mi genealogia y un poco mas... (my genealogy and a bit more...)

El Millonario de Utuado

2011-11-13T11:15:00.002-05:00

My Dad loved singing and playing the cuatro. He left us many beautiful memories we are so lucky to have recorded. Among the many treasures he left us are the songs he wrote. The following is my favorite.

EL MILLONARIO

by Emeterio Bermudez Lugo

Yo soy el hombre más rico

Óiganme ustedes señores

Me la paso todo el tiempo

Jugando con los millones

Me la paso todo el tiempo

Jugando con los millones

Soy padre de once hijos

4 hembras y 7 varones

Cada uno de ellos

Digo para mi valen más de cien millones

Con la ayuda de mi mujer

Trabajando solitos

Nunca le falto el pan

A ninguno de mis hijitos

Nunca le falto el pan

A ninguno de mis hijitos

Ahora yo ya envejecido

Pronto me iré con el señor

Dejándole a mis hijos

De recuerdo esta canción

Dejándole a mis hijos

De recuerdo esta canción

Copyright 2006 by Emeterio Bermudez Lugo

Emeterio Bermudez Lugo

March 1, 1928 - September 27, 2010

When I Wasn't Puerto Rican*

2010-04-23T20:21:00.001-04:00

“No culture can live, if it attempts to be exclusive.” ~Mahatma Gandhi

When I lived in New York City I was an extra for several television shows. Extras are the people you see in the shows that are in the background walking down the street or standing in a crowd while the actors perform a scene. One time I was an extra for a popular crime drama show that shall remain nameless. The shoot was taking place in a hospital, and all the extras were “holding” in an empty operating room. The male lead actor of the show, who happens to be a pretty big movie star, and who shall also remain nameless, came into the room to meet the extras and hang out with us while the crew was setting up the next scene. He told us he wanted to play a game. He wanted to guess our heritage, or what part of the world each of us originated from.

He went one by one: “You’re Eastern European,” he told a girl with a strong jaw, blondish hair and blue eyes. She told him: “That’s right, you’re good!” “You’re Middle Eastern,” he told a man with a thick uni-brow and olive skin. Right again. He continued down the line, and when he got to me he stared and examined my face. I smiled and thought to myself, “He’s never going to guess my heritage.” I got a little cocky and told him that he wasn’t going to guess correctly. He looked at me a while longer and then smirked: “Okay, so what are you?” Proudly, I said “Puerto Rican.” He looked at me with a bemused look on his face and rhetorically asked: “You’re Puerto Rican?” I nodded. He paused and then belligerently responded: “No you’re not!” “No one from Puerto Rico is really Puerto Rican!” “You better call your mommy and daddy and ask them where you’re really from ‘cuz you’re not Puerto Rican.” He chuckled and left the room. I didn’t look at anyone; my face must’ve turned every shade of red. I was livid; but I knew down deep inside that he was, for the most part, correct. I really am not Puerto Rican. I’m a lot more than Puerto Rican because heritage and culture go deeper than that.

The next day I sat in front of a computer and started googling. I entered in the search engine: “Bermudez family history genealogy” and a gaggle of websites popped up with information on how to search for your cultural roots. Three days later I found myself at the U.S. National Archives sitting in front of a microfiche reader analyzing the 1930 Census of Puerto Rico. I found my paternal grandparents listed as the first family registered in the village or “barrio” of Santa Rosa in Utuado. My dad was 2 years old. Thus began the quest to find my roots through genealogy and family history research, and the journey I’ve embarked on has been an enriching and rewarding experience because it has allowed me to know, through interviews and the documents I’ve uncovered, the way my parents, grandparents and ancestors lived their lives, and that has allowed me to understand and view my life from a more positive perspective. I know the obstacles, the accomplishments and the poverty my family lived through, and now can better appreciate my own life experiences, and as a result, feel more complete as a person.

I recently read an essay by Tom Rosenberg, a writer and immigrant from Germany whose family fled Nazi persecution in 1938, settled in New York City, and changed their surname to Ross when he was only six years old. Rosenberg’s essay: Changing My Name after Sixty Years, which appeared in Newsweek on July 17, 2000, movingly shows what motivated him to change his name at age sixty. His story is inspirational because it is more than just about changing his name. It’s a story about a man who came to grips with years of denying his heritage, and changed his surname back to Rosenberg to show his children just how important it was for him to be in touch with his family’s cultural roots. While he was embracing his Jewish heritage he was also embracing completeness as a person.

Reading his essay reminded me of a quote by Alex Haley, who wrote the epic novel Roots: “In all of us there is a hunger, marrow deep to know our heritage… without this enriching knowledge, there is a hollow yearning no matter what our attainments in life.” Rosenberg describes how in a restaurant with his family, toasting to the publication of his first novel, and to the “tenacity for staying with fiction for some thirty years,” he decided to make the announcement that he wanted to be remembered by the name he was born with. He told his children: “My parents, your grandparents, changed their name out of fear. I’m changing it back out of pride.” Tom Rosenberg felt so liberated that at one point he wanted to shout, “I’m an immigrant!” I too sometimes want to shout “I’m Puerto Rican!”

