The western United States saw Basque communities, often centered around the sheep herding trade, pop up across the landscape. Newly arrived Basques needed places to stay and contacts to help guide them as they tried to navigate this foreign land and the Basque boarding houses were born. Some of those endured over a century, their role as a pillar of the local Basque community evolving with time. That is particularly true of the Basque boarding houses and restaurants of Bakersfield, California.
The first European to explore California’s Central Valley, the future location of Bakersfield, was Gabriel Moraga. The son of Joaquin Moraga, the lieutenant of explorer Juan Bautista de Anza and founder of both San Francisco and San Jose, Gabriel explored the region during the years of 1805-1808. He gave many of the rivers in the area the names we use today, including the San Joaquin River, which then gave its name to the valley. The town of Moraga is named after Gabriel’s son. Though Moraga is a Basque name, Joaquin was born in what is today Arizona.
Basques began to flock to the area, many as sheepherders and many from Iparralde, the French side of the Basque Country. Basque hotels and boarding houses arose to greet and host the new immigrants. The oldest, the Noriega Hotel, opened in 1893 in Kern City. Originally called the Iberia Hotel, the first owners were Faustino Mier Noriega and Fernando Etcheverry. Standing one block from the railroad station, it was the first place many young Basques, who had the words “Noriega Hotel– Bakersfield, California” pinned to their clothes, stayed. The hotel changed hands many times over the years. The hotel was forced to close in 2020 due to the challenges associated with COVID-19 pandemic.
Bakersfield is known for its Basque restaurants, including to but in addition to the Noriega Hotel. These include Benji’s French Basque Restaurant, Chalet Basque Restaurant, Pyrenees Café, and the Wool Growers. The Wool Growers was started in 1954 by Mayie and JB Maitia while the Pyrenees originally opened in 1899. The Chalet Basque was founded in 1969 by JB and Marie Curutchague. Benji’s is the new kid on the block, so to speak, opening in 1986.
Part of what would become Tejon Ranch, the largest ranch and private land holding in California, lying just south of modern Bakersfield, was originally awarded to Jose Antonio Aguirre, a Basque from San Sebastian (the article says Bizkaia, but I assume they mean Gipuzkoa) in 1843 as part of Mexican land grants.
As with all of our Basque communities in the Western United States, that of Bakersfield is changing, epitomized by the closing of the Noriega Hotel. Bakersfield native Beaux Gest Mingus, and his filmmaking partner Gina Napolitan, are working to capture that history before it finally disappears. Over the last 8 years, they have roamed the Basque-American landscape. The fruit of their labors is the film The Disappearing West, which they hope to release this coming Christmas. Selected scenes are available at beauxmingus.com. Kyle Baker’s The Eighth Province also captures the history and evolution of the Basques of Bakersfield.
Kepa nearly hit another car as he pulled over to the shoulder and stared out the window.
“Bakersfield?” he said, looking at Maite.
Maite just shrugged. “I don’t know anything about it.”
Buber’s Basque Story 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!
Kepa pulled out his phone and did a quick search. “Looks like it has a long history of Basque sheepherding. It’s about two hours from here.” He looked again at Maite. “Change of plans?”
“What about your cousin?”
Kepa shrugged. “I’ll just text him saying we got delayed and we’ll see him tomorrow. I don’t know what else we can do.”
Maite nodded. “Ados nago. I agree. We can’t just ignore that light.”
Kepa flicked his turn signal as he merged back onto the freeway and took the exit toward Bakersfield. “Are you ready for another one of these?”
“More ready than last time,” replied Maite. “At least we have some sense of what will happen.”
“I have to admit, I’m not looking forward to bumping into de Lancre again. We barely got away last time.” He looked over at Maite. “What would happen if he actually killed one of us?”
Maite’s face betrayed the uncertainty she kept from her voice. “I guess it will be like Blas,” she said. “Once the quantum bubble pops, it will be as if it never existed. Anything that happens in the bubble is undone.”
“I don’t look forward to experiencing that first hand.”
“Blas seemed to turn out fine. He had the life he was always meant to.”
“Yeah, but he did die, in a horrible way.” Kepa shook his head. “Maybe he could forget, maybe in the end it didn’t really happen to him, but what about us? We remember what happens in those bubbles. If we die, even if we come back when the bubble pops, will we remember dying? Will we remember going through what Blas did?”
Maite felt an uncontrolled shiver race through her body. “I can’t imagine…” she began.
“Sorry,” said Kepa. “I shouldn’t go there. This is hard enough without dwelling on what ifs.”
