Forget the Alamo: San Antonio Missions Nat'l Historical Park 3/26/12

There is an understandable temptation to reduce the whole of one’s San Antonio encounter to the Alamo. It is, after all, the most mythologized structure in the entire United States, so defining the American frontier experience that it has become inextricable from a catchphrase now synonymous with never-say-die courage, patriotism, and rugged masculinity. We remember it, lest we descend into the sort of barbarism that took so many heroic lives those many years ago. It matters little that few laymen even bother to understand what really took place there, or the context in which it was “defended”, as so many of us are now content to be blinded by the girth of Texas itself, and what it means to our very identity. Conveniently, we’ve also stripped that doomed cause of its essentials – the system of slavery that drove the Lone Star State’s quest for independence in the first place being foremost among them – focusing instead on the coonskin caps, one-dimensionality, and flag-waving bluster that so often substitute for actual historical analysis. The legend, naturally, long ago supplanted fact. No mere half-finished mission, the Alamo has become that bulwark of our very exceptionalism; one of a few choice locations where, in essence, we came to be.

No matter that the building itself is a mere pipsqueak of inflated glory; a humble mass of reconstructed mortar now dwarfed by the very commercialism it claims to oppose. Blink hard and you’ll miss it, and depending on the crowds, you just might skip it altogether in favor of the cheesy museums and tourist traps that threaten to reduce the whole thing to irrelevance. But there it is, surrounded by teeming hordes who, by this point, take its supremacy on faith, and were it not for the ubiquity of its narrative power, it’s likely few would care to stop for the moment it takes to snap a picture. That it remains iconic is beyond dispute, but at this point in its long shelf life as one of our nation’s historical must-sees, there’s no real reason to visit save the fact that someone, somewhere decrees that we must. There’s an odd charm to the surroundings, given that it appears the Alamo has been dropped from above by a cheeky god, smack in the middle of irreparable kitsch. But the real beauty lies elsewhere. Yes, the Alamo, is, technically, part of the full mission experience, but rather than turn the damn thing over to the National Park Service, the favorite son remains an enterprise of the Daughters of the Republic of Texas, if only to ensure that no actual historians or fact-finders get in the way of a good story. And, well, to foster the belief that against the odds and an endless paper trail, Texas never actually signed on to the whole United States of America thing.

But if you have any interest in the particulars of what Texas really means to our national life, leave the Alamo behind and hit the four missions included in the NPS-protected San Antonio Missions National Historical Park. Sure, all four do not reach a level of pristine detachment so consciously avoided by the Alamo, but at their core, they remain committed to a living history that dares to intrude on a sense of mindless celebration. In essence, the four 18^th century Franciscan missions along the San Antonio River – Concepcion, San Jose, San Juan, and Espada – are a rebuke to glory; they stand as a reminder that so much of our country was founded as a means by which to impose our muscular will. In this case, to offer starving and frightened Native peoples shelter and food in exchange for their very souls. Yes, the Missions were about conversion and domination, so afflicting the assorted tribes of the area that they “gladly” surrendered their customs, habits, and rituals in order to avoid dying, often terribly. So in this way, I agree with those who choose to highlight the religious nature of America’s birth, as long as they sign on to the blood-soaked reality. Spaniards wanted gold, guns, and glory, but above all, they wanted to prove their superiority again and again, primarily by establishing these godly fortresses to their vengeful deity. Thankfully, the Spanish forces supported beautiful architecture along with their more sinister aims.

