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| 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."
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| 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?”
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