The Last Padilla Standing E-Book

Joseph N. Padilla

• Herausgeber: Proisle Publishing Services
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

The Last Padilla Standing is a look back in time, my journey through the years as told by me. Through memories and story's passed down through generations. The good times and the bad, But my family always seemed to prevail. This story will live on through my pages for future relatives. I am the last Male Padilla in my family tree, and this is how I remember it.

My name is Joseph N Padilla better known as Joe to my friends, I was born in 1932 in a coal mining town called Madrid in Central New Mexico between Santa Fe and Albuquerque. My wife and I were happily married for 52 years we raised three children 2 daughters and one son. My wife Alta passed away in 2005 followed by son who passed away in 2019. I'm retired and have several hobbies I like to paint I'm a musician and of course a writer. At my 89 years old I'm still going strong.

Leseprobe

The

Last Padilla Standing

My Biography, My Past, My Son

By

Joseph Padilla

Copyright © 2022 by: Joseph Padilla

ISBN:978-1-960224-41-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher disclaims any responsibility for them.

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The Last Padilla Standing

My Biography, My Past, My Son

My name is Joseph N. Padilla, better known as Joe by my friends; I was born in 1932 in a coal mining town called Madrid in central New Mexico between Santa Fe, And Albuquerque. The reason I am writing this manuscript is for my son Timothy who wanted to know about our family’s past, so he asked me if I would write a biography about my life and the family’s history. Sorry to say that he will never see my manuscript, for he passed away January 30, 2019. He would have been the last male in our Padilla family tree, for I know of no other male persons left in our family to carry on with the family name, and now I am The Last Padilla Standing at the age of 89. I have two daughters left. The family name will be deep in their memories and in time to be forgotten. God has his reasons for all life, and I expect that. Now! I will carry on with my son’ wish, and on with my biography in memory of my son Timothy Andrew Padilla. Rest in peace my son.

Chapter 1

Tell Me Dad, Who Were You?