Through my research I have come to the realization that a person’s sense of cultural identity is subjective and may depend on how he/she individually feels about it. I wasn’t born in Puerto Rico, but I identify myself as Puerto Rican because both my parents are island born and taught me to love and cherish the Puerto Rican culture. It really doesn’t matter that I was born in New Jersey. New Jersey, for me, is a place my parents chose to start and raise a family. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love New Jersey and have a deep connection with the place I grew up in, but it doesn’t define who I am ethnically or culturally. What culturally defines me is the blood that runs through my veins, which is very Puerto Rican, Hispanic, Spanish, Latino, Taino, African, European or whatever you want to call it.

Yet, to a lot of Island born Puerto Ricans I’m not Puerto Rican because I was not born in Puerto Rico. They also believe that to be Puerto Rican my first language must be Spanish (it isn’t), and that I must speak Spanish like it is spoken on the Island (I don’t). They tell me that I should act more like a Puerto Rican (I like mofongo and Reggaeton, does that qualify?). The Puerto Rican “elite” argues that I’ve been “contaminated” by the American culture and therefore cannot be Puerto Rican. I want to tell them what the Hollywood star on the set of the television crime drama show told me: “No one from Puerto Rico is really Puerto Rican,” anyway.

During the early 1800’s, through the “Cédula de Gracias,” Spain, for the first time, allowed thousands of European citizens to migrate to Puerto Rico. People from all over Europe and America settled in Puerto Rico. According to Puerto Rican historian Estela Cifre de Loubriel by the mid 1800’s over 450,000 Europeans from France, Italy, Germany and America had settled in Puerto Rico. It is that eclectic contribution, together with what was already on the island (Taino, African and Spanish), and the subsequent U.S.A. influence, that really defines Puerto Ricanness. Puerto Ricans are a wonderful mixture of different cultures and heritages that are all important and should be appreciated and respected equally. All of these different heritages are mashed together just like fried plátanos, garlic and olive oil are all mashed together in a big pilón to become a delicious mofongo.

The other day I was filling out the 2010 Census and got stuck on a question; the one about my Hispanic origin. The list of options included: Hispanic, Latino, or Spanish origin; Mexican, Mexican American, Chicano; Puerto Rican; Cuban; and, other. So, I called the census office to get some clarification. The lady on the other side of the telephone read from a script: “Origin can be determined by the place you were born, or the place your parents were born, or the place your grandparents were born; it can also be what you most identify yourself with.” It was still a little unclear, but I just checked off “Puerto Rican” and called it a day.

* The title is a reference to the memoir When I Was Puerto Rican by award winning Puerto Rican writer Esmeralda Santiago.

The Puerto Rican Diaspora: A Search for Cultural Identity and Acceptance

2010-02-06T09:11:00.001-05:00

An excerpt from a recent essay I wrote for college...

"I read the greens in Spanish, but putt in English"
Chi Chi Rodriguez (Puerto Rican professional golfer)

I vividly remember my first Puerto Rican Day parade experience in New York City. After living in the city for six years and always claiming to my friends I was too “busy” to go to one, it was time to see firsthand what all the hoopla was about. My unwillingness to go to one was really not about having a thousand chores to do on a Saturday, but more about feeling a little bit of shame at how the event had become synonymous with violence. This was mainly due to a violent incident that occurred one year when a group of men surrounded several women and groped and molested them. It infuriated me that white people were stereotyping all Puerto Ricans as violent because of this incident, but at the same time it angered me that my own people were doing things to perpetuate this stereotype.

It was a hot summer day in the city and many streets where blocked off due to the large crowds. Puerto Ricans from all over New York and New Jersey were making their way to Fifth Avenue with their flags in hand, wearing t-shirts with colorful patriotic sayings, faces painted red white and blue, and exuding what I thought at the moment was a little too much enthusiasm as they screamed “yo soy Boricua!” But as I approached Fifth Avenue something interesting occurred; the people and the avenue disappeared. All I saw were thousands of Puerto Rican flags being waved back and forth like a sea of red, white and blue covering the black asphalt from side to side and heading hundreds of blocks towards downtown Manhattan. It was a sight that gave me goose bumps. An intense feeling of excitement and pride took over me as I buoyantly jumped up and down, feverishly waved my flag and screamed from the top of my lungs “Yo soy Boricuaaaa!” For those few hours the social inequalities and the stereotypes were forgotten, and I enjoyed with thousands of other children of the diaspora the excitement at being able to share my Puerto Rican pride and culture with the city and the world.

Diaspora is a term that refers to the re-location or the moving of people who share a common national and cultural identity (“Diaspora” n.d.). The Puerto Rican diaspora and their children in the United States are caught between two very different worlds: The United States and Puerto Rico. Is the moving back and forth across the Atlantic Ocean from the Island to the U.S. (both figuratively and literally) having some sort of negative impact on the Puerto Rican diaspora and their children’s quest for cultural identity and social acceptance? What factors contribute to the prejudice the children of the diaspora face in the United States? The identity and social issues affecting the Puerto Rican diaspora and their children are many, and they are caused by many different factors; but the main factor responsible for perpetuating these problems is Puerto Rico’s colonial/dependant status with the United States and the way this complicated relationship is perceived by everyone involved.

