Being Multi-Cultural

[Old Hippie]

By Frosty Wooldridge


For 15 years, from the mid 1970's to 1990, I worked in Detroit , Michigan . I watched it descend into the abyss of crime, debauchery, gun play, drugs, school truancy, car-jacking, gangs and human depravity. I watched entire city blocks burned out. I watched graffiti explode on buildings, cars, trucks, buses and school yards. Trash everywhere !

Detroiters walked through it, tossed more into it and ignored it. Tens of thousands and then, hundreds of thousands today exist on federal welfare, free housing and food stamps !

With Aid to Dependent Children, minority women birthed eight to 10 and in one case, one woman birthed 24 kids as reported by the Detroit Free Press-all on American taxpayer dollars.

A new child meant a new car payment, new TV and whatever mom wanted. I saw Lyndon Baines
Johnson's "Great Society" flourish in Detroit . If you give money for doing nothing, you will get more hands out taking money for doing nothing.

Mayor Coleman Young, perhaps the most corrupt mayor in America , outside of Richard Daley in Chicago , rode Detroit down to its knees. He set the benchmark for cronyism, incompetence and arrogance. As a black man, he said, "I am the MFIC." The IC meant 'in charge'. You can figure out the rest. Detroit became a majority black city with 67 percent African-Americans.

As a United Van Lines truck driver for my summer job from teaching math and science, I loaded hundreds of American families into my van for a new life in another city or state.

Detroit plummeted from 1.8 million citizens to 912,000 today. At the same time, legal and illegal immigrants converged on the city, so much so, that Muslims number over 300,000. Mexicans number 400,000 throughout Michigan , but most work in Detroit . As the whites moved out, the Muslims moved in.

As the crimes became more violent, the whites fled. Finally, unlawful Mexicans moved in at a torrid pace. Detroit suffers so much shoplifting that grocery stores no longer operate in many inner city locations. You could cut the racial tension in the air with a knife !

Detroit may be one our best examples of multiculturalism: pure dislike and total separation from America .

Today, you hear Muslim calls to worship over the city like a new American Baghdad with hundreds of Islamic mosques in Michigan , paid for by Saudi Arabia oil money. High school flunk out rates reached 76 percent last June, according to NBC's Brian Williams. Classrooms resemble more foreign countries than America . English ? Few speak it ! The city features a 50 percent illiteracy rate and growing. Unemployment hit 28.9 percent in 2009 as the auto industry vacated the city. In this week's Time Magazine October 4, 2009, "The Tragedy of Detroit: How a great city fell and how it can rise again," I choked on the writer's description of what happened. "If Detroit had been savaged by a hurricane and submerged by a ravenous flood, we'd know a lot more about it," said Daniel Okrent. "If drought and carelessness had spread brush fires across the city, we'd see it on the evening news every night.

Earthquake, tornadoes, you name it - if natural disaster had devastated the city that was once the living proof of American prosperity, the rest of the country might take notice.

But Detroit , once our fourth largest city, now 11th and slipping rapidly, has had no such luck. Its disaster has long been a slow unwinding that seemed to remove it from the rest of the country. Even the death rattle that in the past year emanated from its signature industry brought more attention to the auto executives than to the people of the city, who had for so long been victimized by their dreadful decision-making."

As Coleman Young's corruption brought the city to its knees, no amount of federal dollars could save the incredible payoffs, kick backs and illegality permeating his administration. I witnessed the city's death from the seat of my 18-wheeler tractor trailer because I moved people out of every sector of decaying Detroit "By any quantifiable standard, the city is on life support. Detroit 's treasury is $300 million short of the funds needed to provide the barest municipal services," Okrent said. "The school system, which six years ago was compelled by the teachers' union to reject a philanthropist's offer of $200 million to build 15 small, independent charter high schools, is in receivership. The murder rate is soaring, and 7 out of 10 remain unsolved. Three years after Katrina devastated New Orleans , unemployment in that city hit a peak of 11%. In Detroit , the unemployment rate is 28.9%.

