Dad’s Story A Life’s Journey: Memories for My Sons Art Moreno El Paso, Texas

“Since I really never knew my Dad or anything about his life... thus my trying to give you all a little insight into my life.”

Foreword Part I: The Beginning Part II: Lessons Learned Part III: Growing Up Part IV: Adventures and Work Part V: High School Years Part VI: Early Career Part VII: Life on the Road Epilogue Table of Contents

A Life’s Journey: Memories for My Sons4Dad’s StoryTo my loving Sons I felt I wanted to share with you all, as best as I can remember my life’s story. It will be in chapters or episodes. Since I really never knew my Dad or anything about his life, no fault of his and partly mine, all I can remember is his working all the time, & after work, going down to the basement of 1229 W. Main to fiddle around with his camera gadgets, portrait studio & darkroom. I do know that he loved me. Since he was not a demonstrative person, I don’t recall his ever hugging me or telling me that he loved me. I would have liked to have known of his life growing up, as a kid, teenager, and adult, but unfortunately, I never did, thus my trying to give you all a little insight into my life. What I do know is that he was a jeweler at one time, was a wrestler (real Greco- Roman Wrestler), a night watchman at Globe Mills & a photographer and darkroom technician. Love you all. God Bless! February 14, 2009 Foreword

Foreword5

A Life’s Journey: Memories for My Sons6Dad’s StoryI remember mom & dad sent me to, I guess what would now be pre-kindergarten, at Jesus & Mary Academy or School. How old I was at the time,’ I don’t remember, perhaps 4 or 5 years old. It was a combination of school and catechism classes. I remember getting a penny a week as my allowance. I would buy a candy called a “BB Bat” at the “Corner Grocery,” a little store that was directly across from Jesus & Mary where it’s now a Circle K & gas station. The candy was hard taffy on a stick and the most candy you could get for a penny. One time, one of the kids in my class saw the stick part of the candy sticking out of my pocket. He told the “Madre,” “Madre Pilar,” about the candy in my pocket. She was old and looked like a witch with a big nose in her black habit, with then, her head covered with a black head cloth that went all the way below her waist. It had a white brim that looked like side blinders that they used to put on horses so they couldn’t see to the sides & get “spooked.” Anyway, she told me in front of the class, maybe 10 or 15 kids, that to be a good person one had to share with everyone whatever they had. So she asked me for the candy. She put it on her desk, stuck her hand into a pocket in her habit (that went all the ways to her shoes,) pulled out a knife and proceeded to cut the candy into little pieces, one piece for each kid. Left over was a slightly larger piece and she told the class that since I brought the candy, I deserved the larger piece. I have since forgiven her, but I was sure pissed off at her at the time! February 14, 2009 Part I: The Beginning

Part I: The Beginning7Mass was celebrated every morning at J & M. I remember the nuns ringing a handbell down the halls whenever something was going on, mass, lunch, prayer, whatever. We were given classes on being altar boys. One of the mornings after mass, the priest invited one of the other altar boys & myself into a small dining room for something to eat. I remember it (breakfast) was sitting in a little white plate, 2 little brown/ black things that looked like dates. I guessed that whatever they were, they would be sweet. Guess what, they were prunes! I didn’t know what prunes were as I had never had any at home. I spit them out, I sure didn’t like them! This is all I can remember. I don’t recall the reaction of the priest or what happened afterwards. Another time, I guess it must have been my grandmother “Welita” was her nickname, short for Abuelita, (her real name was Guadalupe) my mother’s mother, gave me a wad of pencils held together by a rubber band. I took them to school and the same Madre Pilar, when she saw them, guess what, I needed to share! This time though, there was a real nice black pencil, (I don’t think it was a ball point pen as they might not have been invented back then, but it could have been because it had a black cap on it.) Well, she said that since she had a black habit, she should have the black pencil or pen to match her black outfit and each one of the kids also got a pencil! I know these incidents don’t amount to much, but these are vivid recollections of that time. “Welita” was real nice to all of us. She used to sit directly in front of an old upright RCA or Philco radio, with her ear to the speaker, listening to it. I guess the reason she sat so close is that she was probably hard of hearing. I think it was an RCA, because it had the trademark,

