I will be writing a full-length book about Sealand, the world’s foremost micronation!

I am utterly elated to announce that I just signed the contract to write a book called “Bastards of the North Sea: the Story of Sealand, the World’s Foremost Micronation and the Family that Founded It” for Diversion Books.

The story of Sealand has captivated me for a very long time, and it’s pretty much a dream come true to be able to write a full-length piece of nonfiction about it! Thanks so much to my agent Amanda Morrison Jain for hooking this up!

Prince Michael of Sealand of course published his autobiography in 2016, and so my book with be like an unofficial journalistic complement to his work.

I imagine “Bastards of the North Sea” will be published in early 2020.

Any and all micronational leaders please feel free to get in touch, as well as anyone well-versed in maritime law!

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My book Dance of the Trustees: On the Astonishing Concerns of a Small Ohio Township will be published on July 31 and is currently available for pre-order for 30% off.

My book Dance of the Trustees: On the Astonishing Concerns of a Small Ohio Township will be published on July 31 and is currently available for preorder for 30% off. That makes it a mere $15.37!

Please feel free to buy a bunch of copies of this incredible tome so I can retire and only write books.

Readings from and Q&As about this project will take place in Ohio in August and September. Stay tuned!

About the book:

“On September 9, 2015, in the quirky village of Yellow Springs, Ohio, the Miami Township Board of Trustees arbitrated a dispute concerning an area bed and breakfast that was apparently causing a lot of problems in the neighborhood where it was located. People were irate – the B&B was considered too loud or unfairly under attack, and the township officials were called incompetent by both sides for not ruling in their favor. The trustees looked amused, concerned, interested, annoyed, and baffled at the situation before them.

But this quaint debate was one of many fascinating problems the trustees deal with on a daily basis. While Miami Township is small, the concerns are myriad – cemeteries are filledwith unknown remains, there is a fire department to oversee, and they sometimes take legal action against properties clogged with junk. The responsibilities are doubly impressive considering no trustees have backgrounds in public office.

This book combines entertaining nonfiction vignettes with well-researched township history – including its history of religious cults and the possibility that Lee Harvey Oswald was once in town – and elucidates the processes behind an entire civic division. The book documents 21st century township life with humor, warmth and erudition, but also with the scholarship befitting an easy to read civics textbook.”

My Search for an Incredible Piece of Sci-Fi Trash

When I was a kid, I had this ridiculous sci-fi novel full of mutants, profanity, shoot-outs, and sex. Needless to say, I loved it. But when I was older, I couldn’t remember its title or author. And thus began a decade-long search to track down this incredible piece of sci-fi trash, leading me to bookstores around the country and into the vast annals of sci-fi. I just had an essay published at The Millions about my quest – read it!!

Medical waste: Who gets it, and what happens to it?

This article was originally published on April 9, 2018, in the El Paso Inc. Medical Section. The article was edited for length and slight stylistic reasons; the original version can be found below.

Autoclave

The Mediwaste autoclave, closed. Photo by Jorge Salgado.

 

Every day, box trucks pull up to a nondescript warehouse on the far-east side of El Paso to unload a fairly grotesque cargo. The trucks are carrying used catheters, bandages, diapers, syringes, and soiled gowns collected from around the city. The trucks belong to Mediwaste Disposal, a locally-owned company that handles the medical waste of more than five hundred clients in El Paso and New Mexico. If you’ve ever wondered what happens to the contents of those ominous red buckets in your doctor’s office, the Mediwaste fleet is the group to follow.

Companies that produce “regulated medical waste,” such as funeral homes, tattoo parlors, veterinarians, dialysis centers, and dentists, are required by law to dispose of it properly. While the waste eventually ends up in El Paso’s Clint Landfill, the process is not as simple as chucking it there. Texas law requires that a company fully licensed and vetted to treat medical waste pick it up and treat it.

