'-ña i asaguan i riko na taotao. Pot i ti ha nesesita macho'cho' i riko na palao'an. Sumåsåga ha' gi halom guma' ya guaha muchachå-ña para todo i che'cho' halom guma'.  Tåya' na mamokkat para i gualo' yan guaha karetan asaguå-ña yanggen para u paseo. Yan, pot i riko, meggai finahån-ña na nengkanno' ginen i tienda ni na' yommok.

(Before the war, to be fat meant you are rich. Especially the wives of rich men. Because the rich woman didn't need to work. She stayed indoors and had a servant to do the housework. She never walked to the farm and she had her husband's cart to go around in. And, because she was rich, she had a lot of store-bought food which was fattening.)

ONE DAY IN TANAPAG

 

TALISAI NUTS

I was early for a Mass in Tanapag in Saipan so I decided to park by the beach as the sun began its descent.

Out of my rear view mirror, I saw a huge utility truck pull up behind me. I lowered my window and, since I didn't want to assume the driver spoke Chamorro, I asked in English, "Do you need me to move my car? Are you doing work here?" He said, "No, no, you're good." I could tell from the accent he was not from another country but was someone local. He went over to a couple of ladies sitting nearby and sat down.

The scenery looked inviting so I got out of my car almost immediately after the man sat down with the ladies and I heard him tell them, in Chamorro, "Mamaisen este kao para bai facho'cho' guine," "This guy asked if I'm going to do some work here."

I walked out further from my car, which was partially hiding me from them, and now they could see I was a priest, and I smiled at them and said, "Adahe sa' siña ha' yo' fumino' Chamorro!" "Be careful because I can speak Chamorro!" And they laughed and we started a conversation.

The ladies had gotten to the beach first and were eyeing the tall talisai tree. The nuts looked ripe for the picking. By the grace of God, the man was just knocking off from work and drove his utility truck, the one with the buckets to lift workers up to the top of utility poles, to the beach. The ladies saw an opportunity. Let's climb on the truck and reach the nuts with our pole.

One of the ladies got up and used a pole to knock down the nuts. The others collected the fallen nuts, and cut them open.

"Estague' kandin-måme åntes!" "This was our candy before!" they kept saying.

People would either eat the seeds of the nuts "as is" or cook them in sugar in a pan. The taste of the talisai is like almonds, and one of the English names for it is "sea almonds" because the trees often grow on the shore.

Talisai (scientific name, terminalia catappa) has many health benefits, both the nut and the leaves. It is one of the plants used in the old days for medicinal reasons. The wood of the tree is also used and the tree itself is desirable for the abundant shade it provides.

There are places called Talisay, both on Guam and in the Philippines. The talisai more than likely was brought to the Marianas from the Philippines, since our name for it is the same as the Filipino.

A LESSON

Coming upon these friendly people in Tanapag purely by happenstance taught me a nice lesson of island life. To enjoy the talisai staring right in front of you, free of charge, a gift from God, so unappreciated by modern generations; to speak our language, laugh and be cheerful, and to be made a part of the gang instantly, hearing them say, "Let the priest try," several times. This is the kind of spirit we once had everywhere in our islands, unseen now in many parts, but which can still be found in the quiet, breezy shore of Tanapag if you manage to slow down and just park at the beach waiting to see what might happen.

"MA ENGLIS"

 

AMERICAN MARINES ON GUAM

1899

A marriage case in court gives us insight into a few things about Chamorro life in the 1920s, one of them being a new word coined by some Chamorros involving prostitution and the US Marines.

José and Dolores were not getting along in 1924, to put it mildly. For some reason, José despised Dolores, his wife of just four years.

Besides striking and kicking her at times, he would also verbally abuse her, calling her a puta (whore) and telling her, "Hånao ya un ma Englis!" "Go and get Englished!"

It could have just been José's personal slang, but perhaps other Chamorros used the phrase. For a Chamorro woman to seek the companionship of American men is to MA ENGLIS.

José always mentioned the Marines specifically when telling Dolores to go look for Americans. Dolores testified that José asked the local teacher to take Dolores to the Marine Barracks and sell her to the Marines. The local teacher testified that José did, in fact, say that, but only after Dolores herself had said she'd rather live with the lowest-ranking Marine than with her husband.

It seems the chance to air their grievances in court brought them some relief, because José and Dolores ended up asking the judge to dismiss the case as the two had decided to reconcile. It turned out that José and Dolores lived as husband and wife for many more years, and raised almost a dozen children.

