El Corrido de Isadore Gonzalez
Buried in one of Bristol’s cemeteries lies an incongruous resident. Here, in the Mild Mild West, is the unlikely grave of a young Mexican cowboy, Isadore Gonzalez, tragically killed and laid to rest in the summer of 1903. This is Isadore’s story; of how he came to be in Bristol, of his untimely death and how his last resting place was found again.
Ceremonies of the Horseman
It can be pretty hard these days to go down a genuinely untrodden path, an adventure of your own. Tom Russell, the peerless cowboy folklorist and singer, handed mine to me on a plate. His excellent essays for the Ranch and Reata magazine, collected in his book ‘Ceremonies of the Horseman’, are full of Russell’s own adventures into the lore of the old and new West (the Wild version, of course).
Russell has spent years on the road in Europe, playing in every town, even marrying a Swiss along the way. He is well placed then to essay on the influence of the West in Europe. It is here that I first meet Isadore.
A young Mexican vaquero (cowboy) in Buffalo Bill’s Wild West show, Isadore met his sad end during a performance of the show, though it seems few in the crowd realised what they had seen. The incident is remembered in Charles Eldridge Griffin’s book ‘Four years on the road with Buffalo Bill’:
“The first fatal accident occurred at Bristol, July 23. Isadore Gonzalez, one of the Mexican riders, was thrown from his horse and instantly killed. He was buried at Bristol. It is just as well, perhaps, that the general public do not realize the danger that forever attends the participants of the Wild West performances. Every time they enter the arena, especially in the bucking horse act, they practically take their lives in their hands.”
Charles Eldridge Griffin, 1908
It is typical of Russell’s writing to have re-discovered this small, yet vivid historical moment. Even more so perhaps to recognise the humanity of it. I can’t pass up the challenge:
And where in Bristol might we find the grave of the Mexican Vaquero and roughrider, Isadore Gonzalez? There should be a corrido written for him.
Tom Russell, 2016
The sad death of a vaquero - Bristol, July 1903
‘Buffalo Bill’ Cody was met with heavy rain as his Wild West show rolled into Bristol, July 1903. For a performance built on incredible physical feats and conducted on show grounds and commons, this was surely a concern. Bill, the business man, must have wondered if the weather would affect the crowds. They had turned out in their tens of thousands in Wales the week before and indeed had done the last time it came to Bristol, years earlier. Bill, the old horseman, on the other hand must have wondered if his cast would be able to hit the heights of performance for which they had become renowned.
The superstitions of Bill’s performers may well have been roused at the shows first outing of the tour, when Bill himself had fallen and injured his ankle. A man of impressive energy and constitution, the show of course went on. The crowds had once again turned out, the incident put to the back of the minds of the performers and crew. The crowds had certainly not been deterred in Bristol, despite the weather, with over 15,000 attending each night for a total of over 60,000 overall.
By the final night of the Bristol shows, Thursday 23rd July 1903, the ground condition was no doubt a danger. The show had run four nights on an already sodden field, a little way off the ancient Gloucester Road. The less experienced performers must surely have been turning their minds to the next stop on tour and hopeful of a better end to the British summer.
During the ‘Emigrant Train’ performance, late on in the show, an accident befell one of the younger performers. As the performance closed, Isadore Gonzalez, while riding slowly and seemingly with little risk, was thrown to the ground as his horse turned and was caught in the mud.
Although Isadore was carried away by his colleagues, unconscious, it seems that the crowd either had not seen the incident or if they had they had assumed it was part of the act. The show went on.
Backstage, Isadore was attended to by his colleagues and a doctor from the audience. Although not travelling at speed, Isadore had fallen onto his head and his colleagues, all skilled and experienced horseman, would have feared the worst. As Isadore lay unconscious, the doctor must also have realised the extent of the injury suffered and directed that Isadore be taken to the Bristol Infirmary. Being young and no doubt very fit, Isadore fought on for much of the following day, eventually succumbing to his injury without ever regaining consciousness.
The patient was unusual and the circumstances of death uncommon; an inquest was as inevitable as it was quickly convened. A verdict was reached before the show left town, stating that Isadore had died as a result of his fall. Presumably someone had remained with him during his final hours to share the young riders details.
