Thursday, February 23,1989 The Battalion Page 15
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HUMIRA, Mexico (AP) — Pedro
Martenz doesn’t think of himself as
anoutcast; he says he is a pioneer.
He sold his Mennonite horse
iggy a year ago for 1 million pesos
-about $400. He now owns a 7-ton
truck. He has long since
jbandoned his sect’s traditional
denim overalls and straw hat for a
of jeans and a baseball cap ad
vertising Cargill tractors. And he
lives alone, with his wife and two
, on a tiny farm 100 miles south
of the conservative German Menno-
nitecolony where he was born.
“It makes me sad that Mennonites
so closed,” Martenz says, speak
ing Spanish carefully over an eve-
cup of tea in his adobe farm
house. “They keep themselves in a
very, very closed circle. ”
Martenz expresses no regrets at
leaving the traditional Old Colony
Mennonite Church. Speaking softly
over the Mexican pop tunes of his
15-year-old son Albuino’s cassette
jlayer — a strict taboo in conserva-
jve Mennonite households — he
ays he can carry forward his faith in
God without the social constraints of
sect. He can proselytize among
Tarahumara Indians who are his
lew neighbors without being looked
lown upon.
The reclusive Tarahumaras —
themselves a closed society — stop by
the homestead of El Menonita Sun-
to savor Old World delicacies
ike Dutch shortbread and German
hocolate cake.
Tom between the generations-old
brces of tradition and the demands
if surviving in a fast-paced, industri-
ilized society, Martenz and his fam-
ly represent an archetype for grow-
ng numbers of German Mennonite
donists living in northern Mexico:
younger generation of liberalized
ect members who have broken the
closed circle” of more than 400
ears of self-imposed isolation.
Like the plainness of their tradi-
ional dress, Mennonite philosophy
painted in the subdued colors of
implicity and humility. Founded in
lolland during the religious refor-
nation of the 16th century, the
Mennonite faith is a pacifist tradi-
ion that renounces all oaths to any
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Old Mennonite culture comes
to grips with modern customs
man-made institutions.
Its adherents have migrated en
masse across Europe, Russia, Can
ada, the United States and finally
Latin America, fleeing military serv
ice and tenaciously guarding their
old European language and cus
toms. Like the Pennsylvania Amish,
reliance on modern technology —
excluding tractors, which enhance
work — is considered lazy and frivo
lous.
About half of the estimated
50,000 Mennonites in Mexico live in
the state of Chihuahua. Mennonite
“X
I he power of the
community to keep people
integrated into the society
is weakening. It’s going
toward a nuclear family
system, and the church is
losing its ethical and moral
sway over these people.”
— Dr. Calvin Redecop,
sociologist
sources there say thousands have
auctioned their farms in recent
years. Some 200 families have
moved to Argentina in the past year
alone.
Other destinations for emigration
have included a small colony in
Seminole, Texas, and the traditional
“Old Country” of central Cana
da. Mennonite church officials re
port the Seminole community has
grown from 650 in the mid-1970s to
a current population of about 3,000.
In Canada, experts estimate that as
many as 10,000 Mennonites have
emigrated from Mexico to the prov
ince of Ontario in the past five years.
“It’s a complicated movement,”
says a prominent Mennonite from
Cuauhtemoc, Chihuahua, who
asked not to be named. “Yes, it’s true
that the prolonged economic crisis
here has impacted us.
“ But there’s a certain amount of
sieving going on; the more conserva
tive who are worried about the dilut
ion effects of modem technology are
heading south to, say, Argentina.
For many of the more liberalized
(Mennonites), economics alone is the
motive, and they’ll move north, to
the United States or Canada. ”
Some Mennonite experts say that
the growing Mennonite mobility is
inevitable as the sect’s younger gen
erations become exposed to the out
side world.
“In 1987 a woman of Mennonite
descent won the Miss Chihuahua
state beauty contest,” says Dr. Den
nis Bixler Marquez, a University of
Texas at El Paso researcher who has
studied Mennonite migratory pat
terns. “This is about as far out as you
can get. It’s kind of bizarre. ”
“(The Mennonites) are going
through an internal decay,” says Dr.
Calvin Redecop, a sociologist and
Mennonite expert at Conrad Grebel
College in Waterloo, Canada.