There was no need for Dolores to MA ENGLIS.

VERSIÓN ESPAÑOLA

(traducida por Manuel Rodríguez)

“MA ENGLIS”

El caso de un matrimonio que acudió a los tribunales nos da algunas ideas de cómo era la vida de los chamorros en la década de 1920. Una de ellas es una nueva palabra acuñada por algunos chamorros que involucra a la prostitución con los marines estadounidenses.

José y Dolores no se llevaban bien en 1924, por decirlo suavemente. Por alguna razón, José despreciaba a Dolores, su esposa, desde hacía  unos cuatro años.

Además de golpearla y a veces patearla, también abusaba verbalmente de ella, llamándola “prostituta” y diciéndole: "Hånao ya un ma Englis!" "¡Ve y entrégate a los americanos!"

Podría haber sido simplemente la jerga personal de José, pero tal vez otros chamorros usaron la frase. Para una mujer chamorra buscar la compañía de hombres americanos era MA ENGLIS.

José siempre mencionaba específicamente a los marines cuando le decía a Dolores que fuera a buscar americanos.

Dolores testificó que José le pidió al maestro local que se la llevara al Cuartel y la vendiera a los marines.

El maestro local testificó que José, había dicho eso, pero solo después de que la misma Dolores comentara que prefería vivir con el infante de marina de menor rango antes que con su esposo.

Parece que la oportunidad de presentar sus quejas en el tribunal les trajo cierto alivio, porque José y Dolores terminaron pidiéndole al juez que desestimara el caso. Los dos habían decidido reconciliarse. Resultó que José y Dolores vivieron como marido y mujer durante muchos años más y criaron a casi una docena de hijos.

 

"LONESOME STRANGER" OF TALOFOFO

 

Here is a slice of old village life that mental health professionals and others may reprove, but it happened and may even happen today.

I recently heard for the first time about what someone called the "Lonesome Stranger" of Talofofo.

That's all the writer said, so I had to do some digging. I went straight to the source; lifelong Talofofo residents.

There was once a man living in Talofofo who kept to himself. He was described as a hermit. Everyone in the village knew to leave him alone because that's what he wanted, and the man himself heightened the chance of remaining alone by living by himself most of his life, and by venturing out only in the early morning hours or after sunset. As daily Mass in the 1950s and 60s was as early as 5AM, people going to daily Mass would sometimes see him walking about. Naturally he preferred walking around at night when the sun was down.

He had family, a large one, in fact, but they respected his desire to be on his own. For a while he lived in a separate structure in the back of a brother's house. Later he lived on his own; in a cave or at Ipan along the shore. Family members always kept an eye on him, bringing him food, clothing and supplies. He could have always worn the new clothes the family gave him, but he preferred the tattered clothes he had already until he had to switch to the new ones. When he passed away, the family took care of his funeral.

But for many years, especially for Talofofo kids in the 1950s and 60s, the "Lonesome Stranger" was something of a mythical figure. Parents told their children not to be out of the house at night because the man might snatch them, which of course never happened. The "Lonesome Stranger" never scared anyone; kids were just scared of him. His ragged clothes and peculiarities just looked frightful to them.

There is talk that the man lost his mind during the war when bullets were fired right over his head, whizzing by within inches of killing him. After that experience, he was never the same, so it is said.

Stories grow less and less accurate as they spread. That's because the next story teller adds his own inventions to make the story more interesting. People outside of Talofofo called him the "Lonesome Stranger." But the truth was he was no stranger at all; his large clan lived in Talofofo. Stories circulated that the "Lonesome Stranger" appeared on the road so suddenly that drivers were thrown off by the fright.  Saying that makes the story is more interesting than just a man walking the village streets minding his own business.

One man, not from Talofofo, claimed he was driving around in the early hours of the morning in the 1970s when he came upon the stop at the top of the hill overlooking Talofofo Bay. On his approach, he saw no one, but after he continued driving he looked in his rear view mirror and saw a man sitting on the guard rail. He turned back to check, and there was no one. But when he drove off again, there the man was again in his rear view mirror. He said it could have been the "Lonesome Stranger" who legend says died in that spot. But the real "Lonesome Stranger" was alive and well, and didn't pass away for another forty years.

TALOFOFO

The "Lonesome Stranger" was harmless, but parents used his idiosyncrasies to scare the children into good behavior.

He would go around the village with a sack, collecting bottles and cans. Your trash might go missing, too, as he would go through your garbage can waiting by the road side for pick up and bring them back to his hide-away to sort them. 