He was 26 years old, from Monterrey, Mexico.
Finding Isadore
Britain has a remarkable wealth of historical archive papers, many of which have been digitised. The General Register Office is the official archive of all things birth, marriage and death. The records, I’m relieved to discover, extend long before July 1903 and, inevitably, there are few death certificates in the name of Gonzalez that year and only one registered in Bristol:
Aside from largely confirming Eldridge’s account (apart from his claim that Isadore was killed instantly) the death certificate provides some fascinating insight . His tragically young age of 26, the confirmation that this brave young man had fought on long into the following day and that he hailed from Monterey (sic), Mexico. That someone must have communicated these details give me hope that he had at least a friend nearby in his final hours, but this we will never know. His name, at least, is recorded accurately.
I turn my attention to the newspaper records and again fortune is on my side. There exists an incredible archive of fully digitised newspaper clippings from the period, all of which fully searchable within the actual text. The show is well covered, both locally and farther afield, dismissing my initial fears that the death would not have been deemed newsworthy. Perhaps the most compelling and complete is that carried by the Swindon Advertiser, a week later, 31st July 1903, below.
The report confirms and makes sense of the key details and inconsistencies of both Eldridge’s account and the death certificate. Here we learn that Andrew Beltnap, another cast member, has spoken of Isadore, confirming his age and role. Perhaps it is Beltnap that had accompanied Isadore to the Bristol Infirmary and provided the information we later see on the Death Certificate.
Another report, describing the accident as the ‘only hitch’ of the performance tells us a little more. Isadore was performing in the ‘Emigrant Train’ section of the show when he fell, his horse apparently disturbed by the gun fire. We also learn that the doctor’s name was Griffiths and he had attempted to save Isadore after his fall. More on his story later.
Swindon Advertiser, 31st July 1903
Western Daily Press, 24th July 1903
I am conscious by now that I know much of the incident yet little of his final resting place, the challenge that started this whole effort. After a frustrated search I stumble across the wonderful Bristol and Avon Family History Society. A remarkable Memorial Index, populated by volunteers, offers an invaluable resource to those seeking their family histories. A treasure trove of vital human experience and connectivity, we would surely be poorer without these local endeavours. I wonder how many families they must have reconnected.
My initial instinct was that Isadore was likely Catholic, the predominant religion of Mexico to this day. There is really only one Catholic cemetery of note in Bristol, the Holy Souls Catholic burial ground. Searching the Memorial Index returns a hit for Gonzalez, 1903 and of course I am already sure that there was only one death of that name and period.
Isadore’s name is recorded incorrectly but I have little doubt that this must be him. The Index records no other information but of course I am delighted with this breakthrough. I make contact with the Index administrators in the hope they have a paper record that gives more detail. In the meantime and knowing full well that it would be a needle in a haystack to find an actual gravestone, if one indeed exists at all, I spend a couple of hours scouring the graves.
Holy Souls is a crumbling mass of overgrown graves, silent chapel walls, memorials and dramatic statues. The sky is full of rolling clouds and ominous looking corvids. It’s difficult not to reflect on the human condition in such places, the desire to mark lives with supposedly everlasting stone monuments is hugely emotive. In one moment I want to laugh at the futility of placing ‘permanent’ stone markets that are already destroyed by vegetation, the next I'm standing next to a child’s grave, adorned with toys and flowers and it makes perfect sense.
Holy Souls is a smaller, more austere cemetery in comparison to its Anglican neighbour, Arnos Vale, itself a huge, sprawling cemetery of decaying mausoleums and spectacular gravestones. Holy Souls is far more austere, the flourishes all the more dramatic for that.
Of course I fail; many of the graves are illegible, either having succumbed to the weather or to the undergrowth. I had fully expected this but it felt right to try all the same. Taking some advice from a friend raised Catholic I light a candle for Isadore and am immediately saddened that I’m likely to be the first person to do so in over a hundred years.
By now I have come to feel an affection and familial protection for him. The pervading feeling is sadness for this talented young man, buried so far from home. Also of gratefulness that first Eldridge and then Russell had taken the time to record the incident.
