REFLEXIONES

June 1, 2024

HILDA & RONNIE

A BLONDE WOMAN APPEARED IN MY LIFE when I was about 10 years old. I don’t remember any blonde women in my life before; her hair struck me more brassy metal than Scandinavian blond. At the time we lived in a walk up apartment on the first floor of Pestalozzi Street in the Narvarte sector of Mexico City. There weren’t many blondes around, or none that I had noticed before. She was a normal looking woman and, except for her hair, nothing struck my child’s eyes. Sometime later, I don’t know exactly when, I learned that this was another aunt.

MY MOTHER ALWAYS HAD PREMONITIONS AND DREAMS that she shared with some of her confidants of which, being an only child, I was one. Years later she told me that one night she had dreamed that my father was walking down the street in busy downtown Mexico City, in a place that looked like the huge Zócalo, the main square where the ancient Aztecs had built their capital that later Cortés transformed into the Capital of the Kingdom of New Spain. In due course this center of the city became a hub for business and offices. My father, an attorney, occupied one suite of them, at the very top of a five story building, facing the National Palace. It was near that entrance that my mother, in her dream, saw my father holding a blonde woman by the arm and easing her into a taxi. My mother was very disturbed by this dream; she later allowed that, if pressed, her distress could be mistaken for jealousy.

MY PATERNAL GRANDFATHER, PAPÁ ÁNGEL, HAD BEEN a rural school teacher at the time of the Revolution in Mexico. There were a lot of rural territories and very few schools. The school teachers went from school to school in rotation and were gone for long periods of time from home. Papá Ángel was a responsible man, dedicated and poor. He had to work under strenuous circumstances and aspired to a better income for his family. In time he became an Inspector of the Rural Schools which meant that his territory was vaster and his absences from home increasingly longer. Many years later he told my grandmother that during one of his long absences he had met a teacher and conceived with her a child born outside of wedlock, to add to the 11 children he already had at home. He also told her that he loved his little girl. Later it became common family knowledge that little Hilda had been born around the time that Manuelito, his last child with my grandmother, had also been born. As the years passed, his children knew of the existence of their half-sister but had never met her. Papá Ángel, a diabetic, passed away at 58.

A couple of years after this sad event, my father, Miguel Ángel, was sitting behind his massive desk, from Porfirian times, at his 5th floor office, when his secretary stepped in and said, “Licenciado.,there is a young woman here to see you”. “Let her in”, he replied. In stepped a young, slim, vivacious, blonde young woman, no more than 20 years old, “Miguel Ángel, I’m Hilda, your sister.” My father, who was always poised, serious and dignified replied, without missing a beat, “Hilda, welcome! I’m truly delighted to meet you.” “I’ve come because I don’t know where my Dad is buried and I would like to visit his tomb” she replied. “Well, he said, certainly. We can do that right now. Let’s go. We can talk on the way”. And without further preliminaries, they went down to the Zócalo, to the street, where my dad hailed a cab, held my Aunt Hilda’s arm to help her get in the car and departed to the cemetery.

After paying her respects, Hilda and my father went to our home for lunch. When my father showed up with a blonde at our apartment, after my mother’s initial shock hesitation and confusion, he introduced her, “Jóse, this is my sister Hilda.” And so it came to pass that , in fact, my father and a blonde young woman got in a taxi, right by the entrance to his office, courteously helping her get in the car by holding her arm.

This proved for eternity that my mother’s premonitions and dreams were always right.

And this is how my Aunt Hilda appeared in my life.

Many years later my mom told me that my dad had introduced his sister Hilda to one of his friends, “El Güero Aguilera” - Aguilera, the Blond - who worked at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and that he helped her get into the Foreign Service. She spoke some English at the time and she was posted, as Foreign Ministry logic indicates, to the Mexican Consulate in Havana. From there she went to Memphis and Philadelphia before transferring to Cologne, in Germany and then on to London.

AS I WAS GROWING UP MY PARENTS WERE CONVINCED that I was wasting my “summer” holidays in Mexico since, at the time, the holidays were in the cold winter months and there were no activities for children. How convenient, they thought, that during winter, the US schools were in session and I could learn English by attending them. Thus started my US tour of schools during the winters when I was 9 years old and continued every winter until I was 15. This gave me the privilege of learning the language, the culture, the mores and the geography of the US, traveling from Mexico to Texas, to California, to Pennsylvania.