Many Puerto Rican scholars, both in Puerto Rico and in the United States, have explored the issues facing the Puerto Rican diaspora and their children. Jorge Duany (2002) calls them “la nacion en vaivén,” or “the nation on the move.” He uses the Spanish folk term vaivén to symbolize a people who are constantly coming and going. He says: “It (vaivén) implies that some people do not stay put in one place for a long period of time but move incessantly, like the wind or the waves of the sea, in response to shifting tides… more ominously, vaivén also connotes unsteadiness, inconstancy, and oscillation” (Duany, 2002, p. 2).

“Incessantly” moving back and forth is something very familiar to me. From age ten through sixteen the only grades finished completely in one place were eighth and tenth grade because during every other school year my family was moving back and forth between New Jersey and San Juan. It wasn’t easy moving back and forth, leaving friends behind and starting with a class midway through a school year. In more than one occasion, I remember my mother arguing with school directors in Puerto Rico who insisted in putting me back a grade just because it was standard school policy if Spanish wasn’t my primary language; she’d quickly take out my neatly folded grades from her purse and emphatically insist: “¡Pero el es un niño inteligente y tiene buenas notas!” Back in the United States, placing children born in the U.S. to Puerto Ricans in a special bilingual class was standard policy too, but my mother didn’t argue about that because she wanted me to be bilingual. It was important for my parents that my siblings and I have a strong connection with Puerto Rico and the Spanish language.

Yet, for my brother and me, making the transition to life in Puerto Rico was hard. The first year in Puerto Rico was the hardest; we hated the island and our parents for bringing us there. We bombarded them with complaints on a daily basis about everything: the school, the heat, the mosquitoes, anything to show them how disgruntled we were. One of the problems that this moving back and forth created was a confused cultural identity. In New Jersey our identity was Puerto Rican and that is how we were viewed and treated by our American friends and our teachers. That changed in Puerto Rico where we became “gringos” or “Americanos.” Many fights erupted in our San Juan school yard between us and Puerto Rican kids who insisted in reminding us daily that we were not Puerto Rican. The name calling didn’t stop with “gringo” and “Americano,” some kids came up with some creative nick names for us like, “huevo blanco.” The teasing and fighting got so bad that my brother fashioned knuckle rings out of a pair of metal scissor handles. He never had the intention of using them (thankfully!); he just wanted to show the bullies his cleverly crafted weapon, and maybe that would get them to stop.

Fortunately, the teasing and the school yard violence eased and became sporadic incidents few and far between. We started making friends in school and were lucky to live in a great neighborhood with a lot of kids our age who were very happy to have us there; we ended up loving Puerto Rico. It was an amazing experience being able to know life in the U.S. and in Puerto Rico at the same time; and the experience, good and bad included, has afforded my brother and I a sensibility, a greater awareness of our culture, and a better understanding of our unique Puerto Ricannes. I now am grateful to my parents for giving us that experience.

Utuado and its place in the history of modern electricity in Puerto Rico

2009-10-12T22:19:00.000-04:00

Utuado has the distinction of being the first city in Puerto Rico to have a public electric power plant operated by hydraulic water turbines. This power plant installed in Utuado in 1896 provided electricity to part of the downtown Utuado area.

Hydroelectricity is the production of power through use of the gravitational force of falling or flowing water. Lago Dos Bocas is one of several hydroelectric power plants in Puerto Rico (it's located in Utuado & Arecibo) and hydroelectricity is the most widely used form of renewable energy in the world today.

Now, there were cities in Puerto Rico before Utuado that had electric power plants. In 1893 in Villalba, which was still a barrio of Juana Diaz, Don Jose Ramón Figueroa installed in his residence a small portable electric plant operated by water vapors. The water was vaporized in a pot using petroleum, and this produced the power to supply electricity to a light outside of his residence. Without a doubt this was the first electric power plant on the island.

In San Juan and Mayaguez there were also electric power plants before Utuado. But again, these were similar to the one Don Figueroa had. They were portable, powered in a similar fashion and could only provide electricity to a few homes, a theatre or a plaza.

In 1893 Juan Casellas became the mayor of Utuado, and in my opinion, one of the most dynamic and visionary mayors Utuado has ever had. He emigrated to Utuado from Mallorca Spain with his brother Antonio and here befriended Francisco Pujol, an engineer who was also from Mallorca. Together they formed the company Casellas and Cía. This company quickly became one of the biggest and most powerful business' in Utuado during the late 1800's, a time when Utuado was experiencing its most economically prosperous period, thanks to the booming coffee industry. During this time coffee was known as "oro negro" or "black gold."

