During the height of the Great Depression, my great-grandfather, Jose Patricio Martinez, whose wife had recently passed away, took his two teenage sons, Jose Medardo and Jose Patricio, and left their tiny village in Northern New Mexico in search of a better life in Utah. He left his 16-year old daughter, Maria, with relatives and sent for her later.
(Photo courtesy of Catherine Martines Mortensen) Jose Patricio Martinez, who moved from New Mexico to work in Utah's Bingham Copper Mine during the Great Depression.
The Martinez family descended from Conquistadors who farmed the land north of Santa Fe for more than 300 years. As far as we know, these three men were the first in their family to ever venture more than 50 miles from where they were born. They spoke English, but with heavy Spanish accents from their native tongue. When the father was born, New Mexico was still a U.S. territory. By the time his children were born, New Mexico had gained statehood. I like to joke that my ancestors didn’t come to America as much as America came to them.
The Martinez men found work in the Bingham Copper Mine, west of Salt Lake City. I often try to imagine what life was like for them living among the descendants of predominantly Mormon pioneers from England and Scandinavia. My father says his grandfather was a quiet, soft-spoken man who probably learned quickly that to make it in Utah he had to keep his head down and stay-out-of-trouble.
I remember my grandfather, Jose Medardo, as a hard-working, diligent man who never wanted to draw attention to himself. I imagine if they’d remained in Santa Fe, they’d have been more outgoing and animated. As it was, they did their best to fit it, even if it meant losing some of their identity.
My grandfather became a welder in the 1940s and, thanks to good union wages, he provided a stable, middle-class life for his family in Salt Lake City. At one point, he even considered buying a home in the East Bench of Salt Lake, a more affluent part of the city. They could have afforded it, but my grandmother didn’t feel she would fit in among “those people.” As a result, they lived their life in an enclave of blue-collar families, many with Spanish surnames, afraid that improving their lives would be seen as presumptuous or abandoning their culture.
My father remembers as a child Jehovah’s Witnesses coming to their door sharing a gospel message that the family seemed receptive to, until they were told that the faith frowned upon saluting national flags. My grandfather immediately ended the discussion saying that he could never be a part of any faith that didn’t allow him to salute the American flag. That made a huge impression on my father, who took that patriotism to heart.
In his youth, my father determined he would serve his country and after high school was accepted into one of the first classes of the United States Air Force Academy. He went on to serve his country as a pilot in Southeast Asia during the Vietnam War and retired a colonel after 28 years of service.
If my father ever faced racism or discrimination, he’s never talked about it, nor did his father before him. They were totally focused on getting what my grandmother called “a steady job.” In her mind, there was nothing higher to be achieved. The men of my family worked hard at whatever job they had and never complained. They loved their country, were proud of it, and grateful for the opportunities it gave them.
That's why it's so hard for me to process what is going on right now with some condemning our country. Many of us who come from minority backgrounds were raised to love America. We were taught to work hard and to accept the fact that life isn't always fair.
I understand that minorities have often been treated unfairly and been greatly disadvantaged by institutional racism. But, I also know that Americans are a loving, caring, kind, generous people. We share a complicated history. I would like to see Americans pull together instead of pull apart and learn to accept our imperfect past and commit to doing better moving forward.
When looking into our past, I like to follow the advice of British novelist, L.P. Hartley who wrote, "The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there." When we visit the past, we don't want to be the "ugly tourist" and impose our cultural norms and morals on them. Our ancestors weren't perfect. They made mistakes, just as we do. Let's forgive them and commit to improving ourselves before condemning them.
Catherine Martines Mortensen
Catherine Martines Mortensen, a communications consultant who lives in Fairfax, Virginia, spent childhood summers in Utah with her cousins and still visits frequently to see family in Salt Lake City.
