Before deciding to curate my Tiny Cabinet exhibit on A Brief History of Guerrero, I had thought about making an ofrenda dedicated to a living short story writer and fill it with clippings of their collections. Mainly because I thought the idea of an ofrenda to a living short story writer was funny and absurd, and I wanted to have fun with the Tiny Cabinet. My first thought was George Saunders, of course, but that would be the expected. Being the George Saunders stan that I am, I would have loved to pay tribute to him, and deep down, there was a part of me that hoped he’d somehow word got back to him that there was a tiny cabinet with an ofrenda dedicated to him in Arizona. He’d be concerned. And I love that.
In hindsight, I should have done it, especially after he obit-ed Joy Williams yesterday (Feb. 20, 2025). Joy Williams is, of course, not dead. But the idea of a short story writer making an ofrenda for another short story writer who just mistakenly obited another short story writer who the first short story writer knows is perfect. I could have called it my collection of wrongful obituaries. But I had already made a decision by that point.
I made the realization that I had been collecting information on a drowned town for about a year, and I wanted to pay tribute to the Guerrero.
I grew up not far from Guerrero. It was maybe an hour drive? I grew up in the central region of the Rio Grande Valley (Mid-Valley) and Guerrero is in the western part of the valley. Heck! I drank the water that submerged it all my life. I cooked with it. I bathed in it. In some weird way, I am partly Guerrero. And this is true in more than one sense.
My grandma had always told us that my great-grandfather was the mayor of a small town in Mexico before he was assassinated. My grandma was four years old when he died. Following his assassination, my great-grandmother took her six kids and fled to the United States. My grandma doesn’t remember the town. Her mom never liked talking about it. She grew up not knowing that side of the family. My grandma told us that it no longer existed. In her mind and reality. She told us it “sank,” which I always found that was an interesting way to phrase it.
I thought it was some lie. Some myth-building my grandma came up with to rationalize her childhood. Some myth-building to give us a cool story of how we came to the U.S. But it turns out my grandma isn’t crazy! (well...) Not about this anyway.
Anyway, that small town was Guererro.
I’d sat on that information for years, not really caring, and then one day, I just thought it would be fun to do some research on it. It has become my collection of some sort. And Jesus Christ (!) is it wild!
I uncovered tons about the city and the families who lived there. Wedding massacres. Incest. War Crimes. Genocide. Natural Disasters. Revolutions. Vigilanties. Outlaws. Political intrigue. Land distribution. Land redistribution. Irrigation. Spanish law. All of it! It’s all there!
Once I settled on the topic, which I already had a lot of information on, the hard part was picking what to include. I wanted to include the letters from the town founder to the president of Mexico (governor? I need to double-check). I wanted to include the outlaws, the massacres, and all tha jazz, but it is a very tiny cabinet. But I really wanted to include the collected stories of the people who lived in Guererro, so I stuck to the basic history. And I tried my best to include people who were involved in the wars or were said to have a major impact on the town, like the priest. I wanted to explore the lives of the original twelve families. Strip everything to the bones. Drill to the core. The stuff I’d tell people in an elevator. And built a replica of the church out of clay, which was an amazing experience because my mom never let us play with clay growing up because she thought it was too messy and would get stuck in the carpet. So I guess this was some cathartic experience. I enjoyed it. I did show my grandmother the replica of the church and she cried. That wasn’t my intention, but I find the stories so fascinating and want to know more. She says I’m the only one who has ever cared enough to do the research. My grandma said, “I want to know who I am. I don’t know who I am.” And I tried to embody that in the exhibit. Because she is the town and the town is her, as it is me, as it is all those who have lived there, or are descendants of those who did. I hope the Brief History of Guererro successfully capture those stories even if I couldn’t go into the detail I wanted to.
I included in the exhibit a poem written by a man who grew up at Las Tortillas Ranch (yes that was the actual name) to pay tribute to the art of the area. While the city of Guerrero was that hub, Revilla (the name of the region) was where all the stories were. But I limited myself to the city itself, which still has a fascinating history.