Precisely when I was 15, attending Ardmore High School near Philadelphia, my mother decided we would spend a few days in New York with her friend Amparo Pérez, a Puerto Rican lady, and her family, who lived at 128th Street, near the Kew Gardens subway stop, in the section of Jamaica, Long Island, close to Idlewild Airport, later to become JFK. Amparo’s claim to fame was that her 20 year old, Charlie, had shot by accident his friend with a rifle in his basement and the bullet lodged near his friend’s heart without killing him. It made all the papers in New York, which the Pérez family proudly displayed.

It was Christmas time, very cold. The snow was coming down heavily when right at Christmas time Hilda arrived to visit with us at Amparo’s. I remember distinctly that she was wearing a velvet coat tightly fit to the waist, over a black skirt, with a small fur hat; and that she was no longer blonde. She greeted me with joy, called me “Miguelito” and did not stay long, as she had to go back to her hotel in Manhattan. But she had made the journey to visit us. My mom and my Aunt Hilda had become very good friends, caring tremendously for each other since that first visit five years earlier.

When my dad brought Aunt Hilda home for lunch that first day, he called those of his siblings who were in Mexico City at the time. My father had asked my grandmother to organize a meal for her children and wanted to introduce Hilda to her and to them. He asked his siblings to come for lunch the next day at my grandmother’s home. Mamá Deli, as we all referred to her, lived in the apartment below us. The Corzo Clan came: my godfather Ismael, my uncles Esteban, Memo and Mane; my godmother Cuca, my aunt Chata, as well as their spouses, if they were available. Quite a festive gathering.

Since we were the closest ones to Mamá Deli’s home we were the first to arrive. The others came singly or with their spouses. Lastly, Mane arrived with Hilda. They were the same age, had just met for the first time and entered laughing at one of Mane’s comments, always pertinent and hilarious. Mane declared: ”Mamá, this is Hilda.” “Welcome home, my child,” said my grandmother to everyone’s delight, “Welcome, welcome to your home.”

There was not a dry eye in the house. The meal lasted well until midnight.

And so, over the next few years, Aunt Hilda, during her trips to Mexico, would appear sporadically at one of the frequent family reunions. Cuca became her friend and confidant. Ismael and Esteban tried to help her in any way they could. Memo was a little off. So was Chata. They were young, a little jealous. But Mane was truly her twin. They knew all the songs and dances, had the same level of enthusiasm and energy. They were two party accomplices in life.

HILDA WOULD TELL EVERYONE STORIES ABOUT HER FOREIGN POSTINGS and delight us with her adventures in the Foreign Service and in the faraway cities. We would see her at least once a year. A gathering was rapidly put together at different homes and my grandmother always asked her to sit next to her. They were fun parties.

At the time I was fascinated by the new Germany, rising form the disaster and havoc that the World War had brought, and decided, given that I was 16, that I wanted to study in that country during my winter sessions, rather than continue going to school in the US. My parents readily agreed and off I went on my first big adventure to Europe.

I FLEW TO LONDON FOR MY FIRST STOP IN EUROPE and arrived at Heathrow Airport where my Aunt Hilda was anxiously waiting for me. She took me to a boarding house near where she lived, saw me installed and left me to my own devices asking me to meet her at the Mexican Consulate the next day where we she would provide accurate bearings for my exploration of London, suggesting places like Piccadilly Circus, the Thames, Parliament, Westminster Abbey, the Tower of London and the British Museum. It was a delightful adventure in the making.

But before all that happened I had to get to sleep and Aunt Hilda had to go home.

I woke up in the middle of the night, due to the freezing cold inside the boarding house room, and discovered that, unlike the various homes I had visited in the US, I had to pay for my heating by depositing a copper penny in the heater to get a half hour of electrical heat. The following morning I drank horrible coffee for breakfast not being alert or intelligent enough to remember that the English tea was world renowned for a reason. I took the Tube for the first time and did not get lost. And I got a pointer from Aunt Hilda, after meeting her, as to where I could buy a duffel coat that would protect me from the harsh German winter ahead. On Oxford Street I found a got a gorgeous one, dark grey, with bone clasps, for 16 guineas, that lasted me for the next ten years.

This was a longtime ago. I do not remember all the exact details of my trip to London. But one activity organized by my Aunt Hilda is foremost in my mind. She took me to a Medieval Dinner.

