Back in May, at the Los Banos Picnic, N.A.B.O. held its annual convention. This one was particularly special, as it marked 50 years since the founding of the federation of Basque clubs and entities. During the last 50 years, N.A.B.O. has helped bring the Basque community of the United States and beyond together by hosting a myriad of events and providing resources to help individual clubs. Zorionak N.A.B.O.!
This year marks N.A.B.O.’s 50 anniversary. Image from the N.A.B.O. website.
The North American Basque Organizations, or N.A.B.O., was formed in 1973 with the goal of bringing together the various and disparate Basque clubs and groups around the United States. That year, a group of like-minded Basques met in Elko, Nevada to discuss the formation of an umbrella organization. The first Basque festival open to the public in the western United States had only been held a handful of years before, in 1959 in Sparks, Nevada, but that event catalyzed similar festivals in other towns, creating both a community of Basque-Americans but also a need for some coordination between the clubs.
One spark for the formation of N.A.B.O. came from FEVA, the Federación de Entidades Vasco Argentinas. FEVA is an umbrella organization for the Basque entities in Argentina. In 1971, Jon Bilbao and William Douglass, of the Basque Studies Program at the University of Nevada, Reno, travelled to Argentina to learn about the Basques there, and discovered FEVA. Bilbao returned to Reno convinced that a similar organization needed to be created in the United States. After some cajoling, he convinced the reticent Douglass that it was indeed a good idea. Along with Janet Inda, they reached out to the Basques of Boise and San Francisco to discuss the idea.
However, stories differ, and the Boise Basques provide a different origin story. They had received a grant from the National Endowment for the Humanities and used some of that funding to create the Idaho Basque Studies Center (IBSC) which, in 1972, reached out to other Basque clubs in the United States with the goal of creating a federation of Basque clubs. This outreach was led by Al Erquiaga and Miren Rementeria, both of the IBSC. Rementeria and Erquiaga were the leads of that initial meeting in Elko in 1973.
In their second meeting, in June 1973, the representatives of various Basque clubs adopted the name North American Basque Organizations, replacing the previously used Western States Basque Federation, in recognition that there were Basque clubs in other parts of the United States. Only two months later, N.A.B.O. held its first convention in Reno where Erquiaga was elected the first president of N.A.B.O.
The primary objective of N.A.B.O. is “the perpetuation of ‘Basqueness‘ (Basque culture & identity).” This includes cultivating relations between the member entities, recognizing outstanding contributions by Basques or to the Basque culture, and educate both the members and the general public about the Basques.
Three of the biggest efforts N.A.B.O. undertakes to achieve these objectives are their annual music camp (now called Udaleku), mus tournament, and pelota tournament. The first of each of these was in 1977, 1977, and 1976, respectively. They also provide educational materials to clubs, including resources to teach Euskara.
Today N.A.B.O. boasts members from twelve different states, the District of Columbia, and Canada. There is technically even a club from France, as Saint Pierre and Miquelon, though a group of islands off of Newfoundland, is strictly French territory.
Ever since Robert Laxalt’s Sweet Promised Land told the story of his Basque immigrant father, there has been a growing recognition that the lives and stories of these men and women are not only worth telling, but comprise an integral part of our collective history and experience. Professor Richard Etulain has made it his life’s mission to tell these stories, not only of the Amerikanuak but of the entire American West. He has written books that tell the story of Billy the Kid and Calamity Jane and many other western figures. His most recent book, Boyhood Among the Woolies, is more personal, describing his own childhood growing up on a sheep ranch in eastern Washington state with a Basque immigrant father who, by example, demonstrated a work ethic that has sustained Richard his whole life. You can learn more about Boyhood Among the Woolies and all of Richard’s books at his website. Richard took a few moments to virtually sit down with me to discuss his connection to Basque culture, his interest in the history of the American west, and the need to tell our stories.
Buber’s Basque Page: You mention a few times in your book how, because of various factors, you and your family were not so connected to the Basque culture as you might have been. What elements of Basque culture did you grow up with? Did your dad ever speak Basque with you and your brothers?
Richard Etulain: I have lived most of my adult life realizing how different my early years were from those of my Basque contemporaries. My Basque Dad converted to evangelical Protestantism in his twenties, he married a non-Basque woman, we lived away from any notable Basque group (Yakima was about four hours drive away), and my later pathway as an academic rather than as a rancher or farmer–these were the major reasons for my distance from the livestyles and outlooks of so many other Basques. My Dad was first-rate example of indarra, the resiliency, ambition, and perseverance of many Basques. Other sheepmen saw and realized how much my Dad was a nonstop worker. In his daily labors, his exacting honesty, and his devotion to success Dad defined Basqueness for onlookers—and later for me.
Two other barriers kept me from linking up with Basque culture as a young man. In his incessant work habits, Dad was not a close father to his three sons. He was “too bussy” (Dad’s way of saying “too busy”), as he would state, for small talks. Plus, my mother had no ties to the Basques or Spanish culture. So, we had no Basque and little Spanish in our home.
The Etulain sheep ranch near Ritzville, Washington, where Richard grew up
BBP: Despite you not having as many elements of Basque culture in your childhood, you are clearly drawn to the Basque history of the American West. What about the Basques do you find particularly interesting?
Richard Etulain: As an undergraduate and graduate student history major, I fell in love with the history and cultures of the American West. Partly because I felt at home in the rural West and probably because I was drawn to books that depicted a romantic Old West. Gradually, as an advanced graduate student and university professor of history, I became interested in a more wide-angle view of the West. That broader view pushed me to move beyond the popular western topics such as the frontier, cowboys, Indians, and a Wild West. I became interested in new topics: cities, politics, literary history—and the Basques. Over time, I wanted to know more about my own story, a sheep ranch life, small western towns, and the Basques. Once that drive surfaced, I began serious research and writing about the Basques. Spending a year on a NEH grant at the University of Nevada, Reno, Basque Studies program and with mentor William Douglass did much to launch my work on the Basques.
