Epistles from Pap: Letters from the man known as 'The Will Rogers of Indiana' Part 31

We next set down at Guatemala, with a two and a half hour wait.

We hired a taxi and went to town. Enroute we pa.s.sed two small coffee plantations. The driver told us Guatemala coffee was the finest in the world. They said the same thing at Santos and everywhere else, particularly Buenaventura and its mocha coffee.

We went to the presidential palace and got in. It's a fine place for the size and wealth of the country. Particularly the tile and stained gla.s.s murals depicting historical scenes of Guatemala.

Splendid features were enormous gla.s.s chandeliers with prismatic gla.s.s ta.s.sels, and mahogany woodwork and floors of the banquet and reception rooms. The outside walls and windows had considerable bullet marks depicting the various revolutions the country had undergone. Also something to see is the one-piece table-top, sides, lower shelf and legs, with its intricate carvings, behind which the dictator of the day presides, listening to the wham of bullets outside.

The hillside Indian market took my eye. I yelled, "Whoa," and jumped out and got right in among them--kids, dogs, squatting women, tied-up hens, herbs, overripe bananas and other fruits, baskets, blankets, dolls, piles of yams, some pretty bony meats and a world of other things. To progress, you had to step over, through or around whatever was in front of you. I was making fair progress when our wild-eyed driver caught up and told me it was no place for me to be. My English caught the ear of a nearby fellow who had lost his wife and kid somewhere in the market. He was a House of G.o.d missionary from near Abilene, Texas, and had been down almost a month. We hit it up fine. The driver shrugged his shoulders and followed along. For my part, I had a pretty good time. The trip cost me five dimes and three nickels. I kept the quarter, had a good following, and everybody was on my side except the driver.

JUST SIGN ON THE LINE

At the airport I ran into more trouble. The manager was paging me in an accent I never heard before. Aura May caught it. He told me a bottle of whiskey had broken in one of our bags and had leaked all over everything near. They didn't know what damage had been done or how I had broken the bottle.

"How I had broken the bottle?" I said. "Besides, I had no whiskey in any bag. Are you sure it was whiskey? Where is the bag?"

"It smells like whiskey," he said. "The bag has been transferred to the Mexico City plane. It is about time to leave. We admit the liability. We have made out the form. Just sign here."

"What amount did you fill in for the damage?" I asked.

"We left that blank to fill in later. We will do that for you."

We finally agreed he would radio their representative in Mexico City, and when we go through customs there we could all have a look.

Up from Guatemala we ran into higher and higher mountains and rougher and rougher land below. In time, Mt. Popocatepetl, 17,500-odd feet high, loomed in the distance, as did Mt.

Ixtaccihuatl, a trifle lower. Now, you don't pa.s.s old Popo like you do an unattended traffic light on a bright Sunday morning.

She stays in sight for a long time.

We grounded just before dark. In customs we opened up for all to see and smell. People would go by, catch a whiff and raise their eyes just like they were experiencing a sensation of "My Sin"

toilet water. It was a broken bottle of Chilean wine some stranger had put in the wrong bag--maybe.

Years ago, I learned something. Our railroads never kill anything except thoroughbred stock. That bottle of wine was nestled inside my brand new tuxedo, next to my brown suit and one of the Haspel tropicals and two or three of Aura May's dresses. Kindly tell Central Insurance Agency.

BACK TO "COLD" WEATHER

Sat.u.r.day, we flew say 1,500 miles here from intense heat to comparative cold. We are 7,500 feet up. This room in the Geneva Hotel is none too hot. It has heat of course, but they don't turn it on enough. Electricity is rationed or something.

Today, Sunday, Aura May went to see the people she lived with when in school here three or four years ago, and they had quite a reunion. These Mexicans are that way if they like you.

I hunted up another native market and had another good time. Two or three blocks of sidewalk have been partly boxed in with old corrugated metal roofing and partly left open to walk along. Hot tamales, fruits of all kinds, women cooking rather dirty looking meats and foods over rusted, greasy home made charcoal burners. I saw sheep heads with the wool on at one place and stood around to learn what disposition of them was being made, but no customers came along.

We had been warned to drink no water or milk and to eat nothing like lettuce or strawberries, in fact to eat nothing that does not have a peeling on it. Anything out of a corked bottle is all right.

INSIDER TOUR OF MEXICO CITY

To The Graphic, Greencastle, Ind.

In Mexico City, we thought our string of rare good fortune had at last run out. But no. On Monday morning the manager of one of those heartwarming two corporations called to say he had just returned to town, and that a car and driver were at our disposal day and night for the one-week period of our stay.