This regal banquet hosted by Henry VIII took place by flickering torchlight in vaulted cellars just a stone's throw from the Tower of London and Tower Bridge. The court entertainers provided a magical display. Dinner was served by comely wenches. Knights in armor provided entertainment, and bards sang medieval ballads. After the meal and show, there was music, dancing and merrymaking galore, if you were not exhausted by the jet lag, the cold, the excitement and the terror of facing up to new unknowns waiting for me in Munich. But Aunt Hilda was there for me. She gave me comfort, hosted me as best she could in her limited circumstances, put me on a plane to Germany and bid me Auf Wiedersehen. What a wonderful, smooth transition into Europe with Aunt Hilda looking out for me, much, much closer that my parents nine thousand miles away.

I went back to Europe two more times but did not see her during those trips.

AUNT HILDA HAD BECOME AN IMPORTANT Assistant to the Ambassador in the Mexican Embassy in London. At that time my father was asked by the Minister of Labor of Mexico, who happened to be his first cousin, to help him with his son, José Patrocinio (Pepe), who was going to study in Britain. A young man, with comfortable means and little experience abroad, he needed strong supervision, said his father. My dad contacted Aunt Hilda who offered to see Pepe every month and deliver his allowance, previous display of his grades. This went on for as long as Pepe was in Britain. Later in life, Aunt Hilda told us she had done the same thing for some of President Echeverría’s children and the sons and daughters of other high government officials. All of this done with utmost discretion and care, for which she was thanked sometimes. And sometimes not.

IN 1972 WE BOUGHT A VOLVO AT SCHIPHOL AIRPORT and undertook a trip around Europe to visit friends and family before settling down in Munich to do my doctoral studies. Our first stop was London at “The Chimes”, a house that Aunt Hilda and Uncle Ronnie had bought in East Harrow, near Heathrow Airport. During my first trip to London, at the Medieval Dinner, several years back Aunt Hilda had mentioned a gentleman named Ronnie. She was uncertain about marrying an Englishman; about his family’s reaction to her; and about life in England for the rest of her life. She had shared these thoughts with me during the pauses in the dinner. Later, back in Mexico, we read her letters where she told us that she had finally decided to marry Ronnie. I remember the photos she sent, with the men in top hats and grey morning suits, which left all of the family duly impressed!

WE MET RONNIE DURING OUR TRIP. LILI AND I WERE VERY IMPRESSED by the generosity and kindness he showed us, taking the time to tour us around London. He drove with great enthusiasm and was truly delighted in sharing some of the countryside as well as some London landmarks. Aunt Hilda was most welcoming. So was little Carol, an immensely vivacious, delightful blonde girl who impressed us with her beautiful English accent. We made promises to come and visit them in the future and continued our journey.

A couple of years later we went back to Mexico City and were very involved with work and family. Xavier was born. Lili started spending the summers in Germany with the children. I traveled for business but not to England. Bits and pieces of news of Aunt Hilda and Uncle Ronnie and Cousin Carol’s lives appeared from time to time in my horizon. They had traveled to Mexico, gone to Palenque, became enthusiastic about the work my uncle Esteban was doing there and in his investments. They decided to invest some of their assets in the hotel that Uncle Esteban was building. They also traveled to Tijuana where Uncle Mane was also creating some wealth in a development and looked at that investment opportunity as well. I saw Aunt Hilda and Uncle Ronnie in Mexico City once, at a family gathering in their honor and they were just as caring and warm and generous as if I had seen them the week before. I was very touched by their very human dimension, so much in contrast with the false archetype we all had about English people, of which Aunt Hilda had become one, in her values, demeanor and observing gaze.

IT WAS INTRIGUING TO SEE AUNT HILDA, NOW SO ENGLISH, strive to integrate herself back into Mexican style family josh again. She wanted to be a part of it but had forgotten how; she wanted to enjoy the dynamics, but was a bit leery of them; she longed for the warmth and the intimacy, but cringed a bit at those aspects of life in Mexico. Lili remembers that, during one of the early trips to Mexico, Carol had come along. As happens with Mexican families, adult and children ate together at the same table. Lili was incredibly impressed by the way young Carol, barely three years old, handled her knife and fork, with impeccably elegant eating habits. Lilou reports that is still the case! Aunt Hilda and Uncle Ronnie were always very happy to be in Mexico and enjoyed their time tremendously, celebrated, ate, drank, sang and danced with great gusto and enthusiasm. I am sure they missed all of this when they were back in The Chimes. But I am also sure they were happy to be in peace and silence again in Good Old England.