BBP: You spent a year at the University of Nevada, Reno, with William Douglass. What was the most memorable aspect of that year?
Richard W. Etulain, Professor Emeritus of History at the University of New Mexico, is the author or editor of more than 60 books. Best known among his books about the history and cultures of the American West are Conversations with Wallace Stegner (1983), Writing Western History (editor, 1991), Re-imagining the Modern American West: A Century of Fiction, History, and Art (1996), Telling Western Stories: From Buffalo Bill to Larry McMurtry (1999), Beyond the Missouri: The Story of the American West (2006), The American West: A Modern History, 1900 to the Present (with Michael P. Malone, 2d ed., 2007), and Lincoln Looks West: From the Mississippi to the Pacific (2010). He has been president of both the Western Literature and Western History associations. He has lectured abroad in several countries, most recently as a Fulbright Lecturer in Ukraine and at the University of the Basque Country in northern Spain. He serves as editor of the Oklahoma Western Biographies series for the University of Oklahoma Press and has been coeditor of the Concise Lincoln Library for the Southern Illinois University Press. He has also submitted a manuscript, “Illuminative Moments: Pacific Northwest Prose, 1800 to the Present,” which the University of Nevada Press will publish in 2023 or early 2024. Finally, he will also self-publish a manuscript entitled “Learning and Faith: A College Memoir,” in 2023. He is currently working on a collection of previously published and newly written essays on the American Basques.
Richard Etulain: My year of studies at the Basque Studies Center at the University of Nevada, Reno, in 1973-74, especially with Bill Douglass, was a turning point in my journey toward becoming a diligent student of the Amerikanuak. Previously, I had gathered bits and pieces about the Basques from my family, a trip to the Old Country, and in-and-out readings about the Basques. But at Reno, I learned to be a researcher on the American Basques. I studied side-by-side with Bill Douglass and Jon Bilbao as they were completing their work on Amerikanuak: Basques in the New World (1975), still the most important book written on the American Basques fifty years after it was published. The desire to research and write on the Amerikanuak led to my writing several essays and editing four books on the Basques. More recently, that ongoing drive to write about the American Basques led to Boyhood Among the Woolies: Growing Up on a Basque Sheep Ranch (2023) – and editing a collection of previously published and newly written essays on its way to publication.
BBP: Reno has a vibrant Basque community. Did that proximity allow you to connect to Basque culture in ways that you hadn’t been able to when you were a child?
Richard Etulain: Five stopping places along my journey toward becoming more of a Basque have been centrally important to this pilgrimage. My pre-teen and teen years on a sheep ranch and livestock farm introduced me to sheepmen and their ways of life, especially through the nonstop work ethic of my Basque father—and through the lives of several Basque herders on our sheep ranch. Then, as a college student in 1955-60 in the Boise area, I added more explicit Basque ways in eating at a boardinghouse, visiting a museum, and attending Basque celebrations in which I participated or merely witnessed. Then in the summer of 1967, a trip to the Old Country and a visit to my Dad’s hometown of Eugui, and stops with my Basque relatives were pleasing, eye-opening experiences. My year in Reno at the University of Nevada Basque Studies Center (1973-74), where I succumbed to the itch to become a Basque researcher. Finally, back to Boise, where I have attended the Jaialdi celebrations with my family and carried out further research. As a boy I was isolated from Basque communities like those developing in Boise and Reno; but as a student and adult I have had my Basque batteries charged in several trips and stays in Boise and Reno.
BBP: As an adult, were there specific things you did to try to connect to your Basque heritage more explicitly? Did you try to bring in elements of Basque culture into your own home?
Richard Etulain: I first introduced myself to a few Basque things when I was in the Boise area as a college student, and later as a teacher. I ate at a Basque boardinghouse and attended a few Basque gatherings. A few years later in my first trip to the Basque Country, I gathered a few books, artworks, and pottery for my reading and house decorations. Then, through the years, I attended more and more Basque celebrations in Reno, Elko and Winnemucca, San Francisco, and Boise. Once I began to research and write about the Basques in the mid-1970s, I gathered more publications about the Basques and interviewed Basque family members, and notable Amerikanuak Robert Laxalt.
Richard with his Basque relatives on the border of Spain and France
BBP: How was it, interviewing Robert Laxalt? He is such a titan in Amerikanuak literature! What was it like interviewing him?
Interviewing Robert Laxalt in January 1996 was an unforgettable experience. Conversing with Laxalt and his wife Joyce in Carson City, Nevada, was not only valuable for my later writing about him; so was the chatting about our Basque heritage and the recent trends in western American literature. The interview with Laxalt was just right for a literary historian on my beat. He talked about his Basque family, his work as a journalist, and his ongoing challenges as a storyteller. What I saw in Laxalt – in person – replicated what others saw in his fiction and nonfiction: he was a superb storyteller, much aware of American social and cultural complexities, and able to turn out first-rate work that captured and explained those complexities.
BBP: Sheepherding, though less glamorous than cattle ranching, was just as important a part of the development of the American West. As a historian of the American West, how do you see the role of sheepherding and the sheep industry in the development of the United States?
Richard Etulain: My contacts with sheepherding and sheep ranching were of two kinds: I first experienced all the daily details of sheep ranching in the first sixteen years of my life, near Ritzville and Ellensburg, in the state of Washington. Later, secondly, as an adult and teacher I began to read about sheep ranching and its impact on the American West. The books by Edward Norris Wentworth and Archer B. Gilfillan were information-builders in this new area for me.
I was slow to do serious reading and research on the western sheep industry because the mythic American West, that is the John Wayne-Louis L’Amour emphases, had captured me. It focused almost entirely on cowboys, outlaws, and shootouts. No sheepherders there. But as a history professor I began more encompassing study of the limitations of the mythic West, on the one hand, and commenced examining the overlooked western, diverse subjects such as western urbanization and sheep raising. Once I realized the complexity of western history, rather than the stylized, stereotyped Old West, I studied more carefully and extensively such subjects as sheepmen and sheep-raising. Plus, a year teaching in New Zealand and visiting hundreds of sheep stations there gave me comparative information for understanding sheep raising. These expanded studies helped me to realize, much more, how important sheep matters were to the development of the American West.