Maite reached out to take Kepa’s hand. “Whatever happens, we’ll go through it together.”
Kepa looked over at her as they sped down the highway and smiled.
It wasn’t long before they pulled into Bakersfield, the pinpoint of light constantly on the horizon before them. Kepa navigated the streets, guided by the light, which took him downtown and in front of a small, nondescript white building. The light hovered above the building and, as Kepa and Maite watched, blinked a few times before disappearing.
“I guess we’re here,” said Maite with a sigh.
Hanging above the door, in almost unassuming green script, read the word “Noriega’s.”
The aftermath of Spanish Civil War and World War II forced many Basque intelligentsia to flee their native land and settle elsewhere. Indeed, the Basque government itself was in exile. Many of those Basques eventually found their way to the Americas where they became important figures, both representing the cause of the Basque government or involving themselves in local politics. Jesús Galíndez Suárez did both and paid the ultimate price.
Galíndez was born in Amurrio, Araba, on October 12, 1915. His father was an eye doctor. When his mother died, his father took the family to Madrid, where Galíndez ended up studying law and became passionate about his native Basque Country. In 1932 he became part of the Basque Nationalist Party and began publishing monographs on history and politics.
During the Spanish Civil War, he became the Legal Attaché to the Committee-Delegation of the Basque Nationalist Party, which was charged with protecting the Basques who resided in Madrid. Galíndez was in charge of the Section of Prisoners and the Disappeared of the Basque Government. His efforts ensured the freedom of many Basques and non-Basques alike during the war.
At the end of the war, in 1939, he fled Spain and went into exile, making his way to the Dominican Republic, where he lived for six years, becoming a professor of legal science and a representative of the Basque Delegation.
In 1946, he left the Dominican Republic for New York. He was involved in efforts that led the United Nations to condemn the Franco regime in Spain. He also continued his award-winning writing and became a professor of law and history at Columbia University. During this time, he completed his PhD thesis on the Trujillo dictatorship in the Dominican Republic, which was formally accepted by the university on February 27, 1956.
Only days later, on March 12, Galíndez disappeared. He was last seen entering a subway station. His body was never found, though an ex-student claimed to have seen it fished out of the sea and buried in San José de Ocoa, Dominican Republic. There is some evidence that he was abducted by agents of the Trujillo regime, who flew him from New York to the Dominican Republic. The pilot was an American, Gerald Lester Murphy, who also disappeared later that year. However, other theories state that the US government had him killed because he knew too much about its relationship with the Trujillo government or that he was in fact a spy, working for the US.
One of Galíndez’s last writings, discovered in his papers, describes the isolation and danger he felt:
I’m Basque…some laugh, and others hate me. That is all I have left when despair takes over and I wander through the streets. I’m Basque, and far away there is a people that I belong to. I am nothing, a mess of endless passions and desires. But I’m part of that people, the people I see in my waking dreams, dressed as a gudari on my way to the mountain, I see him in the romerías and when night falls, on a street, I see him making an effort on the jai alai court, and in the fishermen going out to see, I see him singing and praying, I see him throughout the centuries. I’m along, alone with my troubles. But I will continue, I will continue on even though no one understands me in this Babylon. And someday, I will lay down under the black poplar tree I chose on the top of a hill; in the lonely valley of my village, alone with my land and my rain. They will understand me in the end…
They spent midday in Monterey, where they first stopped at the aquarium. Though Kepa had often gone to the beach to relax, and had even gone spearfishing in the ocean when he was younger, he had never really appreciated the multitude of colors that ocean life displayed. The tall glass panels revealed an almost dervish dance of fish that mesmerized Kepa.
Maite laughed as she pulled Kepa away. “You’d think you’d never seen a fish, country boy,” she said.
Kepa shrugged sheepishly. “Not so many at one time. They are fascinating.”
“If I’d known you’d react like this, I’d have taken you to more aquariums.”
Buber’s Basque Story 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!
They left the aquarium and found a small spot on the water for lunch. Maite ordered fish and chips while Kepa ordered a burger.
“What? A burger? Here? With all of this great seafood?” exclaimed Maite in exasperation.
Kepa smiled. “I’m just a country boy, after all. And American burgers are simply awesome.”
Maite shook her head. “Sometimes, I really can’t understand you.”
“Well,” replied Kepa with a smirk, “at least I keep you guessing.”
Maite laughed. “That you do.”
After lunch, they got back into their rental car, this time with Kepa behind the wheel, and continued south toward San Luis Obispo.