I can imagine the hustle and bustle and the flurry of activity taking place in downtown Utuado during this prosperous time. Coffee was king and the coffee produced here was so famous it was shipped to places like Rome and Prague and sipped in fancy cafés all over Europe.

In 1890 Utuado was the principal producer of Puerto Rican coffee and the second municipality (after Ponce) with the largest population on the island.

It was the Casella brothers and Pujol that built the first modern hydroelectric plant in Puerto Rico. The plant collected the water from the Viví river (that runs along downtown Utuado), then it travelled through a system of canals and dropped over a series of hydraulic turbines. This process produced 120 volts of power that by day processed coffee and by night provided electricity to the downtown area.

The building that housed the Casellas and Cía's business and electric power plant still exists today, but it is sadly in ruins. It was almost demolished many years ago but a group of concerned citizens alerted the Institute of Puerto Rican Culture (ICP). The ICP intervened, but not before a large part of the building had already been turned into rubble.

My wish is that one-day what's left of this building can be restored and turned into a museum. It could be a place where students and people from all over the island can come and experience a very important part of our culture and history.

References:

Picó, F. (1983) Libertad y servidumbre en el puerto rico del siglo XIX. San Juan, P.R.: Ediciones Huracan

Seijo, C. E. (1955) Datos históricos de utuado y su planta electrica. San Juan, P.R.: Casa Baldrich Inc.

Hernandez Paralitici, P. H. (1983) Utuado, notas para su historia. San Juan, P.R.: Comité Historia de los Pueblos.

The newly constructed hydroelectric power plant in 1896

The above 3 photos are what's left of Casellas and Cía and

Puerto Rico's first hydroelectric power plant.

Family Summary: Emeterio "Tello" Bermúdez Lugo y Norma Iris Mercado Bermúdez

2009-04-28T21:22:00.000-04:00

Tello was born in Barrio Santa Rosa, Utuado Puerto Rico on March 1 1928. He is the son of Juan Hilario “Eladio” Bermúdez Ruíz (1895 - 1971) and Juana Maria Lugo Capetillo (1902 - 1988), both from Utuado, Puerto Rico.

Norma Iris was born in Barrio Caguana, Utuado Puerto Rico on January 17 1935. She is the daughter of Trinidad Mercado Hernández (1914 - 1962) and Elvira Bermúdez González (1913 - 1998).

On January 3 1951 Baptist Reverend Jaime Vargas married Tello and Norma Iris in Barrio Caguana Utuado in the home of Norma Iris’ grandparents Ramón Bermúdez Ruíz and Candelaria Gonzalez Rivera.

At the time he married, Tello was a farmhand (peón) in the farm of his cousin Sofia Bermúdez Gonzalez and her husband Regino Borrero. On the 20th of January of that same year Tello left to the United States to find work and to establish a new life for his new family. He left Norma Iris living with his parents and siblings and also left her a paid weekly milk delivery from the nearby store.

His intention was to send for her as soon as he secured a place for them to live in the USA. He worked in various farms in Florida for 2 months, and then moved to New Jersey where several family members already lived.

Even though he did not have a place for them to live yet, he sent for Norma Iris on March of 1951, just 3 months after they married. Norma said she was not happy with her living arrangement in Pastales and sent him a letter giving him an ultimatum: "send for me soon or I'm going back to live with my mother.”

During their first few years in New Jersey, Tello and Norma worked and lived in several farms including: Tirreli Farm in Malaga, Cantor Chicken Farm and Freedman’s Farm. It was during the time they worked for Mr. Freedman that Tello and Norma Iris could finally afford an apartment of their own at Colonial Apartments on Landis Avenue.

They paid $35 dollars a week for a fully furnished 1-bedroom apartment.

In 1953 Tello started working at Stern’s Hatchery where he was paid 75 cents an hour and worked 12 hours a day, 7 days a week. It was his first hourly wage job and he worked there for 9 years.

While working at Stern’s, Tello and Norma Iris moved to an apartment on Montrose Street owned by Mr. Valera.

In 1955 Norma Iris’ mother Elvira “Mitin”, sister Camila, brother Ramon “Moncho” and Elvira’s husband Manuel “Neco” González moved to New Jersey from Utuado and lived in the apartment next to Tello and Norma.

In 1960 they bought their first home at 629 Montrose Street. They lived in this 2 family home for about 5 years.

Tello left Stern’s and worked for a short period at Freedman’s Bakery (no relation to Freedman’s Farm), then left the bakery in about 1964 and took a maintenance job at the Isaac Schwartzman building on Wood Street. Mr. Schwartzman also owned a clothing store on Landis Avenue.

In 1965 Tello and Norma Iris already had 9 children, 5 boys and 4 girls. They sold their home on Montrose Street and bought a bigger home at 224 Almond Street with a big back yard.

Tello worked for Mr. Schwartzman for about 5 years and with Mr. Schwartzman’s advice and help started his own commercial cleaning business in about 1969: Bermúdez Janitorial Service. Mr. Schwartzman became Tello’s first client and more clients were quickly added: the local YMCA and a church on Main and Sherman.