A Life’s Journey: Memories for My Sons8Dad’s Storywhich was a picture of a dog listening to an old Victrola. The fingers on her right hand were yellow from smoking. She used to roll her own from a “Prince Albert” tin can of pipe tobacco. She had an old worn white leather coin purse. At one time it must have been white, but she must have had it for decades because it was yellowish from old age. The reason I remember the purse is because she always had it sitting between her legs when she was listening to the radio and smoking her “roll your own” cigarette. As she got older, she was shrinking in size. I remember Dad sawing off the legs of her chair so her head could be in front of the speaker. The reason I say she was nice to all of us, is that from time to time, she would give us a penny or two, then as time went by it increased to a nickel. But that wasn’t the real reason. She was what a grandmother really is. She loved us all. There was a place we called “El Corralon.” It was like on 7th & Mesa Streets. It covered a whole block. From what Oscar remembers, it was rented or leased by our Welita’s brother, “Tio Fernando.” “Welita” had a cow there that was milked daily by an old guy named Mike that lived in a corrugated aluminum shed that was very, very cold in winter. He was really a street beggar. They let him stay there in exchange for milking the cow. Anyway, my brother Oscar was the one that would take lunch to “Tio” on his bike on his lunch hour from Vilas School. He would then go pick up the milk in the afternoon in one of those old steel milk cans. Then I guess when Oscar went to the Navy, then it was Ruben’s turn, then when Ruben got married, then it was my turn, but only for a very short while. I remember going on my bike, but it was rough carrying the pail on the handlebars, so later on I went on the bus.

Part I: The Beginning9When the milk got home, we had to go out into the arroyo in front of our house and pick little round flower beads called “trompillo” from a desert plant. Welita would filter the milk through this “trompillo” to make cottage cheese. She would also make asaderos and Oscar says Welita sold them to a grocery store on South El Paso St. Oscar says Welita had some regular neighbor customers for the fresh milk. I remember that in winter when I went for the milk it was cold, but inside the little aluminum shed it was freezing! Mike would be all bundled up in raggedy clothes and raggedy blankets. There was a wood stove in the shed. Mike would ask me to put wood in the stove, poor guy he was so old and I guess not in good health, I really felt sorry for him. He had on, like what seemed to me 2 or 3 pair sof raggedy gloves to keep his hands warm. From time to time he would give me a nickel or even a dime for this. This, I didn’t do for the money, I did it because I really felt sorry for him being so cold in his little shed. One of the times, we were all at the Corralon, Mom, Dad, Oscar & Ruben. Julie might have been there, I don’t remember. Anyway Oscar & Ruben had a white bag of popcorn and they didn’t want to give me any. I chased them all around the Corralon, trying to catch them so they would give me some popcorn. I lost sight of them for a little while. They then came up to me with the white popcorn bag and offered me some popcorn. I was anxious to get a handful of popcorn. When I stuck my hand into the bag to grab a hand full, they had filled the popcorn bag with FRESH, HOT, COW SHIT! Now you know why I don’t like my brothers! Love you all. To be continued.

A Life’s Journey: Memories for My Sons10Dad’s StoryGood Morning Sons Just kidding, of course, about not liking my brothers! I love them dearly as much as each of you love each other. With Madre Pilar, I wasn’t really pissed off at her, I might have been a little mad, but I now realize this was a lesson she wanted me to learn about sharing. So maybe in the long run, has helped me, or instilled in me, the need to share, which I have tried to do in giving of my time in helping others through volunteering and other ways. So there was nothing to forgive, just a big “thanks” to her. Getting back to the corralon. It was the neatest place to play. As I said, it seemed to me that it covered a whole city block, but at that age things were big, so it could have been a little less. Anyway, there were “calesas” horse carriages that people stored there. They were beautiful, black w/ leather seats, lights or lamps on the side. They were stored there in bays under an aluminum roof. There were all sizes and colors. There were chickens aplenty. There were stalls for horses and horses in them. There were stacks of bales of hay. Besides the popcorn incident, we all played together, mostly hide & seek. When you hid, nobody could find you. Since I was the youngest of us three, it happened that I was always the seeker and never the hider. I could never find my brothers. I have always wondered why? (Could it be that they were taking advantage of me since I was the youngest, Naw! No way, older brothers don’t do that!) February 16, 2009 Part II: Lessons Learned