“Look at that,” said Maite, pointing at a sign as they turned onto Highway 101. “‘Historic Route, Juan Bautista de Anza National Historic Trail’.”
Kepa shrugged as he accelerated the car down the road. “Who was he?”
“I think so…” began Maite as she tapped on her phone. “Bai! This guy was an explorer back in the seventeen hundreds. His dad was from Gipuzkoa, from Hernani to be exact.”
“Ah, a Giputxi, that’s why I didn’t know it. That’s pretty cool. Seems like there were a lot of Basques around here even before the sheepherders.”
The road took them inland, past large swaths of farmland and rolling hills covered in brown grass.
“I always expected California to be more… lush,” said Kepa. “It’s all farmland.”
“And what isn’t being farmed seems pretty dry,” added Maite. “I guess we only ever see pictures of the coast and the big cities.”
It wasn’t much longer before they saw a sign telling them that San Luis Obispo was only thirty miles away.
“Not much longer,” said Kepa. “I’m ready to stretch my legs. I don’t know how these Americans drive for so long.”
Maite laughed. “You’re just not used to going anywhere. How often do you even leave that baserri?”
“I leave it enough!” replied Kepa defiantly. “I’ve been to Paris and even London.”
“Fair enough, but you took a train to get there, didn’t you?”
“Well…”
“Hey, what’s that?” asked Maite as she pointed out the window.
A bright point of light hovered above a sign that pointed toward Bakersfield.
As part of the conquest of the Americas, Basques played an outsized role. They were there for many of the pivotal events that ended up shaping both continents. This is no less true for what would become the United States. Far west, in what eventually became California, Juan Bautista de Anza was an explorer, a military leader, and eventually a politician, following the path his father, also named Juan Bautista de Anza, had blazed to the south.
Portrait of Juan Bautista de Anza by Ira Diamond Gerald Cassidy, El Paso Museum of Art. Image from Wikipedia.
Juan Bautista de Anza Sasoeta, the elder de Anza, was born in Hernani, Gipuzkoa, in 1693. When he was around 19 years old, without being able to speak hardly a word of Spanish, he made his way to the Americas, to New Spain to be precise, where some of his mother’s family already lived. He became involved in mining, and was part of the silver boomtowns of Aguaje (near Hermosillo, Sonora) and Tetuachi (near Arizpe). He joined the military, and was primarily occupied with protecting Sonora from Apache raids.
He later established the first livestock ranches in what would become southern Arizona. It was during his watch that silver was discovered near the Arizona Ranch and he used the ranch, owned by his good friend Bernardo de Urrea, as a base of operations to adjudicate the future of that silver. Through his actions, the name Arizona rose in prominence and ultimately became the name of the state. He was killed by Apaches in 1740 during a supply trip.
His son, Juan Bautista de Anza Becerra-Nieto, was born a few years earlier, in 1736, in the province of New Navarre in New Spain (now Mexico). He enlisted in the army when he was 16, and became a captain in 1760, when he was 24. He continued his father’s quest to establish a trade route between Sonora and Alta California. After approval from the King, he set out in 1774 with 3 padres, 20 soldiers, 11 servants, 35 mules, 65 cattle, and 140 horses, and, most critically, Sebastian Tarabal, a Native American from California who had fled from Mission San Gabriel who served as a guide. This first trip took him as far as Monterey, the then-capital of Alta California. He led a second group a few years later, trying to bolster the Spanish presence against the Russians. This second route is now commemorated as the Juan Bautista de Anza National Historic Trail. This time, he reached as far as San Francisco Bay.
Upon his return to Mexico City in 1777, he was then appointed governor of the Province of Nuevo México (today, the state of New Mexico). As governor, he led punitive expeditions against the Comanche, who had been raiding the village of Taos. His military actions eventually led to the Comanches capitulating and signing a peace treaty, which was the foundation of the Comanchero trade. De Anza ended his tenure as governor in 1787, and died only a year later in 1788.
The next day, they got up early. Once the car was packed with their suitcases, Maite checked them out while Kepa went to get coffee and breakfast. It wasn’t long before they were sitting in the car, ready to go.
“So, it’s almost five hours to Santa Barbara, where Javi lives,” said Kepa. “I say we drive down the coast and stop to look at the sites. Javi isn’t expecting us until late this evening, since he had to work today. So, there is no rush to get there.”
Buber’s Basque Story 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!
“Are you sure you don’t want to drive first?” asked Maite as she started the car.
Kepa chuckled. “You drew the short straw. You get to navigate us out of the big city.”
