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  • Hero Street: The Story of Little Mexico’s Fallen Soldiers
  • Donna Sinclair
Hero Street: The Story of Little Mexico’s Fallen Soldiers. By Marc Wilson. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2009. 192 pp. Hardbound, $19.95.

In Silvis, Illinois, a small town of less than 10,000 west of Chicago, a park stands at the end of a 1.5 block long avenue called “Hero Street.” There, a brass eagle sits atop a monument, holding an American flag in its claws, wings spread wide as though flying toward freedom. The monument lists the names of eight young men who gave their lives for America, alongside their parents who migrated to the U.S. in the early twentieth century.

Seventy-eight young men from thirty-five houses on Hero Street served in World War II and Korea, resulting in what may be the most combat deaths on any single block in America. Author Marc Wilson notes that this unproved claim has been read into the Illinois State Legislature, and true or not it provides the foundation for a tale of sacrifice, loyalty to the nation, and hope for the future. In this book, Wilson integrates the story of these eight fallen soldiers into a broader social narrative of immigration, patriotism, and irony. The history of Hero Street emerges through the stories of friends and relatives of the dead, gathered through hours of interviews, from letters and memorabilia, newspaper articles, and after-action reports.

World War II veteran Louis Ramirez introduces Hero Street by saying: “We were all very patriotic. We all wanted to be Americans and fight for our country. Nobody knows how patriotic we Mexican Americans were” (4). Ramirez died before publication, but told Wilson it would be good “to write everything down so people will remember—remember how we volunteered and fought and died for our country, and how much we love this country” (6). Wilson inscribes this oral tale into a written form that reveals a complex and often painful patriotism. During a fifteen-month period in 1945, six men from this unpaved street in [End Page 435] Western Illinois were killed in action. Two more died in Korea several years later. “But,” writes Wilson, “the story runs even deeper” (7). Nearly a million Mexicans migrated to the U.S. between 1910 and 1920, including the families of each of the heroes, with each life touched by the previous generation’s experiences. As Angela Cavender Wilson (“Grandmother to Granddaughter: Generations of Oral History in a Dakota Family,” American Indian Quarterly, 1996) explains, oral tradition and oral history can overlap, as oral tradition creates a context in which the stories of one generation become the memories of the next. These are Mexican American origin stories, those of a generation who escaped the horrors of revolution and their descendants who gave their lives for a new country. Several of the families highlighted here not only lost sons to war but also lost children to starvation and disease along the “Devil’s Highway” between the nations.

Because of a severe labor shortage, the U.S. government allowed American companies to recruit Mexicans like Eduviges Sandoval, who obtained a green card and came to Silvis in September 1917. When Eduviges and his wife Angelina arrived, like many others, they settled into a little red boxcar, one of between forty and sixty such cars that provided homes in the 900-acre Silvis rail yard. In 1929, the city declared the rail yard’s “Little Mexico” illegal and many moved to the unpaved 2nd Street, previously a dump area. There, at least one boxcar remained at the center of a home eighty years later.

This story unfolds through the memories of family members, like Tanilo Sandoval, son of Eduviges and Angelina, alongside poignant letters from the young heroes. Tales recollect the boxcar community, the impact of the Depression on Mexican immigrants, and, of course, the war, death, and family grief associated with each hero’s name. Those who died in World War II include Frank and Joe Sandoval, two sons of Eduviges and Angelina; Tony Pompa, the “alien” who came to the U.S. as a baby, but fought to the death...

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