I found this book - New Mexico, A guide to the Colorful State - at the Whittier Library about twenty some odd years ago. This book is part of the American Guide Series. It was originally published in 1942. I have checked it out repeatedly over the years.
I am 99.9% sure that the boy on the far right, leaning on the fence, in this photo, is my father Andrew De La O. My father was born in 1923. I'm not sure what year the photo was taken but I have no doubt it was taken some time in the early 1930's. A project like this book, especially in the days before the internet and digital cameras, would have taken several years to compile the data and publish. The timing seems right.
I can see my father clearly in this photo. The face, the eyes, the hair and even the way he is leaning on the fence. That's my father. I can't verify it or prove it but I'm convinced.
Happy Fathers Day to all my family and friends. I hope all of you enjoy your special day!
It has been thirty six years since my own father, Andrew De La O, has been gone. At times it seems like yesterday, at other times, a life time ago. Still there is not a day that goes by that he is not in my thoughts in one way or another. I will miss that great man forever.
Though I didn't always appreciate or maybe even recognize it when I was growing up, I see it all so clearly now. I was both blessed and priveleged to be raised by a good honest hard working man that lived his life simply and with honor. His family: my mother Anita, my sister Evelyn my brother Dennis and I,were the focus of his life. How great to know that we were so loved.
My fathers generation is now called the “Greatest Generation” and rightly so.They endured and survived and they rebuilt America one day at a time by getting up every day and going to work. Most men of that era did not have the the time or luxory to think about what they would like to do for a living, nor did they spend their time complaining about it.. The just worked. It was a way of life and it was a good one.
My father, and my aunts and uncles, did not have an easy life growing up but none of them looked for excuses and they all found success in one form or another. I am proud to be the son of such a man.
Back in the 50's and 60's my father was really into bowling, It was his thing. As time went on his passion for bowling was replaced by golfing but he would still make time for bowling every so often.
My father is third from left, my uncle Angel is second from left.
The second photo is his American Bowling Congress membership card- 1960-1961. I wonder how many of these are still around?
When I think of my father from my early childhood, this is how I see him; with a white shirt, black slacks and tie. Often, with his guitar singing away.
These two photos epitomize my father from that era.
Back in the day, when they were young my parents threw a lot of parties. They made their own music. Most of my uncles and aunts could play the guitar and sing. Those were good days for my parents. That's my uncle Larry in the photo with my father. He was the oldest of the De La O brothers.
Looking at these two photos makes me realize just how much I miss him!
I grew up in the Rock and Roll era, listening to the
music of the Beatles, Led Zeppelin, the Who, Creedence Clearwater,
Ten Years After, Santana and all the other bands that summed up the
greatest era of Rock and Roll, and perhaps music itself, than any
other era. Along with that I loved those oldies, the Blues,Soul, R &
B and Country & Western.
Having said that, there are no other songs from that
time or any other artist, than John Denver, that can evoke a deep
emotional longing for those days when my father was still alive, my
mother was young and healthy and all was well with my sister, brother
and me. It was a good time. We were still a family. We were still
intact.
When I hear a song like “Country Roads” (My favorite
by Denver) or Sunshine on my Shoulders” my mind and memories go
back in time I want to reach back in time and hold all those people
that were a part of my life back then. Sometimes I mourn what was.
Bittersweet memories. I am not ashamed to say that I am sometimes
moved to tears. But as the saying goes, “We can't go home again”.
It's hard for me to find anyone to admit they liked John
Denver back in the day and I don't know why. I always enjoyed his
music. The emotional response came later in my life as the past
became a long ago and far away memory.
Denver's song “This Old Guitar”, in particular,
while I always enjoyed listening to it, has become somewhat personal
as well. Despite the fact that it has completely skipped over me,
music is in the DNA of our family. My father and some of my uncles
and aunts were musicians and singers, so was my grandfather and his
brothers and the generation before them.
On my mother's side my uncle Richard played the guitar
and he sang. My aunt Margaret could belt out a tune at a moments
notice.
