Book Review: MORE THAN A TICKET MEMOIRS FLYING WITH AMERICAN AIRLINES FROM PROPS TO JETS

Best Friends in Animas, New Mexico

 

To my very best friend Argie,

On my first glance at More Than A Ticket  I was thrilled to see Chapter one, A Young Girl from Animas Valley. I love coming home remembering riding the old school bus an extra hour to spend the night or weekend with you. Sometimes your mother was helping us sew matching garments. It was a time when education, honesty and integrity was uppermost. Our mothers worked untiringly to provide nutritious meals and a clean inviting home, requiring of us the preparation of table, set carefully with a clean ironed white cloth. We had the privilege of contributing to family life - - the industry of the home. I love to remember sitting around the table enjoying the wonderful homemade bread, meat and vegetables, even apple pie!! Don't forget the conversation and laughter, and the fun we had!

Our hardworking fathers, whose word was as binding of a contract, exemplified honesty and integrity; and expected the same in us, requiring respect and courtesy. I love to remember our brothers coming in with the white foamy fresh milk and working alongside our fathers.

On Saturday when we sewed or you did the mountain of ironing, we could always take a little time to play the piano and sing.

My hope as I have read your book more than once is that today’s generation could see the worth of a work ethic. It was your background that made it possible. “Get up sister and make something of yourself!” and you did.

Love,

Carol 

And that is the way it was in days gone by; work, work and then play before the sun goes down. We did not have a television, only a radio to listen to the western music as we made up the dance steps which the kids today think are new. No, we made them up in those country kitchens as we danced our lives away. The memories touch my heart in a way which only the good ole western music can trigger. Carol and I were cheerleaders together as we used our creative words to yell as our basketball team would win their games and sometimes "not."

The good looking, tall one on the back row is C.L. Hoskins.

  Chapter One

A Young Girl from Animas Valley

I grew up on a ranch in Animas Valley in southern New Mexico with my

brother, Charles Leslie, or C. L. for short. I was born in 1935 in Deming,

New Mexico, in the midst of the Great Depression, the same year that Franklin

Delano Roosevelt signed off on the Social Security Act. We were poor

of means, but I didn’t know it at the time, and I don’t remember ever going

hungry. We had little, but that was how things were for everyone we knew.

My wise parents, Al and Edna, instilled in me the values of honesty and hard

work. They taught me the importance of staying clean, keeping out of debt,

being a good citizen, respecting the flag, appreciating America, and minding

manners, including “please,” “thank you,” “yes ma’am,” “no sir,” and “how

can I help you?”—phrases that flow naturally from me now.

My parents descended from immigrant ancestors who had sacrificed and

worked hard to become part of our great United States of America. They were

self-reliant, responsible, and principled. And they had faith in God. I grew up

feeling the love and depth of belonging to a good Christian family. I made the

choice to follow those teachings.

Most often Mama and Daddy taught us by example. My Daddy taught

me to keep things in order to accomplish a task. Tasks were done with strict

discipline, a legacy Daddy inherited from his mother. She was a German lady

who understood the nature of success. So in our home, obedience to the task

was demanded and expected. C. L. knew the way out to the smelly barn to

shovel manure, and I knew where the ironing board was waiting. I would iron

Daddy’s and C. L.’s shirts way into the night with an amiable attitude, listening

to western music. We weren’t given the option to be lazy, and I have since

learned that those who do not learn to internalize discipline cannot focus and

accomplish goals.

Mama had an intuitive soul and good judgment. She taught me to think

outside the box. I can still hear her voice echo in my memory, “Sister, if you

cannot do it one way, you can do it another,” “Think before you act,” “Think

of others before yourself,” and “Do your best!” Mama wasn’t perfect, but she

hung in there and kept trying until something worked. It was hard work, but

it was worth it.

From November 1951 to August 1966, Daddy worked as a windmiller for the

Victoria Land and Cattle Company’s Diamond A Ranch in Animas Valley.

He took his job very seriously. It could be a dangerous venture, climbing up

a windmill tower to repair whatever was needed. One of Daddy’s cowboy

friends said of Daddy, “Al would tell me what he wanted to get done. He

would than tell me what he was going to do, tell me what I was going to do,

and then say, ‘Now be careful!’” When I look at pictures of Daddy I like to

look at his large hands; a former windmill helper told me that Daddy had to

cut the tops of gloves to fit his hands.