In the early 1970’s Tello started a second business selling his popular “helado de coco” (a Puerto Rican version of Italian Ice made with coconut milk). He called his business “The Good Flavor.”

Norma Iris worked with my father in the farms up until 1953 when she started working at Shapiro Clothing Factory on 6th Street and Montrose. In 1955 she left Shapiro’s for Crown Clothing on 609 Paul St, and in 1975 she left Crown and started working at Phoenix Clothing up until 1979.

Tello maintained both businesses until he retired in 1979, the same year they moved to Puerto Rico, hoping a change to a warmer climate would help Tello’s arthritis. They moved to Cupey Bajo in Rio Piedras with their two youngest children: Obed and Joel.

After returning from Puerto Rico in 1986, Norma started working again at Crown Clothing until retiring several years later.

Tello and Norma currently live in South Vineland. Tello still makes his famous helado and mavi every once in a while and Norma loves cooking for her family that has increased from 11 to over 70 members including children, daughter and son-in-laws, grandchildren, great grandchildren and great-great grandchildren.

Children:

1. Elizabeth Bermúdez Mercado

2. Dennis Bermúdez Mercado

3. Miram Bermúdez Mercado

4. Ruth Bermúdez Mercado

5. Ezekial Bermúdez Mercado

6. Ismael Bermúdez Mercado

7. Emeterio Jr. Bermúdez Mercado

8. Judith Bermúdez Mercado

9. Elias Bermúdez Mercado

10. Obed Bermúdez Mercado

11. Joel Bermúdez Mercado

All eleven children were born in Vineland Newcomb Hospital.

mi muchachita...

2009-04-28T19:20:00.000-04:00

Norma Iris Mercado Bermúdez y Emeterio Bermúdez Lugo (circa 1955)

Lo primero que hice cuando comencé a investigar mi genealogía fue sentarme con mis padres y hacerle diez mil preguntas. Mi papá ofreció escribirme lo que se recordaba de cómo el conoció y se enamoro de mi mamá. Como al pasar un mes me entrego 12 paginas escritas a mano, y aquí comparto con ustedes parte de lo que el me escribrió.

* * * * * * *

Como y Cuando Conocí a mi esposa fue en el año del 48. Tenia mi Tío Ramón Bermúdez, hermano de mi Papá, una finca de café en la altura de Caguana de Utuado, Puerto Rico. Estaban comenzando a coger el café y mi Papa fue a visitarlo, era un fin de semana. Mi papá regresó a casa y nos dijo que se iba a ir unos días a casa de su hermano para ayudarle a coger el café y llevo con el dos de mis hermanas, Margarita y Chava. Para ese entonces vivía allá con mi Tío, Elvira, hija de mi Tío Ramón quien estaba separada de su esposo, con sus dos hijas Norma Iris y Camila y su hijo Moncho. Al fin de esa primera semana de trabajar con mi tío, mi papa regreso a casa con mis dos hermanas, pero vino con ellos Norma Iris, quien hoy es mi esposa y tu mamá. Yo no estaba en casa cuando llegaron, había ido a la finca a buscar un racimo de guineo para el almuerzo. Cuando llegué a casa, puse el racimo de guineo en el piso, arce mi viste y miré a papá y a mis hermanas. Luego miré a aquella jovencita y me pasmé mirándola. Mi papá me dijo “salúdala hijo, ella es la hija de tu prima Elvira”. Entonces le di la mano y cuando las manos se unieron una con la otra sentí algo tan extraño en mi. Fue como si hubiese tenido el mundo todo en mis manos. Desde ese momento me enamore locamente de la muchachita. Le dije a una de mis hermanas, no recuerdo si fue a Chava o Margarita, “vamos afuera a la finca y dile a Iris que se venga contigo.” Y me acostumbre desde ese entonces a llamarla Iris.

(l to r) Felix Bermúdez Cuevas, Margarita Bermúdez Lugo, Isabel Bermúdez Lugo, Isaias Bermúdez Cuevas,

la niña atras es Miriam Bermúdez González, hija de Felix

Nos fuimos a la finca hasta un lugar que le llamábamos Los Llanos. Allí corte un pedazo de caña, la munde en rallas y le di a ella y a mi hermana. Pero yo no le quitaba los ojos a la muchachita, tirándole guiñaditas todo el tiempo. Regresamos a casa y llego la noche. El día siguiente, Domingo por la tarde, papá se iba de nuevo a casa de Tío Ramón con mis dos hermanas y la muchachita. Yo empecé a sentirme muy triste. Llego la tarde y se fueron. Una vez que se fueron la tristeza era tan grande que comencé a llorar, un llanto con muchas lagrimas. Yo no quería que me vieran llorando, pues me fui a un lugar que había en la finca que se le llamaba La Jaya. Ahí me hinqué debajo de un palo de guayaba y comencé a orar y a clamar a Dios que me quitara aquel sufrimiento, aquella tristeza. Oyó el señor mi oración y me sentí mejor, pero la muchachita no se me iba de la mente, la veía delante de mí. Mi papa regresaba con mis dos hermanas el próximo sábado pero yo entre mi, me hacía la pregunta – ¿Vendrá mi muchachita con ellos? ¿La dejarán volver? Y cada vez que lo pensaba, lagrimas surcaban mis mejillas. Era un sufrimiento y una tristeza que me dominaba. Aquella semana se me hizo un año. Por fin llego el sábado y ese día me levante bien temprano, hice todo lo que tenia que hacer, me prepare y me puse frente al camino a mirar y a esperar. Los minutos se me hacían horas. Luego oí unas conversaciones, ¿Vendría ella con ellos? Ví a mi papá, mis dos hermanas y mi muchachita venia con ellos. Que alegría, me sentí como el joven mas feliz del mundo.