My son Andrew is a musician; a guitarist, a singer and a
songwriter, plying his trade in Seattle, Washington. He is carrying
on that grand old family tradition. It's in his DNA.
All that brings me to my real point of this story. About
twenty-five years ago, due to my own carelessness and no one else, I
lost my father's guitar. While, there are worse things in life than
losing your father's guitar, it was still a traumatic loss for me. It
was something he held dear and loved. Losing his guitar was like
losing a piece of my father.
My grief was compounded when a few years later, while in
his early teens, my son began to play the guitar. The guitar and the
music he loved has become his life's passion. There is not a single
day that goes by that I do not wish I could give my son his
grandfather's guitar. “This Old Guitar” brings all that to mind.
I find some consolation in knowing that my father
Andrew, lost his own father's guitar. I now understand his loss, and
I have no doubt he understands mine. The guitar I lost was the guitar
he bought to replace the one he lost. And the beat goes on.
It always goes by too fast. My son Andrew was back home for a visit and a vacation, from Wednesday 9/14/2016 to Tuesday 9/21/2016. It was good seeing him again.
He finally met his brand new nephew Jack (Savannah's son), and had a chance to visit with his grandmother (my mother Anita). As always the best times are around the table, talking, laughing and spending quality time with each other.
We drove him to to the long Beach Airport last night for his flight back to Seattle.. It's always hard to say goodbye and it's never long enough. We miss him already.
Sometime in the early 1940's: From the left, my father Andrew De La O, my Godfather Randy Fernandez and my father's friend, whose name I cannot recall right now. This was in Maravilla, an East Los Angeles Barrio. I loved listening to him talk about those years. They were good times for him.
Happy Birthday to my son Andrew. Thirty four years ago today I became the father of this amazing young man! He lives and works in Seattle, Washington now but in my mind's eye I still see a little boy. I am always taken back when he comes home to visit and this big full grown man walks through the door. It will probably always be that way.
Son, your mother and I love you! Happy Birthday!
I'm thinking about my father and uncles and the men of their generation. They were the generation of the Depression and World War II. They did not merely survive those hard times, they took the bull by the horn and they met it head on. These were men! They did not whine, bitch or moan about it, they just took care of business.
They did not have time to sit around and feel sorry for themselves. They did not waste their time looking for some truth. The only truth they knew was that a country needed to be rebuilt. Quietly and without fanfare, this is what they did. They did not brag about it nor did they wallow in self pity. They did what all good humble men do. They worked hard and they raised their families. This is how America was rebuilt, day by day.. Such men were our fathers! I don't know about you but I'm proud to be an American and I am proud to be descended from such a man.
Today is my father's birthday. He would have been 92 today. It has been thirty-four years since his passing on May 7, 1981. He was an imperfect man just like the rest of us but he was a good , decent and honorable man. Despite the years since his passing, he is still missed by his family. There is still a void in the space he once occupied. My mother is old and tired now and talks about my father often. Her heart is ready to be with him. “That” I tell her “is up to God!”
Our family, like every family, has gone through some changes since his passing, some good, some not so good. He set the bar high for me as a man. I was lucky to have a man like him as my father. I have tried my entire adult life to be the father and the man that he was.
Once,when I was young, and had my first car, I stopped to get gas at the 76 gas station on the corner of Rosemead Blvd & Washington Blvd, in Pico Rivera. In those days the gas was about 30 cents a gallon. I asked the gas station attendant for two dollars of gas. When he was done he came up to the window and said “That'll be four dollars” ”Four dollars? I only asked for two and that's all I'm paying!” I felt justified.
I walked through front door at home and as soon as I saw my father I said “I got two dollars of free gas today!” “You did?” “How did you do that?” He asked. I told him what happened. “And you didn't pay him?” Don't you know that they're going to take that out of his pay?” All the smug joy I got from that extra two dollars of gas was suddenly gone. My father was angry at me, even worse, he was disappointed.