The first stop, Mission Concepcion, is the best preserved of the lot, looking much as it did in 1731. As with all the others, it remains a working church, a fact that might appear odd given its government support and protection. In this case, however, the “living” feel actually enhances the experience, cloaking the buildings with a warmth that an otherwise static building could not possibly convey. People lived here, yes, but by god, they still do. To remain open for business, so to speak, brings history into the present, even if the ultimate goal has shifted slightly. God is still front and center, but he’s less inclined to kill you with smallpox. Many of the original interior paintings remain at Concepcion, and subsequent restorative work has revealed a beautiful array of frescos. Spanish and Moorish architecture dominate, and the grounds are isolated enough to provide a sense of privacy and removal. Again, say what you will about the Spanish army that invaded the continent, at least their religiously inclined could appreciate fine art and striking décor. There was a nobility and intellectual sense to their standards, unlike the modern push for sameness and generalized hostility. Then, one could paint and worship. Now, the prayer comes with little else but an insistence on laziness and willful ignorance. The Franciscans were ultimately evil, but they came armed with what passed for the science of their day.

Mission San Jose is the centerpiece of the tour and as such, the most crowded. Its visitor center has the most by way of displays and education (the film is a lesson on how the current Tejano culture came to be via the initial Spanish and Indian conflict), and the grounds themselves the most involved and striking to behold. Much is reconstructed here, but the NPS has done a wonderful job of seamlessly evoking the past while remaining true to our modern need to understand. San Jose, founded in 1720, was a major social center in its day, and the expansive central compound is a testament to that fact. The walk is relaxing and eye-catching, and along the perimeter stand the residential “homes” that, while humble, were likely preferable to the naked exposure outside the walls. Trees, flowers, and bold greenery dominate every corner of the facility, while the church itself practically envelops the sky. Along the walls (where they once stored grain), there is an interactive display from 1968 that, shockingly, rises above its dated trappings to provide a full view of life at the mission. We see that the Natives were treated like children, of course, handed meager rations for their quiet obedience, but without this little mock-up, it would be that much more difficult to picture a “day in the life.” San Jose’s main edifice also comes with its own built-in legend – the “Rose Window” – from which some say a broken hearted man pined for the mail order wife who never arrived. Romantic to some, but tempered somewhat by the reality that any such wife would, upon arrival, be treated as indistinguishable from the baskets of grain.

Mission San Juan, an even more remote locale, came to be in 1731, and is now undergoing a bit of reconstruction. The presence of scaffolding and work crews hinder the visitor’s desire to be transported to the past, but the mission remains stunning in its own way, even if the grounds are far less imposing than those of San Jose (and there’s no access to the actual church). As a way to distract from the imposition of modernity, a black cat wandered the lush landscape, proving that for all of their detachment from the real world, Catholics can still dress up a place with beauty and beast alike. One will spend the least amount of time here, that is, until construction is complete, and I’m still not sure where the visitor facilities were. There’s a nature trail in the back, but as we couldn’t see where the hell it led, we refrained from getting lost in the brambles.

The four-stop tour wraps up with Mission Espada, established at river’s edge in 1731 after being moved from its original locale. It’s easily the most removed of the sites, even if our walk along the perimeter was interrupted by the blast of Guns n’ Roses coming from a nearby food stand. Still, the landscaping is a genuine treat, and the flowers pop from the ground with brilliant color. It’s a quiet, reflective section of the park, and as Brooke told me later, its small visitor center taught her more about spurs than she ever cared to know. While I missed that reluctant education due to being obsessed with getting the proper passport book stamped with the proper stamp, my focus allowed us to get the San Juan picture stamp that was nowhere to be found at the actual site. Thankfully, clearer heads realized it was best moved from the construction zone to Espada’s facilities. Once again, a cheerfully plump cat roamed the grounds, and while the church was open to the public, it was much smaller and less imposing than the first two sites. Still, kudos to the godly man or woman who saw fit to empty out a sweet tea container in order to house the group’s holy water. Perhaps it was the same wry fellow who placed a battered rope in front of the altar, insisting that to cross it was forbidden, due to the “sacred” elements behind it. As always, however, the architecture leaves a visitor breathless, as well as with the unavoidable conclusion that with this historical park, the NPS got it just right, even if the original inhabitants of the missions rarely did.

FINAL RATING


9/10