Two unlikely arrivals in Honduras more than a century ago were William Sidney Porter (1862-1910), better known as O. Henry, perhaps the greatest American 20th century shortstory writer, and Alphonso (Al) Jennings (1863-1961), attorney, train robber and Oklahoma gubernatorial candidate who ultimately ended up in Hollywood, California, working in the motion picture industry making Westerns. However, these two pals came to a near fatal adventure on the north coast of Honduras and wound up serving time for other escapades in the same U.S. prison.

This month not only marks 50 years from the end of the Guatemalan “Political Spring,” but 60 years from its inception: the seminal Teacher’s Day Riot. Teacher’s Day is a school holiday in Latin America. Custom varies from country to country, but educators typically receive dinner invitations, gifts and other acknowledgments of their service. Yet the low pay for teachers in both public and private schools (colegios) is a morale issue that often sparks open dissent.

Not so long ago, you could pass your whole life in the highlands without ever hearing metal ring on metal through the heavy, misty chill. How terrifying, then, to see for the first time the sweating blackness of the great iron mule stream forth from these mists, panting and drumming its tracks with rhythmic violence. What a shock, too — since the only wheels you had ever seen were those propping the village oxcart.

It’s no secret that half a century ago, Guatemala’s elected president was blown from his perch by the C.I.A. and a wing of World War II fighter pilots. Fear of communism was the stated reason; but there is more to the story of Arbenz’s fall, which annulled the liberal Revolution of 1944.

Once upon a time there was a guy from New York who left the big city to go exploring. One day he came upon an enchanted land called La Antigua Guatemala and fell in love with the place. But alas! To stay and live there he needed a job. By the by a lovely lady appeared and gathered together some children to whom he could teach English. It worked so well that one day he had a bright idea. Why not teach Spanish to foreigners, thus luring other travelers to the beautiful land? The students could live in local homes during their stay of study to enhance the learning experience while also bringing economic benefit to the families. Brilliant! The idea was a big success and before long there were many Spanish schools and everyone lived happily ever after. The End

True Peace is an odd name, one you might give to a new form of meditation but never to a province. Yet on any map of Guatemala you see not one but two departments with this name: Alta (Upper) and Baja (Lower) Verapaz. Before 1535 the region was called Tezulután, which in K’ekchi means “Land of War.”

In La Antigua Guatemala, on the north side of 5a Calle, about 100 feet east of the Alameda Santa Lucía (the street that runs past the market and bus station), stands almost a shell of a house with a modest plaque off to the side of the front door. The plaque explains that this house is the birthplace of a poet, a man named Rafael Landívar. The house as it sits today and the simplicity of the plaque belie an immutable truth about Landívar—he was an internationally famous orator and poet, became an acknowledged master of his chosen genre, achieved literary immortality and is today considered one of the greatest Guatemalans who ever lived.

Latin American generals often seized power when the economy began to careen. At other times they would leave power—when the potato got too hot to handle. Whereas 1931 was a year for seizing, 1944 was one for leaving. It is little coincidence that this period encompassed two huge events—the Great Depression and World War II, during which Central America was little noticed by the rest of the world. But Adolf Hitler did send each of its governments a letter disavowing designs on their territories. The Great Depression, knocking European states into the abyss of fascism by 1931, would also speed the descent of Central American democracy, which was then practiced throughout the Isthmus, either in name (as in Guatemala and Nicaragua) or in fact (elsewhere).

In El Salvador, the era called el Martinato led to a virtual merger of oligarchy and army (through marriage and networking), which guaranteed another 58 years of army rule that was by turns reactionary and reformist. El Salvador’s 1944 Revolution, unlike Guatemala’s, was only partial.

Maximiliano Martínez’s fall in El Salvador in May of 1944 rocked Central America’s political firmament so violently that the other local dictators performed drop drills to escape the flying debris. Guatemala’s Gen. Jorge Ubico was nearest the Salvadoran epicenter.