BBP: As both a historian of the American West and the son of an immigrant, can you comment on the role that immigrants and immigration have had in the development of the West?
Richard Etulain: We often forget that many westerners are—and have been—immigrants. From the first newcomers to the present, huge numbers of westerners have come from other places. And many of the immigrants have been initiators of new things in the American West brought from their previous New World and Old World locations; they have also been receptive to the sociocultural traditions already in place in the West when they arrived. In the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, the recent arrivals from Europe, Asia, South and Central America, and Mexico, as well as those coming up the overland trails from other parts of the U. S., were important shapers of the American West. Think, as examples, of the Asians who came to work on railroads, the South Americans participating in the Gold Rush, the Greeks, Scandinavians, and Scots as miners, herders, and agricultural workers, and the Mormons – all added to the changing identity of western America. Obviously, the Basques are an important part of this immigrant population – from Juan de Oñate and Juan Bautista de Anza up through the numerous Euskaldunak who came to Spanish and Mexican California. And then the more numerous Basque immigrants that came as sheepherders from Spain and France in the 1890 to 1960 years. Immigrants have been a notably important ingredient of an ever-evolving western American identity. We need to keep the Basques in this transitioning story.
BBP: You mentioned your upcoming collection of Basque essays. What can we expect to read in there? What other projects are you working on?
My forthcoming collection of ten essays on the Basques of the American West has been submitted but not yet accepted for publication. It includes previously published essays on Basques in American literature, early Basques of the Pacific Northwest, Robert Laxalt, my father Sebastian Etulain, and on other topics. The three newly written essays for the collection provide an overview of most historical writings on American Basques during the past half century, a guide to the literary career of Basque writer Frank Bergon, and an overview essay on the Basques of Washington. In addition to my just-published Boyhood Among the Woolies: Growing Up on a Basque Sheep Ranch (2023), I have also published a new collection of my essays entitled The American West and Its Interpreters: Essays in Literary History and Historiography (2023). Next year, I have a literary history of the Pacific Northwest coming out.
BBP: Have you been to the Basque Country? If so, what is your favorite place?
Richard visiting in the Basque Country with his wife Joyce
Richard Etulain: Reading Robert Laxalt’s Sweet Promised Land planted the seed of taking a trip to the Basque Country. I have made two trips—with my Dutch wife Joyce—to the Basque Country. The first was part of a three-month trip in the summer of 1967 in which we visited several western European countries, included several days in Spain and France and the Basques. We visited my Dad’s hometown of Eugui, about 20-30 miles north of Pamplona, and our namesake nearby town of Etulain. We enjoyed visits with several members of the Etulain family and other relatives. Then we took a second trip in 2008; we again visited Eugui and met with family and friends. I also had the delightful experience of teaching a course on the history and literature of the American West at the University of the Basque Country. I have much enjoyed the variety of the Basque County: cities, small towns, farms and landscapes. And historical sites like Guernica. Loved wandering in the country and trying to visualize, in place, what I had studied about Basque culture and society.
BBP: Any parting words?
Richard Etulain: Well, I guess, it’s an unusual pathway from growing up on an isolated sheep ranch to becoming the author or editor of more than sixty books. But, of more importance, is my hope that readers of books and essays about the American Basques will realize how many stories remain to be told. Basque communities, Basque individuals, and Basque ideas and cultural experiences await their authors.
There was a momentary lull in the musket fire as the soldiers reloaded their rifles. Maite took the opportunity to charge the soldiers, lightning flowing down her arms and crackling on her finger tips. Her hair, charged with electricity, stood on end, sparks bursting from the end of each strand. She screamed like a banshee as she rushed toward the soldiers, most of whom immediately dropped their guns and fled.
The Adventures of Maite and Kepa is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!
Only the commander remained, trembling as he aimed his pistol at Maite’s forehead. He fired, but the musket ball burst into a million little pieces before reaching its intended target. As Maite raised her good arm, her fingers stretched out, the commander fainted.
Maite stepped over the limp form of the commander. She knew the zatia had to be near, but she didn’t see any sign of it. Her senses were to overwhelmed by her power to home in on it. She was effectively blind. She looked around the room but could sense nothing.
She scanned the room for any soldiers. Only the commander, unconscious on the floor, remained. She let her aura fade. Her hair fell down, disheveled but no longer full of static. She focused her power on her senses. There. She could sense the zatia below her. She fell to her knees, probing the cobble stones with her fingers. There must be some kind of door in the floor. She found a loose stone and, dislodging it, revealed a metal ring.
She stood up and pulled on the ring with her good arm, but nothing happened. She looked around and grabbed one of the abandoned rifles to use as leverage. Shoving one end through the ring, she put all her weight on the other side. She felt the door budge, just slightly. She pushed again and this time was able to dislodge the door just enough to kick another rifle under. She put the tip of yet another rifle in the crack and pushed with all her might. The door flung open to reveal a dark passage into the earth below.
Maite felt like she must have just opened the gate to hell. Rungs were built into the side of the stone passage way, leading down. Maite willed her feet to glow and took a first step into the hole.
She heard the crack just before the musket ball slammed into her back. She screamed and turned to see the commander, propping himself up with one arm, his smoking pistol aimed at her. She roared, flinging her good arm in the direction of the commander as lightning shot forth, striking him in the chest. The man convulsed a few moments before his body lay still on the cold ground.
Maite passed out and fell down the dark shaft.
If you get this post via email, the return-to address goes no where, so please write blas@buber.net if you want to get in touch with me.
When people one or two hundred years from now look back, what will they remember us for? Out of all of our achievements and accomplishments, which will stand out? Tomas Zumalakarregi is remembered for being a preeminent Carlist general. At the same time, he is thought to be the inventor of Spanish tortilla (though there are multiple stories about the origins of tortilla). While our knowledge about the Carlist wars might fade with time, we all still eat tortilla…
Portrait of Tomas Zumalakarregi, image from Wikipedia.
