Picturing Mexican America

We hate to kill the party vibe as our compatriots get all "Yay, America!" this weekend, but, to riff on Frederick Douglass, what to the Mexican American♀️is the 4th of July? Just one day after, on July 5, 1851, the 1st and only woman was hanged in CA, and – spoiler alert – she was Mexican American. Josefa Segovia lived in the gold-mining town of Downieville, California, a Gold Rush boomtown with a complicated past. Founded in late 1849 in Northern California’s mining country, it originally went by “The Forks” (creative, right?) because it sits where the Downie River meets the North Fork of the Yuba River. But it didn’t take long for the town to be renamed after Major William Downie, the Scottish prospector who led a group of men to the area. He also wrote the book, "Hunting for Gold," from which we took the above 📸 of Josefa. Most historians agree on the general outline of events leading up to Josefa's murder. One day, a local miner named Frederick Cannon broke into Segovia’s home and apparently assaulted her. The following day, Cannon returned to Segovia’s home, during which a fight ensued. The two struggled before Segovia fatally stabbed Cannon in the chest. Following Cannon’s death, Segovia was taken to the Craycroft Saloon to stand trial. The make-do jury, consisting of only white men, was hastily formed and undeniably partial to Cannon. Not surprisingly, Segovia was found guilty soon thereafter. She was dragged ito the street and hanged in front of a crowd of 200 white men who shouted slurs at her as she stood on the barrel. According to historical reports, Segovia put the noose around her own neck, her final words being “I would do the same again if I was so provoked.” Segovia’s pathetic excuse for a trial, combined with the fact that she was discriminated against due to her Mexican heritage, ignited calls for justice over her ex*****on, calls that echo into out present day.

- May 3, 1954 - in Hernandez v. State of Texas, the U.S. Supreme Court rules that Mexican-Americans have equal protection under the law. But, it’s complicated. This is Gus Garcia (image courtesy ) a Mexican-American civil rights attorney & member of the team representing Pete Hernandez in the case, the first Mexican-American civil rights case ever heard before . Hernandez, a young, Mexican-American, agricultural worker, was tried for murder in 1951, found guilty, and sentenced to life in prison. The jury was entirely white – not exactly his “peers.” A group of Mexican-American civil rights lawyers including Garcia, Carlos Cadena, and James de Anda took Hernandez’s case to the Supreme Court. At issue: are Mexican Americans white or not? This is the question! It’s been the question since 1848 when the Treaty of Guadalupe-Hidalgo granted Mexican-Americans all the rights of US citizenship … sort of. The US has always talked a bigger game about civil and human rights than it’s actually delivered, and in the case of Mexican Americans that shadiness has always hinged on our racial status. In a pyrrhic victory, the court ruled unanimously in favor of Hernandez on the grounds that Mexican-Americans are a protected class, but were NOT legally white. Hernandez got another trial, with a new jury, who also found him guilty. Interesting sidenote: in 1947 another landmark Mexican-American discrimination case, Mendez v. Westminster, declared segregating Mexican-American schoolchildren illegal because they WERE white. Like we said, it’s complicated. What do you think? Mexican Americans, white or not? Let us know in the comments. For more on the Hernandez case, see Colored Men and Hombres Aquí: Hernández v. Texas and the Emergence of Mexican American Lawyering, call # 343.1 H557Co (link in bio).

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Happy 4/20 from George Contreras, one of LA’s most notorious party poopers! Conteras was born in LA in 1888 to a Mexican father and an Anglo American mother. He began working for the DA’s office in 1919 and in 1922 was put in charge of the city’s “Booze Squad,” which enforced prohibition. In the 1st pic Contreras poses in 1927 with Albert and Baltazar Negrite, “youthful narcotic peddlers” according to the archive notes for this photo. They’re wearing new clothes, purchased by Contreras, who found them living in poverty while investigating charges they were selling drugs. Apparently, the boys were not aware that the "brown leaves" in their possession were ma*****na.

👀 Meet Ynés Mexia, a US-born Mexican American botanist, who didn’t begin her career until later in life, after raising her son and divorcing her husband (pics courtesy ). In 1925, at the age of 47, Mexia enrolled at . She quickly became interested in plant collecting, and her passion for the subject led her on numerous expeditions throughout South and Central America. During these expeditions, Mexia collected thousands of plant specimens, many of which were previously unknown to science. She discovered more than 500 new plant species, of which 50 are named in her honor. Mexía contributed significantly to the understanding of American botanical diversity. Despite facing challenges as a woman and a person of Mexican descent in the male-dominated field of botany, Mexia's contributions were widely recognized during her lifetime. She was elected as a Fellow of the California Academy of Sciences and the Botanical Society of America, and her specimens are still used in scientific research today. Mexia's legacy serves as an inspiration for all women who aspire to make a difference. Let's celebrate her achievements and continue to support women in STEM!