Back home and feeling more determined to narrow the search, I make contact with the Clifton Diocese. Their records are administered by a Reverend Harding and it is a colleague of his, Gill Hogarth that responds. Gill is wonderfully interested and shares my hopes to see Isadore properly remembered. I get the impression that the Diocese is delighted to have provided a final resting place for its unique guest. In a remarkable coincidence of human stories, Gill shares that Reverend Harding’s own father recalled the show to him as a child. I learn that Gill herself is conducting research into the military graves at the site, something that must be incredibly emotive and rewarding.
I am not a Catholic and have had little engagement with the Catholic community, but in this brief exchange I am touched by the sheer humanity of their warm response. They are genuinely pleased to learn of their unlikely resident. Wherever Isadore is buried in the Holy Souls cemetery it’s an unexpected relief to find that he’s in the care of such good people.
Gill promises to explore the Diocese archives for more detail. A waiting game follows. Inevitably busy lives and well hidden records require patience.
Sadly, when the answer comes, it turns out that some of the Diocese records are damaged. By coincidence they return their findings within an hour of the Memorial Index response, confirming some of the details already discovered and, tantalisingly, what appears to be a plot reference number, A63:
The Diocese confirm that this matches their records but that the reference means that Isadore lies in an unmarked, commoners grave. These are located in the central “Peace Garden”, a circular area with no grave markers seen in the image below. This makes good sense as every other inch of the cemetery is covered with larger grave markers and slabs.
Accepting this as the likeliest truth I know deep down that this is as close as I can get. I am pleased that I had taken the time to light a candle there in my first, aimless search and return once more to repeat the act.
See central, circular area in the below image - the location of the ‘common’ burials at Holy Souls Cemetery and the likely resting place of Isadore Gonzalez.
A picture of Isadore
The Buffalo Bill Centre of the West, in Cody, Wyoming, holds an incredible archive of photographs and news clippings of the show’s tour to Europe. From the ships that carried the cast to articles concerning every last detail, of the logistics, it’s a gift to this story. I share what I’ve learned with the Centre and am met with kind enthusiasm for my amateurish investigation.
I learn that Isadore was likely recruited by one of the shows leading stars, Vicente Oropeza. Oropeza was one of Bill’s most trusted associates and longest serving cast members. I suspect his rope skills would astonish us even today.
Tantalisingly, the Centre also points me to images that we can be sure include Isadore. This comes as a shock; I had not considered for a second that I might be able to see Isadore’s face. The most compelling of the images they share is the all-cast line up photograph taken at the beginning of the tour. Isadore is one of the gentleman in splendid sombreros to the right of centre (as you look at the image). It is almost certainly impossible to identify which of these five men is Isadore, but all the same its an emotive image:
With thanks to the Buffalo Bill Centre of the West - original image link here
The image inspires me to cast the net a little wider, to the brilliant, highly recommended thesis of Pablo Rangel: ‘Racialized Nationality: Mexicans, Vaqueros, and U.S. Nationalism in Buffalo Bill's Wild West’ (2013) (link here). There is too much to even begin to parse in this short essay but Rangel’s work gives both a fascinating insight into the lives of the vaqueros as well as the experience of Mexicans in 19th and early 20th century America. It’s hard not to reflect on today's news cycle.
He and I exchange emails and I’m delighted to meet someone who clearly cares so much about the vaqueros. He seems genuinely touched to learn of Isadore’s story and that someone has cared enough to find out more. He and I resolve to visit his grave together and I hope that one day we can.
Epilogue
The genuine warmth and will to help remember someone who died in relative obscurity, over 100 years ago is humbling. From the Catholic community, to the Centre of the West, to Academics to cowboy singers.
I hope yet still to make contact with Isadore’s ‘home’ Diocese in Monterrey, who I’m sure will remember him as he may have wished. I hope to also show Tom Russell himself the graveyard and that the Corrido gets written. I’d love to hear it.
And where next for this choose your own adventure? It happens that Dr Griffiths, the man who stepped out of the crowd to help Isadore, has his own story worth telling. He is buried somewhere in the adjacent Arnos Vale cemetery, close to the young man he tried to save all those years ago.
In the meantime Isadore is one of ours too; a son of Mexico, a son of Bristol. A candle will be lit every 23rd July for this talented young man, who died such a long way from home.