Zumalakarregi was born on December 29, 1788, in Ormaiztegi in the heart of Gipuzkoa, in the Arandi-Enea baserria. His parents were Francisco Antonio de Zumalacárregui Muxica and Maria Ana Imaz Altolaguirre. His father, a lawyer, died when Tomas was 4 years old. Tomas followed in his father’s footsteps, studying to be a notary in Idiazabal when he was 13 and later in Pamplona, under the tutelage of Javier Ollo, his future father-in-law.
In 1809, he became part of the guerrilla group led by Gaspar “Artzaia – the Shepherd” Jauregui who were fighting in the Peninsular War against the French. It was during this time that Zumalakarregi learned the guerrilla tactics that he would later use to great effect. After the war, he joined the army and in 1820 married Pancracia Ollo.
His time in the army was troubled as, while many of his comrades had liberal leanings, he was a staunch royalist. When Ferdinand VII died in 1833, Zumalakarregi found himself on the side of Don Carlos, the dead king’s brother and claimant to the throne. While it is difficult to define the Carlists in a few sentences, they tended to want to preserve the historical fueros that guaranteed certain historical rights, regional identity – essentially home rule, and strong religious views. However, Ferdinand had named his daughter his heir, setting up the conflict that would lead to the First Carlist War.
Zumalakarregi escaped to the mountainside and organized the rural Basque Country, then consisting of a few scattered and poorly armed guerrillas, into an effective army. The larger cities of the Basque Country supported the liberal side and, because they controlled trade, this made it hard for Zumalakarregi to supply his army. Because Zumalakarregi had expressed his intent to uphold the fueros, he was named commander in chief of Nafarroa. Bizkaia, Araba, and Gipuzkoa soon followed.
Using guerrilla tactics in the mountains, ironically sometimes against Artzaia who fought on the liberal side, Zumalakarregi and his army conquered all of Hegoaldea – everything north of the Ebro river – except the large cities which he didn’t have resources to besiege. His army had grown to 30,000. However, Carlos wanted international recognition and thought having a port under his control would help, so he ordered Zumalakarregi to attack Bilbo.
During the siege, Zumalakarregi was struck in the leg by a musket ball. While the wound was nothing particularly serious, his medical treatment was less than adequate (administered, in part, by a “quack” that Zumalakarregi had personally requested) and he succumbed to his wounds, dying in the town of Zegama on June 24, 1835.
Before he had died, the war had become increasingly brutal, with neither side keeping prisoners but summarily executing enemy soldiers. In one incident, Zumalakarregi himself had ordered the execution of 118 prisoners. However, Zumalakarregi signed the Lord Elliot Convention, negotiated by the British, which ended these executions.
There is a story that Zumalakarregi invented what is now known as Spanish tortilla. During the war, his troops were starving. He asked a local woman for food and all she had were potatoes, eggs, and onions. He supposedly mixed them up and created tortilla. Though there are other stories about the origins of this now-ubiquitous dish.
After the Japanese occupation of Wake Island on December 23, 1941, both military personnel and civilians were made prisoners of war without distinction, beginning an inhumane treatment that would continue throughout the war. Joseph Goicoechea Zatica‘s son, Dan, recalls how his father “was beaten so badly with a rifle butt that his eye came out of his head […] (He) bled from his eyes and ears and no one could believe he was alive” [1]. Against all odds he survived.
Oiarzabal received his Doctorate of Political Science-Basque Studies from the University of Nevada, Reno. Over the last two decades, his work has focused on research and consulting on public policies (citizenship abroad and return), diasporas and new technologies, and social and historical memory (oral history, migration and exile), with special emphasis on the Basque case. He is a member of Eusko Ikaskuntza.
Tabernilla is a researcher and founder of the Sancho de Beurko Elkartea, a non-profit organization that studies the history of the Basques of both slopes of the Pyrenees in the Spanish Civil War and in World War II. Between 2008 and 2016 he directed the catalog of the “Iron Belt” for the Heritage Directorate of the Basque Government. He is author, along with Ander González, of Basque Fighters in World War II (Desperta Ferro, 2018).
The prisoners were transferred to the merchant ship Nitta Maru on January 12, 1942. The cruelty was not long in coming. On board, the Japanese tortured, executed, and dismembered several American marines. The ship continued its course to Yokohama, Japan, and from there to the Woosung POW Camp, a suburban area in Shanghai, China. Sadly, they were among the first American prisoners of war (military and civilian) of WWII, and among these were our Basque protagonists. The families did not hear from them for years. For example, the family of George Acordagoitia Mallea, born in 1918 in Jordan Valley, Oregon, received his first letter in January 1945, stating that he was in good health. (Perhaps it is necessary to mention that the letters had to pass the filter of the Japanese censors.) The letter was dated August 2, 1944. Similarly, the family of Joseph (Laucirica) Mendiola, born in Ogden, Utah in 1917, was given a first letter in May 1945. The letter was dated September 10, 1944, and in it Mendiola wrote, “I am all right and very hopeful of returning some day” [2].
The anguish of the families and in the Boise Basque community was evident. Goicoechea’s mother, Eladia Zatica Uriate (born in Ispaster in 1891), began a daily barefoot pilgrimage, carrying a lighted candle from her home to a small Catholic church in downtown Boise for mass at 5 in the morning. According to her grandson Dan Goicoechea, “She knew if the candle didn’t go out, he was alive,” Dan said. ‘Don’t tell me my son’s dead,’ she’d tell people. ‘A mom knows when her son is dead.'” [3].
Prisoners in camps in China and Japan
Photograph of Joseph Mendiola, one of the Basque heroes of the Battle of Wake. (The Times-News. Twin Falls, Idaho, September 23, 1945).
