Another fictional account of note is in Michener’s “Centennial” where a sugar beet farmer named Brumbaugh was trying to find a reliable source of seasonal label for his farm. He tried Blacks and Indians, too unreliable, Japanese and Chinese, reliable but they saved their money and bought their own farms. His solution was Mexicans, reliab…
Another fictional account of note is in Michener’s “Centennial” where a sugar beet farmer named Brumbaugh was trying to find a reliable source of seasonal label for his farm. He tried Blacks and Indians, too unreliable, Japanese and Chinese, reliable but they saved their money and bought their own farms. His solution was Mexicans, reliable and skilled farm hands whose roots remained in Mexico. Over time, their families moved into the USA and they stayed.
I was raised picking chiles and tying grapes with those families. I have a lot I could say on this. (Plus, our beloved neighbors were actual Okies who came to pick fruit in California.) I've talked to farmers from Maryland to the San Joaquin Valley, some used to drive down to Mexico every season and pick up the same families every season.
Two quickies: in grade school we used to go by the burning busses where Cesar Chavez's United Farm Worker's union thugs stood with baseball bats. He hated seasonal migrants, since he was born in Indiana.
When 'La Migra'- ICE immigration or Border Patrol would come by the ranch in Nevada, we'd hide our Mexicans inbetween haystacks, piling up bales to block off the ends and making it look like one solid stack. They'd offer to buy us beer and take us hands to the Mustang Ranch, the local brothel! (High school kids had to enter in the back.)
Another fictional account of note is in Michener’s “Centennial” where a sugar beet farmer named Brumbaugh was trying to find a reliable source of seasonal label for his farm. He tried Blacks and Indians, too unreliable, Japanese and Chinese, reliable but they saved their money and bought their own farms. His solution was Mexicans, reliable and skilled farm hands whose roots remained in Mexico. Over time, their families moved into the USA and they stayed.
Much like today?
I was raised picking chiles and tying grapes with those families. I have a lot I could say on this. (Plus, our beloved neighbors were actual Okies who came to pick fruit in California.) I've talked to farmers from Maryland to the San Joaquin Valley, some used to drive down to Mexico every season and pick up the same families every season.
Two quickies: in grade school we used to go by the burning busses where Cesar Chavez's United Farm Worker's union thugs stood with baseball bats. He hated seasonal migrants, since he was born in Indiana.
When 'La Migra'- ICE immigration or Border Patrol would come by the ranch in Nevada, we'd hide our Mexicans inbetween haystacks, piling up bales to block off the ends and making it look like one solid stack. They'd offer to buy us beer and take us hands to the Mustang Ranch, the local brothel! (High school kids had to enter in the back.)
Sometimes there are no solutions - only consequences.