Ese día me dio mas razón para estar alegre porque mi papá me trajo una gran noticia. Me dijo que mi primo Abraham, hijo de Tío Ramón, tenia un caballo y quiera que yo me fuera para allá a cuidársela y que me iba pagar trece dólares mensuales por el trabajo. Esto para mi fue una gran noticia porque yo me iba a mudar para el barrio donde vivía mi muchachita y la podía ver todos los días. No se me hizo muy fácil despedirme de mi mamá, mis hermanos y hermanas, pero era tanto el amor que sentía hacia la muchachita que me llene de animo y valor y con muchas lagrimas en mis ojos recogí mis cositas y me fui así a la casa de mi Tío Ramón, camino de dos horas o mas. Pero el camino se me hico corto pensando en que iba a estar tan cerca de, diría yo esta vez, mi gran amor. Bueno, estuve trabajando con el primo unos meses pero aconteció que el se embarco para los Estados Unidos, vendió el caballo y yo me quede sin sueldo. Pero no me fui. Me quede con mi Tío Ramón y la Tía Canda para estar cerca de mi muchachita. Como de costumbre, los fines de semana, iba a ver a mis padres y a mis hermanos y hermanas.

Para ese entonces ya yo estaba planeando ofrecerle matrimonio a mi muchachita. ¿Pero con que me iba a casar? No tenia ni cinco centavos. Un fin de semana llegue a casa de mis padres y me entere que mi Papá tenia un pasaje para salir para la América y se había arrepentido de irse. Yo pensé que seria una buena oportunidad para mi, le pediría ese pasaje a mi padre y me iría yo para los Estados Unidos a trabajar a la finca y ganar algún dinero para casarme. No era muy fácil viajar en aquellos tiempos, eran unos aviones pequeños de un motor que los llamaban las estufas de Dónate y por eso mi papa se arrepintió de irse. Bueno, hablé con mi papá y me dijo que si, me cojeria el riesgo. Ahora me faltaba una parte muy difícil, hablar y despedirme de mi muchachita y decirle cuales eran mis propósitos. Eso me hacia sentir muy triste.

Regresé a la casa de mi Tío Ramón y ahora tenia la gran tarea de buscar la forma de cómo hablar con mi muchachita. No era fácil, teníamos que estar solos los dos y eran pocas las oportunidades. Por fin salio ella para la tienda a comprar algo a un poco de distancia y me fui que nadie me viera. Coji un atrecho y salí al camino por donde ella tenia que regresar y allí me senté en una piedra y espere que regresara. Cuando la vi venir, me puse en pie. Ella trato de pasar pero yo la encorrale y le pedí por favor que tenia que hablar con ella. Entonces se detuvo como a unos diez pies de distancia de mi. Le dije que yo iba a salir para la América pero que yo a ella nunca la iba a olvidar y que ella tampoco me valle a olvidar y que yo iba a regresar pronto. Mi mayor intención era darle un besito de despedida, pero no me atreví acercármele porque la ví muy nerviosa. Era un lunes y al otro día me fui...

Juan Hilario "Eladio" Bermúdez Ruíz

2009-04-23T12:26:00.000-04:00

One thing I’ve learned while researching my genealogy is that sometimes you uncover things about your ancestors that may come as a surprise. I haven’t uncovered anything earth shattering yet, like say, an ancestor whose committed treason or murder (yikes). I hope I never do (knock on wood).

While researching my paternal grandfather Juan Hilario “Eladio” Bermúdez Ruíz’ I discovered that he was born out of wedlock. I know that nowadays that isn’t such a big deal, but back in the late 1800’s it was a very big deal.

I remember sitting in front of a microfilm viewer at the Woodside Family History Center and going through hundreds of demographic records looking for Eladio and Juana's marriage record with no luck whatsoever. Since I wasn't having any luck finding it under his name, I started looking under her name and finally found it. But to my surprise it stated she was married to Eladio Ruíz and “Bermúdez” appeared nowhere on the document. The marriage record also said that Eladio Ruíz was “hijo ilegitmo” or illegitimate son of Ignacia Ruiz, not Margarita Ruiz, like I had always been told.

Hmmm. Needless to say, I was intrigued.