While Maite was used to driving in Bilbao, with its small streets and thick traffic, driving in California was a different experience. Even early in the morning, the freeway was full of cars. Sometimes, she was able to reach the speed limit, though other cars still flew by her; she could almost feel their anger at her for going “slow.” Other times, they were almost at a standstill. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to how the traffic flowed.
“Won’t it be nice when they have self-driving cars and we don’t have to think about traffic?” said Maite as she brought the car to a halt on the freeway, traffic backed up for what seemed forever. “We can just sit back and do anything else as the car takes us to our destination.”
“What? And miss out in the joy of controlling the beast, feeling the engine rev as you hit the gas?”
“Ha! Can you even feel the engine in that thing you have back at home?”
“No, but my next car…” began Kepa wistfully.
“You keep dreaming,” interrupted Maite. “Where would you even drive such a beast back home? On those roads? You’d end up killing yourself or, worse, some bicyclist.”
Kepa shrugged. “Maybe I’ll build a little track on the land behind the baserri, something where I can take my car out for a spin.”
Maite laughed. “And maybe I’ll build a particle accelerator in my basement.”
“What basement? You live in an apartment!”
“Exactly!”
Kepa laughed as the traffic started moving again. He looked at his phone. “It seems there is no route that follows the coast all the way down, unfortunately. How about we swing over to Monterey for lunch and then back inland until we get further south to San Luis Obispo. I read that it has some interesting historical buildings.”
“That sounds good to me,” said Maite as she gave the rental a bit of gas, revving the engine as they started to move.
“See! You like it too!” exclaimed Kepa.
Maite smiled. “I never said I didn’t,” she said as she gave the car a little extra gas to swerve around the slower car in front of her.
A photo of Durango as it was being bombed, taken by an Italian pilot. Photo from Sustatu.
Eibar, just on the Gipuzkoa side of the border with Bizkaia, was first bombed on August 28, 1936, and was bombed fifteen times — twelve between the dates of April 22 and 25, 1937 — until the city finally fell on April 26, 1937, the same day that Gernika was bombed. According to the book The Civil War in Eibar and Elgeta, by Jesús Gutiérrez, the population was reduced to about 150 people from some 13,000, many due to casualties and evacuations. In the urban center, out of 488 buildings, 156 were completely destroyed and another 101 were damaged. 840 out of 1750 homes were destroyed. After the war, the population had been reduced to 5,000.
Durango, Bizkaia, was bombed on March 31, 1937 by both the Italian Aviazione Legionaria and the German Legion Condor. Durango was a road and rail junction between Bilbao and the front lines of the war. Two of the town’s churches were bombed while conducting mass, leading to the death of 14 nuns and a priest. Estimates put the civilian death toll at about 250 people. Elorrio, a nearby tourist destination known for its spas, was bombed on the same day. After Durango, the civilian populace began to realize that their houses were not safe against the bombings and began taking refuge in, amongst other places, local caves.
My dad’s home town of Gerrikaitz, and the associated town of Arbatzegi, which together comprise Munitibar, was bombed in the morning of April 26, 1937, just hours before Gernika. 11 people were killed. The nearby towns of Markina, Ziortza-Bolibar, Arratzu, Muxika, and Errigoiti were also bombed during this wave. In fact, Markina was the first Basque city bombed by air in the war, on September 29, 1936, but this first bombing caused little damage. In fact, people were more curious than anything when these first bombings and attacks occurred as they were fascinated by the planes flying overhead. However, that all changed when 6 people were killed by such attacks in Markina in October, 1936. By the end of the war, Markina had been bombed at least 20 times.
The Bizkaian towns of Etxebarria and Berriatua were bombed starting in October, 1936. In fact, Mount Kalamua, part of the front lines and where the towns of Markina, Etxebarria, and Elgoibar converge, was bombed nearly every day between October 1 and 20 by Italian planes.
These are only a few of the bombings that occurred against the Basque populace. A very comprehensive list of all of the bombings, both aerial and land by both sides, can be found here: Atlas de Bombardeos en Euskadi (1936-1937).
I’m rebranding the story — the plot continues, but I thought I’d add a little bit of a splash.
After a delayed start to their day, they headed out to the street.
“Do you still want to check out those gardens?” asked Kepa as they strolled past a few cafes that were packed with students.
Buber’s Basque Story 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!
“Nah,” replied Maite. “I’d just like to get a better sense of the city, if you don’t mind. If they do offer me a position here, I’d like to know what the city is like, to help me decide.”
Kepa chuckled. “Help you decide? Are you seriously thinking you’d turn down an offer?”