That's worth spelling out: twenty-eight point nine percent." At the end of Okrent's report, and he will write a dozen more about Detroit , he said, "That's because the story of Detroit is not simply one of a great city's collapse. It's also about the erosion of the industries that helped build the country we know today. The ultimate fate of Detroit will reveal much about the character of America in the 21st century. If what was once the most prosperous manufacturing city in the nation has been brought to its knees, what does that say about our recent past ? And if it can't find a way to get up, what does that say about our future ?"
As you read in my book review of Chris Steiner's book, "$20 Per Gallon", the auto industry won't come back.. Immigration will keep pouring more and more uneducated third world immigrants from the Middle East into Detroit - thus creating a beachhead for Islamic hegemony in America . If 50 percent illiteracy continues, we will see more homegrown terrorists spawned out of the Muslim ghettos of Detroit . Illiteracy plus Islam equals walking human bombs.
You have already seen it in Madrid , Spain ; London , England and Paris , France with train bombings, subway bombings and riots. As their numbers grow, so will their power to enact their barbaric Sharia Law that negates republican forms of government, first amendment rights and subjugates women to the lowest rungs on the human ladder. We will see more honor killings by upset husbands, fathers and brothers that demand subjugation by their daughters, sisters and wives. Muslims prefer beheadings of women to scare the hell out of any other members of their sect from straying. Multiculturalism: what a perfect method to kill our language, culture, country and way of life.

[Gsmagnum]

Failure to make people assimilate into our society means failure of the Country.

[Old Hippie]

On the National news a couple of minutes ago has one guy from Detroit just getting out of jail getting shut 15 times in his car in a gas station, and house found with bombs in it -- that had to be exploded.

I was born in Detroit -- thankfully my parents had the common sense to move us to Texas in 1959.

[leftova3]

Wait is this story antimutliculturalist or anti-muslim? Cus it smells a little fishy

[bonedoc33]

Damn, Leftova...where have you been hiding? Haven't heard anything from you since the socialist/doctors make toomuch money thread last year.

To answer your question, the article is about multiculturalism. Muslims were not the only group mentioned. It also spoke of Mexicans and blacks. Either way, you have several groups of people each trying to keep the way of life and the culture they lived in their home country. That does not work; if they are going to move into a different society, they will have to assimilate or the result will be the ghettos, slums and illiteracy rates the article mentions.

The article may come off as anti-muslim because they are the biggest group in Detroit, the city this particular article is about. They are trying to bring their culture and sharia laws here, and they have the money and the numbers to do it.

Besides, we should be anti-muslim. They are trying like hell to take over, and if they do your choices are having a beard down to your cock and smelling like a goat or being beaten, killed or otherwise treated as a second-class citizen.

[Gsmagnum]

My Grandparents came from Norway in the early 1900's. They assimilated and raised their kids as Americans.
That is what every immigrant should be doing.

[Old Hippie]

My grandfather came from Venezuela in the 30s -- and moved to Detroit -where he learned and spoke English. He had a terribly thick accent -- but only spoke in English to his kids and grandkids. He was proud to be an American, flew the American flag, and both of his sons served in the American Navy.

My uncle, now in his 70s -- works as a diver, cleaning shark aquariums at Moody Gardens. He recently sent an email to my 27 nieces and nephews about my grandfather.

Hi Family :

I have been asked to write what I remember about Grandpa Castillo. So here it is as I was told by my mom, Grandpa never said much about his past to us kids. If it wasn't for mom , we wouldn't know where he came from.

about 1950 ish ~ When Grandpa's brother Father Louis Castillo died they notified him and told him "by the way your mother died several years ago" when he flew down to Venezuela to take care of business, he had a hard time leaving, they told him once a Venezuelan ~ Always A Venezuelan ~ mom had to get the American Embassy involved to get him out of there.
Grandpa spoke broken English, but I can't remember him ever speaking Spanish to us kids, he figured we were in the USA and needed to speak English. Mom had to read all the training manuals to dad , he completed Radio Repairman & Watch Repairman by correspondence courses. He built our house in Brownsville, was an electrician, machinist, mechanic, Radio repairman, Watch repairman, plumber, carpenter, painter, etc.
I don't know of anything Dad couldn't do if he wanted to do it.