Part II: Lessons Learned11When I might have been 2 or 3 years old, I remember something about an electrical wire that broke off the post at the corner where we lived. I don’t remember much but I remember my mother carrying me in her arms. As I recall, the wire was like dancing around & sparking. We had to get out of the car, and I guess because I was barefoot, Mom said something about “peligro con la electrecidad, andando descalso.” That’s all I recall, nothing beyond that. But again, these are things that I remember vividly. At the corner next to where we lived (there is a chemical/sign company and bus company there now), there used to be an army surplus junk yard, with all kinds of military stuff. Everything from helmets, belts, canteens, holsters and bunches of other stuff piled high. We used to go in, jumping over the tall fence, & my buddies, Sonny Alvarez, Pablo Dow (aka Bulos), Manuel Sandoval (aka Wero), George Maynes & play soldiers with the stuff that was there. Maybe George Veytia was also there. He lived in the neighborhood, but I don’t recall when he moved into the neighborhood. He might have moved in after. In front of our house, there was nothing but desert & a big arroyo (way before the freeway was built.) We used to play Cowboys & Indians. Later on, as I grew a little older, maybe 10 or 12, we used to collect discarded Christmas trees from the neighborhood. A guy whose name was Joe Quintana, he & his family lived in the house in back of ours (where you guys lived for a while.) He worked at Ft. Bliss. Every year, he would bring this huge Christmas tree from Ft. Bliss. All the guys from the neighborhood (and there was a whole bunch of us) we’d all get together and stand the tree up in the big arroyo in front of our house. We would put all the

A Life’s Journey: Memories for My Sons12Dad’s Storyother Christmas trees around the big one, pour kerosene on the trees, and light them up. Talk about a fire! It was neat! We did this every year for several years. Surprisingly & why, I’ll never know, the fire department never bothered us. I guess none of the neighbors complained, and the arroyo was deep enough that it contained the fire and kept it from spreading. The result of all this, besides the fun of the fire, is that we would make hockey sticks from the burnt trees (they wouldn’t burn thru & thru because they were green) and we would play roller skate hockey using the center posts of the burnt trees. We used to play in the street, right in front of our house. That was our hockey field. There was very little automobile traffic at the time, so cars really didn’t bother us. One of the times, Joe Veytia, (aka Pepe) George’s older brother brought a box of bullets. A lot of them were 30/30 caliber. I know now what they were because I remember the size vividly. Long, sleek, brass casing, long pointed tip, 6” or so long. Their father used to belong to a gun club, “Tiradores del Norte,” in Juarez. Anyway, he threw them in the fire and all hell broke loose! The bullets started exploding, and we hit the ground. Turns out I now find out now that when bullets explode in that manner, the projectile doesn’t go anywhere, so there was really no danger, but it sure scared the HELL out of us. I guess if you were right next to one, the exploding shrapnel could get you. But we were far enough away from the ring of burning trees. There was a guy down the block, Armando Flores, (aka El Switcher, why I don’t know, maybe because he switched names?) He is about Oscar’s age. I run into him every now & then. A real nice guy. Anyway, he had

Part II: Lessons Learned13“nicknames” for everyone, and the irony is that all the nicknames stuck. He was talented for that: Willie Alvarez, (my buddy’s older brother) aka “Post Tosties.” Back then, packed in the Post Tosties box of cereal were packaged what were little medals to pin on. They were mostly related to airplanes. Willie used to wear them on his shoulders and would brag that he was taking flying lessons & was going to be a pilot. “Magofo” I don’t even recall what his real name was. There were 3 brothers that weren’t native to our neighbor hood. They moved in later on. The youngest one was real dark, almost black. Switcher nicknamed him, Washington Jefferson, Lincoln, Brown, Jr. (I don’t recall his name either) The oldest brother’s name was Fernie. He was nicknamed “El Foing Boing.” He was a real good basketball player, maybe that’s why Switcher nick-named him so. My nick name was Musolini. I don’t know who nicknamed me that. Look at my pictures when I was a year old and you can see why. Later it was cut to Muso, then became Moso. One guy, Ruben Barragan, Pipo’s brother called me “Moist.” Then there was “El Chiple,” El Moco Verde,” Jelly Bean,” Oscar my brother was “Sugar Boy,” “Tojo,” Pablo Dow, aka “El Bulos,” Raymond Mena, aka “El Monito,” Robert Mena, “ aka El Mono.” Those are all that come to mind right now but there were a jillion others, maybe I’ll remember later. Going back to my dad’s basement/ workshop/darkroom/studio. Dad was also a freelance photographer. He would take a lot of wedding pictures. Many of the times he would take me down to the basement with him while he developed the negatives. The darkroom was the

A Life’s Journey: Memories for My Sons14Dad’s Storyconcrete little room that was located under the front porch of the house. This is the one, if you all recall, that had a 3’ x 3” square opening that you had to squeeze yourself through to get in. Besides serving as a darkroom, it was also a gun shooting range. Many a time, my brothers or my Dad and I would fire pistols at targets there. One of the times when my Dad & I were in total darkness developing film, my Dad started singing in Latin in chant form, the ritual of the consecration of the bread & wine, words that priests used to sing in those days when the priest celebrated mass with his back towards the people. This is still done sometimes by priests at “High” Mass and at other times, depending on the priest. Now it’s done in English or Spanish. Anyway, I will never know how Dad memorized that “ritual of words of consecration in Latin.” When I hear it at mass sometimes, tears come to my eyes, as is happening now. I Love you all very much! God Bless!

