Article about Castulo Rodriguez Torres

From the Pedagogical Publication:  
ATLANTIDA - vol. 1
February, 1934,  No.1

Translated by Julia Castillo, his granddaughter.

The “Prócer’s” ^[1] house is a small  one.  Near Munoz  Rivera’s  tomb, now a beautiful and very well-kept garden,  is where we can find Castulo Rodriguez’s home.  As seen from Barranquitas’s hills, it might look like a bird’s nest near Munoz’s tomb.

And it is good to compare it in this manner.  Because that small house is where we find a bird in its nest who carries in its heart those special attributes that belong only to the Holy Spirit.

It is a cold morning of January when we visit for the first time the “Maestro’s” home.

Is Don Castulo home?  We ask.

His daughter, now his care giver and nurse, shows us to his saintly room, where Don Castulo spends his solitary life;  life full of visions and memories.

Here we sense humility.  His small  home compares with the grandiose, impressive and admirable schoolhouse; pride of Barranquitas and which also is named after the “Maestro”: Castulo Rodriguez.

His home is small but it grows and grows as we concentrate and realize that we are in front of a true apostle.

There he is, sitting in his bed, wearing a long-sleeved flannel shirt which only shows his two hands, almost feminine, white, noble, impeccable, like two lilies.

The Maestro’s smile colors everything, transcends all.

We have referred to  ourselves as “a Puertorrican teacher” and that's all he needs to hear to embrace us.  And we sit near his bed.

Let's imagine a Don Quijote at peace, tranquilo,  a sweet El Greco knight, a Jesus of Nazareth, with white hair and beard.   And one is surprised to see a half damp-painting by Manser,  as well as an antique “sable” from the Spanish army ^[2].  One goes from one surprise to the next;   A kepis (cap),  golden military medals,”galones”, a shelf with a pharmaceutical weight, very many “mysterious“ little boxes carefully lined up, medical books.  There is order in everything.  In that room with so many things one can sense a “sweet” peace.

But another surprise is to come.  As Don Castulo talks to us, we seem to hear running water, fresh water, water from the mountains of Barranquitas. 

The old Maestro’s voice is almost as from a baby, purely melodious. “I like to play the flute; if it is made out of wood, understand?  I used to play it but it broke down and, since I  don't go to any place

I was born in Barros, in 1857, the 18th of June. San, Marceliano’s day.  At that time,  Barros was a beautiful hamlet with only one road, in a valley, next to a river-in between two rivers.  We moved when I was 2 years old. I studied in the town of Ciales with my father, who was a professor.
 
My father’s name was Ramon R. Arcilla, from Morovis.  My mother’s, Julia Torres Diaz, from Barros.   I was raised among teachers.

Nobody taught me how to read.  I used to live in the school  since, at that time, then, professors had to live at the school  so they could be there to teach, if they were not too sick.
 
At that time schools were unisexual.  Since I was studying at my mother’s school from 6:00 am until late in the afternoon, it was easy for me to learn.  Schools would have large cardboard signs with keys  at the top for the alphabet and spelling; followed by some reading.

People would object to the old methodology.  No, but not at all.  My father realized that  I could read when he heard me reading words from a cardboard and, turning it around said: Read this, my son.  He was so surprised!

From the town of Ciales, my father was assigned to teach in the town of Utuado.  In the school of The Blessed Conception ( the Liceo) in charge of two fathers and two priests, I continued my studies.

There I studied - some seventy years ago--geography, first year of latin, elements of algebra, and advanced grammar.  Then. I moved to San Juan to the- Civil Institute of Second  Learning; at that time, 15 yrs. old.  The Institute was located at San Jose street, near the corner of Luna st.

The students did not live at the school ( externos).  I was living at Don Jose Francisco Diaz’s home, No. 8, Tanca st.

Don José Francisco’s wife was in charge of directing the house and she would charged us $23.00.

There were 4 of us as students:  N. Machiavelo, M. Chabran, A. Diaz Bouquet and myself.

