Rodriguez... Texas Ranger!: The True Story of the First Mexican American Texas Ranger

By Rick Harper

Harper gets to the business of historical, political and social analysis, he is quite knowledgeable, open minded and shrewd. Theres the long history of racial troubles, the rise of La Raza Unida and the remaking of the South Texas political landscape. T e eras larger than life Texas movers & shakers and wheelers and dealers litter the story.

-Kirkus Reviews

The book covers Rodriguezs Texas Ranger adventures, including dustups rowdy enough to rival any Western movie. Heavy emphasis on Texass history puts Rodriguezs story in a wider context and broadens the books scope considerably.

-Clarion Reviews

This engaging biography is about Art Rodriguez Jr, who rose from a South Texas barrio to become the first Mexican-American Texas Ranger. Harper provides vivid background about shady politics, racial tension and praises his friend as a Real-Life- Hero! This is a fascinating read about changing times in Texas and one man who beat the odds.

-BlueInk Review

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 3, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491705063

Rick Harper

Rick Harper, currently a real estate broker, earned a BBA at the University of Texas where he was a member of Sigma Chi Fraternity. He was raised in South Texas and Northern Mexico, where his grandparents moved in 1908. Harper has two children and currently lives in San Antonio.

Book preview

RODRIGUEZ…

Texas Ranger!

The True Story of the First

Mexican American Texas Ranger

RICK HARPER

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RODRIGUEZ… TEXAS RANGER!

The True Story of the First Mexican American Texas Ranger

Copyright © 2013 Rick Harper.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

iUniverse LLC

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4917-0504-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-0505-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-0506-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013915161

iUniverse rev. date: 08/01/2014

Contents

Preface

About the Author

Foreword

Chapter I The Spot and the Star

Chapter II Stumps and Snakes

Chapter III The Meeting and the Tale

Chapter IV The Boy and the Marine

Chapter V The Frontier and the History

Chapter VI Cowboys and Cattle Drives

Chapter VII The Old Vaquero Fades Away

Chapter VIII Bullets to Ballots

Chapter IX The Deputy and the Dps

Chapter X The Duke and Duval County

Chapter XI The Mayor and La Raza

Chapter XII Pistols and Politics

Chapter XIII The Captain and the Texas Rangers

Chapter XIV The New Badge in Town

Chapter XV Justice: Perspectives and Values

Chapter XVI The Rock and the Knock

Chapter XVII The End and the Beginning

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TO MY MOM

For every reason you can possibly imagine

A special thanks to…

Brother Michael for his illustrations and advice…

Beth and Chris, my reading experts…

and Marilyn at Action Ink for ALL her patience.

HERO…

A figure who performed a courageous act or played an admirable role in any period or important event

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Preface

This book is about South Texas… and how its developmental-patterns have evolved into what exists today. One has to examine historical events and their outcomes, to explain, not justify, how these events have created a ‘larger-than-life chapter’ in American History.

Some of these events were grandiose and daring… many were small and unspectacular… and most appear to have gone all but unnoticed. Together these events form an intricate web, a roadmap to an understanding of this ‘chapter’ that has had an indelible effect on our view of ourselves and our codes of behavior. More importantly, since our present codes of behavior are based on our perceived memories and experiences, this short, ‘larger-than-life chapter’ impacts and shapes our future and its codes of behavior.

This book is about Gringos and Mexicans… Justice and Vengeance… the Law and the Lawless… Pistoleros and Politics… Sharpshooters and Shopkeepers… Ranchers and Farmers… Cowboys and Cattle Drives… Governors and Goat Herders… and… Texas Rangers.

It’s about the passing of a Frontier System and the emergence of Modern Times…

— A Standoff At High-Noon —

This book is related to you through my eyes and those of my family, who lived it, and the eyes of a ‘Real Life Hero’… right in our midst.

He didn’t know he was a hero… neither did we.

I intend to change that.

About the Author

Rick Harper is a lifelong resident of South Texas and Northern Mexico and currently lives in San Antonio, Texas. He earned his BBA at The University of Texas at Austin, where he was also a member of Sigma Chi Fraternity.