“This is stuff you don’t want any Tom, Dick, and Harry handling,” said Mike Perez, one of the company’s co-founders. (There are other medical waste transporters in the city, but they take their loads elsewhere to be treated.)

To begin, Mediwaste supplies each business with containers that fit their needs. The containers are picked up as often as needed and loaded into the back of a box truck, which is legally required to have extra leak-proof capabilities. Labels are affixed denoting the containers’ provenance and are transported back to the warehouse. Each truck does approximately 35-40 pickups per day, Perez estimates.

The surprisingly innocuous Mediwaste facility is spare and clean-swept, with a few indistinct apparatuses in one corner and the smell of disinfectant lingering in the air. The day’s haul is taken off of the truck and dumped wholesale into what look like metal minecars.

MediwasteCart

A Mediwaste cart filled with…medical waste! Photo by Jorge Salgado.

 

Up to four of these carts are wheeled into a giant autoclave to begin the sterilization process. Superheated water from the adjacent boiler bathes the carts and their contents in steam for almost an hour. A sensor on the autoclave records the entire process to make sure that necessary temperatures are met, and these records are kept on file for five years. (If for some reason the autoclave goes down, the waste is stored in a refrigerated truck until it’s back online.)

Following their steam bath, the carts slide back out of the autoclave and their contents are dumped into a trash compactor, which crushes the assorted waste together in preparation for transport to the landfill. Though the prospect of dumping medical waste into a standard landfill seems questionable, Perez said that the autoclave process ensures that pathogens and other malicious contaminants are killed. In fact, he said, “our waste is probably the cleanest waste in the landfill.” Not only that, but it is an arguably cleaner way of dealing with the waste than earlier methods, such as incineration, which could release hazardous chemicals into the air.

Autoclave with Cart

The autoclave can hold up to four medical waste-bearing mine carts. Photo by Jorge Salgado.

 

Every aspect of the process is governed by stringent health and safety guidelines dictated by the Texas Commission on Environmental Quality, which Perez said are some of the strictest in the country. On top of the regulations governing transport and treatment, the facility is required to have security cameras and a fence running the length of its perimeter. At the end of each day, employees are required to patrol an area stretching two miles in any direction from the facility to make sure that no telltale red bags have dropped from any of the trucks.

When Perez began the arduous process of applying for permits and licenses to open the facility, many area residents expressed concern about seeing recognizable body parts. This kind of waste is called “pathological waste,” Perez explained, and as of yet Mediwaste does not have the equipment to appropriately process it.

However, those capabilities are forthcoming. Squeamish readers may want to proceed with caution – the company will be getting a shredder within the next month. True to its name, the shredder will allow them to render body parts “unrecognizable” before the pulp is treated along with the usual regulated medical waste. This is partly done on the behalf of landfill operators, who may not only get freaked out by finding an intact foot but would have to shut down operations in case the remains are evidence of a murder.

The homegrown company kicked off its operations when it picked up its first load from a pediatrician’s office in 2015 and is considering branching off into other unpleasant territories when the time is right, such as treating asbestos and chemical waste. Perez is as surprised as anyone that he finds himself running such a strange operation, but he is glad he is. In addition to appreciating the company’s success, Perez takes pride in the fact that the company can offer something positive to the community he grew up in. The facility is the first located in El Paso County, which means that tax revenue stays local and that trucks carrying hazardous waste don’t have to drive for hours to the next closest location to dispose of it.

“We took a chance and rolled the dice,” Perez said. “It’s not every a mom and pop operation shows up and says ‘Hey, I’m here to take your medical waste.'”

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Sidebar: What happens to pharmaceuticals and similar waste?

Mediwaste is able to collect and process most pharmaceuticals for disposal. “As long as it’s non-hazardous, it can be run through the autoclave and taken to the landfill,” Perez said.