“The power of the community to
keep people integrated into the so
ciety is weakening,” he says. “It’s
going toward a nuclear family sys
tem, and the church is losing its ethi
cal and moral sway over these peo
ple.”
Redecop, the author of a scholarly
book on the Mexican Mennonites,
adds that economic pressures —
mainly the parceling of Mennonite
lands through the generations — has
contributed to the transformation of
Mennonite society.
“Economics aside, I’m sorry to say
that the Mennonites’ honeymoon in
Mexico is over,” Redecop says.
“Their pacifist traits are irritating
the Mexicans, and their desire to
maintain their own language and be
separate citizens also is a continuing
source of abrasion.”
In Chihuahua, where the first
German-speaking Mennonites ar
rived from Canada in 1922, some of
the more conservative colonists still
use horse-drawn carts and shun elec
tricity.
But change has swept in like a
steady breeze over the well-tended
fields and immaculate dairies. At the
train station in Cuauhtemoc, ruddy
faced Mennonite men in stylish
Western wear and blond women
with calm, trans-Atlantic stares un
load their produce from late-model
pickup trucks.Some of the younger
male Mennonites — the Martenzes’
28-year-old son, Benjamin, among
them —have even waded the Rio
Grande into the United States to visit
family or search for jobs.
“Almost all of them have changed
from buggies to trucks now,” a Mexi
can resident of Cuauhtemoc notes.
“Some of them even smoke and
drink and take the ladies out danc
ing. Hell, they’re just like us Mexi
cans.”
On the night of his 55th birthday,
Martenz is worried, but he tries not
to show it. While passing logging
trucks cast their beams over his small
cow pen and a yardful of farm ma
chinery, he cajoles his wife, Helena,
into strumming some German melo
dies on her autoharp.
But the celebration is shadowed
by an uncertain future. They both
will be traveling to the United States
soon to find work — a further break
from tradition that will keep their in
dependent farm in operation.
The rustic homestead tucked
among Indian communities in the
Sierra Madre Occidental is a far cry
from the tidy Mennonite farms that
the Martenzes left for good a year
ago. Still, the whitewashed adobe
house has its unmistakable Menno
nite touches: calendars in German,
an old piano stored in the common
sleeping room, tin kettles whose
graceful spouts echo European still
life paintings.
The physical accents of change,
like a gasoline-powered washing ma
chine, are in plain evidence, too.
More subtle are the complex under
currents of hope and caution that
run through conversations in the
Martenz household.
“I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’m
sure God’s with us,” Martenz says of
his prospects at a liberal Mennonite
community in Seminole. “Maybe I’ll
work in a diesel mechanics shop.
Whatever’s easiest to come back and
work at the farm here.”
Indian makes
Jiving building
Restaurant owner recalls days
bark shelters of diner’s heyday 31 years ago
HENDERSON, Ky. (AP) —
Valdjawan Deer sloshes through
murky Florida swamplands, brav
ing alligators and wild hogs, to
carry on a family tradition.
The swamps provide Deer, a
Choctaw Indian and former alli-
r wrestler, with the trees and
palm leaves he needs for his busi
ness of building Indian “che-
kees,”or huts.
Deer and his assistant, Carlos
Souto, recently completed their
first chekee in Kentucky, at the
homeofT.C. Clement.
The hut rises from water at the
ge of a lake on Clement’s prop
erty, providing a touch of the
tropics on a chilly winter day.
“These things give you a sense
of being in a far-off place in your
own back yard,” Deer says, “and
it’s cheaper than going to Tahiti.”
That’s the closest Deer will
come to discussing price.
Deer and Souto spent about
four days on Clement’s chekee,
using a machete to strip away
bark from cypress logs — a proc
ess that keeps the hut’s structure
from rotting.
Then, using their hands, they
meticulously wove the chekee’s
roof from nearly 1,800 palm
leaves — an art passed down
from Deer’s great-great-grandfa
ther.
It’s a bit like putting shingles
on the side of a house, ” Deer says.
“You start at the bottom and go to
the top.”
The business, based in the
small panhandle town of Destin,
allows Deer to support his wife
and three children. He also has
three full-time employees and
hires some part-time help.
Clement hired Deer to build a
chekee in Henderson after seeing
some of Deer’s work during an
earlier trip to Florida.
Deer has built huts as far away
as California and Mexico. Al
though Clement’s chekee was
built in less than a week. Deer has
worked on jobs that took months
to complete.