One summer that Lili and the children were in Munich, we decided to go to London to visit Aunt Hilda. It was a brief trip. While Uncle Ronnie was building a pond in their backyard Carol arrived from school in her green uniform and we all oohed and aahed over her, to her great discomfort. The pond was an extraordinary endeavor that had Alex and Xavier mesmerized by the concept of being able to create a living environment for plants and fish. It was wonderful to see the enthusiasm that Uncle Ronnie had in his project and how hard he worked at it; he invited the boys to help, which they did with great energy. We also observed with curiosity how Aunt Hilda washed the dishes in her sink and a pail with water. It was a technique we had never seen before that saved considerable water. It left a big impression in us. The other big impression we had was the hotel where we stayed since there was not enough room at The Chimes for all of us.

We had a room next to another one, paper thin walls in between. The couple next door were celebrating something important, with great enthusiasm. Their banging against the wall and loud moaning did not stop at all that night. We barely slept that night but it put a stop to the rumor that the English are very discreet.

IT WAS THE SUMMER OF 1980. MY PARENTS WERE LIVING IN NICE with Lilou and Alex. Lili, Xavier and I were living in Boston and went to visit them when, lo and behold, Uncle Ronnie was also in Nice! He had become a Premier Tourist Director with the world famous Caravan Company; this meant that he could choose the tours and the people he wanted to lead around Europe. Nothing but the best, like the Hotel Negresco and other similar ones. He would relate with great glee the difficulties the not so young American ladies in his tour had with the telephone showers, but he managed all well enough to have time and come with us, across the Promenade des Anglais, where my parents and kids lived, to lounge at Lido Plage. There, he would join Alex, with enthusiasm and delight, in ogling the topless women on the beach.

I HAD BEEN    NAMED TO A HIGH LEVEL POSITION in Mexico’s government. One day I received a call from London. It was Aunt Hilda. She told me she remembered her conversations with me in Mexico and Uncle Ronnie remembered his with me in Nice. They were worried about their investments in Mexico in Uncle Esteban’s hotel and wanted my advice. I was very honest in my assessment. I mentioned that Mexico was in an intense spending spree due to the oil reserves that had been discovered; the government was optimistic. The economy appeared growing and sound. At the same time, the global situation was becoming precarious; there was a sentiment that the price of oil was going to drop precipitously and this did not bode well with the currency exchange rates. (I also had additional information about the hotel that I could not share with her because of my government position.) I honestly and firmly advised her and Uncle Ronnie that they would be best served by requesting their investment back, underlining the fact that the amount of that investment had increased over the years and that they had done well. My cousin Teba, who was handling his father’s investments at that time, responded rapidly to Aunt Hilda’s request and wired the funds to them immediately. A few weeks later the peso was devalued and dropped abysmally, bringing Mexico’s finances into chaos. But their investment had been saved. Years later we talked about this and they expressed their gratitude to me, well beyond what I had done, except give some advice.

In the winter of 1984 when we lived in Paris. Mamita, my mother, was visiting us and we decided that Lili, Lilou and Xavier and I would take Mamita to see Aunt Hilda. We drove and spend the most delightful time in London. Carol had started working in London and was not available. Uncle Ronnie took it upon himself to show us Oxford, Stratford on Avon, Winchester Cathedral and many other marvelous sites. He allowed Xavier to use Carol’s bicycle, and more importantly, he let Xavier, all of ten years old, drive his stick shift car. We visited a pub and took walks in the countryside. And then he had to leave on another trip. We stayed for a couple of extra days and a memorable night where Lilou, taking a break from the University of Chicago and a teetering relationship with her boyfriend, opened her heart to Aunt Hilda, Mamita, her mother and me and, fueled by the marvelous wine we were all drinking, declared her ever-lasting love to her family. Aunt Hilda, who had gone through similar situations in her youth, was incredibly understanding, loving, caring and generous and provided a much needed solace to our darling girl.

During our years in Paris we found out that Uncle Ronnie was leading one of his tours. We met at his fancy hotel and went from there to a delightful dinner and a warm visit. Although brief, it was full of care and dedication. Although we were never constantly in touch whenever the occasion arose it would be another exciting time to share our memories and our experiences and continue in a spiraling relationship to grow wider and taller.

During that period my uncles Esteban and Mane, after visiting us in Paris, travelled to London to meet Hilda. That story, unfortunately, is lost for all times. A shame, really, as we all imagine it must have been a rip roaring experience, knowing the two Uncles and their crazy adventures in Europe.