Grandpa Castillo

Ralph Maria Castillo Born in Caracas , Venezuela , March 08, 1901
Died in Brownsville, Texas , September 30, 1973
Grandpa’s father Louis Castillo died when he was just several years old, his older brother was named after his father Louis Castillo, he later became a Priest. Grandpa’s Mother was “Little Grandma” his cousins were Monsignor, Priest’s and Nun’s
He lived in Venezuela 1901 to approx 1930
• While playing he threw a stone at a lady carrying a clay water jug on her head, instead of breaking the jug, he hit he in the head and drew blood, that was a criminal offense if caught, he ran.
• While swimming in a fast moving stream/river the current pulled him under a tree branch and he drowned, the boys pulled him out and stuck hot nails into his back to get him breathing again, Grandpa never liked swimming after that day.
• To make money the boys would drill holes into coconuts about the size of a monkeys hand, they would put a nut inside, the monkey would reach into hole grab the nut, making a fist, his fist would not make it out of the hole, they would put monkey in a cage, coconut would be tied to a tree limb to keep monkey from running away until came to catch it. Sell them along the roadside.
• To make money they would mix up some rubber glue, spread it on bushes that parrots would land on, when they landed in bushes, they became stuck and the boys put them into cages, sold them along roadside.
• Some games they played was flying kites with razor blades tied to long tails, the object was to cut the string of the other kids flying kites. They made their kites from newspapers
• While riding in a streetcar in Caracas he saw some guys drive up to another car , jump out and kill everyone in the car with machine guns, that was a man running for President, the streetcar conductor was on top of the streetcar changing cables, the killers shot & killed him and shot at the streetcar, Grandpa knew if those guys found out he was in the streetcar, they would have added him to their list. His brother Father Louis Castillo was in Detroit and helped Grandpa come to America.
Grandpa comes to the USA approx mid 1930’s
• He first worked in a beef slaughter factory ( meat packing house )
• About 1939 we moved to Brownsville, Texas , mom & dad planned to move to Mexico and open up a tourist court, he could not get a visa for Mexico since he was originally from Venezuela. He opened a fruit store on a corner where the Catholic Church is, He would contact orange grove owners and buy up the fruit on contract, he would get wetbacks to harvest fruit. He didn’t have an official Texas ag. inspection stamp, but used a large button to stamp fruit. When the 1940 freeze wiped out the citrus crop we lost everything and moved back to Michigan.
• He worked at a concrete factory between Fenton and Holly Mich. They built large 4’ concrete storm drain pipe sections, they would have to hand load those pipes onto trucks, he later got a job working at Genesee Tool and Die factory, he learned to repair radio’s and installed car radio’s, in 1946 he have an appendix rupture almost died, we went to Brownsville on vacation for several months, that is when they purchased the land where they later built a house. In 1948 we all moved to Brownsville permanently.
• While in Brownsville Grandpa worked, Radio repairman (he had a shop downtown), as a airplane engine overhaul machinist at Pan American Airways, an electrician wiring new buildings downtown Brownsville, A Mechanic at McNair’s factory, as a watch repairman with his own shop on Boca Chica Blvd.

[Old Hippie]

on the subject of my grandfather, my mother wrote this years ago

Ralph M Castillo

By Carmen Schultz

My father, Ralph Maria Castillo, was born on March 8, 1901 in Caracas, Venezuela, South America. He didn’t learn the date of his birth until he was 66 years old. He had been born at home and the place that kept the birth records had burned down. As is done in many Latin countries, we celebrated his Saints day instead, which was Oct. 24th. It was only after he became eligible for social security and they were insistent on proof that my mother got his baptism certificate from South America that stated his age. It turned out that he was five years older than he thought and it gave him great pleasure to go into the social security office that held back his money and get money for the extra years.