“What?” replied Maite absentmindedly. “Sorry,” she continued as she shook her head. “No. Maybe. I don’t know. I mean, this is such a great place for science, it would be a dream to work here. But, I would desperately miss everything about home. It’s a big change.”
“How about we walk to the marina? It might remind you of home, put your mind at ease a bit.”
Maite looked at her phone. “It’s like an hour walk from here!” She shook her head. “It’s so different here compared to home. You can’t really walk anywhere.”
Kepa shrugged. “True, but we aren’t in a hurry. And we’ll get to see more of the city this way.”
Maite smiled. “Egia da. That’s true. Ok, lead away, my fearless leader!”
Kepa pulled up a route on his phone and began walking, Maite in hand. They passed what seemed like a park on their right, full of tall trees. Some people were jogging along a trail while others were walking their dog. A few were sitting on the grass, reading or listening to music.
“That’s pretty nice,” said Kepa. “Almost like the mountains back home.”
“And right out the door too,” agreed Maite.
Once they got past the park, however, the cityscape changed to low-rise buildings that seemed to extend on forever.
Maite shook her head. “It is amazing that they don’t build up more here. Even the smallest towns back home have taller buildings than these, it seems.”
“I guess this is how it is when everyone wants their own house and more space. I can see the appeal.”
“You live in a baserri, surrounded by space. If everyone did, we’d be just like this, I imagine. I like being able to pop down to the street and get a coffee.”
“Yeah, I like that too. But, I also like having space for all of my stuff.”
“Seems like the more space you have, the more stuff you buy. Not just you, all of us.”
They kept walking, past an endless stretch of houses punctuated by the occasional church.
“It does surprise me,” remarked Kepa, “how many churches there are.”
“Yeah, it almost seems like every person has their own church,” chuckled Maite.
“I guess that’s the difference between having one dominant religion. But, I don’t see any bars around here. The bar-church ratio seems… backwards to me.”
Maite laughed. “Maybe the bar is your religion.”
“Maybe,” smiled Kepa.
They came to the freeway. “Somehow, we have to cross over that to get to the marina,” said Kepa, looking at his phone.
Maite shook her head. “They don’t make it easy.”
Kepa was looking around to get his bearings when he noticed the street sign. “Hey, look at that, we are on Bolivar Drive.” Bolibar was a small town very close to Kepa’s baserri. His grandmother had been from another baserri that was in Bolibar proper.
“That’s cool! Who would have guessed we’d find a Basque name way out here!”
They found the foot bridge that took them over the freeway. Mid-way across, they stopped to watch all of the cars zooming by underneath.
“So many people,” mused Maite, more to herself than to Kepa.
“Yeah, and they’re all in cars,” added Kepa.
Once they were across the bridge, it wasn’t too much further to the marina. The docks were full of sailing boats, all with fancy names like “Prince of Tides,” “Dark Star,” and “Zafir.”
“It’s pretty,” said Maite as they strolled along the waterfront, watching people scurry on their boats. “It reminds me of the ports in Bermeo and Lekeitio, though something’s different.”
“There aren’t any fishing boats,” replied Kepa. “They’re all sail boats and the like. I don’t think I see a single fishing boat out there.
“Yeah, I see what you mean. It’s a different world out here.”
“So, what do you want to do now that we found the marina?”
“I’m famished,” answered Maite. “Let’s find some food!”
Between them, these three Basque-American brothers had 27 years of military service, a third of them during World War II.
This article originally appeared in its Spanish form in El Diario.
John, Leon, and William Etchemendy (left to right) pose in their University of Nevada Reserve Officers Training Corps (ROTC) uniforms.
In February 1952, the Reno Gazette-Journal proclaimed the Basque-American brothers John, Leon, and William Etchemendy Trounday as “the most decorated group of brothers in Nevada.” Between the three, they had a combined 27 years of military service – a third of them in combat – having participated in the World War II and the Korean War. In total, they received twelve stars representing each military campaign they participated in – from Normandy to Okinawa, passing the 38th Parallel and the Yalu River – six purple hearts, two presidential commendations, and nine other decorations [1]. They had traveled the world, starting from their hometown of Gardnerville in the State of Nevada. However, the origin of their history dates back a few decades earlier to the small towns of Nafarroa Beherea, Arnegi and Ortzaize [2].
Arnegi, on the road that connects Donibane Garazi and Iruñea, currently has a population of less than 240, half of what it had at the beginning of the 20th century. Similarly, Ortzaize, barely 20 kilometers away from Arnegi, with a population today close to 900 people, had double that in 1900. Both towns became two important centers of Basque emigration to the New World.