According to my research my great-grandfather Amador “Amante” Bermúdez Cortéz (b. 21 Jun 1860, Utuado, d. abt. 1936, Utuado) was married to Margarita Ruíz Cortéz (6 Oct 1866, Utuado, d. abt. 1894) on Oct. 27 1884 and with her had 7 children the last born being Jose Bartolomé. Margarita died shortly after giving birth to Bartolomé, then a few months later her sister Ignacia Ruíz Cortéz (b. 30 Aug 1870, Utuado, d. abt. 1923) became pregnant with my grandfather Eladio. Ignacia had one more child with Amante, Juan Julio (1 Oct 1900, Utuado). After that I'm not sure what happened to Ignacia. Amante remarried in 1905 with Josefa Hernandez Melendez and with Josefa had 6 children.

Amante never legally recognized my grandfather Eladio, but according to the census records Eladio lived with his father, his step-mother and his 6 half brothers and sisters.

It wasn’t until 1956 that my grandfather, while in Puerto Rico, filed a petition in court to get his last name corrected. He was able to do this by taking his surviving half-siblings to testify on his behalf and vouch that he was indeed the son of Amador Bermúdez Cortéz.

I want to point out the error in some of the documents that state “Rios” instead of “Ruíz.” It first shows up in Eladio’s birth record and again in the court documents. I mentioned this to a worker at the San Juan Demographic Registry and she told me that it happened a lot back then, that a name or last name was heard incorrectly, recorded incorrectly and the mistake repeated many times thereafter.

La cultura de ser

2009-04-19T10:08:00.000-04:00

“a nuestro entender, un programa social que restaura la felicidad y la dignidad del puertorriqueño deberá hacerse sobre valores éticos y espirituales de una cultura de ser: que encauce la generosidad, la libertad, la compasión, la justicia y la solidaridad como principios por los que vale luchar para vivir y morir”. Dr. José R. González

Vivo en Utuado y cuando bajo al casco urbano el sucio y el descuido en que se encuentran las calles y edificios me causa mucha tristeza. Yo comparo Utuado a una casa abandonada, una casa donde los dueños y los que viven en ella se han olvidado totalmente de ella y ya no les importa ni su apariencia ni lo que le pasa. Como resultado, la casa se ha deteriorado, las paredes se han caído, los pisos de marmol que una vez brillaban se han desaparecido bajo del sucio, los aparatos de cocina han cambiado de color blanco a color moho, y lo peor de todo, los tecatos y deambulantes se han metido y tomado control de ella. Puerto Rico padece de una enfermedad muy complicada, una enfermedad que esta oprimiendo a muchos pueblos de la isla, incluyendo a mi querido Utuado, y eso es la falta de cultura. Esta en ausencia una mentalidad o conciencia de lo que es verdaderamente ser un persona con cultura, y este es el problema que expone tan elocuentemente el Dr. José R. González en su articulo “La cultura de ser y la cultura de tener.” Cultura no es solamente apreciar nuestra música, nuestra comida típica y conocer la fecha en que se fundó el pueblo, como dice José A. Cáceres en el texto Sociología y Educación “también forman parte de la cultura actividades como el barrer el piso, preparar la comida y fregar los platos… estas actividades son tan importantes como los conocimientos y los refinamientos.” Cultura es conocer y proteger nuestra historia pasada, cultura es proteger nuestro patrimonio histórico arquitectónico, cultura es mantener limpiecito y bello el pedacito de tierra que nos toca en este mundo, cultura es vivir en armonía con nuestros vecinos y compartir y ayudarles cuando nos necesiten, cultura es, como dice Cáseres, “nuestra herencia social”, y esta herencia social transferida a nosotros de generación a generación es una tan y tan rica que no tiene precio, es como tratar de ponerle un precio a los ojos azules de un bebe o a la voz de un cantante, es imposible porque estos rasgos innatos no tienen precio.

¿Cuándo comenzó este problema? ¿Por qué comenzó este problema? ¿Y quien o quienes tienen la culpa de que exista este problema? Son preguntas que requieren mucha investigación y estudio para contestar correcta y completamente, pero lo que si se es que esta enfermedad ha existido en Puerto Rico por mucho tiempo, y la recuperación de nuestra cultura tomara mucho tiempo, esfuerzo, amor y mas que todo educación. Ese es el reto que nos espera a mis compañeros de clase y yo que en el presente nos encontramos en preparación para convertirnos en maestros en Puerto Rico. Nos tocará como maestros educar al estudiante en lo que es realmente cultura y en lo que es verdaderamente ser una persona culta. Nos tocará como maestros envolver a los padres de los estudiantes y a la comunidad entera en el dialogo para que todos juntos podamos aprender y aplicar lo aprendido y poco a poco curar esta enfermedad que agobia a nuestro pueblo. Se que va tomar mucho tiempo y quizás ni veremos los resultados en nuestra vida, pero cuando nos toque irnos de este mundo podremos partir tranquilitos sabiendo que hemos sembrado la semilla, y nos podremos ir con la esperanza de que nuestros estudiantes siembren sus semillitas y los estudiantes de ellos hagan igual hasta que un día por fin se erradique por completo este achaque socio-cultural.