“Non-hazardous” in this context refers to pharmaceuticals whose components will be rendered inert in the autoclave process and thus won’t leach into groundwater or soil. However, certain medications must be incinerated in order to fully destroy them, as do items such as asthma inhalers, which can explode in the autoclave, and medications like warfarin, which contain explosive chemicals. Chemotherapy waste, such as canisters and related supplies, likewise must be incinerated.

Other options for disposing of pharmaceutical waste include treating it with chemicals, or in the case of pills, encasing them in concrete and burying them in a landfill.

Sidebar redux: How can I properly dispose of my household medications?

According to the El Paso Department of Health, disposing of most household medications is a fairly easy process. First, take an old plastic container with a screw-on lid and fill it with an unappetizing substance, such as dirt, coffee grounds, or kitty litter. Next, take pills, patches, syrups, etc. and put them in the plastic container. Put the lid back on and shake the contents. The moisture that collects in the container will dissolve the pills safely. The container and its contents can then be put out with the regular trash. Disposing of medications in this capacity instead of dumping them down the toilet reduces the amount of chemicals that pollute waterways and ecosystems.

However, such a method won’t work for items like syringes, home medical tools, and asthma inhalers (the latter of which can explode if punctured or heated). These items can be taken to hazardous waste collections sites around town. Some medical facilities or pharmacies are also equipped to take this waste as well as unused and expired medication. Fort Bliss also has collection points.

Duncan Hines was not only a real person but a professional traveler and remarkable self-publishing success story

Kentucky Library and Museum Archives

The surprising trajectory that led a travelling salesman to become the most trusted name in food, on the occasion of his 138th birthday

By any stretch of the imagination, downtown Bowling Green, Kentucky, is not particularly impressive. The town’s color scheme is a collection of unusual shades of non-matching colors, and most buildings seem to have been built without the interest of endowing them with any personality aside from “building.”

Bowling Green, founded in 1798 and with a current population of around 65,000, is located in hilly southwestern Kentucky, and much of the city’s downtown is in the valley formed by the hills that encircle it. You get the impression a number of buildings slid down and collected below, which is why there is a massive metal recycling facility right next to Western Kentucky University, and a number of Quonset huts in turn next to the impressive brick department stores characteristic of early downtown America. The town’s coffee shop – which caters to Bowling Green’s hip crowd but doesn’t open until 1pm on Sundays to accommodate church – once sold stickers that said “Bowling Green: Somebody’s got to live there.”

Despite the sticker’s grim assessment and a pervasively anachronistic color scheme, Bowling Green boasts a fascinating history, a kaleidoscope of events large and small that form its unique story. The city is home to the country’s lone Corvette production facility, for example, responsible for all Corvettes produced in the US since 1981. (Unfortunately, on February, 12, 2014, a sinkhole suddenly opened up in the facility’s on-site museum and swallowed some of its most historic cars.) And chronicling much of Bowling Green’s history is the folklore department of Western Kentucky University, one of the few major academic venues for studying folklore in the US. As one graduate student explained, no, WKU’s folklorists don’t just collect ballads and study fairy tales, they study all manner of cultural minutia, including Furrie culture, the “It” denomination in children’s games, and the role rumor plays in the spread of HIV.

But one of the most crucial and unexpected parts of the city’s folklore is celebrated on highway US31 West, which takes travelers from Bowling Green on down to Nashville. A monument on the highway commemorates the former home and office of the man for whom a stretch of the highway is named. The “Duncan Hines Scenic ByWay” is named after none other Duncan Hines, founder of the eponymous line of cake mixes and kitchen goods and one of Bowling Green’s most illustrious citizens.[1]

Hines, who was born and raised in Bowling Green, didn’t start out as a cake mix kingpin but rather as a traveling salesman for a printing firm. It was a vocation that meshed well with his hobby of writing restaurant reviews, as his long jaunts on the road afforded him the opportunity to eat at dozens of restaurants a month. Hines compiled his reviews and self-published one the first restaurant guidebooks for travelers, and his opinions eventually became so widely respected that restaurants all over the US could be made or broken depending on his review. His renown led to the extensive line of foods that still bear his name.

