My Father becomes a firefighter (#10)

The year I was born was the year my father became a Los Angeles County firefighter. He was twenty-eight years old and five years out of the military. He had worked as a delivery driver and then at a company making plane parts. He was a good, smart worker who received increased responsibility but noticed others with less experience getting promoted. He finally asked his boss who let him know his race was a factor. Around this same time a friend told him about his job as a firefighter. This friend was a few years older than my father and his group of friends. He counseled all of them to take the upcoming firefighter exam. Six Latinos took the test and all six made the list. Before Affirmative Action, all six got in based on their high scores. His first station was #2 in East Los Angeles. Years earlier he had improved his Spanish to talk to my mother. And now as a firefighter he had to quickly learn how to cook. Initially my mother helped him prepare food when it was his turn to cook for the fire house but he soon became a good cook and shared many Mexican dishes with his coworkers.

My father eventually became the Spanish language spokesperson for the fire department. He was also an extra, as a firefighter, on a TV series based in a fire station. He and other Mexican firefighters formed Los Bomberdos. They drove donated fire trucks and equipment to Mexican fire departments. They helped share information in the Spanish speaking communities. But our family favorite activity they did was bring baseball teams from Mexico to play local East Los Angeles teams. The teams were comprised of high school age kids who would stay with Los Bomberdos families. I was little but have vivid memories of those times, the players were always very nice kids, very appreciative and we would always root for them to beat our local teams. Mexican families rooting on both sides, the games were always fun to watch with lots of food for all. Years later I would start to play baseball and remember wanting to play as well as the Mexican players we hosted.

In 1963 when I was five years old we drove from Los Angeles to Mexico City. This was a big trip for us, only my mother had been to Mexico before. My father was nervous about the drive but it was the only way could afford to travel. My mother had not returned to Mexico since leaving in 1947 so it was an important trip. My father was the only driver but he had endurance and we made it to Mexico City in just under three days. I only have a few memories of that trip but luckily my father took movies on his new camera. He had a steady hand which we see in his shots of President and Jackie Kennedy as they slowly drove through the neighborhood. We all had fun meeting all our cousins, aunts and uncles and grandma Cuca. Grandma Cuca was really my mother’s aunt, her mother’s sister who shared their house and was there when both her parents died. We had many great meals and gatherings with all our relatives.

But my parents must have left us in Mexico City at some point while they went to the coast. See the photo as proof! We didn’t mind we were in Mexico City with our cousins.

Lola and Lalo meet in East Los Angeles (#9)

My father went to his Air Force basic training when he was seventeen and was still there when my mother arrived East Los Angeles. Her uncle set her up in the house of his girlfriend, my dad’s mother. As I noted in a previous post, the plan was that my parents would be meet and the hope was they would become a couple. The meeting almost never happened as my mother wanted to return to Mexico City almost immediately. She did not like East Los Angeles and being away from her home. Each week she would ask to be sent home and each week her uncle asked her to wait one more week. Out of respect she agreed and soon took a part time job and began to learn English.

Basic training ended and my father came home, my mother’s first impression was, “Who is this skinning boy with big ears?”. She learned he was the son of her host. My father’s first impression was that he had to improve his Spanish immediately. He saw a pretty, confident young women and wanted to impress and talk to her. As he improved his Spanish he made sure to tag along whenever my mother went out. My mother said the usual pattern was her going out with my father’s two sisters and my father walking nearby. If any other young man approached her my father would warn them to stay away from his cousin. Of course, she was not his cousin. He would wear his dress uniform and had money unlike most other young men. Often he would step in an pay for food when the threesome went out.

Eventually they did begin to date. My mother’s comment to us was always, “He grew on me…”. I think she finally found what she was looking for even though she was not looking. My father was equally smart, confident and a good person and that become apparent to her. They were engaged and married on January 1st, 1950. My father was still in the Air Force stationed at March Air Force base in Riverside, California. The Korean War began June of the same year. Luckily my father spent the War stationed at March. He reached the highest non-commissioned level, Master Sargent, working in the fire department and put out many runway fires as pilots crashed during training runs. My oldest sister was born during this time, in 1952. My parents remember eating a lot of sandwiches to make his salary be enough for their growing family.