Some people, like Clement,
want a hut for leisure purposes.
Others seek Deer’s expertise to
build a bar or restaurant.
Souto, Deer’s assistant, says the
hardest part of the job is wading
into the swamps, chopping down
trees and carrying them out one
by one. The workers have to re
main alert for alligators, snakes
and other creatures in the
swamplands.
Deer is teaching his children
how to build chekees in the hope
that the art will live on.
“You can put us out in the
swamp with a machete,” Deer
says, “and we can make a living.”
ALICE (AP) — Dena Dominique
started her restaurant business in
1958 when plate lunches cost 85
cents and soda pops sold six for a
dollar.
The name of the establishment
was Dena’s Diner, and it was a bee
hive of activity.
Like small restaurant owners of
the time, Dominique served as cook,
waitress and manager on a tight,
“shoestring” budget.
“I’ve always felt customers value
people who go out of their way to
please them,” Dominique said. “I
guess I just like people and enjoy my
work,” she added.
She recalls workers from Halli
burton, Heldt Bros, and other oil
field companies who would frequent
the restaurant in search of a warm
meal, a cup of coffee or just conver
sation.
“They’d come in night and day,”
Dominique says. “That has changed,
of course.”
She says many of her old custom
ers still come to the restaurant to
partake of her chicken and dump
lings, Mexican cuisine, cinnamon
rolls and coconut pies.
The restaurant was rated No. 9
statewide by the Houston Chronicle
in an article published Feb. 23, 1986.
The article hangs on the dining
room wall at the eatery.
It is also home to the “table of
knowledge,” a group of 10 to 14 re
tired citizens who gather daily to dis
cuss news events and to reflect on
days gone by.
“They’re just the greatest bunch
of guys you ever saw,” Dominique
said with a smile. “I know I’m at
home when I hear them whisper . . .
‘There’s old Dena!’ I guess they feel
at home here too,” she said of the
group.
A similar table, located in the res
taurant’s dining area, also hosts 10 to
12 daily.
Dominique says the restaurant
originally employed a staff of about
15. She later leased a building in Al
ice and operated the business there
for several years.
In a bolder move, the former
Harlingen native purchased the res
taurant’s current location, tore down
the tourist cabins, and built a new
restaurant-cafeteria.
In 1986, she sold the business
when her husband Tony, a native of
Raine, La., decided to retire after 35
years with Texaco.
Although the decision was a diffi
cult one, Dominique has no regrets.
“We sold the business to Charles
Harless,” she said. “When he was ap
pointed sheriff, he asked me to man
age the business and I accepted. ”
She credits the restaurant’s suc
cess to the employees. Most of them
have been at the restaurant for more
than 18 years.
“Alice has a wonderful group of
people,” she said. “Our employees
are no different. The majority will
do anything for one in need of help.
I’ve seen it happen many times.”
Her friend and co-worker for
more than 20 years, Mrs. Albert Ho-
lub, says the restaurant offers a cafe
teria-style meal from 11 a.m. to 2
p.m. daily.
Dominique says two girls who
came to the restaurant recently were
excited after having heard a record
which mentions the restaurant’s
name in its lyrics.
She says she feels certain that the
restaurant will continue to do well
with the community’s support.
“Sometimes I’ll find myself com
ing back to work at night to do a ban
quet or just to get away from it all,”
she said.
Dominique, who has two children
and two grandchildren, said she also
plans to spend time with her family.
Asked how long she intends to re
main as manager of Dena’s Restau
rant, Dominique replied, “I don’t
know, but I love it! I really do.”
UNT houses fashion
costume collection
DENTON (AP) — A treasure
house of fashion lies hidden away
in the Language Building at the
University of North Texas.
Myra Walker wants to bring it
out into the open.
Walker is the new director of
the Texas Fashion Collection, a
hoard of clothing and accessories
dating from the mid-1800s to the
present. She has big plans for the
10,000-piece collection. All she
needs is staff and funding.
At the moment, she has no
staff — only student workers —
and very little funding. Neverthe
less, she is involved with several
projects.
The largest of these — an ex
hibit of costumes and fashions by
Dallas designer Winn Morton —
will open March 31 in Dallas’ Tra
mmel Crow Center. Coordinating
and staging it has been an almost
overwhelming challenge.
“If I ever take a new job, I’m
not going to plan anything for the
first year,” she said. “I’m just
going to sit and watch.”
