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.