After his service ended they returned to East Los Angeles and by 1958 they were a family of six when I was born on January 4th of that year. Our family was meant to be. The Spanish language nick name for Edward is Lalo and for Dolores, Lola. Lalo and Lola had their family.

Nursing school and leaving Mexico City (#8)

While in nursing school my mother cared for Cantinflas who she said was very nice and gave her and the others nurses each one hundred pesos as a thank you for his care. She also received much attention from the young doctors and other young men. She was young, pretty, smart, confident and single. A few years ago a close aunt told me the story of those days. At least once per week usually a young professional, doctor, lawyer or government employee would show up at her house asking if Ms. Flores would agree to a date. Sometimes they would show up with a lawyer and/or priest in case a more serious commitment could be made that same day. The routine was always the same, her uncle would invite them into a front room. He would then find my mother and ask her if she was interested in the young man and her answer was always the same, “no” so he would shoo them away much to their surprise. Her uncle knew he could not tell Dolores Flores who to date or marry so he did not even try.

One the day with a lawyer and priest in tow, the governor’s son arrived at their door. Into the front room they went to wait. I imagine my great uncle must have thought maybe this will be the day she agrees to at least one date. Again the answer was no so out the front door went the priest, the lawyer and a dejected young man. My mother had told us a version of this story but when my aunt told me the longer version I wondered out loud why she had never accepted even one date. My aunt, a modern, intelligent women not prone to exaggeration looked directly at me and stated, “She was waiting to have you”. Her statement shook me in a good way and made me appreciate my mother even more. As a young women who suffered the loss of both parents by the age of fourteen she had to learn to make all her own life decisions. Luckily for myself and my sisters and father she knew to wait.

One summer day when she was eighteen and almost finished with nursing school an uncle came to visit. He was living in Los Angeles and wanted to invite one niece to spend the summer in the United States. In my mother’s version of the story, her hand shot up first so she was chosen from the six sisters and cousins to spend the summer in Los Angeles. I think she was chosen for who she was as a person. And even though she was in her element in Mexico City being away from where she lost her parents for a summer was probably appealing to her. It was not an easy decision but she made it and forever changed the course of her life.

Trauma and Teenage Years in Mexico City (#7)

When my mother was fourteen her extended family included an adult relative who required supervision, my mother never provided further details and we did not ask. This was shared as part of a story so traumatic each time we heard it other details did not matter. Eight years after my grandfather’s death my grandmother still wore long black dresses as she was still in mourning. One day the relative was dousing herself with the hose on a cold morning. My grandmother was also outside cooking over a small wood burning stove. She moved to stop the relative but in the struggle my grandmother fell back onto the stove, her long dress caught fire and she was burned to death. Sadly, there was no one else around that morning to save her. My mother was at school and was called to the hospital to identify her. My mother was only able to identify her by the wedding ring on her finger. When my mother tells this story she always composed, years had passed for her but for me the story always reminds me how lucky I am. . Dolores, my mother, is still alive today.

She finished high school, throwing herself into many activities, sports and clubs and as always doing very well in her studies. After high school she studied to be a nurse and by eighteen she had almost completed her studies.

During this same time her aunt, my grandma Cuca, who was a great cook would be asked by the Governor’s chefs for help when there were large banquets. As a thank you, my mother, her sisters and cousins were invited to these events. She recalled meeting Frida Kalho, Diego Rivera and others. She enjoyed these events as she “liked the food and dancing with the boys”. But she did not like meeting Diego, “ese gordo”.

