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Once upon a Chicano college
Story by DANIEL GARCÍA ORDAZ An empty lot is all that remains at the corner of third Street and Missouri Avenue, once the site of a historic movement. An old two-story mansion here housed the first Chicano college in the United States. Encouraged by the success of the black movement and anti-Vietnam War protests of the late 1960s, Mexican Americans, including some from the Rio Grande Valley, decided to unite to press for political change and educational reform. Season of Change Large-scale protests were the impetus for both the founding and the closing of the college, said Narciso Alemán, one of the founders of Colegio Jacinto Treviño. The Valley of the 1960s was only starting to face its history of racial discrimination that had tainted the region since Texas became a republic. A 1968 walkout organized by students of Mexican descent at Edcouch-Elsa High School in protest of a lack of non-Anglo teachers and administrators served as the catalyst for starting the Chicano college, said Alemán — then 22 — who was among the non-students to meet with school leaders. "The superintendent told us, ‘You say that I don't hire Mexican teachers and administrators. Do any of you have a college degree?'" Alemán said, acknowledging that none present did. "‘There may be some validity to what you're protesting, but what solution are you offering?'" Realizing the need for Mexican American educators, the Mexican American Youth Organization held a state conference in December 1969 at St. Peter's Novitiate near La Lomita mission in Granjeno to discuss bilingual education and political unity. Before leaving, conference attendees unanimously agreed to found a college bearing the name of Jacinto Treviño. Hero vs. Bandit By some accounts, Treviño had gained fame — or infamy — in 1910 when he shot and killed a Texas Ranger and later his own cousin for helping the Rangers set up an ambush. Americans branded Treviño a bandit, but Mexicans lauded him in a "corrido," a narrative ballad often depicting events in the life of folk heroes, criminals and even American presidents. Treviño's descendants acknowledge that he killed his cousin and a Ranger — for beating his half-brother — although the "corrido" also mentions a dead sheriff and his deputy. The contentious lyrics symbolized the type of change that Chicanos of the 1960s in the Valley craved and that conservative leaders denied them, Alemán said. "Because of the content, (the corrido) was forbidden to be sung in public. To our grandparents the name Jacinto Treviño was a great source of pride. To our parents, it was like, ‘Are you crazy? What are you trying to do, get killed?'" he said. Alemán said that there were several protests against the school. Students were accused of being "commie pinkos" and worse, he said. Jaime Garza, a Mercedes High School senior in 1970 who would later be the college's first undergraduate co-director remembers other labels. "People in the community would say we didn't bathe," he said. University Without Walls The college was incorporated in July 1970 with about 15 graduate students. In September, the mansion became a field center of the Putney Graduate School of Education at Antioch University in Yellow Springs, Ohio. Alemán was one of the first co-administrators. Among the school's professors was Victor Moreno, of the University of California-Berkley, who served as dean of the graduate program, Garza said. Américo Paredes, a folklorist at the University of Texas also dropped by the first year. "When he first realized the name of the college, he came down to see what crazy people were like," Alemán said. "He helped encourage us when we lost sight of how difficult it was." The school eventually grew to about 40 students per year. The initial graduate students later became the core faculty of an undergraduate program started in October 1971. The school issued Masters of Art in Teaching, Masters in Education and Bachelor of Arts in Interdisciplinary Studies degrees. According to a college brochure from 1972, the college added a General Equivalency Diploma program, "for public school Chicano ‘push-outs'" like then Mercedes High School dropout Lupe Casarez. "You would either assimilate yourself or get kicked out," said Casarez about public schools. "I found nothing but discrimination and racism. I was told I had no business in school and that I should go out and look for a job." Casarez found his home at CJT, where classes included studies in "barriology" and students were encouraged to gain knowledge outside traditional classroom settings. In keeping with the main goal of training teachers, the GED program offered undergraduate and graduate students an opportunity to gain teaching experience. "They would tell us, ‘Get your pen and pad,'" Casarez said. "‘Go interview viejitos (elderly people).' We found so much history out there." Great Expectations By 1972, the college had opened a pre-school in La Villa and had a community library collection of 17,500 volumes. The library also included the Pyramid of the Sun Bookstore and a store. School archives also mention plans for the construction of "the first Aztec pyramid-shaped educational building" in the country, which would reach a height of eight to 10 floors and cost $2.3 to $3 million. While the school was successful in securing traditional scholarships and loans for its students, its educational pyramid plans failed. By comparison, the college's theater troupe, El Teátro Jacinto Treviño, was a great success, performing throughout the country and raising funds for operational costs. Beginning of the End It was during a drama workshop at The Thicket, a Methodist encampment in Weslaco, that the students learned of a large protest at City Hall in Pharr that had turned into a showdown with local police officers, state troopers, and Texas Rangers. "We drove up there and it was all hell going on," said Garza of the 1971 incident. "Somebody threw a rock. People were being chased. There were gunshots and tear gas." The incident ended after police arrested Efraín Hernandez, a MAYO activist, Garza said. "They were probably as scared of us as we were of them," he said. After that, "the whole movement fizzled out," Garza said. The college remained open until 1976 when the Texas Higher Education Coordinating Board denied it a certificate of authority for failure to meet seven of the board's 13 standards. "It bothers me that we have such a low awareness level, despite the fact that the Valley gave birth to such a monumental institution," said Casarez. "I go there and look at the empty lot where the college once stood. It's like going to a different life. We tried to do something for America. Too bad America did not appreciate it for what it was." |