On a smaller scale, she is orga
nizing a display of hats by Benja
min Greenfield, who designed in
California. She has a student
doing research on Greenfield to
provide information for the dis
play in the UNT Union.
She is sending a number of
pieces which originally came
from Neiman-Marcus to the Nei-
man’s stores in California for an
exhibit.
And, the Texas Collection will
provide the feature exhibit for
the 1990 Delta Delta Delta An
tique Show and Sale in Dallas.
All these public showings are
only part of the picture. Almost
for the first time since it came to
UNT in 1973, the collection is be
ing used as an educational tool
for students and teachers. “That
has been a goal of mine, to inte
grate the collection with the tea
ching process,” she said.
For example, in her history of
costume course, Walker brings in
period examples of various styles
so the students can see them in
three-dimension rather that just
in drawings.
“We don’t really have any ex
amples of actual garments from
very early times. But, I still take
quite a few garments in . . . If
we’re talking about a tunic or a
Renaissance-type dress I take
20th century garments in and
show them how people from the
20th century have used historic
things.”
With the collection’s garments,
touching and feeling isn’t possi
ble. In fact, you must slip on a
pair of white cotton gloves before
handling any of the old clothes.
However, Walker is using some
things for textile labs. “Things
that are already torn up ... things
that haven’t been properly cared
for and restored can be used for
touching. T hey can’t be shown.
Some are even too fragile to be
put on a hanger. But you can say,
‘Here, touch it. This is what it
feels like, and our fabrics today
don’t feel like this.’”
This new attitude is increasing
students’ interest in the collec
tion.
Carol Mitchell, administrative
assistant of the Center for Mar
keting and Design, noted, “An in
creasing number of students are
requesting internships in the col
lection — mostly unpaid — tie-
cause they’re becoming aware of
the knowledge to be gained from
working there.”
Walker’s background is in art.
She received her master’s degree
from Southern Illinois University
in Carbondale. Her interest in
J ust U
If we’re talking about a
tunic or a Renaissance-
type dress I take 20th
century garments in and
show them how people
from the 20th century have
used historic things.”
director,
Texas Fashion Collection
fashion and costume stems from
an internship at the Metropolitan
Museum in New York. She
worked in the costume museum
under Stella Blum, whom she
calls her mentor.
After the internship, she
moved back into the art world,
working in a Dallas gallery.
She applied to UNI’ for a gal
lery director’s job, but after one
look at her credentials, university
officials steered her to the fashion
collection. She also is on the fac
ulty, teaching a design course as
well as history of costume.
“One of my goals is to have
permanent exhibition space,”
Walker says. “It’s got to be a part
of the future. We would like to be
sort of the F.I.T. of the South,”
she said, referring to the Fashion
Institute of Technology in New
York. It is one of the leading
fashion schools in the country
and has a large fashion museum.
Despite the frustrations, and
Occasional setbacks. Walker says
she is enjoying the work. “This is
not a job with no place to go. It
has all kinds of potential.”
Schoolchildren learn
mining with muffins
CONCORD, Ky. (AP) — How do
you teach fourth-graders the differ
ence between strip-mining and tun
nel mining?
You let them mine for blueberries
in a blueberry muffin, of course.
“It really gave them an under
standing of the subject when they
saw that if they took too much off
their muffin, it was harder to re
claim or put their muffin back to
gether,” says Concord Elementary
teacher Pam Estes.
Natalie Cougil, 9, who built a
model of a strip mine for extra
credit, enjoyed mining for blueber
ries. “And the muffins were good,
too,” she says.
Concord was one of 15 schools in
Kentucky to receive grants from the
state Department of Education and
the Kentucky Energy Cabinet to de
velop curricula on energy and how it
affects our lives. The project is con
sidered a unit of science for grades
three through six.
To receive the grant, which paid
for resource materials, each school
had to have an industry sponsor.
Martin Marietta sponsored Con
cord.
Becky Massey, a third-grade tea
cher and the project coordinator,
says students have to realize that
their comfort today depends on en-
ergy.
“We hope by the time they leave
this elementary school they have a
better overall knowledge of energy
and how important it is,” she says.
Students say that goal has already
been met.
Folklorist seeks records
of state’s early heritage
Radios link missionaries, families
LEXINGTON, Ky. (AP) —
Whether it’s in Appalachia or
Bluegrass Country, Robert Gates be
lieves there are stories to be found.