Rick was raised in the State of Coahuila, Mexico, on the Azulejo Ranch, founded by his paternal grandparents shortly after they moved to Mexico in 1908…the height of the Mexican Revolution. After graduation, Rick lived in the border town of Eagle Pass, Texas, directly across the Rio Grande River from Piedras Negras, Coahuila, Mexico, and was involved in the feedlot, packing plant, banking, ranching, and various other agri-businesses on both sides of the border. He was actively involved in politics on both the county and state levels, was a Rodeo Cowboy, and a singer/songwriter for many years and has three album-releases to his credit.

Four generations of Rick’s family have had close ties to agri-business and politics on both sides of the Rio Grande and maintained a close relationship with The Texas Rangers: Rick’s great, great, great uncle was the ‘Hall of Fame Ranger,’ Captain Leander H. McNelly and of course, his thirty-year friendship with Art Rodriguez, Jr.

The family roots are also deeply grounded in ‘The Wild West,’ as it has come to be known… the days of… ‘Cowboys and Cattle Drives.’ Rick’s paternal and maternal Great-Grandfathers have been installed in ‘The Texas Trail Drivers Hall of Fame.’ The latter was the youngest Trail-Boss of record, ramrodded the most herds to the mid-western railheads, and led the longest cattle-drive ever made, from Brownsville, Texas, to the Canadian border. The drive took a year and a day.

Rick’s love for the rough South Texas/Northern Mexico ranch country, its lore, and its ‘rough and tumble characters,’ both famous and infamous, many of which Rick was privileged to know personally, especially Art, compelled him to write about those times and those men; to share his experiences of a bygone era of ‘romance and adventure,’ of ‘intrigue and excitement’… an era that is central to our heritage and folklore. A time that will forever be, totally unique in our history.

A time that belongs to everyone.

Foreword

There exists a tendency to perceive events, places, people, etc., as either ‘good or bad,’ ‘black or white,’ and to categorize them accordingly because, each of us exists in our own separate and unique reality, each with our own distinct set of ‘preconceived-notions’ of ‘right and wrong.’ These preconceptions vary from individual-to-individual and from group-to-group and are by definition inherently biased and prejudiced. Accurately characterized, the vast majority of men and the ‘events of man,’ are NOT sufficiently simplistic to be categorized or characterized as, simply ‘black or white,’ ‘good or evil,’ ‘right or wrong’; the complexity of man’s ‘triumphs and disasters’ requires they be classified somewhere within that vast-expanse that separates the two extremes, that area of varying ‘shades,’ known to us as… ‘The Gray Area.’ Logic demands it.

In Rodriguez… Texas Ranger!, while focusing on ‘the life and times’ of Art Rodriguez, I’ve chronicled many of Texas’ and Mexico’s significant historical events and their corresponding socio-cultural, economic and racial developmental patterns in order to demonstrate not only their immediate impact, but the manner in which these events and patterns have framed the region’s present state. More importantly, I have attempted to fashion my presentation in a manner that ‘causes’ the reader not only to revisit the historical facts, but provide them the opportunity to perhaps reexamine his or her current views and opinions (preconceived notions). In addition to calling the reader’s attention to a number of little-known historical realities, many of which even I was unaware, I have attempted to provoke an emotional ‘reflex-response’ by the manner in which I characterize many events and individuals and a number of social, political, and racial groups, i.e., by trashing all of them equally!

My goal is not to disenfranchise anyone of deeply imbedded folklore they hold dear, nor is there an effort on my part to alter the reader’s current political or social views. My intention is simply that my readers review their knowledge of the historical record, add to that anything herein of which they may not have been aware, and ascertain for themselves whether or not their current points of view are a result of, or based upon, biased, incomplete, or inaccurate knowledge of actual historical circumstances or, are their current views and opinions grounded in historical accuracy, and more importantly… do they reflect an ‘intellectual-thoughtfulness’ that many of these events merit?

Now. I confess to bending and/or breaking basically every literary ‘rule’ of which I am aware. Actually, my view is that I am not ‘breaking’ rules, simply… ‘disregarding’ them. I’ve been unable to ascertain who established these ‘rules,’ so having a chat about this matter isn’t possible; consequently, I choose to view them more as ‘guidelines.’ More importantly, every literary-liberty taken herein is purposeful… not the result of carelessness or oversight.

» My liberal use of ellipses helps establish a ‘rhythm’ that I believe best fits the sentence, paragraph, or passage. The same applies to words that I underline.