My father’s dad died just before my father was born and I don’t have any information on him other than my grandfather was three fourths Spanish and one fourth French. This dad also learned years and years later and came from Spain. Dad’s mothers name was Ana Toro Castillo and she and all her family came from Caracas, Venezuela. She and his many aunts and uncles raised my dad. They were all of staunch Catholic backgrounds. One of the things I remember lovingly about Dad is going to Mass with him every morning before I went to school and him praying his rosary as I prayed while my little finger would be intertwined with his. His brother Uncle Louis was a priest and his cousins were priests, cardinals or bishops. Dad often said he was the black sheep of the family as he was one of the few men not becoming a priest.

My dad had an older brother who died as a young child and we know little of him other than he had been near death once before because of eating a poisoned leaf. My grandmother Ana made a promise to name any other children for the Virgin Mary if he survived. This was the reason for my father’s middle name being Maria as was my Uncle Louis. One of his cousins, Monsignor Francis was raised as a brother to Dad. He was a double cousin to dad as two cousins (brothers) from one side of the family married two cousins (sisters) from the other side of the family.

Dad was married previously in South America and had a young son Louis. There was a problem in that marriage and they were divorced. Dad as a very young man in his early twenties came to the United States with his Brother, Mother, and 5-year-old son. I remember, Dad who spoke English with a heavy Spanish accent, laughing about his first days in the United States. He said he saw trucks with the letters PIES (which in Spanish means feet) stopping at stores and he wondered why these crazy Americans were selling feet, (and what kind of feet). Another time in the winter he wanted to buy some long underwear to keep warm so asked his brother how to say long underwear in English. His brother told him to go and ask for union suits (which is what they were called back than). When dad asked for union suits he was sent next door to the garden section as they thought he was asking for onion sets. He said for months and months his diet consisted of hamburgers and coffee because those were the only words he knew.

Dad met my mother Francis Mary Lyons at church. My grandmother Josephine was very active in the church were my uncle Louis was pastor, and my folks met that way. Neither family was happy when Ralph and Francis decided to marry. They had both been divorced before and to remarry was a definite No, No as Catholics. It turned out to be a good marriage though. Each of my parents gave the other what they needed most in life, respect and love. My dad was a fairly quiet person and an introvert where as my mother was a very outgoing type of person and an extravert. This caused problems at times but all in all they over came the problems because of the love, affection and honor they had for each other. My dad had a temper and used it at times but my mother, as a rule was very good at calming things down fast.

I was the apple of my father’s eye and could do no wrong. I was to be cared for and made sure that no harm came to me. Dad was very strict and boys were a definite No in his vocabulary. On the other hand he expected so very much of my brother Bud, and no matter how good Bud was at this that or the other, my Dad felt he could do it better and expected better. I imagine this is one of the reasons Bud is much the perfectionist and I am a bit more laid back. I remember being able to sit on my dads lap and curl his hair when I was little.

I wanted a horse that was quite wild and had been a river-riders animal. This was not a child’s horse but my father took me over to see it. They lead me, on the horse into the coral and let me loose to ride Sharazod. As soon as the lead chain was taken off the reins, Sherry made for the rails, trying to knock me off. His final feat was to flip the bit and bite it so I had no control of the horse. He then ran at a fast gallop across the coral. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that he was aiming to jump the wall. I remember thinking to myself that if he jumped that wall, I’d never get him stopped. It was at this time that my father, who was not a big man, ran inside and jumped right in front of that run away horse. I don’t know many people brave enough to do something like that. I felt I had lost any way of getting Sherry as my horse because of this. Dad knew how much I wanted that horse and he still, even with everything that happened, let me get him. I know this also took a lot of courage on his part, letting his daughter have a dangerous animal but he showed me that he had faith in my judgment and ability to train Sherry into a good though spirited horse. This was a real father.

When Duane came down to Brownsville to ask me to marry him, he first had to ask my fathers permission. I can still remember my mother and I hiding in my room (with a window facing the front porch) listening to Duane ask my dad for my hand in marriage. Would you believe that my dad listened to everything Duane said and then said that he would talk to my mother and they would let him know later that evening? I was shocked and truly upset that my dad wasn’t going to let me get married. My mother calmed me down by telling me that was just dad’s way of letting Duane know that the proposal wasn’t going to be jumped on but consideration was going to be taken about such an important event. This was my dad. He was the dearest, hardest working, most courageous man I know and I am very pleased to call him my father and be a part of his heritage.