Jean Etchemendy rides a horse through the Blue Lakes area of the Sierra Nevada, northern California, around 1910. He had been on American soil for only three years. Photo courtesy of Raymond John Uhalde Etchemendy.
Jean Etchemendy Saragueta, born in 1886 in the House of Ixteotenia in Arnegi, arrived in the United States in September, 1907. He was 21 years old. His final destination was Reno, Nevada, where he met his brothers Michel, who had arrived in 1904, and Joanes, who had arrived only months earlier in March, 1907. His sister Marie would also set sail for the United States years later. His father had died in 1900, leaving behind his pregnant wife and his nine children. For four of them, emigration became their only way out.
Jean had completed the journey from Arnegi to Reno in 18 days. It would take him 43 years to retrace those same steps. From the time of his arrival until 1912, he did various traveling jobs between Nevada and California. From 1912 to 1917, Jean worked at a wagon loading yard and stagecoach way station in Wellington, Nevada. During his first brief vacation in San Francisco in 1915 he met his future wife Jeanne Trounday Heguy.
Jeanne, born in 1883 in Ortzaize, arrived in New York in 1905 at the age of 22. She was accompanied by her cousin Marie Grace Trounday. Jeanne followed the path taken by her sisters who had emigrated previously, although their destination had been Argentina. She arrived in the small Californian city of Fresno, where she first worked for the Hotel Bascongado, owned, at that time, by the Basque emigrant Jean Bidegaray.
Jean Etchemendy and Jeanne Trounday were married in 1916 in Fresno. In 1917, they moved to Gardnerville, beginning a fruitful career in the hotel business that lasted 55 years. There they ran the East Fork Hotel, between 1917 and 1921, and the Overland Hotel, as owners, from 1921 to 1972. They had six children: John (1917-1995), twins Leon (1918-1988) and Louie (he died at birth, apparently as a result of the so-called Spanish flu), William (1920-2011), Josephine (1923-2006), and Marie (1927-2018). Jean was also involved in sheep farming in the 1920s and was a sheep wool dealer from 1933 until he was almost 100 years old, being the oldest active dealer in the American West.
Jeanne Trounday poses with her children at the door of the Overland Hotel around 1924. In her arms is her daughter Josephine. From left to right: John, William, and Leon. Photo courtesy of Raymond John Uhalde Etchemendy.
Just a couple of decades after arriving in the country, Jean and his wife had become respected and successful entrepreneurs, instilling in their children the importance of family, work ethic, and the value of education. In fact, all of them would study at the University of Nevada, Reno.
John, Leon, and William all excelled in a variety of sports throughout high school and college, whether it was basketball for John or football for the other two brothers. John had a degree in mining engineering and education, Leon get his in education, and William in Hispanic philology. All three graduated in military science from the Reserve Officer Training Corps (ROTC) at the University of Nevada, with a reserve commission as a second lieutenant in the US Army Infantry. As if this weren’t enough, John enrolled in cadet flight school in May 1940 before finishing college, attending among other places the prestigious academy at Randolph Field in San Antonio, Texas, known as the “West Point of the Air.” He graduated in December 1940, receiving the coveted military pilot wings and a second reserve commission as a second lieutenant, this time in the Army Air Corps.
John, Leon, and William Etchemendy (from left to right) as they passed through the University of Nevada, where they participated extensively in various sports and social activities. Yearbook of the University of Nevada, 1939 and 1943.
“Echoes of two wars, 1936-1945” aims to disseminate the stories of those Basques and Navarrese who participated in two of the warfare events that defined the future of much of the 20th century. With this blog, the intention of the Sancho de Beurko Association is to rescue from anonymity the thousands of people who constitute the backbone of the historical memory of the Basque and Navarre communities, on both sides of the Pyrenees, and their diasporas of emigrants and descendants, with a primary emphasis on the United States, during the period from 1936 to 1945.
THE AUTHORS Guillermo Tabernilla is a researcher and founder of the Sancho de Beurko Association, a non-profit organization that studies the history of the Basques and Navarrese from both sides of the Pyrenees in the Spanish Civil War and in World War II. He is currently their secretary and community manager. He is also editor of the digital magazine Saibigain. Between 2008 and 2016 he directed the catalog of the “Iron Belt” for the Heritage Directorate of the Basque Government and is, together with Pedro J. Oiarzabal, principal investigator of the Fighting Basques Project, a memory project on the Basques and Navarrese in the Second World War in collaboration with the federation of Basque Organizations of North America.