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A Brief History of Guerrero: A City Drowned by Two Countries
Guerrero, Tamaulipas, Mexico, now known as “Guerrero Viejo,” was founded in 1750 by twelve families granted land along the south banks of the Rio Grande River, where it stood for 200 years before inundation by the U.S. and Mexican Governments. Guerrero occupied Esto’k Gna land.
Guerrero was the cultural and commercial hub of the region on both sides of the river. Across the river was its twin/sister city Zapata.
During its founding, the twelve families defied Spanish law by building the city as they saw fit. Spanish law required every new settlement to have a plaza (which must be constructed first), a church (which could not be along the plaza and must be higher than the rest of the settlement), roads, and homes (which were to be built last).
However, Guerrero's original location would not be permanent. The city was resettled closer to the river after the first mayor’s death to have greater access to trade. But! After higher than average rain along the Rio Grande, Guerrero was flooded and devastated, so the city was resettled on higher ground. Guerrero would remain in on higher ground until 1953.
At its height, Guerrero was home to 40,000 people (1848). Following the Mexican-American War, the population dwindled to 12,000 people (1900). Many residents fled to escape the war. Guerrero, while not a strategic point for either side, suffered heavy losses.
In opposition to Santa Anna’s government, Colonel Antonio Zapata (1779-1840) led a secessionist episode known as the Republic of the Rio Grande following the ideas of Colonel Jose Bernardo Gutierrez ( 1774-1841), who was an advocate for Northern Mexico’s independence, first ambassador to the U.S., and first governor of the state of Tamaulipas. Guerrero became the home of many rebels wanted in Mexico and the United States. Guerrero’s sister city, Zapata, was renamed in honor of Colonel Antonio Zapata.
Rumors of a priest cursing the town began to circulate. As the story goes, a priest trying to cross from Mexico to the U.S. grew frustrated by Customs Agents searching his belongings and questioning him. The enraged priest said Guerrero would one day be underwater. God has demanded it.
The arrival of the railroad to Northern Mexico led to further population decline as many residents sought economic opportunity in nearby larger cities like Reynosa, Matamoros, and Monterey. In 1913, the population was 3,000 people.
In 1944, the U.S. and Mexican governments signed a treaty to construct dams along the Rio Grande to mitigate flooding and provide water for the Rio Grande Valley (TX) and Northern Mexico. Guerrero was deemed the only suitable location. Construction began not long after, and Guerrero would relocate further inland.
In 1953, Guerrero, home to 2,500 people, was inundated along with Old Zapata. A ceremony was held to mark the end of Guerrero and to commemorate the opening of the Falcon dam. President Eisenhower was in attendance. And it was raining. As the residents left their homes, they took with them the bell from the church (Nuestra Señora Del Refugio) and a statue of Benito Juarez (1806-1872, 26th President of Mexico), they sang the Mexican national anthem as they got in their trucks and left for Nuevo Guerrero in the rain. For the next 40 years, Guerrero remained submerged, with only the church, Nuestra Señora Del Refugio, rising above the reservoir.
In 1997, after a drought had plagued the area, the Guerrero (now known as Guerrero Viejo) resurfaced. Tours were granted for those who sought to see the once hub of the lower borderlands. Efforts to restore Nuestra Señora Del Refugio.
Today, Guerrero Viejo is a known stopping point for immigrants who take refuge in the skeleton of Nuestra Señora Del Refugio. Many lives have been lost trying to cross Falcon Lake.
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The following poem was written by Enrico B.Garcia to remember Guerrero Viejo and the neighboring ranches:
Al Ranchito de Mis Sueños
Mi ranchito pequeño, mi aldeita querita,
donde yo tantos años vi mi vida pasar,
ya eres sólo una sombra silenciosa y dormida,
ver tus casas en ruinas me convida a llorar.
El destino implacable propició tu caída;
al negarse la lluvia no hubo más que emigrar,
a educar a los hijos, continuando la vida,
n alguna otra forma y en distinto lugar.