» I use many exclamation marks because I believe it helps keep the reader on the ‘front side’ of the reading experience.

» I capitalize certain words clearly ‘against-the-guidelines,’ to afford them the ‘status’ to which I believe they are entitled.

» I use dashes-between-words… so that they may be read or viewed as one word. Again, for rhythm.

But hey, good-news… I’m confident that most of the spelling is correct.

I

The Spot and the Star

"A carbon spot! What the hell is a carbon spot?" I ask. I knew I wasn’t going to like the answer… and I could tell by Blackie’s tone that it wasn’t something you wanted to find in your Christmas stocking.

It’s this black deposit right here Rick… see? he answered, holding the ring at full arm extension. I’d always thought those diamond guys examined the thing by holding it so close to their eyeball you couldn’t get a thought in between.

Yeah, I see the damn thing Blackie… shoot, you can see the sucker from across the street! It looks like a picture of a solar-eclipse! I don’t know how-the-hell I missed seeing it. Anyway… is that good or bad? I must have been asking-for-practice because even I know that a ‘spot’… of any color, on any gemstone, could only lessen its value unless you can wipe it off with your handkerchief.

Blackie hesitates a second before saying… Well Rick, in this case, it’s actually good. At least it proves it really is an actual diamond. I thought I saw the glimmer of a chuckle in the back of his eyes. Prick! This isn’t the one you sent over for me to look at yesterday Rick… the setting is the same though.

Putting my hands on my hips and half turning away I say low and slow… That sorry son-of-a-bitch switched ‘em on me. Then turning back… Well, at least it’s a real diamond… so what do you think ‘Old-Carbon’ here is worth? This one is really for practice.

Pondering as if attempting to conceptualize the nature of infinity, Blackie replies… Well, it’s hard to say Rick. I can’t use it, but somebody might give about two hundred for it. Maybe two and a half. Damn! When I sent it over to him yesterday… he appraised it at seven thousand! Now I’m positive about seeing that chuckle in his eyes.

I grabbed the damned thing and half-walked, half-ran the block from Blackie’s jewelry shop, down Main Street to our offices in the Hotel Eagle. Fuming!

That city-prick probably thinks he’s away smooth, I mumble to myself. Well pal… you went and screwed with the wrong cowboy! Here I go and try to help you out of a bind, it being so close to Christmas and all, and you’re scamming me from the startin’ gate. You’re gonna be sorry you ever set one foot in Eagle-by-god-Pass, Maverick County, Texas. Your ass is mine dude! Still fuming, I slam my outer office door behind me.

I demanded justice! And uh… maybe a little helping of revenge.

Mimi Garcia, my secretary, follows me through the reception area into my office and informs me that there’s the usual 236 people in the outer-office waiting to see me and that I have 682 telephone calls to return. But hey, good news… only about 150 of them are important. Damn!

All I could think of at that instant was how cool that carbon-dude’s ears were going to look mounted and hung next to those ‘giant’ antelope horns everybody claims I shot at the Petan Ranch in Marfa, Texas. The Petan belonged to McLean Bowman, who at that time, was quite likely South Texas’ ‘most-eligible-stud.’ McLean was from San Antonio but could usually be found at ‘Sugarland,’ his home-ranch a few miles outside of Carrizo Springs. He was our partner in various business ventures and his sister Beth is married to my brother Michael.

Now. I’ve long held that it was in fact, Michael and McLean who had assassinated this innocent little creature… then had the horns mounted and hung on my office wall… and unselfishly awarded me the ‘honor of the kill.’ They made a big-deal about it too.

Pricks! I’ll get around to them, I think to myself.

But damn… the carbon-dude’s ears would definitely look cool hanging in my office though. Real cool.

Everybody waits Mimi… hold all calls and send Rocky or W.C. to find Jay Lewey and drag him and the sorry-ass story he’s made up by now, down here right away, I say in a somewhat unpleasant manner. Please, I add… in a feeble attempt to fend-off one of her ‘looks.’ Oops… too late.

Rocky Reagan was Michael’s and my right and left hand… and a damn good pair to have when there were cattle around… and there always were. And seeing to that was W.C. Butler, a lifelong family friend and my head cattle-buyer in Mexico. In the winter and spring of 1975-1976… we imported over 120,000 head of live steer cattle and calves into the United States from Mexico. That’s a lot of cattle… but not near as many as there are ‘true-stories’ about W.C. Butler.