Pedro J. Oiarzabal is a Doctor in Political Science-Basque Studies, granted by the University of Nevada, Reno (USA). For 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 the author of more than twenty publications. He has authored the blog “Basque Identity 2.0” by EITB and “Diaspora Bizia” by EuskalKultura.eus. On Twitter @Oiarzabal.
Josu M. Aguirregabiria is a researcher and founder of the Sancho de Beurko Association and is currently its president. A specialist in the Civil War in Álava, he is the author of several publications related to this topic, among which “La batalla de Villarreal de Álava” (2015) y “Seis días de guerra en el frente de Álava. Comienza la ofensiva de Mola” (2018) stand out.
John Michael Etchemendy Trounday, who had already excelled as a pilot extraordinary, was sent to the Army Air Corps Advanced Flight School as an instructor, serving at air bases in Louisiana and Alabama, where he suffered two plane crashes, though he was unharmed in both. Meanwhile the US entered WWII. Subsequently, John was assigned to the Accelerated Service Test Unit at Wright Field, Dayton, Ohio, training new pilots first as commander of the 83rd Teaching Squadron and later as group commander until March 1943. In August he was promoted to the rank of major. In January 1944 while he was piloting the P-40 Warhawk fighter plane, he had his last accident, this time at Mitchel Air Force Base in New York. The plane was totally destroyed. After the war ended, in November 1945, John was appointed group commander and flight director at the Central School of Instructors at Randolph Field. In March 1946, John served as deputy director of the Central School of Instructors and as an assistant training and operations officer, flight safety officer, and assistant commander at Barksdale Air Force Base, Louisiana. By 1946, John had accumulated more than 2,200 hours of total flight time as a pilot. In June 1946, he was nominated by President Harry S. Truman and consequently named First Lieutenant of the Army, being one of 9,800 chosen from more than 100,000 candidates. Between 1947 and 1949, John assumed command of the 26th Fighter Squadron (one of the first units to fly jet aircraft overseas) of the 51st Fighter-Interceptor Group in Okinawa, Japan, with the mission of defending the airspace of the Ryukyu Islands.
After graduating, Leon Etchemendy Trounday was sent directly to the Army base of Fort Ord, in Monterey Bay, California, and from there to the South Pacific, serving in the 7th Infantry Division. He participated in 17 amphibious landings from Attu and Kiska, Alaska, through the Marshall Islands, to the Philippines. On May 11, 1943, they landed at Attu, where the division lost about 600 soldiers. On January 31, 1944, Leon and his comrades-in-arms landed on the islands of Kwajalein Atoll, participating in the capture of Engebi, part of Eniwetok Atoll, on February 18, 1943. Finally, they took part in the invasion of Leyte, where Leon was seriously injured. The Basque-American native of Nevada, Paul Laxalt, of the Army Medical Corps, helped transport him on a stretcher to the hospital, providing care during his recovery. Leon spent the next 14 months in and out of hospitals. He was discharged with honors in January, 1946. He received a Bronze Star, the Purple Heart, the Asiatic-Pacific Campaign medal with four battle stars, 17 bronze arrowheads corresponding to as many amphibious landings, the Combat Infantryman Badge, a Presidential Commendation, and two Army Commendations Medals. Leon returned to Nevada where he taught in Reno and Sparks until his mobilization due to the Korean War.
Little brother William Etchemendy Trounday was assigned as Rifle Platoon Leader to L Company, 3rd Brigade, 329th Infantry Regiment, 83rd Infantry Division (the “Thunderbolts”). On June 18, 1944, they landed on Omaha Beach. They fought in Normandy, northern France (capturing the fortress of Saint-Malo, in Brittany), the Ardennes, and in the Rhineland. The division went through France, Belgium, Luxembourg, Holland, and Germany. In the Hürtgen Forest, William was wounded in one of the bloodiest battles in US military history with 33,000 casualties, including deaths and injuries. After recovering, he participated in late 1944 in the successful Allied effort that stopped the German counteroffensive in the Battle of the Bulge. In March 1945, the division advanced towards the Rhine river. William was part of the first platoons to reach the river with the aim of crossing the bridge that led to Dusseldorf before it was blown up. However, part of the bridge was dynamited. William fell wounded and was transferred to a hospital in Paris. After a brief convalescence he returned to his unit, which assumed the responsibilities of the occupation and the military government of Austria. He was promoted to captain. For his participation in WWII, he received the Purple Heart with two clusters of oak leaves, a Bronze Star, and four battle stars.