I went to my room for a while and when I came back out I asked my mother “Where's dad? I could see she was a upset with me too. She said “He went to the gas station to pay that extra two dollars! I don't know if I ever felt more ashamed of myself. My father never mentioned it again but I did learn a lesson that day.
This is just one of the many ways in which my father, a humble man, taught me about life. He was a good, decent and honorable man and father, no more and no less. Happy Birthday dad!!
For the hard working men and women of America today is the start of a three day weekend celebrating and honoring the labor movement in this country. Monday, September 7 is Labor Day.
The two photos are of my father Andrew De La O, who began his work life as an upholsterer and worked for Baumen Bros, Sherman & Bertram and Landmark Fine Furniture and other furniture makers throughout his work life. He was a dedicated union man, starting as a union steward, a member of the bargaining unit and ultimately the president of the U.I.U.- the Upholsterer's International Union , Local 15-A. He still remains the most dedicate union man I ever knew, as well as the hardest working.
My father, Andrew De La O, was quite the golfer back in the day. He played in tournaments throughout Southern California and as far away as Florida. He enjoyed the sport. I golfed with my father numerous times when I was growing up and I did enjoy it but as an adult I have never golfed. It just was not my cup of tea.
This picture was taken, according to the date on the placard, in May of 1964, at the old Rio Hondo Golf Course in Pico Rivera, California. Which seems strange because according to Wikipedia, the course was built in 1965. I cannot find any other record of its existence. I might have to take a drive and see if it's still around just out of curiosity.
My father is second from the left. This was a company sponsored event with the Sherman and Bertram Company. My father and the man on the left of my father in the photo, Jesse Gonzalez, were top union officials in the Upholsterer's International Union (UIU) - my father eventually became the president of the UIU - and were either representing the company or the union in this event.
Addendum: Seems I was confusing the Rio Hondo Golf Course in Downey, which was built in 1924, with the nearby Pico Rivera Municipal Golf, which was built in 1964. The above photograph was taken at the Rio Hondo Golf Course in Downey, California in 1965. Thanks to my friend Roger Helderle for the info.
I got up a little later than usual this morning. I'll blame the time change for that. it's all good though, my time is my own now. I just finished my breakfast of scrambled eggs and biscuits that Jeri made and I'm enjoying one more cup of coffee.
I collect coffee cups, kinda, sorta, I didn't set out to collect them, it just happened. I have every cup we ever bought while on vacation somewhere, as well as the coffee cups given to me by my children and grandchildren over the years. I have cups that were given to me by friends that I worked with years ago at McDonnell Douglas and Boeing, that brought me back coffee cups from their home states.
The cupboard is overflowing with these cups and I have two boxes in the garage filled with coffee cups. I never could bring myself to get rid of them. Maybe someday, when we get around to remodeling the kitchen, I'll build some type of display rack.
I rarely drink from the same cup two days in a row. My morning cup of coffee is also the time I use to reflect about things. Sometimes, it's about family, sometimes it's old friends or places my wife and I have been too.
This morning, I'm drinking my coffee from a cup my son gave me about ten years ago, or thereabouts, when he was in Alaska. It's from Amelia's Restaurant in Dutch Harbor, Alaska. I chose this cup this morning because my son Andrew is on my mind. We had such a great talk on the phone the other night and it is still on my mind. Drinking my coffee from this cup keeps him close to me.
Not too long before my son got out of the service he called me and said "Dad, I just want to let you know that I'll be staying in Seattle once I get out of the Coast Guard"
"What, you mean for a while? You'll be coming back at some point right?
"No dad, I won't be coming back to California. I love Seattle. this is where I want to live!"
We talked about it for a while then we hung up. I shared the news with my wife. it was a difficult thing to accept.
I must have looked a little depressed the next morning as I was walking into work. A friend of mine asked "What's wrong?" I told him about the conversation. He looked me in the eye and says to me, "Sounds to me like you raised a man!", and just like that I was standing tall again.