Part II: Lessons Learned15

A Life’s Journey: Memories for My Sons16Dad’s StoryHi Sons Getting back to the old Globe Mills, where my dad was a night watchman. I think this was during the war or during the Depression. My history isn’t that good. You guys can check your history books. I was born in 1934, so I guess around 1940, 41, 42, 43, somewhere around there, we would take dinner to Dad, who had the night shift. We played around while Mom visited with Dad while he had dinner. There were all kinds of cat walks, especially between the silos. It was real scary walking on the catwalk and looking down into these huge, huge, silos some with grain, some empty. Freight cars would get loaded with grain. There was also an ice plant. Some freight cars would get loaded with ice for the perishable items they were carrying. I remember the plant where the ice was made into 100# blocks. A chain conveyor belt would carry the ice through a tunnel from the plant up a steep grade, where guys with hooks would yank the blocks of ice into the opening of the freight car. A lot of the big guys from the “Sunset” neighborhood got part- time jobs handling the ice blocks. I tried, but I could never land that job. I was too small. Sunset Heights is the name of the neighborhood that we lived in. The canal, just beyond the arroyo and past the railroad tracks, was our neighborhood swimming pool. The YMCA (Young Mexican’s Canal Association!) In summer, it was almost a daily routine because of the proximity. We could February 19, 2009 Part III: Growing Up

Part III: Growing Up17get there in 2 to 3 minutes if there weren’t any trains. We used to have a lot of fun there. The current carried you down, so some of us (the smart ones) wore old cut-up tennis shoes with huge holes on the sides so that the water would not stay inside the shoes and bog you down in the water. So, when you got out of the water, depending on how far you let the water take you, you had to walk on the gravel levee road. The tennis shoes made it a lot easier on the soles of your feet. There was a chicken processing plant for a while, next to the La Hacienda Restaurant. They (the plant) would throw chicken innards, feathers, guts, etc., into the canal. We’d always have to be on the lookout for “floaters.” Often when we were playing and wouldn’t pay attention to what was coming down, when you would surface, you would wind up with chicken guts on your nose, in your face, or on your head. So you just stuck your head in the water to wash them off. We didn’t mind it, though, we got used to it. A new guy moved into the neighborhood; Humberto Acosta (aka Tarzan) nicknamed by guess who? He was very athletic, good in all sports. He was also a bit of a bragger. We constantly invited him to go swimming with us. He always refused us, until he got so much pressure from all the guys calling him chicken that he went to the canal with us. Well, he stripped, put on his swim trunks, and jumped in the water. He didn’t know how to swim! It was hilarious! He was beating the water savagely, trying to stay afloat. We all cracked up watching him try to get to the other side of the canal. Well, he finally made it to the other side. But do you think he would jump back in to get to where his clothes were? Nope! He went all the way to the

A Life’s Journey: Memories for My Sons18Dad’s Storybridge barefoot, maybe a mile, walking on the levee gravel road to get back to where his clothes were. He never lived that down. There was a cliff overlooking the canal. Must have been 20’ or so from the cliff to the water. That was our diving board. Except that the cliff was about 10’ or so away from the water (the water wasn’t straight down from the cliff.) So, you had to do a “running” dive to get speed to clear the 10’ distance to hit the water. Parts of the canal were lined with concrete on the sides. Right below our diving board, the concrete had eroded so it stuck or protruded out into the water, so you had to make sure you had enough speed or momentum to clear it. One time (yo, de pendejo) ran, then stopped to get spring to dive and barely cleared the concrete slab, but my shoulder hit the slab! It was more of a scrape, got a little bloodied, but thank God that was all! The stuff we went through! Amazes me that I’m still here & alive today. If anything happened to you in the water, unless someone was watching you, you just disappeared in the chocolate brown water. Either my Dad or Oscar had a pair of large binoculars at home. One day, I figured it would be nice to take them down by the canal to look up from there and see our house and neighborhood. Well, I took them without permission. They had a strap, and I hung them around my neck. While down there, a guy came up and asked if he could see through them. I said OK, but still left the strap on my neck. Heck, I was no dummy; I wasn’t going to give him the binoculars so he could run off with them. Well, guess what, he jerked on the binoculars, tearing the strap, and ran off with them! (Pendejo) I had a sore butt from the spanking Dad gave me!