Pero yo te recuerdo todo lleno de vida,
en tus calles barridas, veo niños jugar,
en tus patios la ropa en la soga tendida,
cuando el aire la mueve, me saluda al pasar.
Vuelvo a ver a la gente platicando en la esquina,
a una lenta carreta puedo oir sotrocear,
mientras veo aquí un cerdo, más allá un gallina,
y de broncos caballos oigo allá el relinchar.
En las frescas mañanas, qué agradable ir al río!
y a las lindas muchachas que iban aqua a acarrear,
darles una "manita", cortejarlas con brio,
y entre trinos de pájaros convidarlas a amar.
En las plácidas tardes, cuando el sol se ponía,
aumentaba el bullicio con la vida animal;
vacas, cabras, borregas que buscaban su cría,
entonaban un coro de verdad colosal.
En las noches los bailes con su sana alegría
congregaban al pueblo en la Escuela a gozar,
de la música suave y después se elegía,
a una linda chamaca para "entrarle" a bailar.
Y entre tantos recuerdos es la humana grandeza
de los padres y abuelos la que es más de admirar;
Siendo gente sencilla sin ninguna riqueza,
un milagro increíble consiguieron lograr.
Con sus pocos recursos desterrar la ignorancia,
contratando maestros sin la ayuda oficial,
y poniendo un ejemplo de firmeza y constancia,
se le puso al problema un gran punto final.
Es por eso que ahora de los viejos rancheros,
que pasaron apenas el sexto año escolar,
han surgido doctores, C.P.Ts., ingenieros,
licenciados, maestros, a ocupar su lugar.
Estos nuevos valores que dejaron el nido
porque faltos de espacio no podían volar,
a su amado terruño no echarán en olvido
y a sus hijos, tu historia se la van a contar.
Mi ranchito pequeño, mi aldeíta querida;
si el destino te arrastra al desastre final,
si no quedan ni ruinas, si se acaba tu vida;
BASTARA UN DESCENDIENTE PARA HACERTE INMORTAL!
Enrique B. García Nuevo Laredo, Tamps. 1976
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To the Ranchito of My Dreams
My little ranch, my beloved little village,
where I saw my life pass for so many years,
You are now just a silent and sleeping shadow,
Seeing your houses in ruins invites me to cry.
The implacable destiny caused your fall;
When the rain was denied, there was nothing more to do than emigrate,
to educate children, continuing life,
in some other way and in a different place.
But I remember you everything full of life,
In your swept streets, I see children playing,
in your patios the clothes on the hanging rope,
When the air moves it, it greets me as I pass by.
I see people talking on the corner again,
I can hear a slow cart rustling,
while I see a pig here, a chicken over there,
and I hear hoarse horses neighing there.
On cool mornings, how nice to go to the river!
and the pretty girls who were going here to carry,
give them a "little hand", court them with brio,
and among birdsongs invite them to love.
On the placid afternoons, when the sun was setting,
the bustle with animal life increased;
cows, goats, sheep that were looking for their offspring,
They sang a truly colossal chorus.
At night the dances with their healthy joy
They gathered the people at the School to enjoy,
of soft music and then chose,
to a pretty girl to "get her in" to dance.
And among so many memories is human greatness
of parents and grandparents the one that is most admired;
Being simple people without any wealth,
an incredible miracle they managed to achieve.
With their few resources, they banish ignorance,
hiring teachers without official help,
and setting an example of firmness and perseverance,
A big final point was put to the problem.
That's why now from the old ranchers,
who only passed the sixth school year,
doctors, C.P.Ts., engineers, have emerged graduates, teachers, to take their place.
These new values that left the nest
because lacking space they could not fly,
They will not forget their beloved land
And to their children, they will tell your story.
My little ranch, my beloved little village;
If destiny drags you to the final disaster,
If there are no ruins left, if your life is over;
ONE DESCENDANT WILL BE ENOUGH TO MAKE YOU IMMORTAL!
Enrique B. García Nuevo Laredo, Tamps. 1976