Otro elemento destructor que intensifica el problema cultural en nuestro pueblo es el amor y obsesión con lo material; para el puertorriqueño es mucho mas importante su apariencia y sus posesiones: el carro, la ropa, los muebles, la piscina, su cuerpo, etc. Dice el Dr. González en su articulo “el materialismo, como escala de valor y el consumismo, con su efecto, producen la ‘cultura del tener’… ‘tanto tienes, tanto vales’. Se valora a las personas por sus posesiones… la tendencia es a las relaciones posesivas”. De veras que me quedo pasmado con la cantidad de personas en Plaza del Norte en cualquier día de la semana, no hay donde uno estacionarse, y eso en plena crisis económica y en un país donde el ingreso “per capita”, de acuerdo con el censo de 2000, es un magro 9,808 dólares anuales y en un país donde se estima que un 45% de la población vive en pobreza. ¿Donde se ha escondido el sentido común?

Tener cultura es contagioso. Había una vez una casa cerca de donde vivo que había estado vacía por mas de tres años, el descuido era tanto que ya no se reconocía ni el color de pintura que tenia y la maleza ya llegaba mas allá del techo, en un día soleado uno pasaba por esta casa y desaparecía el sol, como si siempre estaba una nube negra sobre ella, como con la casa de la familia Adams. Pues, esta casa fue comprada por una familia, y poco a poco y con mucho trabajo y sudor la arreglaron. Le dieron un color terracota bello, limpiaron la jardinera y sembraron unas trinitarias de un color rojo que nunca recuerdo haber visto en mi vida. La casa adquirió vida, y los carros pasaban y deceleraban un poco para apreciar todos los nuevos detalles que le habían dado sus nuevos dueños. Entonces algo muy interesante paso, los vecinos, me imagino que inspirados por lo que ocurría al lado de ellos, empezaron a recoger, limpiar, pintar y embellecer sus propias casas, y en menos de un año todas las propiedades en el área estaban bien bonitas y llenas de vida. El sol comenzó a brillar de nuevo en ese sector del barrio y lo que una vez causaba vergüenza y tristeza, comenzó a ser algo que producía inspiración, orgullo y felicidad.

World War I - Ricardo Lugo Cuevas

2009-04-03T14:52:00.000-04:00

Ricardo Lugo Cuevas (b. abt. 1880 Lares - d. abt. 1935 Utuado)

On March 2, 1917 Woodrow Wilson signed into law the Jones-Shafroth Act, also known as the "Jones Act" or "Jones Law of Puerto Rico" granting US citizenship to all citizens of Puerto Rico.

On May 18th of that same year the Selective Service Act was passed authorizing the President to increase temporarily the military establishment of the USA. During World War I there were three registrations. The first, on June 5, 1917, was for all men between the ages of 21 and 31. The second, on June 5, 1918, registered those who had reached 21 after June 5, 1917. The third registration was held on September 12, 1918, for men 18 through 45.

Having been granted US citizenship merely months before the act was put into law, thousands of Puerto Rican men registered for the War including my great-grandfather Ricardo.

Transcription of registration card:

Ricardo Lugo Cuevas

Direccion recidencia permanente: Caguana Utuado

Edad: 42

Fecha de nacimiento: 1876

Raza: Blanco

Cuidadania de los Estados Unidos: De nacimiento

Ocupacion Actual: Labrador

Nombre de (principal?): Domingo Cuevas

Sitio de empleo: Caguana, Utuado

Pariente mas cercano: Nemesia Capetillo, Caguana Utuado

Descripcion del incsripto:

Estatura: Mediana,

Constitucion: Delgado

Color de los ojos: Negro

Color de pelo: Negro

Signed: R. Espada Oct. 26(?), 1918

Mi madre: Norma Iris Mercado Bermúdez

2009-04-03T12:48:00.000-04:00

My mother: Norma Iris Mercado Bermúdez de Bermúdez

(b. 1935 Utuado)

This photo was taken when my mother was 14 years old during the Patron Saint festival in Utuado Puerto Rico. At the time she had been dating my father, Emeterio Bermúdez Lugo (b. 1928 Utuado), for about a year, he was in the USA working the farms and she took the photo to send to him.

Mom comes from a strict Pentecostal upbringing (i.e., women do not wear make-up or jewelry) and this is the only time I have seen her "done up" like this. The necklace was a gift from her father, my grand-pop, Trinidad Mercado Hernandez (b. 1914 Utuado, d. 1962 Youngstown Ohio), and the make-up belonged to her Aunt Gica, who helped her get ready for the picture.

She mailed the photo to my dad and there is some debate as to how he reacted when he received it. Mom says dad wrote her a letter saying he was not happy about her wearing jewelry and make-up; he allegedly said "you're becoming worldly "impia" like your aunt Gica." Now my dad says he had no such reaction and that he even brought her back a necklace from his trip.

Hmmm. Regardless, the photo was in my father's wallet for over 20 years and it now sits on his dresser.