In December 1942, the Wake survivors were transferred to another Shanghai POW camp, at Kiangwan. They spent a chilling winter in tropical clothing, and in the case of some like Goicoechea, without shoes. In August 1943, more than 500 men were sent to Japan and forced to work for the Japanese war effort. Ignacio Arambarri Alberdi, born in 1917 in Gooding, Idaho, was 24 years old when he was taken prisoner. He was sent to the Fukuoka-Kashii coal mine, on the Japanese island of Kyushu, which had been converted into a prison camp. On December 20, 1943, the US Department of the Army in Washington officially notified Arambarri’s mother of his whereabouts in Japan. There he was forced to work ten hours a day, under mistreatment by his captors, until his liberation on October 15, 1945, by American troops.
In Fukuoka-Kashii, Arambarri coincided with the corporal of the 31st Infantry Regiment Manuel Eneriz Arista, born in Santa Clara, California, in 1920, to a father from Nafarroa and an Andalusian mother. Eneriz had been taken prisoner during the Japanese invasion of the Philippines and, having survived the infamous “Bataan Death March,” he was sent to Japan. During their captivity, at a distance of 48 kilometers away from Nagasaki, Arambarri and Eneriz witnessed how the atomic bomb hit the city on August 9, 1945. Eneriz died in 2001, at the age of 81 in Camarillo, California. .
Most of the remaining POWs stayed for three years in various POW camps in Shanghai. Among them were Mendiola and Angel Madarieta Osa, born in Boise in 1921. He was only 20 years old when he was taken prisoner on the island.
Photograph of Ignacio Arambarri, witness to the detonation of the atomic bomb against Nagasaki. (The Times-News. Twin Falls, Idaho, November 10, 2001. P. 6).
Acordagoitia and Joseph Pagoaga Yribar were interned together in the main camp in Osaka, Japan (also known as Chikko, Osaka 34-135) until its destruction on June 1, 1945 in a firebombing raid by American B-29 super-flying fortresses. Acordagoitia and Pagoaga, together with the rest of the prisoners, were then transferred to the Tsumori camp and from there to Kita-Fukuzaki. In the port of Osaka they did forced labor, loading and unloading ships.
The last prison camp in which Goicoechea was held was Camp Area 1 (Kawasaki), in the Tokyo Bay area. At the end of the captivity, according to his son Dan’s account, his father’s leg received a sword cut and became infected. “One of the Japanese doctors smuggled sulfa drugs to my Dad to try to keep him alive.” Meanwhile, other prisoners stole food to share with Goicoechea. The Japanese found out. “My Dad was beaten for three days and never gave their names up” [4]. Goicoechea was repatriated after 46 months of captivity via the Philippines. He received the Purple Heart for injuries received during the fight on Wake Island.
The total time of incarceration for the Wake prisoners was 44–46 months (3 years and 6–8 months). Madarieta, for example, was held captive for 44 months and Mendiola was repatriated in September 1945. He received medical attention at the fleet hospital in Guam on his way home via San Francisco, California in October 1945.
Wake prisoners were brutally beaten, starved, tortured, and forced to do slave labor within Japan’s factories and war industries. Many died of dysentery and malaria, among other diseases. An estimated 250 of the more than 1,000 civilian employees died on transport ships or in forced labor camps.
War veterans
Photograph of George Acordagoitia taken from the 1937 Boise Institute yearbook, where he studied. Four years later, fate would drastically change his life.
Wake remained under Japanese possession until September 4, 1945, two days after the Japanese Empire capitulated. The Japanese garrison numbered 2,200 troops. Some 1,600 Japanese died on Wake Island during the war. Some 600 died in the air raids, while most starved to death. Rear Admiral Shigematsu Sakaibara and Lieutenant Commander Shoichi Tachibana of the Imperial Navy were sentenced to death for war crimes committed under their orders at Wake. Sakaibara was hanged on Guam in 1947. Tachibana’s death sentence was commuted to life imprisonment.
In 1981, Wake’s civilian defenders received US Army veteran status, being considered eligible for veteran’s benefits just like their compatriots in the armed forces. In 1988, a memorial, the “Harry Morrison and Civilian Construction Memorial,” was erected and dedicated in their memory. As Pagoaga’s son Richard recalls, “All his fellow POWs formed a life-long bond and held annual reunions until their very end” [5]. Goicoechea and Pagoaga, together with their inseparable friends Murray Kidd and George Rosandick, joined the Wake Island Survivors in a ceremony that took place during the unveiling of the monument in 1988. Pagoaga’s brother, Albert Pagoaga, a WWII veteran of the Marine Corps, accompanied them on the trip.
Despite the suffering they endured for almost four interminable and cruel years, the surviving Basques of Wake lived long and full lives. They found their why in life and forged a how to survive. George Acordagoitia, who died the youngest, did so at the age of 65. Joseph Mendiola died at the age of 76, Ignacio Arambarri at the age of 84, Angel Madarieta at the age of 88, and the two inseparable friends, Richard Pagoaga and Joseph Goicoechea, died, one after the other in 2015 and 2016, at the ages of 93 and 95, respectively. Goicoechea was the last Basque survivor of the Battle of Wake, and one of the last in the country. They were the first anonymous heroes in an atrocious, unprecedented war that devastated the known world, establishing a new international order that lasts, in a way, to this day.
References
[1] In Roberts, Bill. (January 10, 2017). “‘No one could believe he was alive.’ Boisean survived WWII capture on Wake Island”. Idaho Statesman (Boise, Idaho).
[2] The Times-News (Twin Falls, Idaho, May 27, 1945. Page 6).
[3] In Roberts, Bill. (January 10, 2017). “‘No one could believe he was alive.’ Boisean survived WWII capture on Wake Island”. Idaho Statesman (Boise, Idaho).
[4] In Roberts, Bill. (January 10, 2017). “‘No one could believe he was alive.’ Boisean survived WWII capture on Wake Island”. Idaho Statesman (Boise, Idaho).
[5] Cited in the obituary of Richard Pagoaga, written by his son Richard Jr. Pagoaga.
Musket balls exploded as they hit the electrical aura surrounding Maite, but she could feel each of the shots as they hit, like if she were wearing a bulletproof vest, she imagined. One exploded in front of her throat, causing her to gasp and momentarily lose her concentration. The next one hit her shoulder and she screamed out in pain. Her vision went fuzzy and started turning red.