Well, sort of, it was named after her husband, Theodore Rimpau, but he only became important because by marrying this woman he was connected to the powerful Ávila family. Francisca Ávila de Rimpau (📸 courtesy of ) was the daughter of Francisco Ávila, who was alcalde of Los Angeles and grantee of Rancho Las Cienegas in 1823 (for reference, that’s land around present-day La Cienega Blvd from Wilshire to Jefferson). When Francisco died, Rancho Las Cienegas was left to his four children, one of whom was Francisca. As it turns out, just like kids today, Francisca and her siblings did not like sharing. In 1866, there was a partition lawsuit, in which the land was divided into shares. They weren’t equal shares, but Francisca did well and ended up with ⅕, around 888 acres. Not too bad! 16 years before the lawsuit, Francisca had married Theodore Rimpau, a German friend of Francisco’s. It was their children who, inheriting the land, subdivided and further developed the land into the mid-city metropolis we know today, including the Rimpau Terminal at Pico and San Vicente.

Bridget "Biddy" Mason (📸 courtesy ) is one of the most inspiring women in LA's history! Born 8/15/18 in Hancock County, GA, Biddy’s story begins in slavery. She spent her early years as a nurse & midwife caring for others on plantations. She was purchased by Robert Smith, a Mormon, and relocated with his family and 14 enslaved people—first to Mississippi, then to Salt Lake City, and finally to San Bernardino in 1851. Here’s where things get intense: California was a free state, but Smith tried to sneak Biddy and the other enslaved people to Texas, where slavery was still legal. Fortunately, Biddy had made friends with a local abolitionist, Mrs. Rowen, who tipped off the LA County Sheriff. The sheriff placed Biddy and the others under protective custody, and a fierce legal battle began. Imagine the courage it took—Biddy was the only one brave enough to testify against Smith in court! The judge ruled in her favor, freeing her and the others. At 38, Biddy began working as a nurse and midwife, earning $2.50 a day (not bad for the time!). But she was smart with her money. She saved up and bought land in downtown LA—back when it was affordable! Over the years, Biddy’s real estate investments grew, and by 1880, she had become one of the wealthiest women in LA and counted former governor Pio Pico among her many friends. But here’s the best part: Biddy wasn’t just about building wealth for herself. She gave back big time. During the devastating flood of 1884, she opened an account at a local grocery store so struggling families could get supplies on her tab. Biddy Mason passed away in 1891, but her legacy lives on. If you’re in LA, stop by Biddy Mason Memorial Park near Spring and Broadway (📸 courtesy ) and reflect on the life of this incredible, generous, and trailblazing woman.

Mercedes Alvarado Jensen (📸 courtesy ) was a californio woman born in 1837 to the prominent Alvarado family. In 1854, she married Danish sea captain Cornelius Jensen. They lived in Agua Mansa where their home served as their town’s general store, post office, and even stage shop. The house, built int eh "Danish vernacular" style, was the first, kiln-fired brick building in the county. Mercedes had twelve children (12!!!) and died in 1914.

What would you do for love? Would you lock yourself away in a convent for the rest of your life? Well, these girls didn’t, but one of their aunts did. Carmella Arguello (standing) was an early 20th century actress in the Bay Area, seen here in a publicity shot for “The Madonna of Monterey” (courtesy ). Her real claim to fame, though, was that she was the niece of Concepcion Arguello, who was the daughter of the commandant of the San Francisco Presidio and was considered one of the most beautiful women in the region. Her life took a dramatic turn when she met a Russian fur trader named Nikolai Rezanov. Rezanov was a wealthy and influential man, and he soon became infatuated with Concepcion. Despite their different backgrounds and the disapproval of Concepcion's father, the two fell deeply in love. Rezanov proposed to Concepcion, promising to take her away to a life of luxury in Russia. Concepcion was torn between her love for Rezanov and her duty to her family and her community. In the end, she chose to stay in California, and Rezanov sailed away, heartbroken. Tragically, Rezanov's ship never made it back to Russia. He died of illness while still at sea, and Concepcion was left to grieve for the love she had lost. She spent the rest of her life in a convent, devoting herself to religious service and charitable works. Concepcion and Rezanov’s story is a California legend. It is a tale of love and loss, of the clash of cultures, and of the difficult choices that people must make in their lives. But it is also a story of redemption, as Concepcion found solace and purpose in a life of service. As we look back on this remarkable story, we can be inspired by Concepcion's strength and resilience. We can learn from her example of following her heart and standing up for what she believed in, even in the face of opposition. And we can remember the power of love to move us, even across great distances and cultural divides.