Kids might have called him names or thrown rocks at him, but villagers tell me this wouldn't have been often and if adults had been around the kids would have been scolded. Generally, he was left alone. If he saw someone coming his way, he'd make a detour if possible. If you passed him, he wouldn't look at you.

Several villages in the 1950s, 60s and 70s had their own version of the "Lonesome Stranger." In all cases, they did no harm and no harm was done to them, except for the occasional tease from children (as children can be till taught better). Children at first have that kind of reaction to the odd or different. The older the children got, they lost their fear of these special people and saw them as fellow human beings who just had their own way, and then blended into the scene.

Rest in peace, "Lonesome Stranger."

CHAMORRO MOONSHINE PROS AND CONS

 

MAKING ÅGUAYENTE OR AGI

Early 1800s Guam

As someone once told me, "Almost anything can be made booze, if it has sugar."

So our ancestors learned the art of making åguayente (from Spanish aguardiente or "burning water"), also known as agi.

Corn, tuba, sugar cane, among other things, could all be used to make it. 

But alcohol can be dangerous, especially since not all alcohol are created the same. Methanol is a bad one, when it comes to human consumption. It can kill you.

People didn't have the ability in those days to use laboratory methods to analyze moonshine. People only guessed from actually drinking it what proof it had. If it was too strong, or if methanol was produced sometimes by natural microbes that got in, the agi could be deadly.

And so one elderly man told me that his grandfather died that way. His grandfather was a great agi drinker and maker. He made it clandestinely before the war and a little after the war. But one time, his last time, he made it too strong. Perhaps he was used to it being that strong after all those years. But he died some hours after drinking.

"Sinengge i san halom-ña," the grandson told me. "His insides were burned up."

There were no autopsies performed in the late 1940s when the grandfather died so there's no telling what he truly died from. But he had the telltale signs of methanol poisoning. Beginning with headache, dizziness, confusion, abdominal pain  and leading to, hours later, loss of movement and vision and finally death.

Methanol poisoning from homemade liquor happens frequently all over Asia.

And yet.....

According to the same older man whose grandfather died, probably of agi toxicity, when gasoline became hard to find in the final days of the Japanese Occupation, the Japanese sometimes used local åguayente, if it were higher in alcohol content, to fuel their trucks, if you care to believe him.

One man's poison was another man's propellant.

VERSIÓN ESPAÑOLA

(traducida por Manuel Rodríguez)

PROS Y CONTRAS DEL DESTILADO CHAMORRO

Como alguien me dijo una vez, "Casi de cualquier cosa se puede hacer alcohol, si tiene azúcar".

Así que nuestros antepasados aprendieron el arte de hacer åguayente (del español “aguardiente” o “agua ardiente”), también conocido como agi.

El maíz, la tuba de coco, la caña de azúcar, entre otros productos, podían usarse para elaborarla.

Pero el alcohol puede ser peligroso, especialmente porque no todos los alcoholes son iguales. El metanol es malo en lo que respecta al consumo humano. Puede matarte.

En los tiempos de antes, la gente no tenía la capacidad de utilizar métodos de laboratorio para analizar el destilado. Solo lo reconocían probándolo. Si era demasiado fuerte, o si el metanol era producido por microbios naturales, el agi podía ser mortal.

Así es que, un anciano me contó que su abuelo había muerto en esas circunstancias. Su abuelo era un gran bebedor y productor de agi. La hacía clandestinamente antes de la guerra y también un tiempo después. Pero la última vez, la hizo demasiado fuerte. Quizás estaba acostumbrado a que fuera tan fuerte después de todos esos años. Pero murió unas horas después de beber.

"Sinengge i san halom-ña", me dijo el nieto. "Sus entrañas estaban quemadas".

No se realizaban autopsias a fines de la década de 1940 cuando murió el abuelo, por lo que no se sabe de qué murió exactamente. Pero tenía los signos reveladores de intoxicación por metanol. Comenzando con dolor de cabeza, mareos, confusión, dolor abdominal y llevándolo, horas más tarde, a la pérdida de movimiento y visión y finalmente a la muerte.

La intoxicación por metanol de licor casero ocurre con frecuencia en toda Asia.

Según el mismo anciano cuyo abuelo murió probablemente por toxicidad del agi, cuando la gasolina era escasa durante la ocupación japonesa de Guam, siempre que tuviese un alto contenido en alcohol, se usaba åguayente local para repostar los camiones.

