"THE BEVERLY HILLS OF GUADALAJARA"
On broad avenues shaded by eucalyptus trees, amidst mansions of dreams, some lost, some waiting to be reclaimed - is Colonia Seattle. Not far from the chaos and hubbub of Guadalajara, this area is home to those seeking tranquility and peace.

One hundred years ago, Alfred Downs, an American entrepreneur, bought the land and built the colony, selling property and homes, laying out the avenues and bordering them with eucalyptus trees. He provided the amenities that make a little city. He built the access road connecting his colony to Guadalajara, installed a trolley for transport within the town, made secure the water system that brought beauty to the gardens, flowering trees and the now-famous eucalyptus.

Many Americans came to live there, building large hacienda-style homes. Alfred Downs and his son Edmund built the mansion that stands proudly today where Edmund brought his bride and where I was born eighty-five years ago.

When the Revolution swept down from the north, bringing revolt, vandalism and terror, the Americans were ordered to leave Mexico within forty-eight hours, leaving behind all their possessions and dreams. Homes were abandoned, left to be sacked by the revolutionaries. Two hundred and fifty-nine Americans were herded onto railway cars and amid hostile, angry shouts of “Mueran los Gringos,” the terrorized Americans fled. Passing through Colima, the train halted to pick up more refugees, cramming them into already overcrowded cars.

Many years later, some Americans returned to find their homes in ruins. Gone were their dreams. Only the birds and a few vagabonds now resided there. Few of the houses remained standing. Debris, fallen beams, broken tiles lay where lovely houses had been.

Only the Downs residence still stood intact. The family had been respected and when the Revolutionaries swarmed over all, loyal servants preserved everything in the house, hiding furnishings in the shacks of the poor. On my family’s return, everything was restored and placed exactly the way it had been. Petra, our devoted servant, stood at the door to welcome us. But we never again lived in the house.

Edmund returned to reestablish the American Bank of Guadalajara, which he had been forced to abandon. When the bank had been attacked by bandits, he managed to salvage the assets and securities of the depositors, packing it all in boxes and bringing them to Colonia Seattle, to bury under a dog house in the yard. Then he hurriedly gathered up my mother and me (only three-days-old at the time!) And raced for the train station.

The trip by rail to the Port of Manzanillo was prolonged terror. The promised vessel from the United States was not there to pick up the refugees. My father and several Americans were able to negotiate for a freighter of German registry to take all the refugees to San Diego.

Many years later, I returned to Mexico and married a motion picture producer and director, and eventually had the wonderful experience of being conducted through my family’s former home because of the kindness of its present owner.

Colonia Seattle is now filled with very exclusive homes and some of the old houses have been restored. Residences of more modern style have invaded the area but there remains the feeling of tranquility and quiet beauty that only the stumps of ancient eucalyptus trees can tell of an age long past.