Meet Lucretia Louise del Valle (1892–1972), a woman who was as bold as the history she grew up in. The del Valles were one the most prominent Californio families. Lucretia's ancestor Ygnacio owned Rancho Camulos, the inspiration for Helen Hunt Jackson’s novel Ramona. While the novel romanticized Californio life, it glossed over harsh realities like colonization, forced labor, and the cultural erasure of Indigenous peoples. But, should we hold that against Lucretia? Well … it's complicated. She studied theater at USC and the Egan Dramatic School in LA. In 1913, she starred as Josefa Yorba in The Mission Play, a condescending, anti-indigeous fantasia that was a HUGE tourist attraction in early-20th century LA. The play celebrated missionaries and Californios through a narrow, idealized lens, Lucretia’s casting might be seen as an example of how women of her heritage worked to claim space in a world that often misrepresented them; on the other hand, we can see it as one example of how Caliornios leveraged their whiteness for political and financial gain. You decide! But, before you do, consider Lucretia's next act. By 1917, Lucretia left the stage and enrolled at Columbia University to study philosophy and political economy. There, she became a fierce advocate for women’s suffrage, fighting for the 19th Amendment. For Lucretia, the right to vote wasn’t just about politics—it was about challenging the patriarchal limits placed on women, especially women of color. Later, she married diplomat Henry T. Grady and shifted to family life, but her early achievements remind us of the resilience and ambition it took to thrive in her era. Rancho Camulos, now a National Historic Landmark, stands as a reminder of California’s layered history—colonization and resilience, erasure and pride, all reflected in the life of Lucretia Louise del Valle. Images courtesy Paul Spitzzeri &

Angustias de la Guerra (1815-90) was an absolute icon of C19 Californio history. Despite what old-school records might say, she was the moment—a living witness to Mexico’s independence, the 1824 Chumash revolt, and the US invasion of California. She wasn’t just a bystander either; she knew her worth and took on the role of keeper of Californio history like a boss.

Born in 1815 in San Diego to Santa Barbara’s power couple José de la Guerra y Noriega and Maria Antonia Carrillo, Angustias grew up in the thick of California’s historical drama. By 1853, she married Manuel Jimeno Casarín, a high-profile politician, and moved to Monterey. They had thirteen kids (yep, you read that right), and Angustias was more than a political wife—she was his unofficial secretary and hosted diplomats like a pro.

Tragedy hit hard when her oldest daughter passed away during childbirth. Angustias stepped in to nurse her grandchild, who sadly didn’t survive. She and Casarín eventually separated, and after his death, she married Dr. James L. Ord, a US army surgeon. That didn’t last either—they divorced in 1875.

Angustias didn’t shy away from drama, especially when it came to fighting for what was hers. After her father passed in 1858, she demanded her share of his estate, leading to serious family fallout. Four brothers disowned her via a fiery letter, but Angustias stayed unbothered.

She also had complicated feelings about California’s US takeover—she openly criticized it while mingling with American officials. When Angustias passed away in 1890, her legacy as a fiercely independent woman and a guardian of Californio culture was cemented. 📸 courtesy

Let’s talk about Juana María (📸 courtesy ), a woman whose incredible story reflects resilience, survival, and the devastating impact of colonialism. Known as the Lone Woman of San Nicolas Island, Juana María was the last surviving member of the Nicoleño tribe, living in isolation on her ancestral homeland for 18 years. In 1835, Charles Hubbard—also known as Gerard Kuppertz in Mexican California documents—played a pivotal role in the tragedy. A German who became a Mexican citizen, Hubbard was the captain of the "Peor es Nada," a ship chartered by Isaac Sparks for sea otter hunting. That year, Hubbard transported the Nicoleños from their island to San Pedro. Whether Juana María hid during the raid or leapt from the ship to return home is debated, but one thing is clear: she fought to stay connected to her land. While Hubbard moved on—his ship capsized near San Francisco in 1836—Juana María remained behind. For nearly two decades, she survived by catching fish, hunting, crafting clothing from duck feathers, and weaving baskets. Her determination to live on her homeland exemplified her deep connection to her culture and environment. In 1853, fur trappers discovered Juana María and forcibly brought her to the mainland. At the Santa Barbara Mission, she was baptized and renamed Juana María, erasing her original Nicoleño name. Despite the language barrier—her Uto-Aztecan dialect was unfamiliar to the Tongva and other local Indigenous peoples—she was remembered for her cheerful spirit and songs. Tragically, just seven weeks later, she succumbed to dysentery. Juana María’s story is a haunting reminder of the destructive forces of colonialism. Her courage and resilience in the face of immense loss ensure her place in Southern California history. Want to explore her legacy in literature? Check out Island of the Blue Dolphins by Scott O’Dell, inspired by her life. 💔