And get me Grady Sessems in Del Rio on the phone. If he’s not in the office, find him. I don’t care where he is or who he’s with. Grady is definitely as cool of a stud as there is… I’ll see what he thinks. I walked behind my desk and Mimi goes about her tasks, completely unruffled as usual. I slump back in my chair, rocking slowly back and forth… Pal, we don’t put up with this city-slicker crap in Maverick County. Man, you’re not gonna need a lawyer… you’re gonna need a by-god-priest when I get my…

Ricky, esta El Senor Sessems en la lina dos, Mimi’s voice on the intercom breaks my trance.

And Mimi, go next door and tell Dad, W.C., Rocky, and whoever else is in there, that this isn’t a damn-bit funny. I can hear the giggling through two walls! Hell, I was thinking about giving that ring to one of them for…

Grady, listen, some sorry son-of-a-bitch just… I spin him the tale. We talk awhile, he’s laughing his ass off, and I’m smoking from both ears.

Rick, this guy’s history… a memory! You can barely describe him… you got no real name… no make or model of vehicle… no address… I’m a Ranger, not a psychic, Grady says still chuckling.

I want this guy, Grady. I want him more than I wanted my date at the senior prom… look, we can…

Okay, Rick, okay. I’ll send you a man in the morning. He can practice driving. And say Rick, if you don’t want the ring with the spot, I have a fella that… Whack… I slam the receiver on its cradle!

Smart-ass! Everybody’s a by-god-comedian, I say to an empty office… try to do a little somethin’ nice for somebody and… ah shit!

It must have taken Grady about a minute to call Dad because the laughing in his office went up about two octaves. Hell, everyone in town without a hearing problem laughed themselves damn near into a coma. Felipe, my yardman, had heard the story by the time I got home that night. At least he was genuinely concerned. He said that he had an uncle in Monclova who made gold and silver colored rings… cheap! Except for the ones with the Virgin Mary… they cost a little more!

Gracias Felipe… let me get back to you on that.

But Grady did deliver…

The ‘star’ rolled into Maverick County just after sun-up the next day… pinned to the chest of…

Arturo Rodriquez, Jr… Texas Ranger!

II

Stumps and Snakes

O ur busiest time of the year… if one makes a distinction between fourteen-hour days and seventeen-hour days… were the winter months. This is the time of year when ranchers in the region wean their calf crops and market them. Ranches in Northern Mexico, situated in those states allocated export permits, generally marketed their steer calves FOB the Mexican side of the Rio Grande. Their destination being the United States. This, the winter of 1971-1972, was no exception. We were for many years one of the top two or three outfits in the country importing live beef cattle into the U.S.

I had to meet my brother Michael, then managing Maverick Feedyards… a 50,000 head capacity commercial cattle-feeding complex… at his office about ten miles south of Eagle Pass. Things would be well underway by 5:00 a.m… long before first-light.

It’s difficult, even today, to drive through South Texas without the landscape evoking visions of ‘The Old Days’… a panorama of low rolling hills blanketed by mesquite and prickly pear (sometimes even grass) as far as the eye can see… then further still. On a clear day the only thing that blocks your view… is the sky…

South Texas − Brush Country.

It’s a country with its own senses. Not senses that feel… but senses that reach out and make you feel. The wind carries its own scent… the soil and growth, its own touch… the water, its own taste… the country, its own special sight… mile after endless mile. The country has its own temperament… its own rules… its own codes. But more importantly… it has its own heart. Stern and rigid, yet forgiving. Foreboding, yet not unfriendly. Un-breaking, even un-bending… but accommodating equally… all who accept and understand. But most of all, a heart that’s lonesome… but not sad. A comfortable lonesomeness that understands… those who understand.

God, I miss it so. Sometimes I even feel it misses me.

It’s rather like entertaining the memory of a past love… although perhaps not unrequited… one certainly unfulfilled. A pleasurable-torment.