It is fitting that Hines has a highway named in his honor, as the open road was his inspiration and his office, but the honor also reflects his impact on travel and food writing. He kept his notes for fun with no inkling of the success he’d later see, a practice that any dedicated writer and traveler can understand. And his success with self-publishing is an uplifting example for writers of any stripe, as his fortune came entirely from the chance he took printing and hawking his own work. Hines was known to be a mercurial snob, but he also forged for himself the completely enviable life of traveling, eating, and writing. Hines would turn 138 this year, and this article examines the interesting life of Duncan Hines on the occasion of his decitrioctocentennial birthday.

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One of ten children, Duncan Hines was born in Bowling Green on March 26, 1880, to a prominent area family that included a father who served in the Confederate army. Hines’s mother died when he was a child, leaving young Duncan to be raised by a grandmother who plied him with a steady stream of “apple pie, pecan pie, country ham, candied yams, turnip greens with fatback, beaten biscuits and cornbread,” as he later recalled. Hines attended what would become Western Kentucky University, and following graduation, he worked his way through jobs and landed a gig as a traveling salesman based out of Chicago.

Hines, a proud eater from an early age, made a hobby out of one of the ancillary benefits of his job – he kept a diary of the restaurants he visited while out on the road. Hines noted details such as hours, exact location, availability of air conditioning, and his favorite dishes for the next time he passed through. Hines also took note of a restaurant’s cleanliness, as there were no federally-mandated cleanliness standards governing restaurant kitchens at the time.[2]

After a number of years eating on the road, Hines found that he had not only amassed records on a sizeable amount of restaurants all over the country but that his friends, knowing of his hobby, were always bugging him for restaurant recommendations. So Hines and his wife Florence turned his notes into a pamphlet that he sent out with their Christmas cards. Acclaim was so great for the list of “supreme eating places” that Hines began charging for the pamphlet and then decided to turn it into a book.

Image result for duncan hines bookAdventures in Good Eating was self-published in 1936 and featured informative side-notes and colorful personal commentary alongside his 475 reviews. A typical review reads “Open all year, except Mondays and Christmas, noon to 8 p.m. Cinnamon buns are good here and so is the pastry. Tea-roomy perhaps, but not too dainty as to portions. Lunch 85¢ to $1.10; Dinner $1.10 to $2.00.”, but he also wrote elsewhere that he “would like to be food dictator of the U.S.A. just long enough to padlock two-thirds of the places that call themselves cafes or restaurants.” As one writer put it, his reviews were “chatty, self-important, and marketing-friendly. If he lived today, Duncan Hines would be the world’s most famous food blogger.”

His book, released “with mingled temerity and pleasure,” was so successful that within ten years the book had gone through thirty printings. Western Kentucky University graduate Louis Hatchett explains in his biography Duncan Hines: How a Traveling Salesman Became the Most Trusted Name in Food that Hines would order 11,000 copies of the book at a time and distribute them himself. He lost money on the first two printings – he printed five thousand copies at a personal loss of thousands of dollars – but earned a respectable middle-class living from the third printing on. The secretaries Hines hired to work from his home answered at least a thousand letters per week, as mail poured in from people with restaurant recommendations of their own. Of course, more restaurants to review ensured endless updates to the book, and the book became an annually-updated (and still self-published) affair for the few decades.

Hines didn’t visit all the restaurants personally but relied on trusted and persnickety restaurant connoisseurs to keep him abreast of what was good and what was terrible (and to help distribute the books). His ‘Dinner Detectives,’ as he called them, were friends and strangers, and included the inventor of Southern Comfort liqueur, who would serve dinner on gold dishes that once belonged to the Czar of Russia when the Hines came to dine at his house. Recommendations written by the Hines’ close friends the Singmasters were so adroit and so attuned to Hines’ own tastes that they went into the book “no questions asked.” At the book’s height, Hines had 400 Dinner Detectives working for him.