The photo shows the last time the family was fully reunited after the end of WWII. Jeanne would pass away in 1949. From left to right, seated: Josephine, Jean, Jeanne, and Marie. Standing, Leon (with an eye patch from the Battle of Leyte), John, and William. Photo courtesy of Raymond John Uhalde Etchemendy, Gardnerville, 1948.
In 1948, the three brothers were able to reunite with the rest of the family in Gardnerville after the end of WWII. In 1949, Jeanne passed away at the age of 66. Accompanied by his little daughter Marie, Jean visited his relatives in Arnegi for the first time. He continued to manage the Overland Hotel until 1953, when he transferred it to another Basque family. In 1958, he married the Nafarroa Beherean Jeanne Lartirigoyen, returning together to the country where they were born. After the death of his second wife, Jean returned to Arnegi for the last time. He passed away in 1990 in Reno at the age of 103 years and seven months. He was the oldest person in Nevada, and was considered one of the most influential people in the history of Douglas County.
John Michael Etchemendy was appointed an Air Force colonel in 1955. He would later be appointed commander of the Air Force Basic Military Training School at Randolph-Lackland Air Force Base. Photo courtesy of Raymond John Uhalde Etchemendy, 1962.
After WWII and the Korean War, the brothers remained linked to the armed forces. Leon retired from military service in 1968 with the rank of Lieutenant Colonel, followed by John in 1971, and William in 1975, both with the rank of Colonel. Between the three they added 84 years of service to their parents’ adopted country, with almost 14 years of combat spanning between the last world war and the Korean War. John, with more than 7,000 flight hours, survived three air accidents and led combat missions in Korea, while Leon fought in WWII where he was seriously wounded, and William fought in both wars, being wounded in battle four times. William is the only one of the brothers who was active during the Vietnam War.
Leon passed away at age 69, John at 78, and William at 90. Both John and William were buried with military honors in Virginia’s Arlington National Cemetery. Marie, the youngest of the family, passed away in 2018, being the last of the first generation of her family born in the United States. Few are the Basque-American families whose children match the spectacular military trajectory of the Etchemendy Trounday. This article serves to honor the memory of all of them.
[1] Reno Gazette-Journal. “Team of Nevada Brothers Compiles Service Records” (February 22, 1952. P. 14).
[2] This article draws on oral history interviews with Jean Etchemendy between 1978 and 1980 by her daughter Josephine and on the stories written by Josephine’s son, Raymond John Uhalde Etchemendy, about his family.
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Many of the figures in Basque mythology are shrouded in mystery, their true natures lost to the mists of time. Whatever role they played in the original Basque religion, their character became confused and contorted with the advent of Christianity. The black he-goat – the Akerbeltz – is a prime example. While he was originally viewed as good, a sign of fertility and health, he later became associated with Satan himself and became an iconic part of the Black Sabbaths celebrated by witches.
While later black he-goats became associated with Satan and demonology, before that they were benign creatures with healing powers. Often associated with Mari, who could take the form of a black goat, black goats were prized. In many houses, as a way of avoiding disease in their cattle, people would ensure a black he-goat was part of the flock, raised in the stable.
This benevolent akerbeltz was also a symbol of fertility and there is some speculation that he was related to the Greek god Pan. It was also believed that, if the right person cut a black he-goat’s beard, they could summon a hail storm.
It wasn’t until the 16th and 17th centuries that the old pre-Christian beliefs began to become so strongly associated with evil, the devil, and demons. Pre-Christian beings such as Akerbeltz were directly associated with Satan and were said to be worshipped by witches and warlocks, at Black Sabbaths that, in Basque, are called Akelarreak. The importance of these gatherings is reflected in the fact that more than fifteen different places are named for the Akelarre — literally the he-goat’s pasture — where these celebrations were said to take place. In reality, it is unclear what happened at these gatherings — to the extent they happened at all — but it is certain that Basques were not worshipping the devil.
In descriptions of the Akerbeltz from the akelarres or Black Sabbaths that the witches attended (often extracted from testimony under duress or torture), he is said to have the face of a man and sometimes two faces, one in the front and one on his back. He performs a reverse-mass, in mockery of the Catholic mass. These were said to end in an orgy in which human flesh was served.
Akerbeltz as one of the deities the pre-Christian Basques worshipped is documented from pre-Roman times. In the Church of Saint-Aventin, in the Occitanie region of France, there is stone taken from a previous building, and inscribed upon it is the phrase Aherbeltse, which most translate to modern Akerbeltz (though some have connected the first element – aher – to the Basque word harri, or stone). This suggests that Akerbeltz is a very old figure in the Basque pantheon.