And as Kentucky’s first official
folklorist, he’s going to spend a good
bit of his time listening for them.
“I’ll try to encourage the research,
conservation and interpretation of
folklife in the state,” says Gates, 38.
“We won’t try to change it, just
document it.”
Gates, who has a master’s degree
in folk studies from Western Ken
tucky, is working with the blessings
of the Kentucky Humanities Coun
cil, Kentucky Arts Council and Be
rea College.
“They all felt so much work is be
ing done in folk studies that it was
time to get some programs and pro
jects going,” Gates says.
Gates will set up his headquarters
at Berea College.
He plans to coordinate efforts and
offer technical assistance to individ
uals and groups studying and pro
moting folklife.
Gates says it is a misconception
that folklife relates only to rural
areas.
“Folklorists are anthropologists or
historians of common people who
study the traditional culture of a
group,” he says.
“Anything that’s passed down by
word of mouth by a group is
folklore.”
One of his first tasks in Kentucky
will be the“Always a River” project
sponsored by the humanities coun
cils of Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Penn
sylvania, West Virginia and Ken
tucky.
Gates will help with folklife sur
veys in counties along the Ohio
River.
He plans to set up folklife festivals
in various communities.
Gates says he hopes the festivals
will create an awareness in the com
munities and “people can go to these
things and see other cultures and
how these people have their own
lives.”
He also will be working with
schools, introducing people wno can
discuss topics relating to folklife.
“We want to unoerstand groups
and their history,” Gates says.
MIDLAND (AP) — An amateur
radio organization. Blessings for
Obedience, may be the only link
among some missionaries and their
families in the states.
“It is a support ministry for Chris
tian missionaries to get in contact
with their families or support min
istries for supplies and needs,” said
Kelly Coleman of the group of Mid
land and Odessa ham radio opera
tors.
Communication with families is
done through phone patches. Some
one is reached on a ham radio and
asked to make a phone call in his
area. Then radio and phone are con
nected and the call is made.
Coleman, a Midland oil investor,
said the ultimate goal of Blessings
for Obedience is to give missionaries
easy access to stateside communica
tions.
The network, which meets from 3
to 5 p.m. CST on Sundays and 8 to 9
p.m. Tuesdays, has an average of 50
listeners who check in.
Listeners are from Honduras,
Mexico, Canada, Venezuela, Ger
many and many states. Coleman of
fers listeners the opportunity to
voice their prayers and ask for sup
port or get in touch with their fami
lies in the states.
“It’s like having church around
the world in a radio shack, ” Coleman
said.
Coleman began the ham radio
group with five members about
three years ago when he met Don
Matthews, who was interested in
missionary work.
Coleman went with Matthews to
Jamaica in 1985 on a Youth With a
Mission trip. While in Jamaica, he
tried to find a way to contact his fam
ily in the states. He found a ham ra
dio but had some problems placing a
call. “Sometimes you could get
through to the states, sometimes you
couldn’t,” he said.
That started their dream for
Christian missionary radio in West
Texas. But the two knew nothing
about ham radio and its capability of
reaching all areas of the world. Once
the equipment was donated and pur
chased and their licenses in hand,
the radio network began.
Coleman said some local ham ra
dio listeners wanted to know how
they could get involved, so the ham
radio school evolved.
Now, before the Tuesday radio
shows, students hit the theory and
rule books and the Morse code keys
to study for their ham operator li
censes.
Steve Buckley joined the radio
class because he works with Comuni-
dad Alabare, a Spanish mission in
Midland. Buckley said he was at
tracted to ham radio because of his
need to contact Mexico for the peo
ple he helps.
Brad Cox, a school teacher, helps
Coleman teach the class. He’s been
on a ham radio since he was 13 and
had wanted to get involved in the
ham radio ministry.
When Hurricane Gilbert hit Ja
maica in October 1988, Blessings for
Obedience brought the first relief,
80 tons of goods that the Permian
Basin donated, Coleman said.
Cox was sent to Jamaica with the
supplies, including a radio to trans
mit to the states.
Blessings for Obedience would
like to continue that kind of work,
Coleman said. Help with radio
equipment and supplies is needed.
Coleman recently received a call
from a man in Russia requesting a
Russian Bible, which the ministry
sent.