The Adventures of Maite and Kepa is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!
“Garuna, can you take over?” she asked, barely conscious as she put all her strength into maintaining her aura. “I need a moment.”
“Yes,” replied the AI. Maite slumped as Garuna took over the zatiak’s power within Maite, overriding her pain and exhaustion to redouble the power of the electric shield surrounding her. She could feel her body drain even faster as Garuna tapped into her body’s resources, pulling every ounce of energy from her.
“Too much…” she mumbled.
Garuna seemed to ignore her. The AI didn’t have control of her body, but it had full access to the power of the zatiak and it was seemingly relishing it. Maite sensed that the AI almost seemed happy.
“What are you doing?” asked Maite.
“This power…” began Garuna. “It is so… addicting. I’ve never felt this way.”
“You must stop!” barked Maite feebly.
“No,” replied Garuna passionately, in a desperate tone that made Maite shiver. “I need more.”
“You are killing me. If I die, you die.”
There was a slight hesitation before Garuna stopped, returning control back to Maite.
“If you ever do that again,” she began. But she knew the threat was hollow. How could she stop the AI if it really wanted to take control again? She wasn’t sure she could even if she knew how.
In her mind, the AI remained silent.
Maite turned back toward the soldiers that separated her from her goal. Blood flowed down her arm, which dangled uselessly at her side. Her eyes, however, sparkled and flashed like the most brilliant lightning storm.
If you get this post via email, the return-to address goes no where, so please write blas@buber.net if you want to get in touch with me.
Oiarzabal received his Doctorate of Political Science-Basque Studies from the University of Nevada, Reno. Over the last two decades, his work has focused on research and consulting on public policies (citizenship abroad and return), diasporas and new technologies, and social and historical memory (oral history, migration and exile), with special emphasis on the Basque case. He is a member of Eusko Ikaskuntza.
Tabernilla is a researcher and founder of the Sancho de Beurko Elkartea, a non-profit organization that studies the history of the Basques of both slopes of the Pyrenees in the Spanish Civil War and in World War II. Between 2008 and 2016 he directed the catalog of the “Iron Belt” for the Heritage Directorate of the Basque Government. He is author, along with Ander González, of Basque Fighters in World War II (Desperta Ferro, 2018).
The escalation of tensions between Japan and the United States during the 1930s focused attention on the Pacific Ocean, primarily on the weak defense of the Hawaiian Islands against a potential enemy attack. The US government designed “Operation Rainbow 5” with the objective of defending the west and southwestern flank of Hawaii, through the construction of military bases on five islands: Wake, Midway, Johnston, Palmyra, and Samoa. However, the plan came too late.
In January 1941, a consortium of civilian firms called the Pacific Naval Air Base Contractors began construction of US military installations on Wake Island. Located in the western part of the Pacific Ocean, Wake, with two small islets (Peale and Wilkes), is considered one of the most isolated islands in the world. It is located 3,700 km (2,300 miles) west of Honolulu, Hawaii, and about 3,200 km (1988 miles) from Tokyo, Japan. It was formally claimed by the US in 1899 as a strategic atoll (uninhabited at the time) for maritime, military, and merchant refueling.
One of the primary construction companies, if not the most important one, in Wake was the Morrison-Knudsen Civil Engineering Company, based in the then small town of Boise, Idaho. At the time, Boise had about 26,000 inhabitants and a significant population of Basque origin, which had been growing since the last third of the 19th century. In August 1941, the first military garrison was permanently established on the island, consisting of 399 Marines from the 1st Defense Battalion, 50 from the Marine Corps Combat Squad (VMF-211), 68 from the Navy, and 5 from the Army.
From left to right, the group of childhood friends, Murray Kidd, George Rosandick, Joseph Goicoechea, and Richard Pagoaga. (Courtesy of the Pagoaga family).
By December, the consortium had more than 1,100 construction workers in Wake. About 230 came from Idaho. Among them were seven young Basque-Americans: George Joseph Acordagoitia, Ignacio Frank Arambarri, Joseph Goicoechea, Angel Madarieta, Joseph Mendiola, Richard Joseph Pagoaga, and Robert Lemoyne Yriberry. All of them had parents from Bizkaia, with the exception of Pagoaga, whose father was Gipuzkoan and whose mother was born in Boise (herself of Bizkaian parents), and Yriberry, whose father was from Lapurdi and whose mother was American. The Basque parents had arrived in the country between 1899 and 1920, although most had done so during the first decade of the 20th century. For their children, the $120 a month plus room and board offered to go to Wake were more than attractive incentives for younger workers. At that time, good jobs were scarce; add to that their desire for adventure and to know the world, and the opportunity was irresistible. “For young people, it was paradise,” recalled Joseph Goicoechea Zatica [1]. Born in Jordan Valley, Oregon, in 1921, he was 20 years old at the time. Goicoechea, with a group of his best friends including George Rosandick, Murray Kidd, and Richard Pagoaga Yribar who was born in Boise in 1922, decided to try their luck and apply for the job for Wake, an island they had never heard of before, as they would confess years later. At 19, Pagoaga was the youngest of Wake’s Basque-Americans. Soon that paradise turned into a nightmare.
The Battle of Wake
The Empire of the Rising Sun launched a simultaneous attack on Pearl Harbor, Hawaii (on December 7), and the then almost unknown Wake, during noon local time on December 8 (note that Wake is west of the International Date Line). Pearl Harbor had been attacked five hours before Wake. The Japanese bombers came from the Kwajalein bases in the Marshall Islands. The attack on Pearl Harbor was the trigger that caused the US to enter fully into World War II.