[Old Hippie]

and

Ralph M Castillo

By Ralph G Castillo

Dad was firm but always fair. I can’t remember being spanked by dad; a stern look was enough to do the trick. In the late 1930's mom and dad decided to move to Mexico to build a tourist courts. Dad spoke fluent Castilian Spanish and thought he would have an easier time in Mexico. When they got to the border they had trouble getting a visa to move to Mexico, dad was not a born U.S. citizen. They met the Tomlinson family who became family to us. With their help mom and dad started a fruit stand (Store) on the corner of Elizabeth Street in downtown Brownsville. It was across the street to the Catholic School that Noel attended. Dad would contract with the orange grove owners to purchase and pick all of his citrus at a fixed amount. He would drive a group of laborers to the groves and Noel would oversee them while they picked and loaded crates of oranges and grapefruit. With Charro Days as popular as it was in those days and tourists flocking to Brownsville to spend money, dad made a good living shipping crates of citrus to their friends and families. He even contracted to supply fresh vegetables and fruits to the local Hotel, Piggly Wiggly Food Store and several other locations. When they started shipping citrus up north one of their competitors threatened to turned them in for not having a shipping stamp, dad being the clever person he was found a large button that was the correct size, a red ink stamp pad and continued to ship citrus until his legal stamp showed up. Things were going great until dad had bought up several citrus groves to pick and a hard freeze hit Brownsville and literally wiped his finances out. We packed up what we owned into a panel truck and moved to Fenton, Mich. near Runyan Lake where Gram & Gramps lived.

Dad & Mom purchased a small house on a corner lot at 335 N. Lemon Street. He added a closed garage and two more bedrooms. He turned a plain corner lot into a showplace with circular drive lined with Christmas Trees. In the middle of the large grassed section was a rock garden with a large mirrored ball on a stand. Lining the drive was a white picket fence that Dad had made on his small table saw. Dad could cut wood with a handsaw as fast as most people could with electric saws. He could nail as fast as most nail guns today. He was small built but strong as an OX.

When we first moved to Fenton dad had a problem finding a good job because he spoke very broken English. His first job was at a concrete factory between Fenton and Holly Michigan. In those days companies didn't own heavy equipment to load these large concrete storm drain pipes that were large enough for a man to stand upright in. The loading was done by back breaking manual labor. Dad would come home with his back raw from the lime in the concrete, plus rolling them up onto large trucks for shipping.

Dad had learned to make beautiful necklaces and earrings from gold wire and crystals from Europe. He would make dozens of matching earrings and necklaces hang them on a cardboard display card and off he and mom would go to locate a Hispanic community to sell his jewelry. They would come back with orders for more items for the next trip. Dad also made Catholic Rosaries but he would not sell these. His Christian belief would not put a price on religious items no matter how much it cost him to produce them. He gave them to people on special occasions.

His next job was at Genesee Tool & Die Co. in Fenton Michigan. What a relief for dad to use his brains instead of his brawn. Dad learned to use a cutter / grinder machine that made military hardware dies. That’s why he could not quit or move because in those days people were drafted to the jobs they worked. It was Wartime and dad would work at that machine until the war ended.

During wartime everything was rationed. We would purchased food, gasoline and shoes using ration stamps and cash. When you ran out of gasoline stamps you walked. People that raised beef & pork had to get permission to butcher and sell the meat. This was wartime and we lived sparingly. Dad and a friend of his butchered a large hog in our garage and we ate pork for a while.

Dad couldn't read English, so when he wanted to learn how to work on radios, mom would read to him until he passed his radio test and became a licensed radio repairman. He contracted with a local car dealer to install radios. Dad also loved to grow flowers and plants he a thumb almost as green as Grama Lyon.