Image result for 1930s restaurant

Jonathan Jeffrey, the Department Head for Library Special Collections at Western Kentucky University, says that Hines’s background as a printing salesman gave him the insight into self-publishing that he needed to make himself a success, and Hines’s list of publications grew with his fame. In 1938, he began publishing Lodging for a Night, a hotel guide[3]; the first volume of an annually-updated cookbook called Adventures in Good Cooking came in 1939; while Duncan Hines’ Vacation Guide and Duncan Hines’ Dessert Book debuted respectively in 1948 and 1955. The cookbooks were huge in their scope: the first Dessert Book, for example, contained 555 recipes, including one hundred for pies and forty for custards.

Hines’s books sold approximately two million copies in their first decade, but the influence of Adventures in Good Eating extends far beyond their role as the era’s Yelp. Hines made it known that he secretly inspected the bathrooms and even the garbage bins of the places where he ate (and often requested tables that allowed him to sneak looks inside the kitchen), and the power of a recommendation in one of his books was said to have “forced the restaurant industry […] into the modern era” and “helped pave the way for the quality restaurant meals that we expect today.” Being held in high esteem as a member of the “Duncan Hines family” was so important that Hines was able to begin renting “Recommended by Duncan Hines” signs to restaurants in the 1940s. These endorsements brought Hines an annual salary close to thirteen times that of the average person, and it wasn’t long before he and a few businessmen realized they could cash in even harder on his name. (Though it is important to note that Hines accepted no advertising in any of his guidebooks – he wanted to ensure a total lack of bias in his reviews. According to Jeffrey, this could also be the reason why no Bowling Green restaurants were ever reviewed either – he didn’t want to show bias to his hometown. Then again, Jeffrey says, there also weren’t any great restaurants in town at the time either.)

Image result for duncan hines items 1950s

A Duncan Hines line of ice cream, the first Hines-brand product, debuted in 1950, and the famous line of cake mixes came started in 1951. In 1953, Hines and business partner Roy Park formed a company that licensed his name to a wide variety of products, and in 1957 the Duncan Hines brand was sold to Proctor and Gamble, which distributed the name even further. In short order, there were over 150 Duncan Hines-brand food items. The cake mix for which he is most famous muscled its way to control ten percent of the cake mix market in only two years. Hines was fastidious about how to prepare the products bearing his name, and insisted on writing the instructions for how to prepare items like Duncan Hines brand coffee. Ironically, Hines could not cook at all. He grew up with his grandmother’s cooking, and as a salesman, he mostly ate on the road, obviating the need to cook for himself.

At the brand’s height, annual profits were upwards of $411 million in today’s dollars, partly because Hines products were significantly richer than their competitors’. (The cake mix was a success because it called for the chef to put in the eggs, Jeffrey explained. Other mixes contained powdered eggs, with unimpressive results.)[4] Jeffrey says he could never get a definitive account of how much Hines was actually worth, as the gourmand made a point to keep it quiet. (Hines was known to say things like he only made an eighth of a cent off of every cake mix, but would then note that tens of thousands of cake mixes were sold each minute.) With his earnings, he bought the expansive property now commemorated outside of Bowling Green, replete with a grand porch intended to copy that of George Washington’s Mount Vernon. Hines was so trusted that readers asked him to co-sign on property purchases and was said to have better name recognition than the Vice President.

But Hines didn’t always live up to the image of a friendly grandfather beaming from the label on a jar of pickles. Hatchett’s biography, which one reviewer points out is a fairly hagiographic account of his life, notes many of his questionable behaviors. As a kid, he apparently enjoyed pranking trains, at one point greasing tracks so a train couldn’t go uphill. He acted lasciviously toward his secretaries, only liked being around “successful people” (their success meant their opinions could be trusted)[5], and his volatile temper forced employees to quit and his second wife to divorce him on account of cruelty. He was an old-school man during an old-school time, with a perhaps predictable outlook. (But, as one reviewer notes, this likely won’t surprise “modern readers who are long past accepting midcentury heroism at face value.”)

