a good story is better than facts

Mexico is filled with interesting stories.

Some are based on fact. Others are more creative with the truth.

The genesis myth of the word "gringo" is a perfect example. You can still hear tourist guides reeling off interesting tales that the word was a slur-taunt by Mexican peasants urging the green-clad American soldiers of 1846 to go home. “Green go.” That version never made sense for at least two reasons: its internal inconsistencies and the fact the American soldiers in that era wore blue.

You will still hear people repeating the story even though linguists long ago debunked it. “Gringo" dates back to at least the early 1700s in Spain and was used to refer to a non-native speaker of Spanish. Probably, derived from the Spanish word for "Greek" -- as in, it is all Greek to me. If used as it was initially, it would not apply simply to a specific nationality.

And there is another, which is the topic of today’s essay. How San Patricio got its name.

There are plenty of theories, but none has yet been verified.

I saw a placemat in a local restaurant last week that includes one of those unverified tales: "San Patricio Melaque was named for a unit of 175 mainly Irish immigrants, Saint Patrick's Battalion, that fought with the Mexican Army against the US during the Mexican-American War (1846-48)."

Interestingly, Wikipedia, that bottomless well of misinformation, once repeated the same claim. Of course, without proof. The current entry is far more anodyne and asserts the village is "named after the Ejido San Patricio and before that a small Rancho named San Patricio."

When I was in the seventh-grade, our American history book included two or three sentences about an incident that occurred during the American-Mexican War. About 200 Irish and German immigrants, who had enlisted in the American Army, deserted and joined the Mexican Army to fight against their former comrades.

For some reason, those facts lodged in my memory.

When I decided I wanted to retire in Mexico, I made two reconnoitering trips to La Manzanilla, Barra de Navidad, and Melaque San Patricio. While I was standing in the church in San Patricio, I started wondering if there was any connection between the deserters, the St. Patrick’s Brigade, and the village of San Patricio.   

It was a mystery. Why was a Mexican village of San Patricio named after a Romano-British missionary who became the patron saint of Ireland?

The question, of course, was a bit silly. Mexico is filled with villages named for Italian or French saints along with the Jewish apostles. And no one bothers asking why. The saints are as universal as the church.

I instinctively knew there was no answer to that question. Does anyone ever ask why San Luis Potosi is named for a sainted French king? Is there any answer?

Could it be that the village was somehow connected with that group of 200 Irish and German soldiers who were induced to desert with Mexican government promises of land and military commissions? Could this area be part of that promised land?

One of the few military advantages the United States had in that war was is artillery tactics of “fire and move.” Most of the deserters had served in artillery units, and they brought that skill to the Mexican side.* In the end, it did not prove to be a deciding factor for Mexico.

The war did not end well for many members of the battalion. When the Americans won, they tried a group of them. and hanged them for desertion. 46 of them.

Others were whipped and branded. Most had melted away into the expanse of Mexico. Including their leader, John Riley.

When I moved south, I had several clues to follow about a popular local myth that San Patricio was named for the battalion. In the 1990s, a professor from Evergreen College in Washington, brought a group of students to Mexico to sensitize them to the evils of America. (It was the same group of students Mexico would eventually deport for interfering in Mexican politics.)

The professor claimed there was a direct link between the battalion and the name of the village, and he used the battalion as a role model for his charges. While staying in Melaque San Patricio, the students were instrumental in re-building the gazebo in San Patricio's square. A plaque still honors their efforts to immortalize the battalion.

As proof of the connection, the professor claimed to have seen a deed awarding a local hacienda to a member of the battalion. That seemed to cinch the connection.

But, when I contacted him and asked where he saw the deed or if he had retained a copy, our connection went dead. I do not want to ascribe any lack of honesty on his part. That would not be magnanimous. But I never heard from him again.

A Mexican acquaintance, who was an elected local official at the time, told me another tantalizing tale. There is a hill just north of San Patricio that contains a cave. According to him, a member of the battalion (perhaps, John Riley himself) came to the area and lived in the cave as a hermit.

The story has a scent of hagiography about it. There is no ancient deed, no hacienda. Just Catholic authenticity. A grieving soldier paying penance for his violent past and living out his life alone in a bat cave.

Or so goes the story. When I asked him if there was any documentation supporting the tale, he just chuckled.

That did not surprise me, though, he is the same fellow who told me years ago that he believed there was a connection with the battalion, but he knew of no objective evidence to support that conclusion. "You don't understand the mystery of Mexico. Thinking about this simply destroys its beauty. Myth is true. Facts are lies. If you want it to be true -- it is."

And, apparently, officialdom has adopted that approach. The local government has installed a large flag pole (one of those poles that bear the weight of a giant Mexican flag on secular holidays) on the north end of the town square. At its base is a very carefully-worded plaque that honors the memory of the Irish soldiers of the San Patricio Battalion and declares them to be local heroes for their sacrifice. After all, the San Patricio Battalion turned their backs on their adopted homeland to defend Mexico.

There is no claim on the plaque that the village is in any way connected to battalion members who moved to the area. Nothing about a romantic hermit in a cave. No yellowing hacienda deed. Just a homage paid by grateful people to soldiers who volunteered to defend them.

However, I have been told by people who attended the dedication ceremony that what does not appear explicitly on the plaque was overtly stated in patriotic speeches. Subtleties of fact often collapse in the face of national pride.

And, who knows? Maybe there is something other than a precatory connection between the battalion and the town. But, I have decided that I am not going to find it. I have researched as far as I am going to get.

When people say they know the connection exists, I will simply smile. What sense is there railing against the power of myth? There are people who still believe Sarah Palin said she could see Russia from her front porch. (Hint: It was Tina Fey.)

Or, I may just write another essay.

There is plenty of glory to mine from the story of the San Patricio Battalion.

* -- If you are interested in the origins of the San Patricio Battalion, I wrote two essays on the topic nine years ago: mexi-irish rose -- part i and mexi-irish rose -- part ii. I would also recommend The Rogue’s March: John Riley and the St. Patrick’s Battalion, 1846-48; a copy is in my library. If you like your information in fictional cinematic form, Tom Berenger plays a romantic John Riley in One Man’s Hero.