One memory of dad that stands out was when Noel traded his old Chevy sedan for an Indian Motorcycle and dad was going to show us how to ride it. Dad got it going just fine but after turning into several front yards he circled back to the house and yelled " How Do You Stop This Thing "

We lived in Fenton Mich. until Oct. 31 1948 — when we moved back to Brownsville Texas. Dad purchased a stake-bed truck, loaded our refrigerator, stove odds and ends and off we drove to Brownsville. What a trip, Dad drove the truck, Uncle Louis riding shotgun and Me stuck in the middle. Mom drove the 1941 Chevy coupe with big Grama, little Grama and Carmen with their fruit jar. (Dad refused to make potty stops for 4 females) When we got to Brownsville we set up a campsite and ruffed it for a while. Mom & Dad had a mattress in the back of bed of the truck, Carmen slept in the car front seat Grama slept in the back seat, I slept in the truck front seat and Uncle Louis And Little Grama stayed in a rented room at the Tomlinsons house. Dad fixed a campfire and we were home.

In the first month Dad built a small cabin about 12' x 20', walls, roof but no floor, (except where Big Grama slept) a door and two windows. This was our new home for about a year and a half until dad got the " BIG HOUSE " built. Sleeping arrangements in the cabin were Mom & Dad had a bed, Big Grama had a bed, Carmen and I slept in canvas hammocks that were rolled up each morning. We hauled bath water from a Rasaca about a block away. Dad had stopped in Lufkin, Texas at a sawmill and purchased all the lumber he needed to build our house, it included delivery and offloading. Dad first had to clear off a spot for the house by clearing all the mesquite trees and cactus. That’s when we met Manual Salazar and his family. They helped us every time we turned around with things that came natural to them. They cut the mesquite trees, stacked the firewood, when it started burning good, they covered it with dirt and several days later it had turned the wood into charcoal it was bagged and sold. Dad ran out of money before he completed the house so he had to get another means of income. He had his stake-bed truck so he contracted to haul bricks from the railroad yard to a federal housing project. He hired several laborers, made a tool to handle four bricks in each hand; he moved hundreds of boxcar loads of bricks and made enough money to complete building the house.

He then got a job as a Commercial Electrician which he taught himself to do after several months as an apprentice. They wired several new stores in the downtown area of Brownsville. Dad couldn't read but if he saw something done one time he would be able to repeat each step exactly as done. Dad worked for McNair clothing company as a sewing machine line repairman for a number of years, worked at Grindell Generator repair shop, then learned how to repair clocks and watches with Mom reading the lessons to him until he Graduated from that home coarse.

Dad was born in Caracas, Venezuela. He went to a Catholic School where for punishment the Nuns would make them kneel in the corner that had sand sprinkled on the floor and them in short pants, no wonder they were good in school. When dad was a kid, for money, they would catch monkeys using a coconut, they would drill a hole in the side, put a nut inside and with the coconut on the ground it would be tied to a tree. The monkey would stick his hand into the coconut, make a fist around the nut, refusing to release his treasure, he'd be stuck until someone broke the coconut and released him into a cage to be sold. They would also make a rubber cement substance and spread it on bushes that flocks of beautiful parrots would always land in. The parrots would get stuck, caged and sold.

Dad was a survivor and could make do with little of nothing. Dad wasn't a talker, he was a doer. He would let mom do the talking for the family and seldom carried on a conversation because he was constantly afraid of making a mistake speaking a language he was not born to speak and did not start to learn until his mid twenties.

This was how people use to try to assimilate into America.

[storm king]

Fabulous history, Dave. My Grandparents were Slavic immigrants,who came here with nothing, and have a very similar story to yours, and many others.
Our schools are very much at the root cause of the problems we now face. That, and this general attitude that diminishes American Exceptionalism. People come here, depending upon who they are, for two reasons today. to work for a better life (while foolishly trying to cling to the same culture they came with) or to destroy us, like the Mooslim occupation of Detroit suggests. Go to www.acts17.com and see how the Mooslims REALLY are there. They need to be eradicated like the infestation that they are.