So. The real South Texas… nothing north of Loop 1604 around San Antonio… and damn sure not ‘The Texas Hill Country’ with its inch-deep soil that takes about 376 acres to run one measly sheep and deer that belong in a petting-zoo. Not the deserts of ‘West Texas’ that evoke visions of Lawrence of Arabia… and not the windswept-flatland of the ‘Texas Panhandle’ that evokes visions of Oklahoma. Not the rice-fields and piney-woods of ‘East Texas’ with miles of Christmas trees and stock-farms… I never knew if they were really stock-farms or egret-ranches with a few Brahma cows… and certainly not ‘North Texas’ that evokes memories of where-the-hell-ever it was you just came from!

Jokes aside, all of these regions of Texas have their own beauty, history, folklore, and heroes… but the country does not summon images of ‘The Old West’… of ‘Cowboys and Cattle Drives’… ‘Gunfighters and Frontier Justice’… of ‘Outlaws and Texas Rangers’!

Now. The ‘South Texas’ in the minds of those of us raised and doing business on both sides of the Rio Grande, includes a large portion of Northern Mexico. The northern-half of Coahuila and parts of Nuevo Leon and Tamalipas. More or less, the country outlined by a line drawn from San Antonio to Del Rio, Texas… southwest to Torreón, Coahuila… then east to Monterrey, Nuevo Leon, and on to the gulf coast… then north to Victoria, Texas… and west back to San Antonio. There were few significant differences in the people’s day-to-day problems, objectives, and social-interactions, when compared to the rest of Texas. The differences that one contended with on a day-to-day basis, were governmental rules and regulations decided upon by someone else, far away, and for the most part… simply ignored. One needed to travel ‘inland’ so to speak… for ‘real’ differences to manifest themselves.

The South Texas I was raised in, was ‘The Old West,’ albeit the last vestiges of it, its images part of everyday life. It was a long trip between gas-stations… a bottle of whiskey… or a woman. And it took long enough to get anywhere… that a fella would be needing a little of all three upon arrival.

At Michael’s office, the coffee was ready. Our meeting went as planned, reviewing yesterday’s events and preparing the current day’s activities. Noticeable to me was the fact that not once did Michael mention or allude to my ‘personal business transaction’ of the previous day. Nor did he inquire as to my newly acquired gemstone… now and forever-after affectionately referred to as… ‘Old Carbon.’ I knew he was ‘saving-it-up.’ From the vantage point of his raised office, overlooking the entire feedlot complex, one could see groups of three or four men, one pointing at his ring-finger, then at the office, and the listeners doubling-over from laughter.

This distasteful topic arose only when Othella Germer came in with a tray of coffee and asked if I wanted cream in mine or, just black… like carbon! Othella could get away with this… or anything else for that matter… because she had been with me since day-one and knew more about our combined and often complex businesses than anyone. She was the stereo-typical… omni-efficient… office-manager/executive-secretary… that totally indispensable cog in a gigantic wheel. Only then did Michael comment on the matter. He very thoughtfully reminded me that carbon was an actual chemical building-block of life on earth… and that wearing a diamond with a carbon deposit of that magnitude could actually be viewed as making a profound social-statement on life… culture… and the current human condition. Yeah right… thanks Bro.

My sister Rebel, operated the computer in the feedlot-office… one of the old-time computers that cost over $30,000 and took up as much room as a Buick station-wagon… and her husband Chad Foster, who was yard-foreman, were in the coffee room downstairs, and as I walked past the door, I could hear muffled-laughter from within. Then Rebel sticks her head out from behind the door, smiles and waves… Bye, Bubba!

And really fake man. Do they think I can’t tell they’re making fun of me?

I just keep walking.

Chad is now Mayor of Eagle Pass and Honorary Presidente of Northern Coahuila! (I jest with respect to the latter title. Sort-of.)

Now. My younger brother Michael was always known as the level-headed Harper brother. Always cool, calm, patient, even-tempered, analytical… you know, as opposed to the brother who could… perhaps… at times… be prone to be somewhat uh… overly-enthusiastic.

As kids, if Mike and I happened upon an unfamiliar swimming hole, I’d say… looks wet to me… and dive-in. Bro would check it out… for temperature, stumps, snakes, etc… then wade-in slowly and out-swim you. Consequently, Michael avoided collisions with underwater-obstacles and ‘got-snake-bit’ less frequently than did I. Now, if a particular swimming hole was deep and devoid of snakes and stumps… I could go deeper and swim faster than most… and occasionally make it look-good. However, if the reverse were the case… well, that’s where all these bumps on my head