El veneno de un hombre era el propulsor de otro.

GUAM'S "FIRST" TRAFFIC VIOLATION

 

If Luís Atao Cruz of Piti was not the first guy on Guam to get a speeding ticket, he was one of the first. That's why I put "first" in quotation marks in the title.

Records of the time are not complete, so there could have been others before him, but Cruz's traffic violation in November of 1917 is the first such case I've come across in Guam's court records.

That night on November 27, at around 7:15, a patrolman noticed Cruz driving above the speed limit on the road through Asan. The patrolman signaled Cruz to pull over and Cruz ignored it.

In court, Cruz plead guilty. For all this, Cruz had to pay $55 in fines and fees, spend twenty days behind bars and lose his driver's license, at least for a time. He was only 19 years old then so after a while he got his license back. Cruz passed away in 1973 and is buried in Togcha. May he rest in peace.

Automobiles were new, of course, to the island. But people were buying cars that early, including the Limtiacos of Asan who soon got into the transportation business chauffering passengers. 

Perhaps it took a while for ideas such as speed limits to settle in people's minds. The lack of significant traffic and the lateness of the hour in a small village (thus fewer people on the road) could have made speeding a natural temptation.

And yet I imagine the speed limit was low, by our standards. Ten miles per hour? Twenty? Cars back then could rarely go more than 30 mph. Then the condition of the road (not paved with asphalt) would have prevented higher speeds anyway. In November, it would have been dark already by 7PM. So I'm picturing the scene like an old movie. Dark, quiet; and a lone policeman seeing the one car on a dirt road sputtering along and the policeman yelling, "Pull over."

Many of us, yours truly included, have been pulled over by the police for going over the speed limit. We can all commiserate with Luís who may hold the title of first traffic violation in Guam's history. Maybe the first, but only of thousands of speeding tickets that came after him.

VERSIÓN ESPAÑOLA

(traducida por Manuel Rodríguez)

LA “PRIMERA” INFRACCIÓN DE TRÁFICO DE GUAM

Tal vez Luís Atao Cruz, originario de Piti, no fuera el primer hombre en Guam en recibir una multa por exceso de velocidad, pero al menos fue uno de los primeros. Es por ello que puse en el título "primera" entre comillas.

Los registros del tiempo no están completos, por lo que podrían haberse producido otros antes que él, pero la infracción de tránsito de Cruz en noviembre de 1917 es el primer caso de este tipo que he encontrado en los registros judiciales de Guam.

Esa noche del 27 de noviembre, alrededor de las 7:15 pm, un patrullero notó que Cruz conducía por encima del límite de velocidad en la carretera que atraviesa Asan. El patrullero le indicó a Cruz que se detuviera y Cruz lo ignoró.

En la corte, Cruz fue declarado culpable. Por todo esto, Cruz tuvo que pagar $ 55 en multas y tarifas, pasar veinte días tras las rejas y perder su licencia de conducir, al menos por un tiempo. Entonces solo tenía 19 años, así que después de una temporada recuperó su licencia. Cruz, en paz descanse, falleció en 1973 y está enterrado en Togcha.

Los automóviles eran una novedad en la isla. Pero la gente adquirió coches muy pronto, incluidos los Limtiaco de Asan que pronto se metieron en el negocio del transporte como choferes de pasajeros.

Quizás fue necesario un tiempo para que ideas como los límites de velocidad se asentaran en la mente de las personas. La falta de tráfico significativo y el retraso de la hora en un pueblo pequeño (por lo tanto, menos gente en la carretera) podrían haber hecho que el exceso de velocidad fuera una tentación natural.

Y, sin embargo, imagino que el límite de velocidad era bajo, según nuestros estándares. ¿Diez millas por hora? ¿veinte? Los autos en esa época rara vez podrían ir a más de treinta millas por hora. En aquel entonces, las condiciones de la carretera (no pavimentada con asfalto) habrían impedido de todos mods, velocidades más altas. En noviembre, ya habría oscurecido a las 7 p.m. Así que me imagino la escena como en una película vieja. Oscuro, tranquilo y un policía solitario que ve el único automóvil en un camino de tierra que pasa y el policía grita: "Deténgase".

Muchos de nosotros hemos sido detenidos por la policía por superar el límite de velocidad. Todos podemos compadecernos de Luís, que puede que ostente el título de la primera infracción de tráfico en la historia de Guam. Quizás la primera de las miles de multas por exceso de velocidad que le siguieron.