Going back as far as I can remember. My father was named Gabriel; though back then everyone called him Gabe, since my grandfather was also named Gabriel. My father went by Gabriel N. Padilla, using my grand-mother’s maiden name of Newman as his middle Initial, for he did not have a middle name. Father was a very well-educated man. I was told by him and my grandmother about his schooling back when he was growing up; he graduated from the eighth grade which was as high as the school required back then. He did not go to a regular school; he went to a parochial school in Las Vegas New Mexico, where he graduated from. He continued with his schooling and studied the Latin language. He became an altar-boy there at the Catholic Church in Las Vegas. From learning Latin, he learned a few other languages taken from the Latin method of communication by speech. He spoke English, Spanish, Italian, French, Greek, and other languages taken from his Latin learning; later, he learned to speak Cantonese Chinese; all this I know because I witness him speaking with many different people in their own language; all taken from his Latin learning, except for Chinese that I will talk about later. My first memory as a child is how poor we were, I remember the hard times we endured during the great depression. Amazing how I can remember my childhood, but I cannot remember what happened yesterday. Oh, well on with my story. My mother was a very dear and loving person, she was about five foot four inches in height and somewhat plump, a very pleasant and caring mother, who cared so much for my sister and me. Her named was Juanita Segura. (Segura, is the Sir: name of my mother’s father.) She was born in the Pueblo De-Sile in New Mexico in the late 1800 hundreds; maybe 1899. My mother’s family were Spaniards; her family arrived in the United States in the early 1800 hundreds. I was told her family landed somewhere in the Caribbean Islands, and on to Florida; and from there too what was known as, The New Spain territory, an organized unincorporated territory with varying boundaries not yet develop until 1821. As time passed on, the family were granted a royal grant by the U S government; the land had been legally established and confirmed by law as required; it was titled under the New Mexico territory bylaws. Sometime later the territory advanced and in 1912 became the state of New Mexico. I believe my history is somewhat correct, as I was told. As for my father’s mother, her family hailed from England, around the same time in the early 1800 hundred’s, her name was Mary Refugio Newman, a very loving person. She became a teacher in a parochial high school in Detroit Michigan, and later in Las Vegas New Mexico; this is where she met and married my grandfather Gabriel Padilla. Her mother, my great grandmother was named Chanette Newman. I was fortunate to have met my great-grandmother Chanette the age 99, I was just a little guy. My father’s father was Spaniard, I do not remember much about him, other than he was a big man. His name was Gabriel Joseph Padilla, who had a brother named Miguel Padilla, my uncle in the Padilla side. He had two daughters, one named, Antonia and his other daughter was named Rufina; they were my first cousins on my grandfather Padilla side of the family. They lived in a very small community called Waldo in New Mexico (now a ghost town); this was the area where The Atchison Topeka, and The Santa Fe took interest in the coal mines of Madrid and made Waldo a central weighting and pick-up station. On the opposite side of Waldo lay a short rail line to Madrid that carried the coal to be transferred to the main line in Los Cerritos. The main road to get to Waldo from Madrid we had to pass thru the small town called Los Cerritos, and from there on to a side road. Some two miles further where we had to climb a huge hill called The Devil Thrown and on down into the valley below where my uncle Miguel lived. The train tracks that ran on the back side of the Madrid hills to Waldo passed by my grandmother’s place; the track ran alongside the river’s edge that had a walkable trail some eight miles to get to Waldo by foot. This was a privet railway to the weighting station from Madrid to Waldo. One memory that comes to mind; one day we went to visit Uncle Miguel, there in Waldo where he lived; they lived on a small hillside just off an old dirt road that went to the coal weighting station where he worked. One day I was told to go get a bucket of water from a natural stream on the hillside; this was the best drinking water that come out of the ground that I have ever drunk; as I was on my way back with bucket in hand when out of nowhere I was attacked by their dog; he was one huge dog called Jack, black in color with a brown nose, maybe some kind of pit bull and shepherd mix. He came up to me and bit under my left arm and would not let go, all I could do was cry in pain and yelling for mama. They all heard me yelling and came running to where I was, the dog would not release my arm, Uncle Miguel had to slap the dog very hard in order to get him to let go of my arm. I was taken care of, and Uncle Miguel took care of old Jack. Another memory in time. One day we were on the way to visit my uncle Perfecto in a Pueblo called Sile; he was my mother’s brother. My mother’s family lived in the pueblo just north of Santa Fe called Cochiti. Some two mile or so is the Pueblo called Sile this is where my uncle Perfecto lived. My mother was born there in Sile; they; were the Segura’s who have lived there as far back as when the Spaniards were settled in what was known as The New Spain territory, later the territory was change to The New Mexico territory in the early state hood of the union. My grandfather on my mother’s side was named Ciriaco Segura, and my grandmother was named Rafealita Picas before their marriage. My uncle on my mother’s side was named Perfecto Segura, his wife, my aunt was named Rafealita; they had three boys and one girl, my cousin Wilford, cousin Raymond, and Cousin Hillel, and my beloved cousin Blanch. I