Don Jose Francisco was Inspector of the schools in the north district.  We were cared for as family.

Young students’ life was innocent as far as entertainment.  We would go to Puerta de Tierra or to the Abanico.  This was sort of a labyrinth behind San Cristobal, sort of a plaza with narrow streets for military exercises.    At  times we would go to the Marina to watch the ships.

It was here, in this school where I completed my second level courses: algebra, languages: French and English, World Geography, mathematics.

In order to be prepared to teach, it was necessary to be examined by the Higher Body of Public  Instruction.   I received my bachelors degree in 1877.   In May of that same year, I started to teach in the villa of Aguada; a school that selected me based on competitive examinations.

In Aguada I only taught for 3 months.  Then I studied with professor Don Alcides San Antonio.  Since then I have lived in Barranquitas, except for the years of 1903 to 1905, when I taught at the town of Aibonito.

I worked as a professor for 35 years and retired on  1921; when I was Acting Principal.  Later on I was named as Local Chief of Health, where I worked until 1926, when I started to work in the Clinic.

All along  and in every sense , I have  served the people of this towns.   I consider teaching as serving God, something sublime.   And, thinking back about  my life and all I have worked on, I consider being a professor as the  best part of my life.

I have loved my  profession and it was always a joy.   It is not a profession that provides for financial comfort.  Only a person with an apostolic view; one that truly loves his profession, will find on it true “ rivers” of happiness and joy.”

[Aside from the writer:  I have transcribed the words of the Maestro.   His musical tone, his clear and vibrant  thinking, his peculiar sound of water from a river; that is impossible to replicate.  And he proceeds after our insistence to continue.]

" I have never stopped teaching.  I can't at all.  When I don't have anybody to teach,  I gather together children from the area and I teach them what I can.

Does my good memory surprise you?  Ah my memory!  That's a gift from heaven.  It's the same as when I was 14 years old.  It's prodigious.  I would like to show you.  I would like an Architect, for example, to come and ask me for the moldings used in any architectural order.  You would see.   I have not forgotten any material that I studied when I was young.”  He proves it to me by. naming the complicated combinations of the different architectural orders; in a flash.

“My memory is so good that I feel as if information sinks into my mind as if it were a cinematographic film. “

A nice young man interrupts our dialogue.  He is the medical assistant.  Every day, at the same time of 9 am, the Maestro subjects himself stoically to an operation.   His prostatic ailment does not let him empty his bladder.  He has to patiently suffer through the procedure.

The Maestro, with a young soul,  excuses himself about his ailment; as if it were his fault.  We leave his home so that the medical assistant can perform the procedure and we go downtown.  There we meet distinguished and refined people who inform us about the multiple talents of this professor; one of the most intelligent and humble persons who they had the privilege of ever having in all of Puerto Rico.

He measures  any distance using trigonometry, reads in many languages, knows how to interpret medical issues, specially with children, is a writer and writes beautiful stories, plays many musical instruments, knows about pyrotechnics, draws and paints admirably, is a dramatic author, directs theater scenes and is a good actor, was a student of the painter- Oller….and is a devout and religious spirit…. and is a man with a sable hanging in his bedroom.

I  have gone to the little house of the old Maestro.

Today’s Castulo Rodriguez is a much more interesting man, with his soul in his face, almost as if to leave, and it shows in his clear, beautiful and pure expression.

I reverently move to kiss his hand … and I kiss it.

But the old Maestro , the one with the hanging sable near his bed, strongly moves my hand to his saintly mouth and, He also kisses it!

I never saw such  rare kindness and humility!  And I kneel down in front of the Saint.  Then I hug, the Man … and the Maestro!

Footnotes:

1.  A prócer is a national hero, an eminence, a liberator.  This was Munoz Rivera in Puerto Rico.

2. The sable was a gold fighting knife used  in the war by the Spanish Army.  Castulo (Ito for abuelito)  received it  as an  award in the Spanish war?

Original Article in Spanish below