The Evening News. November 24, 1916

44. The New Almaden, Part V

Never among all the mining camps of the United States, declare the old miners with pride, was there a camp so wild and woolly as New Almaden.

In New Almaden the motto was "Yesterday is no more, live today, tomorrow will never come." No one shook hands with the devil until he met him, and no one ever saw the devil in New Almaden. Why meet the devil when it is so easy to turn your back? Hearts never stopped beating their joy. Eyes never turned to the tranquil valley below the mountain. There were a hundred seconds of life in every minute on the mad hill near Loma Prieta. Of course, if you were ready for your grave, move to San Jose, raise fruit.

Almaden was dizzy with its bigness and newness. In a night it had out-distanced San Jose. Six thousand inhabitants made it the metropolis of Santa Clara County. In its dizzy bigness and newness life was one long fiesta. Come to our cock fights, our bull fights, our flour battles, our fandangos, our cascarone carnivals! Everybody is welcome! Don't insult us by refusing food and drink? That was Almaden.

In its joyous, noisy youth no one ever accused Almaden of being moral or law-abiding. There was a dead man or two each pay day. In the big saloons on the hills sometimes a shift of miners engaged another shift. Not a dish, mirror or window was left whole in the place. Usually the corpses of one or two men resulted.

The saloonkeeper did not try to forget the incident, nor did he even wash from the floor the blood stains. Blood stains, added distinction to the place. Proudly were they exhibited. They were history. The saloon with the most blood stains was supposed to have the finest art gallery.

When these unexpected dramas occurred the officials did not interfere. Law? Almaden was law. If an unsophisticated San Jose sheriff wanted real trouble he went to Almaden to make an arrest. To a man Almaden rose and fired rocks at his head. That was force; it was law. Sheriffs obeyed it, and went back to their damned civilized San Jose."

When any of the Mexican law breakers in the valley thought it best to speedily retire to a quiet retreat they took refuge at Almaden. Secure, they remained in the tunnels for years until they escaped to the south.

There was little litigation in Almaden. Difference of opinions were usually settled with pistols or knives. Occasionally it was felt necessary to restrain some over-exuberant miner. He was locked in the cave jail in the hillside on the slope between the English and Mexican towns. His feet were weighted with a ball and chain.

Not for bloodshed nor violation of the law, but for its festivities, will New Almaden always live in the history of the county. There senors strummed guitars under the windows of senoritas. There were last heard all night the Spanish songs of love.

In the saloons were great dance halls, where men and women danced the Mexican national dance, the jarave. At the dancers' feet the miners threw gold, and then, sought the senorita's hand in the dance. All night they danced. Why sleep when one can dance?

Then in front of the church was the daily cock fight. Some miners had ten or fifteen birds. Great was he, and great was his pride, who possessed the gallo campeon.

In front of the church also the American circuses pitched their tents. Once or twice a year heavy ox teams pulled cumbersome wagons up the steep heights to the little church erected in the fifties and presided over by Father Antonio.

A circus was all very well as an exotic American novelty, but real life was Sunday, when toreadors came from San Jose for the bull fight. At first the arena was in the laurel wood near the hacienda. Later it was in the green field called Bull Run which overlooked the Spanish and English towns. Almaden had bull fights till the seventies. They were prohibited in the early fifties by the Americans.

Then there was a great flour battle. Gaily mounted officers marshaled their forces, fifty on a side. The buglers gave the signal. Flags waved. The enemies advance. Seventy sacks of flour made the air like snow. The crowd packed it in balls and buried them wildly, like ammunition, until the entire population was covered with snow. The victors were crowned with laurels. Exulting they paraded the Plaza.

The gayest carnival in Almaden was caped himself, each played the role of his dream. All the year empty egg shells had been saved for this fiesta. These shells were filled with particles of perfumed tissue paper, sometimes with liquid perfume. The game was to break the cascarones on each other's head.

The Day of the Cross, on May 3, was another great event. Our Lady of Guadalupe was taken out of her niche in the mine. Mass was said in the Plaza. Then Our Lady in a wagon led the procession through the hilly streets. Afterwards there was a ball and fireworks.

Who can forget the Saturdays of Glory? Not the miners. Their eyes sparkled at its mention. It was the Saturday after Good Friday. The people made a hideous image of Judas and stuffed it with firecrackers. Then there was a carnival of mock crime. The miners stole all night, and brought their ill-gotten goods to Judas. Each ransomed his property by paying a certain sum. After mass Judas was hanged. Then firecrackers were exploded. Poor Judas was finished.

As the years passed on the hills there were fewer serenades, fewer bright carnivals. Finally they were no more. The last to linger was Independence Day, September 16, when all rejoice in the freedom of Mexico. Two speeches were delivered, one in English, one in Spanish There was a ball and then a barbecue at which beer flowed. Sometimes those in San Jose seeking the carnival spirit journeyed to the fiesta. But the year 1911 saw the last celebration of the Independence of Mexico at Almaden. Now only echoes of fiestas disturb the silence of Mine Hill.

Transcribed by Kitty LaFavor, for the Santa Clara Co. CAGenWeb Project. 2008