But this didn’t hinder his career by any means. Hines and his wife Florence traveled 50,000 miles per year doing research for of Adventures in Good Eating, seeing new cities, meeting interesting people, and trying the cuisine of every corner of the USA. As Hines laconically put it in The Dessert Book, “I am in the fortunate position of being a professional taster.” They footed the bill for these travels themselves, as to again avoid any perception of bias, and he also used an old picture of himself in his books to minimize the chance he’d be recognized.

One of the presumable downsides to being a food critic is the inevitable weight gain – Jeffrey notes Hines had a “fetish about butter and fresh eggs” – and Hines made sure to take three months off every year to get himself back in shape. (This was a viable plan, it seems, as the 1946 Life profile attests to his “well-preserved figure.”) But it wasn’t the pies and steaks that caught up with Hines but lung cancer: Hines died on March 15, 1959, two weeks shy of his eightieth birthday. New editions of his books were published until 1961 and then the series slowly faded to obscurity (though some editions are now sought-after collector’s items).

Hines is buried in Bowling Green and is commemorated locally by the eponymous stretch of highway and a permanent exhibit at Western Kentucky University that explores his life, career, and influence, a collection that Jeffrey says is frequently visited by researchers. His papers are located at Cornell University, where his estate gives scholarships through the University’s hospitality management program. Bowling Green has a Duncan Hines festival each year, which, while not as popular as some of the regional corn and watermelon festivals, the festival achieves the tourism commission’s aim to keep his name alive and associated with the city. (Jeffrey opines that the corn festival is more popular because it the year’s biggest event in a small Kentucky town while Bowling Green hosts a number of large events annually.)

Unlike Betty Crocker and Tony the Tiger, Duncan Hines was in fact a real person, and one whose hobby ended up changing restaurant culture as a whole, and almost certainly our health and wellbeing in the process. Whatever color scheme Bowling Green chooses to paint itself (or the number of Quonset huts that dot city streets), the city has a hero in this man because he made real a fantasy that no doubt exists in many of us: he forged for himself the unimaginably cool job of traveling and “eating his way across the country,” and he made himself very wealthy in the process. “Without a doubt, Duncan Hines is the most famous and long-lasting name that has come out of the Bowling Green community,” Jeffrey says.

His legacy lives on, in Bowling Green and beyond – simply consult your grocer’s shelves!

Photo by Mike Reed

[1] According to visitbgky.com, the road is worth checking out: “The Duncan Hines Scenic ByWay has been written about in numerous publications, including a Reader’s Digest coffee table publication featuring scenic drives and byways throughout the country.” It’s also worth mentioning that Hines’s former residence is now a funeral home.

[2] “If I smell rancid grease,” he told Life Magazine in a 1946 profile, “I back out. I know it must be one of those Filthy Dicks where if you get anything to eat after the cockroaches are finished, you’re lucky.”

[3] In which he recommended proprietors not rent rooms to people without luggage.

[4] Though obviously revered for his culinary opinions, his alcohol tastes were suspect (and appears to have been the result of him unexpectedly enjoying a prank pulled on him by his wife). His favorite drink was reportedly a “Mrs. Hines’s cocktail,” which was comprised of the juice of a watermelon pickle, a whole egg, cream, gin, grenadine, orange-blossom honey, and lime juice. By his own admission he said he could drink more twelve of these concoctions in a sitting.

[5] “The Hines public consists largely of persons like Hines – middle-aged, of substantial income, who travel for pleasure,” according to the 1946 Life profile. “At the sight of antediluvian plumbing or gravy reminiscent of library paste their dispositions ruffle perceptibly.”

