Getting Along

Carlos is filling in for the regular cemetery attendant, who happens to be on vacation. He's been tidying the grounds, laying stones, clearing pathways, tending to the place. He likes the work. "No back talk," he says.

He shows Kam and me the grave of Davy Brown, whose name we know from the campground near Figueroa Mountain, once the site of a cabin where Brown lived for several years by a trout-filled creek. Born in Ireland in 1800, Brown came to this continent on board a British ship during the War of 1812, by all accounts led a life of risk and adventure, and made his way to California during the 1840s.

After some years in San Francisco and the San Mateo Hills, Brown wandered southward, and in his mid-seventies he bought 300 acres of land to farm near Guadalupe. He left after a decade but returned near the end of his life and died in Guadalupe at the age of 97. He's kind of a celebrity resident in this graveyard.

Farm fields stretch out in the distance, and at one point a very long freight train lumbers through on the tracks along the highway and everything comes to a standstill, not that things were moving much anyway. The cemetery dates back to 1874, according to an article by local historian Shirley Contreras, which is when the Masons and the Odd Fellows purchased the property as a burial place for their deceased members. When non-members approached them about burying their dead, they began selling lots for $5 and $10 gold pieces.

There are distinct sections within the cemetery--a Japanese area, for example, with tombstones inscribed in Japanese characters, and another of mostly Hispanic names and distinctly Catholic statues. Pots of colorful plastic flowers sprout brightly here and there; stone angels spread their wings.

"Underneath that olive tree rests the only Indian I know of who's buried here," said Carlos. The story is that his body was brought in on the back of a truck by family members who dug the grave themselves, lowered him into the ground unencumbered by a casket, and lovingly covered him with earth. His only monument is the tree.

I'm careful how I walk and drive here," Carlos told us. "I try not to disrespect anyone."

Carlos came here from Guadalajara, Mexico when he was four years old. (He's now 76 and looks much younger.) He married the only blonde in town, and they have nine kids, fourteen grandchildren, and three great-grandchildren

."I used to worry about making money and then I realized I was already rich," he said.

A small rural town built on agriculture, Guadalupe's history is one of ethnic and racial diversity. "And I notice that the different groups are mingling more now," Carlos tells us. "They used to segregate themselves, and there used to be the gang stuff...you know...there's always the bad with the good. But lately it seems like everyone's getting along.”

Especially right here.

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