That was the third time I had heard the combination "day and night" inserted in the conversation. It made me wonder whether some of my predecessors--old buzzards in their late 30s like me-- had come down and vainly attempted to rejuvenate their youth with a pop gun burst of night life activity, or whether it was just a Latin American way of expressing an all out att.i.tude toward guests. I found them a good deal that way as I went along.

DRIVER KNOWS HIS WAY AROUND

That afternoon our driver showed up--capless and uniformless--but whatever he may have lacked in uniform, he made up for in ability, knowledge and intelligence. He was a wonder. He seemed to know everybody and what their weaknesses were--custodians, policemen, lottery ticket vendors, car watchers and parking place attendants. Known and liked by everybody, he probably hadn't a single enemy in town.

For instance, the cap of my shoe and the rest of the shoe had parted company. Did he know where a shoe sewing machine could be found? That may sound trite to you as we were in a city of 3 million people, but in Mexico City machines are as rare as bad women in Greencastle. Everything is hand work. All he said was, "We go." We did, a mile or two. The price was 50 centavos--a trifle over five cents in our money.

10% OFF ON 60 ROOSTERS

We looked around a big jewelry store. I happened to see a little sterling silver fork, the sort of thing you use to spear out olives and cherries or jab into canapes. The thing that caught my eye was that on the end of the handle was a rooster--good old Democratic stuff. It seems that a rooster in Mexico means something national--at least not political as we know it. I asked the saleswoman the price. She told me. I asked how much by the dozen. She multiplied by 12. Six dozen? She multiplied the last figure by six. I said, "Thank you," and turned to go.

Back at the car, we were talking about the forks and the design on them. Our trusty driver evidently caught the drift, because he said, "I think I know silver factory, Cheaper. We go?"

We did. How could I pa.s.s up a silver factory? There they were by the hundreds--roosters and all. Our driver went in with us. The price? It was considerably less for one than the other place. How much for a dozen? It was some less than 12 times the price of one. How much for five dozen? Some less than five times the dozen price. Fortunately, some people from Evansville came along just at the right time and I moved off.

In due time our faithful driver sidled up and said, "I get you 10% off your price."

My main idea had been to see a silver factory, but there is always a time to quit bluffing, even though you started out more or less in fun. I said, "Go buy them."

And so, I have 60 roosters. Even so, they're much cheaper than 60 roosters on the hoof.

Enrique is the name of our driver. He is a Colombian. Where and how and when he acquired his knowledge and information is probably a mystery even to his employers. Enrique is a philosopher too. His hobbies are art, fine homes and buying lottery tickets.

CHURCHES AND PYRAMIDS

Enrique is thoroughly up on his churches, and there are lots of them in Mexico as well as all South America. He said the Basilica of Guadelupe was the richest in the New World, and one of the oldest. It is in the old part of town. We arrived during Ma.s.s.

Hundreds were attending that afternoon. The altar is a ma.s.sive structure, and evidently of tremendous value. In back is a mural the Pope gave the church for its success in extending the faith.

Enrique got hold of a boy who unlocked the doors of a big wall case and showed us the gold service of the church.

We had parked the car at the side. When we left, Enrique gave some money to a man, not exactly a policeman, but somehow connected. I asked what it was for. He shrugged and said, "Graft.

If I had not given him money he would have spotted the car and the next time he would have damaged it in some way. These fellows are bad that way."

We drove next day to the pyramids--quite a distance from town.

The temple or shrine to the snake G.o.ds is something to see. Made entirely of stone masonry, the outside is adorned with those famous protruding gargoyles, still in a reasonably good state of preservation. The masonry is excellent. On top was a sacrificial altar where Enrique told us thousands of human beings, mostly women, were beheaded from time to time to appease the snakes.

Troughs led down and to each side, where two sizable wells at last stopped and held the flow of blood.

The high stone walls of the fort enclosed an area of a good many acres. The walls are more or less hollow because the priests lived inside and thought up new and more vicious ways and means of torturing a simple people.

No one seems to know who built the pyramids, or when. They were erected prior to the advent of the Aztecs, 1,500 to 3,000 years ago. The Pyramid of the Sun is 200 feet high and big around in proportion. Its building entailed millions of man hours. The Temple to the Moon is much lower and smaller, but at that was no after school hours ch.o.r.e.

THIEVES MARKET, PRIVATE SERENADE

One afternoon Enrique suggested he show us some fine homes, but I suggested we go out among the Indians and the poorer peoples'

markets.