Zoot Suit Riots and entering the Air Force (#6)

When my father was thirteen years old four days of riots took place in East Los Angeles in June of 1943. Labeled the Zoot Suit Riots, navy servicemen stationed in Los Angeles fought with Mexican youth. Published news reports favored the servicemen. The vast majority arrested were Mexican youth. My father probably stayed home or was in the library which was a good idea as reports indicate service men took taxis into Mexican communities during the riots. He was the oldest of four with two younger sisters and a brother ten years his junior.

My father attended Garfield high school in East Los Angeles but did not finish. He loved sports and the track coach had invited him to joint the team after seeing him run fast during PE. But as the oldest he felt responsible to help his mother and at seventeen he joined the military, the Air Force. His mother had to sign to allow him to enter the military. He was sent to Texas for basic training which was the first time away from his mother and family. He remained in the Air Force for the next six years. During that time the US entered the Korean War. Luckily his military years were mostly spent at March Air Force base in Riverside, California. He reached the level of Master Sargent, the highest rank for enlisted men. He supervised servicemen in the fire department at the base. Although away from the war there was risk as many training runs ended in fiery crashes. He did not speak much of those years but I know he was proud of his time in the Air Force. And those years would eventually lead to a twenty-eight year career.

Sunday Family Post on Monday (#5): My Mother Grows into a Teenager

Living with her family and her extended family probably helped my mother after the loss of her father. She told us many stories of her life in Mexico City. She often told the story of seeing her father after his death. Everyday she and her dog would meet him at the corner bus stop. After he died she would still see him get off the bus so everyday she and Bull would walk to the stop. The streets were always crowded so she would always spend time trying to find him as in her young mind he had become lost in the crowd.

She was always a strong student and as she got older played more sports and loved to challenge the boy’s teams to play her teams. She would recall, “ And you know what, we would beat them sometimes"!” She especially loved to beat those boys teams as her brother and cousins and close friends were on those teams. She and her sisters and cousins traveled the City on their own to events and adventures. One misadventure was a favorite but painful story.

She liked climbing trees and was good at it. One day when she was about twelve she was jumping down from a tree when she noticed a board on the ground with a nail in it, sticking straight up about two inches. She noticed too late and the nail went through her foot coming out the top just below her toes. in her telling of this story the point was always about not getting in trouble not the pain. So to not get in trouble, she pulled the nail out by herself and somehow got home. The house was always busy with two families, many animals and other family coming and going so no one noticed her injury and she did not share. But the injury became infected which resulted in tetanus causing her to suffer lockjaw. And still no one noticed. I was always amazed each time she told this part of the story and always asked how she ate food, with a straw she would say. And still no one noticed.

Art Opening in Four Days

In San Francisco there is a great art event called Open Studios during October and November for four weekends. This coming weekend is my neighborhood, the Mission District. Email me for further details

Thanks to photographer Zdenek Mlika.

Sunday Post: My father's early years (4)

Post note: Each Sunday’s post will be about my family’s history. During the week posts will be about my art, new work and upcoming shows.

My father was born in 1929 in a small town in Arizona named Hayden. There were many Mexican immigrants and their children living there. Most of the men worked in the copper smelter; hard work in an extremely high temperature setting (110⁰F outside and much hotter inside the smelter) all day. My paternal grandfather worked there, also gathered wood to sell to make extra money and played poker for more extra money. My father recalled abuelo would always win at poker. My father attended public schools, swam at the segregated public pool during the “brown people hours” and traded his bean burrito for sandwiches at lunch with his white friends. When he told me these stories it was without emotion or resentment as he noted it helped him become the adult he was, a proud father of four and captain in the Los Angeles Fire Department

As a young boy he had an after school job sweeping the floor of the one bank in town. Being the oldest of four he was the most responsible and saved his money to help the family. When he was twelve (1941) and my grandparents divorced he had saved $175 for their move to Los Angeles.

East Los Angeles was another planet for my father, a light-skinned, skinny kid who liked to read. He spent his after school hours in the library reading and avoiding the street. It worked most of the time. Walking home from the library one day he saw two guys walking toward him he knew were local gang members coming for him. He swung first and second, hitting one then the other but lost his balance and knew he was in trouble. Before they could respond, their gang leader turned the corner and told them to back off. He said “Hey, that’s Guero, he’s okay, leave him alone”. (Guero is a term of endearment for someone who is light skinned). From that day on he had a pass on the streets but still spent much of his free time in the library, he liked to read.