From the Emerald Isle to the Borderland: How the Irish contributed to El Paso history

Irish Architecture 008.jpg

St. Patrick’s Cathedral, at 1118 N. Mesa. Photo by Jorge Salado

Originally published in El Paso Inc. B Section on March 12, 2018.

The Southwest may not be the first place you think of when you think of Irish immigrants, but the connection is closer than you might think. In fact, John Brendan Flannery writes in “The Irish Texans” that the Irish were some of the earliest settlers in the area, and today “the number of Texas descendants of Irish-born antecedents is probably incalculable.”

El Paso is no exception. The city has had its share of Irish politicians, businessmen and religious leaders, while a shared Catholic faith helped form relationships between Mexican and Irish communities.

In fact, at one point in the late 1800s, a prominent Irish El Paso resident named Dan Reckhart said, “There’d be nobody in El Paso but the Irish if it were not for the fact that Mexico was just on the other side of the Rio Grande.”

The mass immigration of Irish citizens to the U.S. was a result of the desperate times that characterized Ireland in the mid 1800s. A potato famine ravaged the country, killed 1 million people and was a tragedy compounded by centuries of sectarian violence between Catholics and Protestants and oppression by the British crown. Between 1820 and 1860, about 2 million Irish citizens immigrated from the Emerald Isle to the U.S. That’s a third of all immigrants who arrived in the U.S. at the time.

Once here, the Irish found things weren’t perfect. Irish people were widely discriminated against and relegated to the lower rungs of society. The hostile climate and the availability of jobs prompted Irish communities to slowly move westward, where anti-Irish attitudes weren’t as pronounced.

Some of the first prominent Irish communities in Texas were in what would become San Antonio, Corpus Christi and Beaumont. Many came to El Paso from St. Louis because the city was then in French territory and Catholicism was France’s national religion, said Barbara Angus, curator of the El Paso Museum of History.

As the railroads stretched west across Texas, Irish workers went with it, and many Irish wound up working as miners, ranchers and laborers in the small boomtown.

Relatively free of the anti-Irish attitudes in the East, it wasn’t long before many Irish citizens came into positions of power. At one point, Irish men from the same family occupied the offices of El Paso mayor, sheriff and chief of police. Canada native Richard Caples, whose parents were Irish immigrants, ran for mayor of El Paso. He managed to get citizenship the day before the election, which he ultimately won.

One of the city’s most illustrious citizens has roots in Éire: Joseph Magoffin’s grandfather was born in Ireland. According to Machelle Wood, education and public programs coordinator at the Magoffin Home State Historic Site, Magoffin gave a nod to his Irish roots when he built the courthouse, picking March 17, 1899 to lay the cornerstone – St. Patrick’s Day. The parade celebrating the opening of the courthouse was combined with the boisterous St. Patrick’s Day parade, creating a mega-parade that boasted 32 floats, an Irish band and a masquerade ball.

But not all of the Irish necessarily felt beholden to the U.S. Before Texas was a state, many Irish settlers set up ranches in what was then northern Mexico at the invitation of the Mexican government. Land agents, or “empresarios,” from Ireland like James McGloin helped establish Irish colonies from overseas. According to an 1824 Mexican decree that determined the amount of land given to settlers, more land would be given to immigrants who married into Mexican families.

While this benefited many Mexicans and Irishmen, indigenous groups were forced out as a result.

“The newcomers proudly pointed out their leagues of land,” writes William H. Oberste in “Texas Irish Empresarios and Their Colonies,” “because over the centuries this right had been denied them, they could chortle with glee that now they were the proud owners of more land than even the Lords of England.” And so, when some American ranchers took up arms to break away from Mexico, many Irish ranchers chose to fight on Mexico’s side, content with the “peace and plenty” they enjoyed there.

A contingent of Irishmen from San Patricio, an Irish settlement in Mexico, fought under Mexican command, while another group defected from the U.S. to Mexico and were later captured by the U.S. and executed.

