"When I was a young girl I used to belong to the Hijas de María. (Daughters of Mary) They had meetings, they had little socials. When I got married, they gave me that white prayer book, mother-of-pearl. That's what they gave me, the ladies. I used to teach catechism when I was still a teenager. Jessie and I used to teach. I taught the girls and Jessie taught the boys.

I think it was 1952 [that the Beneficio Propio started], during the 50's. The Beneficio Propio is for the benefit of the members. They charge a dollar every time somebody dies, one member of the family dies. And for the children they charge a quarter. They give it to the family, whoever is in charge of the person who belonged to the Beneficio. Everything goes back. I think it's usually $1400 up to $1700. From California, from Tucson. In fact they have one, a charter, they call it, in Duncan. They have one in Safford and one in Tucson. We don't pay unless they belong to this one [Clifton]. Whoever belongs to it, like Daddy and I belong to the one here in Clifton so we pay for that one for the members that die. I think the ones that started it was some people from Metcalf. I'm not sure but I think [so]. They were in Clifton but les decian (they called them) Metcalfeños. They worked at the mine. Metcalf wasn't any more. Oh yeah, it's a lot [of people who joined it]. And then Anglos. There's a lot of Anglos. In fact I got my receipts here. This is the most recent. (shows receipt) I have a big old container that's [full]. We pay ours to Andres. He's the president. They send us the ones that died. They send us our cards. She's so nice, Concor's wife. That's it [a burial society]. It helps the family. We only pay a dollar. These are by-laws. They have the rules and by-laws and everything. They still have meetings every month but Daddy and I don't go because they're at night. [The club gives the money to] the one that's in charge or you can have it sent to the mortuary that's taking care of the person.

We grew up there [in Morenci] and it was home for us so we were just kind of depressed and sad to move. We moved even before they took down our house. And then not to see that space no homes, no nothing and all our friends, most of them are dead but the ones we see they're all scattered,Safford and Duncan and Clifton. Everybody liked each other. Everybody was friend to everybody else. Everybody knew everybody else too. The funny part is that we never visited their homes but we still knew they were there. Yeah, [people helped each other]. [During the Depression] they couldn't because everybody was in the same boat, the same situation.

I remember Reyna. I loved Reyna. That's when I had been real sick. Your dad used to take care of you and Richard and she would come. Daddy would be out there hanging clothes and Reyna would come and hang them herself. She would come and take them off the line. Before we knew it they were all ironed. Even after I got well, when we lived up there by them, but then after Dennis was born she still kept being my friend. When Dennis went to college, we'd go over there and she'd call for us to come over and she was gonna make chile con carne, chili colorado and we'd stay with them and spend the night with them. [That was] AC Hill but they called it el seis. Reyna Provencio [was her name]. Remember Posita and little Paul and Beiba?

Anglos, Chinese, Italians, and a few Spaniards and us Mexicans [lived in Morenci]. They [Chinese ] had their own neighborhood. It was [by] the Naccaratis', that road that you took to Nellie's house. It wasn't a road, it was a neighborhood. It went to the water and light [building]. Remember the tunnel? It was just a little passage way when the Chinese lived there. In fact there was a little tiny [Chinese], we called him Charlie, and he used to go around town selling his produce. He carried two baskets on his shoulders and he'd go all around the town. I used to like sweet potatoes a lot and I told my mother to save me the paper bags from the store. I would trade them for a couple of sweet potatoes from my chinito.

He [another Chinese] was murdered. He worked at the PD Store. He was a night watchman and they murdered him by those garages by Nacarattis'. He was murdered there. I don't know if Josie told you about it. Josie had a friend, her name was Natalia Cuevas, and she brought her to go see where he had been killed. She [Natalia] got all hysterical and she [Josie] brought her home to my mother. She was crying and carrying on. Josie just wanted her to see. The girl lived on A Hill and we lived on AC Hill so that was across town. She brought the girl. I think she was in 2nd or 3rd grade. I don't remember how old she was. They blamed this guy but I don't think it was him. They put him in prison but they let him out. Yes, [it was a Mexican]. I guess [they accused him of doing it] just to rob him. It was never proven that he really done it.