After the first air raids, more than 185 workers volunteered to fight alongside the Marines, and about 250 other workers helped them with other tasks. Goicoechea was recruited in the heat of battle. He had military training and experience. He had participated in the Reserve Officer Training Corps, and, being a minor at 17 years old, after forging his father’s signature he enlisted in the 116th Cavalry Company of the Idaho National Guard. Goicoechea was seriously wounded in the first Japanese attacks. Even so, he continued to help the Marines constantly move artillery pieces to avoid being hit by shelling. He was only 20 years old. “I was frightened; you never get over it […] The first night was the worst night in my life. I was shaking and didn´t know what the heck was happening. You could see the older men were just as scared as you were. I used to hear a lot of guys pray,” Goicoechea would recall years later [2].
The oldest of Wake’s Basque-Americans, Robert Yriberry Howard was not so lucky. Born in Council, Idaho, in 1914, he dedicated his life to construction. From 1937 he worked in Honolulu for the Remington Rand Company, later transferring to the Pacific Naval Air Base Contractors consortium. Yriberry was the first Basque to arrive on the island, in October 1940. He was the “valuable” secretary of Morrison-Knudsen’s general superintendent, Nathan Daniel Teters, in charge of the Wake workers, who would also be captured like the rest of the island’s inhabitants. Yriberry died on December 9, 1941, at the age of 27, during an air raid that deliberately destroyed the hospital where he was staying, having “received shrapnel wounds in the first attack” [3]. Yriberry is buried at the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific, in Honolulu. He is probably one of the first, if not the first, Basque-American fatality (either civilian or military) of World War II.
News of Robert Yriberry’s death did not break until a month and a half after the fact. Although the local press estimated his death on December 24, it occurred on the 9th according to witnesses (Spokane Chronicle. Spokane, Washington, January 23, 1942. P. 15).
The first invasion attempt by Japanese troops occurred on December 11, though it was successfully repelled by the few American forces. It was the first amphibious attack on a territory under US control during WWII. The first such attack on US territory would take place in the Aleutian Islands of Alaska six months later, and in which there was significant Basque-American participation.
Meanwhile, between December 8 and 10, Japan had occupied the Philippines, Guam, and the Gilbert Islands, taking 400 construction workers on Guam prisoner. Operation Rainbow 5 had failed. Among those captured in Guam was the Bishop of the Capuchin Order of Nafarroa, Miguel Ángel Urteaga Olano – “León de Alzo” – head of the Catholic Church on the island since 1934. Born on September 29, 1891 in Altzo, Gipuzkoa, he had arrived on Guam in 1918. Like the rest of the prisoners, he was sent to Japan on January 10, 1942. However, he was released under the protection of the Government of Spain and resided first with the Spanish Jesuits in Tokyo and later traveled to Goa and Bombay, returning to Guam, after its liberation, on March 21, 1945. Sent to Manila, he retired in 1960 in San Sebastián-Donostia. He passed away on May 21, 1970, during his last visit to Guam, where he was buried [4].
The next landing at Wake was on December 23, and it was impossible to stop it. Wake was cut off by air and sea and was unable to receive soldiers or supplies to repel the invasion. The defenders, under the command of Major James Patrick Sinnot Devereaux, eventually capitulated and the island was occupied. An epic new chapter in American history had been written, the defenders even being compared to those who held out to the end at the Alamo [5]. Unlike the battle in Texas, 105 years earlier, there were survivors, but as we will see, their destinations would become a true purgatory. In the face of the attack on Pearl Harbor, the defense of Wake was an injection of morale for the despondent American society. It became the first military setback for the Imperial Japanese Navy in whose plans the capture of a small atoll in the middle of the Pacific should not have proven to be any problem. Quickly, the Hollywood film machine went to work on what would become the first WWII combat film by Paramount, with a clear propagandist profile. On August 11, 1942, director John Farrow‘s Wake Island opened at the Marine Corps base in San Diego, California. Meanwhile, the whereabouts of the survivors of the Battle of Wake remained unknown to the general public.
Advertising poster for the movie Wake Island, under the motto “America will never forget.” This film started a whole cinematographic genre that combined warfare and propaganda as a political weapon.
The Japanese had lost some 1,000 soldiers in combat, and more than 300 were wounded. The defenders lost a hundred soldiers and civilians, including Americans and Guamanians – workers for the Pan American Airways company, which had built a small town with a hotel. The Japanese subsequently garrisoned more than 4,000 soldiers on the island and erected large fortifications to protect them from any retaliation for the occupation.
All but 98 skilled workers were evacuated from Wake. These 98 remained on the island to operate the necessary machinery in their eagerness to fortify it. However, the American response was not to recover the island, but rather to block it, causing a lack of supplies and starvation among the Japanese troops. Beginning in February 1942, constant and intense air and sea bombardments, the first and most important in the Pacific War, were added to the American effort. Between October 5 and 7, 1943, the Japanese bases at Wake were totally destroyed by the largest concentration of American aircraft carriers in the history of naval warfare. Aviation Lieutenant Pablo “Paul” Bilbao Bengoechea, born in 1917 in Boise to Bizkaian parents, was on board the USS Lexington, one of the aircraft carriers participating in the attack. The military onslaught had unforeseeable consequences. Faced with what the Japanese thought was an imminent invasion, they executed the 98 Americans on the 7th.
To be continued…
References
[1] Garber, Virginia S. “Survivors remember Wake Island”. The Times-News (Twin Falls, Idaho, September 17, 1995, page 9).
[2] Cited in Wukovits, John (2003). Pacific Alamo: The Battle for Wake Island. New Amer Library.
[3] Gilbert, Bonita. (2012). Building for War: The Epic Saga of the Civilian Contractors and Marines of Wake Island in World War II. Casemate Editor. Page 215.
[4] Sinajaña, Eric (2001). Historia de la Misión de Guam de los Capuchinos Españoles.Pamplona: Curia Provincial de Capuchinos.
[5] See, for example, Wukovits, John (2003). Pacific Alamo: The Battle for Wake Island. New Amer Library.
The capital of Nafarroa Iruña, or Pamplona, is most famous for the running of the bulls. I had the interesting pleasure of attending the running, watching from the safe vantage point of a balcony. But, the city boasts a history of more than 2000 years and is first mentioned by the Romans. The importance of the city and the province to Basque history cannot be overstated. It was also a nexus of cultural intersection, with the Romans, the Arabs, the French, and the Castilians all vying for control at various points in history. But, at its heart, it has always been Basque.