have a great memory of that time in that settlement known as Sile where my uncle Perfecto and his family lived. They were farmers who lived off the land that was shared with the local American natives (Indians). My uncle became blood brothers with the tribal Indians. My grandfather Ciriaco was the Marshall and district agent for all the local tribes. He was well respected and become a blood brother with the tribe by cutting the palm on their hand with a blade and do a traditional blood handshake. All this I was told by my uncle Perfecto. As a boy I frolic and played in just about every acreage of the farming land; I played in the corn fields and in the huge garden fields with my friends. The corn stocks were so tall, the watermelons, and cantaloupes smell so sweet, the potatoes, the carrots, the green beans, and the green Chile vines flourished, not to forget the beautiful red tomatoes. This was the way they lived and survived. The land was shared with the local pueblo Indians. (American Natives.) At the East end of the farming fields; is where the great Rio Grande River flows; this was the way the farming fields were watered by a unique homemade arrangement. At this river site is where my friend and I spent much time playing and looking for frogs and other little critters. One day we were on our way to the river, as we were passing through the watermelon field, the air was filled with the sweet aroma of sweetness. We decided to take a watermelon knowing that that was a no, no; but we knew that everyone was working on the opposite side of the fields, we felt sure it was safe. We hid behind the corn field where we split the watermelon on a rock and we ate that juicy watermelon; oh, how sweet it was; we buried the leftovers in the soft soil and off we went on to the river. I do not remember my friend’s name, but I am almost sure it was Ramon, oh well! That was over 80 years passed. Another moment, I remember, Ramon’s mother, she was an extremely large woman (fat) and was with child and her time was at hand, we were told to go play. Once again, we went to the river; we did not know anything about what was to happen. When we decided to go home; as we approached, we noticed the many people around the house; my friend’s mother had given birth. Much later I found out that she had had sextuplets, yes six babies; I was told, none lived; we as children did not understand, I found out many years later when mother and I were talking about the incident. I told mother what I was told about the sextuplets. She then told me the story of the sorrowful mishap. As a young boy life was good there at my uncle’s house in Sile. It was late-summer and harvest time was at hand; the corn was picked and stored in one of the storage sheds attached to the house, this is where the corn was left to mature until it was ready for husking. Husking corn was a fun time for us kids and the young adult. As the corn was being husked, we sang songs and heard stories from the elders. One night we were all husking corn, sometimes called shucking corn that is, removing the corn kernels from the corncob. The elders would tell spook stories, this was a way to scare the teen-agers when they went out after hours and away from the house; this also scared the crap out of me. This is one of the spook stories told to us by my uncle Perfecto. He started telling the story by saying, “Sometime back, - hum! (He uttered), - It was about seven thirty that evening, the family were sitting at the table having supper; it had just gotten dark, and the moon was about, - well, - more than half full, when! Welford came in overly excited and frightened saying that a ghost was trying to get in the back window; this got me a little concerned, so I asked him what he was talking about. Welford was shaking with fear so bad that it made me wonder if he really saw someone or something out back, so I decided to go look; I picked up my double 12-gage shotgun and I slowly walked around the house to see what he was talking about. It was somewhat darker at the back of the house as I continued; the gang were right behind me. Very quiet I looked up and saw the ghost about thirty feet away; I then yelled for him to halt, but he wouldn’t stop; the ghost kept waving his arms so vibrantly, me knowing what it was, I pretended that I was somewhat scared and I pulled the trigger on my shotgun; I knew who the ghost was; everyone was standing behind me wondering if I had shot the ghost; I than walked forward slowly to see what I had shot, as I stood looking I couldn’t hold it any longer and I busted out laughing; the family walked up to me to see why I was laughing so loudly and why this scary thing turn to be a funny moment for me. I slowly walked up to the so-called ghost; you will not believe what I shot? The ghost turned out to be my work shirt and my cover-all’ full of holes that were waving in the wind that my wife had hung on the clothesline earlier that day. We laughed so hard that tears were running down our cheeks and we had many side aches from the laughter.” The family never let my uncle Perfecto live that one down; as for his work clothes! Well I’ll let you figure that one out.” This is one of my most joyful memory there. One more adventure comes to mind. Early one morning while on the way to Sile, we were going to visit uncle Perfecto. A few days back we had a heavy rainfall and the Rio Grande over flooded, and many puddles were left to the sides of the road. On the road just ahead of us, there, in a large puddle grandpa Ciriaco spotted a large fish flopping in the water, so he told father to stop the horses and go check it out. Grandpa and my father got down off the wagon to look, it was a huge catfish. It was much larger than I was; they placed the fish in the back of the wagon. We started the way the fish was flip and flopping and scaring the horses, grandpa had to hit the fish over the head; and that did stop the fish from flopping. Late that day we had a great feast everyone around were invaded for the fish fry. Oh, happy days.

Chapter 2

Back to Madrid