One week to Art Opening

San Francisco’s Open Studios is each weekend this month. My Art Opening will be Saturday and Sunday, Oct. 26 and 27 from 10am to 6pm. Email me for studio address. I hope to see you there.

My Maternal Grandfather was born on January 4th, 1894 (#3)

This sweet bus stop custom lasted until she was age six when her father died after being hit by a train. As my mother tells the story he was tired from days of searching for his oldest daughter who had been “kidnapped” by her boyfriend a week before. My grandfather had probably also taken his girlfriend in the same manner. I guess he was not ready for his first born to leave the house. Despondent and tired he was sitting on the tracks talking to his coworkers at the train depot. His coworkers, including his twin brother realized too late that he was not going to move as the train approached. He died on the operating table the next day. We have an old family photo his open casket with the family gathered around. My six year old mother is standing right, front a beyond stoic look, gazing directly at the camera. I was born 24 years later, on January 4th.

As my mother told the story (#2)

… As my mother tells the story, she was bored, hated Los Angeles and wanted to leave but stayed out of respect for her uncle. She started working at a peanut processing plant and took ESL classes to keep busy until she could return home at the end of the summer or earlier. Her skin had a chronic allergic reaction to the peanut dust but she kept going to keep her day full. English came easily to her as she was always a great student. In Mexico she excelled in school and sports and was finishing a nursing degree at eighteen. Years later she shared academics came easily to her and barely had to open her books to understand any new subject.

When my father walked in the door in his dress uniform she was not overly impressed. She saw a skinny, mostly English speaking teenager. She asked her two future sisters-in-law who this person was and learned he was their older brother.

In Mexico City my mother was in her element. Beginning as a young child, she, her brother and sisters and cousins would roam the city. Her father and his identical twin had married sisters and both families shared a house. See. She had a dog named Bull and he lived on the roof and would walk with her to meet her dad at his bus stop each day after school.

My Origins (1)

Below is a photo of me on our porch in East Los Angeles. I am the youngest of four with three older sisters. My oldest sister Yolanda is holding me and my scary looking stuffed lion. We are our past and so I want to start this blog by covering my own history and how it helped me become an artist.

My earliest memories are of great home cooked Mexican food, running around the neighborhood with my best friend Charlie and of helping our neighbor who we all called abuelo with his chickens.

Thirty-four year before the chicken chasing my father was born in a very small town in Arizona in 1929 and moved to Los Angeles at age twelve with his mother, younger brother and sisters. At seventeen he joined the Air Force a few years before the Korean War. That same year my mother, who grew up in Mexico City, was visiting an uncle in Los Angeles for the summer of 1947. One day she saw a skinny boy with big ears (her words) walk into the house where she was staying. Of course, that was my dad, who was coming home from basic training and did not know the pretty young woman who was in his living room.

This is where this true story gets Gabriel García Márquez complicated. It turned out my mother was from the same small town in Jalisco, Mexico as my father’s mother who was dating my mother’s uncle. See. My maternal grandmother was single. She had divorced my grandfather when my father was twelve years and moved to Los Angeles. My grandfather also decided to move to Los Angeles.

We think (my sisters and I) my grandmother and mother’s uncle had a plan to get my father a Mexican bride. The plan almost did not work. My mother hated being in Los Angeles and wanted to leave the very first week. She was studying nursing in Mexico City, had many friends, loved sports and going to dances at the Governor’s mansion. But her uncle would beg her to stay one more week for many weeks and she did until my father returned home…

October Open Studio

Art Opening

October 2019 will be my return to Open Studios. You are invited to attend on Saturday and Sunday, October 26 and 27 from 10am to 6pm. Opening night reception will be from from 7pm to 10pm.