Essays

Moseying: Living La Vida Llanero

Tacinques (sheepshearers)
January 28, 2003

"My daddy was a tacinque, a trasquilador!" Norma Lozano beamed at my wife as Deborah approached Mrs. Lozano's deli on the first floor of the Bank of America building, the day my story about the sheep industry in west Texas was published. "He sheared sheep all over west Texas, and he even went to Montana sometimes! We had a carving of him shearing a sheep put on his gravestone in Fort Stockton."

Deborah knows me well -- she immediately asked if I could come interview her and learn more. Mrs. Lozano graciously agreed. A few days later, I had a gap between programs at the Sibley Center and sat with Mrs. Lozano at the deli, as she showed me pictures of her father. "He worked for thirty years as a tacinque. It was amazing how well known he was -- we would be in some town and we would hear somebody holler -- "El Chocolate!" and it would be somebody had worked with him in the past. All the shearers had nicknames, like El Alazan (that means sorrel - the man had red hair), or Tano, (short for Victoriano) for example. My father, Tiburcio Ortega, was called El Chocolate because he was dark skinned -- and people called me and my sister Las Chocolates just because we were his daughters."

Later, after I had visited with Adrian Sanchez (her sister's husband) who had worked with her father, I talked with Mrs. Lozano's and Mrs. Sanchez's brother, Tony Ortega. "He was the best tacinque ever -- I swear. He invented things to help him work faster than everybody else." Mr. Ortega showed me his father's tools and talked about how the job was done. He showed me some ropes with wooden handles attached to a pulley. "These hung beside him, and allowed him to turn off the mango (clippers) without reaching over to the machine. He had tied his sharpened blades to his belt, along with this tool, so he could switch blades without straightening up."

Mrs. Lozano had told me that Mr. Sanchez was in the hospital recovering from surgery, but had agreed to talk to me, so after visiting with her for a little while, I went daytripping to the hospital. To learn the stories of the Llano Estacado, I often go to towns to visit libraries and museums, or to ranches to see places of historical or biological interest, talking to people along the way. When I first arrived, I felt my visit was an imposition, but the pride of the profession with which Mr. Sanchez eloquently spoke put me at ease.

"The boss of the crew is the capitan, the person who conducted the business side of the operation with the ranchers. There were three capitanes in Fort Stockton, but El Chocolate usually worked with one from San Angelo. The capitan hired the men, and owned the ingenio, the shearing plant. Most ingenios had 12 to 24 drops, which were connected by belts and pulleys to the mangos, which were powered from the motors of the plant. They were little half-horsepower engines, like that in an airconditioner -- but they ran backwards. A guy in Alpine invented the method of reversing the engines. Each shearer furnished his own tools -- which were usually bought in San Angelo. The capitan was paid 50 cents for each sheep sheared, of which he paid 35 cents to the other shearers. El Chocolate always sheared 250 or so every day."

"He always had all the work that he could handle because of his reputation. The rest of the year he would work for Roland Warnock at Fort Stockton for the highway department. There were two main shearing seasons -- the spring and the early fall, but Mr. Warnock had no problem with him taking off to go shearing. When a young man, El Chocolate worked in east Texas on a ranch and his stepfather taught him the trade."

Mrs. Sanchez added to the conversation, "Family members often volunteered -- I went along to cook and help out a number of times. The other women and I would sleep in town and drive out each day, but the guys camped. My father slept in a trailer he pulled."

Mr. Sanchez described the different jobs of the crew. "A lanero is the woolgatherer. The lanero picks up the shorn wool and carries it to the empacadores (packers) who pack the wool into long burlap sacks weighing 350 pounds or so when full, to be put on the trucks to haul it away. Laneros have to work hard -- keeping the area around the tacinques clean, and give the tacinques the cheques (tokens) for each sheep shorn. Some capitanes had aluminum or brass tokens, but big washers were also used. At the end of the day, the cheques were counted up to calculate the pay. " On eBay a person can find cheques that are now collector items!

"The tacinque first sheared the stomach, then the legs. Then the legs are tied up, and the sheep sheared down the left flank, up over the back and down the other side, so that there is one large piece. This is rolled up by the lanero and tied with a paper cord, then carried to the empacador, who stuffs it in. If the mango nicked a sheep, the lanero first had to put medicine on it, and if the wound was bad enough, had to sew up the wound. As the empacador filled the sack, the wool is stomped to pack it in. Then the sack is sewed up."

Mr. Ortega later added some more details that helped me visualize the work. "Tarps were stretched over the plant and out for fifty feet and then down to the ground. The sheep were kept just outside, and were pushed in to the tacinque when he was ready. The canvas walls kept the dust raised by the milling sheep from getting into the shearing area. The tacinques wear heavy canvas pants with triple-layered knees, but El Chocolate had scars on his legs from the times a sheep would kick at the wrong time and the mango would get pushed into him before he could shut it off. If you meet a man with strong muscles in one wrist and one forearm, you have met a tacinque."

As I got ready to go, Mr. Ortega commented, "Even though it was hard work, we had fun. To make it go easier, pranks were played -- and you knew you were accepted on the crew if pranks were played on you." Mr. Sanchez had told of pranks, too. "Mr. Sullivan, a sheepman near Fort Stockton, had a little spitz dog belonging to his wife. It got loose from the yard at the house and came around yapping, so El Chocolate grabbed it and sheared three strips of his hair. Mrs. Sullivan went crazy, but everybody else was roaring with laughter, including Mr. Sullivan!"

Thank you, Mrs. Lozano, Mr. and Mrs. Sanchez, and Mr. Ortega, for telling me about the work of the trasquilador. I will remember our conversations every time I am zipping down the highway and see a flock of sheep in a west Texas pasture.

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