He was right. My wife and I reared him up from boyhood to manhood. She nurtured but I trained him. I taught him to be one of the good guys, with no exceptions. I taught him how to think on his feet and to rely on himself. I taught him to stand his ground. Together we taught him to love freedom and his country.
We didn't buy him his first car. we didn't have to, he bought it himself. It was stolen not too long after he bought it but he never complained about it.
He got into trouble from time to time, and he was full of mischief as a boy but he never gave us grief. He was a great kid. He is a good son and a good brother to his sisters and a great uncle to his nieces and nephew.
He has his own ideas about the country and the world. Sometimes we agree and sometimes we don't. He has his own mind and he keeps his own counsel. I would expect no less.
My wife and I miss him everyday but it's balanced by the love and pride that we have for him. As a man, he has met and surpassed our expectations.
Our son was born on this day thirty-three years ago. Happy Birthday Son!
The above photos were taken at the Huntington beach Pier in 2010.
I'm sitting here drinking my morning cup of coffee and thinking about my father. I miss those days when my wife and I would visit with him and my mother on the weekend and enjoy a big breakfast with them. My father almost always made the potatoes. After breakfast, we would take our coffee and go outside and talk about life, the future or the family. He loved his coffee.
His time as a grandfather was short but he loved it. He would be proud of all his grandchildren and great grandchildren. I named my son after him.
Today December 16, would have been his 91st birthday. He passed away May 7, 1981. We were lucky to have him as our father. He was a decent man, a good man. He was my first and greatest teacher. His family has never forgotten him. We all miss him, especially our mother. He was the best man I ever knew. Happy Birthday Dad!
This photo was taken, circa 1986 at the now, long gone Grinder Restaurant in Whittier, California, while celebrating our daughter Meranda's first communion at St Mary's, also in Whittier.
How quickly time goes by when you are having a good time. Andrew's vacation has come and gone and he has returned to Seattle, Washington. It was a great visit and we miss him already. We will make the trek to Seattle later this year. Our son is a force of nature! We just hung on as best we could and enjoyed the ride.
A couple of days late due to all the excitement of having our son home for a visit from Seattle, Washington.. His birthday was Tuesday February 18th. The photo is from Tuesday night at Frantone's Pizza and Spaghetti Villa in Cerritos. Happy Birthday Son. We love you!
For our family, the end of the year holidays began on December 16th, my father's birthday. The visiting, the company and the eating, began on that day. I still remember my father on his birthday despite the years.
White Christmas was my father's favorite Christmas song, though he loved them all. It has become my favorite as well. I get emotional when I hear this song. My wife and kids know this. Through the years, wherever they were in the house, when they heard this song, they would rush to me and comfort me until the song ended.
So today, for our family, the Christmas holidays have officially began. Happy Birthday Dad!
Tomorrow, December 16, would have been my father's 90th birthday. He was born December 16, 1923. He died May 7th, 1981. A lifetime ago. Our family, and the world in general, has changed since his passing. I think he would be pleased with some changes, maybe not so pleased with others.
All that I am I owe to my father, (and mother). I've told the story many times about my father growing up in New Mexico, speaking only Spanish. On his own, he enrolled in school, learned English, graduated 9th grade at Belvedere Junior High School, in East Los Angeles, and began his work life. He served in the U.S. Army and boxed during his time there.
I never met a harder working man in my life. He grew up during the depression, so he had that attitude that an able bodied man worked, period. He was from an era that did not waste food, that you ate what was put on the table or you did not eat. You turned off the lights when you left a room. You respected your elders. No exceptions.
He became an upholsterer. That was his job all his adult life. This was in the day when furniture was made to last. He was a master craftsman at his job. He worked his way up the ranks in his local union – The Upholsterer's International Union – from shop steward to the bargaining committee and ultimately, president.
My father, as well as my aunts and uncles, took their generation from dirt floor adobes to middle class America and they did it trough hard work and no excuses. My father was and is an American success story. His generation was America's best. I'm damned proud to be his son.