In 1933 [there was another case] still Depression times. He was taken to La Tuna in El Paso. Oh, no, no that's La Pelona. This is another one. He was taken to Florence. This that I'm talking about La Tuna, involved Pompa, Chonte. They put him in prison because this guy got killed. I think there were some guys had driven to El Paso and they drove into his car. Chonte was the one that took the blame but it wasn't him. I was still a little girl [when La Pelona case happened]. I think Josie's got all the newspapers. I remember that they were checking all the Mexicans' houses. They even wanted to get petitions to run us all out of town. They said it was Mr. Berra. I really don't know. Felix Berra, he was the one that had that bakery. They had him [La Pelona] hidden, these friends of his. Because they were helping to go take him food, they were sent to prison. Two brothers, Maises. They were going to release him [La Pelona] but he was so used to being in prison that he stayed there. I think he died. The girl was his girlfriend. Her stepfather didn't want her to be going around with a Mexican. I don't know if he was the one [to beat her up] but they blamed him. He was only twenty-one.

Oh yeah, Morenci was segregated. They [the Italians] lived close by us but they had their own little section. The Chinos lived down here, you know where Nellie's house was? Up in that area was the Italianos, above the Chinos. In fact Nellie's house belonged to the DeGrazias. Then next door was the Naccaratis, then next door the Berras and the Vosas. The Mexicans lived to the other side, you know where Tata's house [was]. [El Seis started from Tata's house] all the way to the edge [where the ruins were.] [El Espinazo del Diablo was] where my grandma lived. We lived up there after we came back from El Paso but we lived in my tía's downstairs. Puros mexicanos [lived in la Arizona]. They [the Españoles] lived way behind my grandma's there was the Cobos [on El Espinazo]. I think they were the only Spaniards. Oh, then the Fernandez. Madero was Italian. Bianco. He lived in the beginning of El Espinazo. He had a little store. I think Maruka's mother married him. She lived with him. I know she used to work for him. [Jessie's father] he had an herb store, Don José. He had raspadas. Pepita [my cousin] used to work at Madero's. They [the Anglos] lived down where the General Manager's house was. Todo alli vivian (all around there lived) los Americanos. And then there was another up there behind the bank, all around there. Stargo, that was after PD opened up again. [It was built] 1938 or 1939. I really don't remember.

[The cemetery] was up on the other hill, to your left as you go up A Hill. We walked up, the road was up above and cemetery was down below, but then PD cut off some of the graves, they dug them up and they made that road going to the Coronado Trail. [We called it] el camposanto (the cemetery). [It was just for] mexicanos. [My little brother Leandrito], my grandpa, mi tía Chaya, mi tía Carlota, mi tío Isidro, mi tía Carlota's husband, Pepita's dad and mother [were all buried there]. I think after the war [it was closed down]. [Bunkers opened after that and] it was mixed. Now the Catholic Church got their own, the Sacred Heart Catholic Cemetery. It was there, but the Catholic Church bought it and took charge.

It's getting a little less hurting but at first it really hurt [when Morenci was destroyed]. [We don't go to the lookout], not anymore. I haven't gone in ten years I guess. I cried [when I first saw it]. [I had walked those hills], every inch.

[Being raised in Morenci] made us better people and we're not spend thrift. We do with what we got. Everything, [being raised in Morenci, the Depression, the War] had to do with it. Daddy wasn't raised in Morenci but he's more easy to spend than I am. For them [my great-grandkids] to know about me, that we love them, care for them and wish for them the very best for their lives. They'll learn by experience. We just want them to be law-abiding citizens.

Morenci, everybody worked at the same place and everybody went to the same church, and everybody went to the same school so we called it a close-knit community."