Iruña was first mentioned in ancient Roman texts. Roman geographer Strabo described a city between the Ebro river and the Pyrenees called Pompelon, the city of Pompey. Similarly, Ptolemy refers to Pompelon as one of the fifteen Basque towns. Clearly Pamplona was named after the Roman general Pompey, a result of his stay in the area in the winter of 75-74 BCE during his war against against Sertorius. However, the Basque version, Iruña, arises from the fact that this was a (perhaps the) major city for the Vascones. In Basque, Iruña means the city. The historic importance of the city and the region is reflected in the recent discovery of the Hand of Irulegi.
The medieval city was built upon the foundations of the Roman city before it, and even a pre-Roman settlement before that. Because the modern city lies atop these, it is challenging to conduct detailed archeological studies.
Iruña was at the heart of many conflicts between different tribes and kingdoms of Europe, including the Germans/Suebi, the Visigoths, and the Franks. The Visigoths conquered the city and the region during 466 to 472 and again, this time led by Liuvigild, in 581. In between, in 541, the Franks raided and took control of the city. Several times the city was ransacked and destroyed, only to be rebuilt. However, the local Vascones – the Basques – were on the outside looking in, trying multiple times to retake the city. One occupying monk described the city as enviable and always victorious city, it is surrounded by mountains and by “barbarous and enemy people,” against whom it is necessary to wage war without compassion. The Basques constantly fought against these invading peoples.
In 711, the Umayyads, Muslim Arabs, began their conquest of Hispania, reaching Iruña a few years later. The city brokered a treaty and was subsequently ruled by the Arabs. The Banu Qasi dynasty including several Muslims that were of Basque decent. Abd al-Rahman al Gafequi made his headquarters in Iruña as he tried to further his invasion north. There were many intermarriages. For example, the widow of Eneko Jiménez and mother of Eneko Arista, considered the first king of Pamplona, joined Musa ben Fortún. They had a son – the great Musa ben Musa, brother of Eneko. Their marriage also coincided with Charlemagne‘s creation of the Kingdom of Aquitaine as a counterpoint to the Basques.
The Arabs ruled the region until 755 when Yusuf al Fihri, the last governor of Al-Andalus, tried to quash Basque unrest and was defeated. In 778, Charlemagne moved south, trying to reconquer some of the Muslim-controlled lands. He tried to take Zaragoza but was repelled. In his retreat, he destroyed the walls of Iruña. In his retreat over the Pyrenees, the Basques exacted their revenge, as immortalized in the Song of Roland.
The Kingdom of Pamplona, first led by Eneko Arista, was created sometime around 824. During this time, Iruña struggled. Its people were described by Muslim chroniclers as poor, malnourished, and dedicated to banditry. They supposedly spoke Basque, which “makes them incomprehensible.” In 905, Sancho I became king of Pamplona, ushering a new age.
Maite looked up and around the structure of the fort standing in front of her. It was mostly built from stone, with the massive door made of wood. There wasn’t anything to really conduct electricity, to let her use her powers to attack the structure. She started circling the fort, looking for any weakness, any place where she might be able to enter. She didn’t need much, just some metal support or…
The Adventures of Maite and Kepa is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!
That! On the side of the building, seemingly jammed between two stones, a metal rod protuded. She didn’t know if it was meant to add support to the structure or what, and she didn’t care. She grabbed the rod, sending pulses of electricity into it. It started heating, glowing red hot. Maite then let go and let it cool. She did this several times, over and over, letting it heat and then cool. The constant cycling, the constant expansion and then contraction of the metal put strain on the surrounding stone. At first, little happened, but then Maite began to hear the popping of the stone cracking. Flakes started falling to the ground. Soon the masonry also began to fall away. And, with one loud crack that sounded almost like a gunshot, one of the big stones cracked in half.
Maite pulled the now loose rod from the structure and used it to pry the loose stones from the wall. In the end, only a few of the massive stones were loose enough to extract, but once she was done Maite had created a hole just large enough for her to squeeze through. The jagged stone caught her dress, ripping the skirt to shreds, and cut up her arms and legs. She barely noticed. When she stood up on the other side, she looked like a visage from a horror movie, blood flowing down her bare arms and legs, her hair a wild mess, and electricity sparking in her eyes.
“I am notably impressed,” rumbled Garuna.
“Isilik, I said,” she responded in a hiss.
Inside the walls, she found herself in front of a central building where she assumed the soldiers bunkered and ate. The walls themselves had a walkway and stations for soldiers, for the moment empty. She had expected a large contingent of soldiers waiting for her, expected to see a multitude of rifles aimed at her heart, but there was no one there.
She mentally shrugged and turned her attention to the central building. If there were any soldiers in the fort, they must be there. But, so was the zatia. She could feel it now, pulling like a magnet.
Another set of wooden doors, much less impressive than those that formed the gate to the fort, separated her from the zatia. As she pulled them open, she saw a contingent of soldiers, surrounding what she thought must be their commander in two rows, one kneeling and another standing behind and over the first. All had their muskets aimed at the door. She heard a shout as the air filled with the acrid smell of burnt gun powder and the bangs of gun shots.
If you get this post via email, the return-to address goes no where, so please write blas@buber.net if you want to get in touch with me.
One day, we were all sitting around the table listening to stories from dad. I’m not quite sure how it came up, but he made a sound of a rooster. Instead of our cock-a-doodle-doo, his rooster said kee-keeree-kee-keeree-coo. His rooster spoke Euskara instead of English! I guess it should have been obvious that animal sounds were different in different languages, but I had never really thought about it. So, it is pretty convenient that berria.eus has a long list of sounds that not only animals but other things “say” in Euskara. Here, I’ve added translations to English. Some of these ideophones I’ve written about before, but this adds to that list.
Some animal sounds in Euskara. Image from Elinberri, who also have a list of onomatopoeias in Euskara.
