In my decades as a cleric, I heard the stories of people from many walks of life. Sometimes their memories opened portals to dramatic moments in history, like this one from a homeless man who came to my office early one morning. He smelled of alcohol and had slept in his car all night. I still salute him!
Lately, I’ve been thinking about Ernestine (Ernie) Glossbrenner and the short time our lives intersected. Ernie was a member of First Presbyterian Church, Alice, Texas, where I served for a season. She was well-known in the community, not only for her years of teaching in local schools, but for her eight terms (1977-1993) as a Texas State Representative. In that role, she was an advocate for lower income families, abortion rights, the ERA, worker safety, and education reform.
Ernie was suffering severe health problems by the time we met, coping only through the assistance of her companion. Still, when I visited her, she enlivened our wonderful conversations. We shared our commonality as Democrats in a deeply red region of Texas, our universalist view of religion, and our love of literature.
In her final days, Ernie required regular dialysis at a facility in Corpus Christi. Her companion called me one day and said that Ernie would like me to bring communion to her during one of those treatments. I gladly packed up my kit and drove to that city on the Gulf.
The room at the facility was sterile and smelled of antiseptic. A number of patients were simultaneously receiving therapy, most of them staring blankly at the ceiling. Ernie looked up at me, smiled weakly, and nodded. She was near the end; we both knew it. Her voice was a hoarse whisper and her skin ashen-colored. As we partook of the bread and the cup, I reminded her of the untold number of witnesses who gathered with us in that sacramental moment.
When we had finished, I held her hand. “Ernie, thank you for your years of service to so many people. You have left a rich legacy. When you look back over your career, is there an accomplishment that gives you special satisfaction?”
I was surprised at how quickly and decisively she answered, her voice suddenly rising above a whisper and hinting at her lifetime of boldness.
“Legislation to banish the short-handled hoe,” she said.
I confess that later I had to educate myself with some online research. Here’s the summary.
Part of the United Farm Workers’ movement in the late 1960s and early ‘70s was a call to ban the short-handled hoe used by braceros working in the fields. Called el cortito or el brazo del diablo, it was only 18-24 inches long, requiring laborers to bend over or work on their knees. This often led to lifelong back deformities, beginning even with children. The tool was also a clear means of oppression, because if someone took a break and stood up, field foremen would immediately notice and order them back to work.
In their book The Fight in the Fields: Cesar Chavez and the Farmworkers Movement, Susan Ferriss and Ricardo Sandoval say, “(El Cortito) was the most potent symbol of all that was wrong with farm work in California.”
Thank God, this devil’s arm was finally banned in California in 1975, the first state to enact such legislation. When the movement spread to Texas, Ernie was cosponsor of a bill to do the same.
Ernie died with specific instructions for her memorial gathering, including a mariachi band that was to stand in the balcony of our church and play De Colores. People packed the sanctuary that day, and as I walked down the aisle, I carried a long-handled hoe, lifting it above my head with both arms to signify the beginning of the service. Numerous politicians and educators gave eulogies – testimony to Ernie’s wide-ranging influence.
It was truly a celebration of life. But it was more than that. It was a call to all of us to care about the lives of every person. Like this woman, this champion, who had empathy for every migrant worker bending low in a furrow.
As I heard these final lyrics of De Colores, I whispered my own “thank you” to Ernie for her example of service to others.
And this love
This great love of all the colors
Is very special to me
Krin Van Tatenhove - Words & Images 
Great story; thanks for sharing it. You were fortunate to know this lady.
Thanks for reading!
Mind if I reblog?
You mean share the link?
Actually, I mean repost it on my blog site.
My bad, sorry. Yes, I want to share the link.
When I was about 12 years old, we had a Black Yardman (Jewell) whom made the best flowerbeds in the City of Alice. The only tool he carried on his old bicycle was a short handled hoe. As I watched him whack at the ground with that short handled hoe I decided to give him Our much newer long handled hoe. He was so proud that I would give him that much newer hoe. Surprisingly the next time he showed back to rework the flowerbeds he had 2 short handled hoes, one old and worn, and one much newer he kept for emergencies. I am now at the age of 70 and have a short handled hoe of my own, would not trade it for anything!
Of course! I appreciate the support!
Krin, thank you for this beautiful story about Ernie (who was always Miss Glossbrenner to me when I was lucky enough to be her trig class). She was one of a kind, and truly a hoot. My mom loved her too. I was gone to college and beyond by the time she served in the legislature, and although I knew of her passions and accomplishments, I have never heard about the Short-handled hoe. Thank you again for this.
You’re so welcome! Please share it if you’re willing.
We loved Ernie! Sophie had a very special connection with her. They shared a love of flamingos. One of the family gave Sophie a small stuffed flamingo. It was a treasure to her. When she taught school, she told her classes the “v” initial for her middle name stood for Vicious😂 She was one of a kind! Thank you for sharing her again 🙏🏽❤️
My parents were friends with Ernie in the early sixties when they all taught in Alice, and she was a frequent guest in our home for after-school coffee. The adult discussion centered on civil rights and education reform (which we kids called school talk). One afternoon, upon hearing that I’d had some dental surgery, she left and returned with a milkshake for me. When I tried to say,”Thank you, Miss Glossbrenner, “ she replied that it was perhaps difficult for a six year old with a numb mouth to say, so from then on she was “Ernie”, my favorite adult friend! Thank you, Ernie, for your kindness to a child then, for many kindnesses to your students through the years, and for promoting the dignity of all God’s children.
De Colores!
De Colores!
Class of 1960/Alice Coyote’s. All of the students in my day, loved and respected Ms. Glosbrenner! She was a “no nonsense” educator but never rude or disrespectful to the students as a few of our teachers could be in that era! Maybe that’s why we loved her. She treated us like adults! We were so proud when she was so successful in politics, to say we knew her or she had been our teacher! Few teachers back then could make that claim! We were all very, very sad to hear of her passing too early in life!! – -Sylvia Moreland Eden
I am from the class of 1960 and I agree with Sylvia. I feel the same way about Miss Glosbrenner.
We were all blessed to know her.
I too was in the Class of 1960. I remember Ms Glossbrennet standing outside of the classroom door singing “Here Comes Peter Cottontail” throughout the school year. She taught a math class and made it fun and easy to learn. I also later had Mrs. Homer Dean for math. So I was taught by the very best!! Alice, TX had excellent teachers.
Betty Sralla Sharp
We were all blessed to know her!
I graduated from Alice HS in ’62 and had Ernie for math. In the 70’s when my husband and I attended UT Women’s basketball games I would see her there and she always said she remembered me (I’m sure she didn’t but she was always so kind)!
I have one of the flamingos from her house (got it after she passed away and it stands proudly by the pond in my back yard. We call it Ernie. She was a wonderful teacher and representative!