“To people in the U.S., they were considered deserters and traitors,” Angus said. “But to many in Mexico, they were heroes.”On the other hand, many Irish men also fought on the side of the U.S. Historian Flannery notes that Irish colonists in general supported the Texas cause, and even “demanded independence at a time when it was unpopular among other Texans.” This posture led to some Irish settlements being burned and looted by the Mexican army.

Either way, one of the reasons that Irish settlers may have felt at home in the area was the region’s Catholic faith. Many historians noted the Irish and Mexicans shared traditions and festive days of religious significance, as well as similar “sociability and fatalistic attitudes about life.” In some cases, the shared faith facilitated communication – literally. Angus said the church’s Latin would suffice when Spanish or English didn’t work.

In El Paso, the Irish influence can be seen most prominently in the St. Patrick Cathedral. The Diocese of El Paso was established in March 1914, and construction of the cathedral began in July of the same year. To raise money for the church, a friar offered the chance to pick the saint the cathedral would be named after to the first person to contribute $10,000 to its construction. A wealthy El Paso woman, Delia Lane, donated the money, but her “innate modesty” meant that she didn’t want to choose the name herself, and so she gave the rights to name the church to the Irish civic group the Daughters of Erin. The group named the cathedral after St. Patrick, the saint who introduced Christianity to Ireland in the 400s.

As it happens, St. Patrick is also the patron saint of engineers, which accounts for a UTEP engineering fraternity’s annual tradition of painting the campus green with shamrocks early in the morning of St. Patrick’s Day.

The Irish possessed a serious drive to make their own way in El Paso, Magoffin Home coordinator Wood said. The chance to make their own way, on their own terms, inspired a sense of belonging to an area vastly different from the place they called home.

“People from other countries might consider themselves ‘foreigners,’” writes historian Lenore Dil in “Molly MacGuires in the Southwest,” “But the Irish never considered themselves so.”

 

 

Dance of the Trustees: my book will be out on July 30!

My book Dance of the Trustees: on the Astonishing Concerns of a Small Ohio Township will be published by Trillium Press, an imprint of The Ohio State University Press, on July 30.

Info about the book can be found below, and some excerpted chapters can be found on this site. For a look at the table of contents and other miscellaneous info, please visit the OSU Press’s site for this book here. The book will be available in bookstores and through a certain monolithic online megastore. And as a digital version too!

As the webpage explains, “On September 9, 2015, in the quirky village of Yellow Springs, Ohio, the Miami Township Board of Trustees arbitrated a dispute concerning an area bed and breakfast that was apparently causing a lot of problems in the neighborhood where it was located. People were irate – the B&B was considered too loud or unfairly under attack, and the township officials were called incompetent by both sides for not ruling in their favor. The trustees looked amused, concerned, interested, annoyed, and baffled at the situation before them.

But this quaint debate was one of many fascinating problems the trustees deal with on a daily basis. While Miami Township is small, the concerns are myriad – cemeteries are filled with unknown remains, there is a fire department to oversee, and they sometimes take legal action against properties clogged with junk. The responsibilities are doubly impressive considering no trustees have backgrounds in public office.

This book combines entertaining nonfiction vignettes with well-researched township history – including its history of religious cults and the possibility that Lee Harvey Oswald was once in town – and elucidates the processes behind an entire civic division. The book documents 21st century township life with humor, warmth and erudition, but also with the scholarship befitting an easy to read civics textbook.”

And as an esteemed colleague of mine commented, “Dylan Taylor-Lehman has a curiosity that knows no bounds, and he has trained it on the quirky concerns of a village and township in southwest Ohio where he lived for two years. Lucky for us, the readers, his narrative voice is as charming and distinctive as his curiosity is strong — this book is a funny, informative and delightful look at small town shenanigans and goings-on.” —Diane Chiddister, Editor, Yellow Springs News