AUNT HILDA AND UNCLE RONNIE MOVED TO FUENGIROLA, near Málaga, to be closer to the warmth of the sun and to a more festive lifestyle. But their departure from England was not going to faze us. By this time Xavier was 17, almost an adult. We met in Madrid, where he showed up not one hour but one day late and we drove to see Aunt Hilda and Uncle Ronnie. They had a lovely villa, with spacious rooms, wonderful light and very warm hearts. Uncle Ronnie took us to visit another villa with a pool where Xavier noticed for the first time the scars on his back, from shrapnel wounds. Xavier was impacted by this reality. We spent just a couple of days there, feeling totally welcomed, offered very nice meals, frosty gin & tonics, abundant wine and great conversation. Late at night, once Aunt Hilda had gone to bed, Uncle Ronnie, feeling a need to connect with the younger set, found for Xavier an erotic channel on the tube. Unfortunately for us all, Aunt Hilda must have heard the noise, woken up and felt the need to find out what was going on. She was not happy at all when she realized what we were watching and expressed her dismay at Uncle Ronnie’s behavior, pretending not to have seen us. We all felt as if we had been chastised by Mother.

All was well the next day...

On another occasion, Lilou traveled with Carla, the daughter of a very good and dear family friend, to Málaga and dropped by to visit Uncle Hilda. That story is for her to tell.

After my dad passed away in 2003, Hilda and Ronnie arrived in Tijuana, having decided that they wanted to move closer to Mane and to Hilda’s family. Hilda was looking for Mane, her soul brother. They settled near Chula Vista, across the border in the US. We were all very excited with their arrival and had great plans to be, finally, nearer together. Aunt Hilda seemed very happy and so did Uncle Ronnie. Alex married Fernanda in a wedding ceremony, officiated by Lilou at the Beverly Hills Country Club. Aunt Hilda and Uncle Mane - who had driven up from the border - sat together during the ceremony. We all remember that wonderful event with their presence. I was living in Philadelphia so I did not have much opportunity to see them at the time. Some time later Uncle Ronnie and Uncle Mane came to Los Angeles to pick up some furniture that would be useful to them in their new house. Both acted like old pals out for a good time, with a chore to do. But Mane’s complexion was off and he did not look very well. A few months later we lost him.

AS I WAS GETTING READY TO GO VISIT AUNT HILDA AND UNCLE RONNIE, flying in from Philadelphia, I received the incredibly sad news of Aunt Hilda’s passing. A few days later I saw Uncle Ronnie for the last time. He was a broken man, who had lost a very significant partner and companion. “Dear Hilda” as he always called her when talking about her, was no longer there and he felt and looked like a truly lost soul. No amount of talking made any difference, although I know we all tried. Soon he left California and went to live back in Spain. I wrote to him twice and he replied, as always with elegance and reluctant acceptance. And then we lost him also.

Aunt Hilda and Uncle Ronnie were a very significant presence in my life and the life of my family.

My parents, Mamita and Michel, always spoke of Aunt Hilda and Uncle Ronnie with great admiration, love and respect. They had only beautiful words to say about them and their lives. They also visited Aunt Hilda and Uncle Ronnie on their own a few times in London and certainly when they were in Mexico. They admired Carol and her determination to succeed. Mamita, particularly, always spoke of Carol with admiration. Mamita and Michel appreciated all the help and support they gave all of us when we traveled to England. They enjoyed their company and conversation with joy, interest and curiosity. It was a pure relationship, filled with love and respect. I also know that Aunt Hilda had great respect for my parents, listened to their advice, which she often sought, and appreciated the support she received from them. I also know of the care and appreciation the rest of the Corzo family had for them. This also extended to my mother’s family since my Uncles Leo, Mario and Aunts Mary and Ofelia also met Aunt Hilda and Uncle Ronnie either in Mexico or London and made solid bonds together.

As for me, what else can I write about Aunt Hilda and Uncle Ronnie? They were there for me, since I was 10 years old! They liked me, loved me and respected me with great care and delicate feelings. They always listened to me carefully and sought my advice. They gave me friendship and love without barriers. They contributed greatly to my education, my view of the world, my understanding of the British, my admiration for England, my love for the English countryside, my admiration for their values, their profound love for their daughter, their joy of life, their respect and management of their lives, their ceaseless aspiration to do better and be better, their care for our extended family, their constant search for connection to us, their discretion, their elegant and stoic behavior, their discipline in life, their elegant demeanor, their discreet charm. They gave their love without expecting any in return. They offered their friendship without expecting reciprocity. They marked my life during many stages. They live forever in my heart. I miss them greatly.

Dieu et Mon Droit                    Rule Britannia