When a windmill needed to be fixed, Daddy was in charge of seeing that

done. It was too far from town to get new parts, so Daddy would design and

weld a new part, which often worked better than a new one would have. Once

a mechanical engineer, having watched Daddy at work, said that he was outstanding

and clever with his mind and hands. Sometimes Daddy would even

invent what he needed if there wasn’t a tool available on the market.

Before he was a windmiller, Daddy worked from April 1939 to November

1951 as a machinist in the Kennecott open pit copper mine in Santa Rita, New

Mexico. He welded in overalls which he always managed to keep clean. He was

a machinist by day and a mechanic by night, working on cars at home. While

Daddy worked and welded, Mama sewed gowns for the wives of the Big Bosses.

Mama was a professional seamstress. She taught herself to sew and earned

a degree via mail from The Woman’s Institute of Domestic Arts and Sciences,

a division of the International Correspondence Schools, in Scranton,

Pennsylvania. My memories of our kitchen table are of it covered with her

coursework for dress making and designing. Mama taught me to sew as well.

I remember the hours I spent on the sewing machine—and the hours more

ripping out the wrong stitches. But my Mother’s tutelage paid off. After we

got electricity, I made the most lovely of lovely prom dresses in my room. I

still have two of Mama’s textbooks which I display on my dresser, Sewing for

Profit and Decorative Stitches and Trimmings.

Our home had six rooms. Two of the bedrooms were made out of adobe

bricks. One of them was mine, and I had painted it yellow. These rooms were

very old and unique, with very thick walls which provided adequate insula-

tion. This form of building had been used by the Indians and Mexicans for

hundreds of years.

Because the walls were so thick, the window sills were deep enough for

various potted plants to sit on, and they gave a colorful touch to my yellow

room. Through the walls, my brother and I would always say good night to

each other and our parents; our bedrooms were so close we didn’t need to lift

our voices to more than a mere whisper. How I loved my small, charming old

adobe bedroom. I loved our whole home! There was no telephone or electricity,

but we had the warmth of a gas heater to keep us warm. We drank raw

milk and lived off the land, the “Land of Enchantment,” where the power of

nature is amazingly stated and graced with beauty both on the land and in the

sky, my home!

C. L. and I had a wonderful childhood, and as we came of age we attended

New Mexico A&M in Las Cruces, now known as New Mexico State Univer-

sity. I have some great memories of that time, including yelling my lungs out

while the Aggies played ball on the basketball court. One of those Aggies was

C. L. who was there on a basketball scholarship. I also loved western dancing.

When we’d go to the dances, C. L. and I would show off our dance routines

that we originated in the kitchen back at the ranch. The kids at college thought

I was going to the dances with two guys; my date would dance with other girls

while I was “kicking up a step” with my brother. We danced the hours away in

our stylish clothes—western shirts for C. L. and skirts, blouses, and dresses for

me—which had been sewn for untold hours by Mother for us so we could look

our best at college. Some of those skirts were made out of chicken feed sacks.

Back in those days it was really good material, and I felt like a beauty queen.

Around this time I learned about and joined The Church of Jesus Christ of

Latter-day Saints. I was drawn to this church because it embraced and taught

the values with which I had been reared, and my heart was touched by the

emphasis placed on families, family history, and compassionate service. It was

a change, but in some ways it was no change at all. I credit my parents for the

solid foundation of faith upon which my life has been built.

I’m so grateful for the environment in which I grew up. Each morning,

as Daddy would light my bedroom heater, he would encourage me with the

greeting, “Sis, get up and amount to something!” This was the standard

of my day, my year, and my life. He taught me the lessons of obedience,

industry, and independence. I listened to his words of common sense—how to

perceive, understand, and judge things are emblazoned on my spirit.

One of the highlights of my childhood and growing up years was the summertime.

Every year, my parents worked hard and saved money so we could

go on a road trip highlighted with National Parks. We would jump waves,

get stung by jelly fish, have sand fights, race on beaches, talk to people, make

up games, and argue about who saw the ocean first. We would visit family

and get to know distant cousins during Fourth of July celebrations where

we’d nearly burn each other with our sparklers. We visited museum after

museum—sometimes boring and sometimes exciting. And we’d admire the

many glaciers, mountains, rivers, and streams that cover our nation. I learned

to love an adventure. My heart was always looking for another way to see the

world, and sometimes I would wonder, “Where will I find my path of adventure

and independence?”