Part III: Growing Up19We used to make wood guns that fired round rubber rings that we would cut from old inner tubes. Some guns were fancy, others were plain. Just figure a simple piece of wood cut into the shape of a gun with the barrel about 12” long. On the back side of the grip, we would nail a wood clothes pin. We would get an old inner tube and cut “rubber bullets, projectiles” about 1” in width and in a round circle, the shape of the inner tube. We would notch the front end of the pistol and pull and string the rubber band and clip it with the clothespin. To fire it, all you had to do was, with the thumb palm part of your hand, press the clothespin and it would release the rubber band. We had all kinds of rubber gun fights going on. When we weren’t swimming, we’d be “at war” with our guns or playing roller skate street hockey. Some of the older guys would even make machine gun rubber guns. They got real fancy. When I was 12 or so, the army (US soldiers) had maneuvers in the arroyo between Jesus & Mary and Texas College of Mines (UTEP, only a couple of buildings at the time). There was nothing but arroyos & desert all in that area before it was developed. Anyway, I went around and visited with some of the soldiers, and I felt sorry for them. So I asked Mom if I could take them coffee in the morning. She said OK. I took it in the large milk can that we used to use for the milk. I remember getting mad at Mom because I couldn’t take sugar. It was rationed at the time. I probably did this for a week or two that they were there. When I was old enough for Kindergarten, Mom took me to enroll me at Vilas School. Since I had been at J & M, I was ahead in my early pre kinder education. So Mom figured I would be placed in first grade, not so!

A Life’s Journey: Memories for My Sons20Dad’s StoryI was pretty smart, so a year or two later I was double promoted. I was smart! I competed in the spelling bee, didn’t win, but did OK. Math was my specialty. There was a girl in my class, Sarah Hardy. Her father, John Hardy was the principal at Vilas School. We kind of competed against each other. I remember a test that was given, she didn’t do so well on it. When report cards came out, she had an “A’ in math & I got a “B.” Well, I told her that the reason she got an “A” is because her father was the principal! Yep, you guessed it, I shouldn’t have said that. I got paddled by the school principal, her father. In those days, permission wasn’t needed from parents for what the school called “swats.” Man, can you just imagine the liability if they attempted to do that now? All for now, enjoy “la botana.” God Bless! Love you all!

Part IV: Adventures and Work21Back to our YMCA. One time Ruben’s clothes were stolen. He used to have a distinct leather belt that had 2 buckles, one on each side of an oval center leather piece. Well, one time Ruben, my Dad & I were walking downtown. Guess what? A guy walking towards us was wearing Ruben’s belt. Ruben pointed it out to my Dad. My Dad grabbed the guy by the belt and asked him where he got it from. I don’t recall what it was that he said where he got it from, but my Dad had him take if off & give it back to Ruben. Another time, this time at the river, there were (are) “compuertas” (dams w/ gates to release canal water into the river) in a couple of places. One is by La Hacienda and another is a couple of miles down. When the water was gushing out of these gates, we used to jump into the gushing water and the power of the rushing water would tumble us into the river. Quite an experience, not knowing which way was up or down. I guess it would be like when a big ocean wave takes you down. One time a bunch of us guys were at the lower “compuerta” and there was a gal who did what we were doing except she almost drowned. Thank God there were some big guys there that dove into the water and pulled her out. Back to the neighborhood. There was a couple, Mr. & Mrs. Garcia who lived 4 houses down from us. Ruben used to go on his bike, almost daily, to pick up groceries for them. After Ruben either got tired of it or outgrew it, then I started doing it. I had to wake up real early in the morning, maybe 6 o’clock or so. I would ride February 23, 2009 Part IV: Adventures and Work

A Life’s Journey: Memories for My Sons22Dad’s Storymy bike to their house, and there was a place where she would leave a note with what items she needed from the store. They had a charge account what was then the Shanghai Grocery. Two Chinese brothers owned the store, Fred & Tio. The store was catty-corner from the now historic “Sunset Heights Grocery.” She would leave a quarter for me for this shopping service. This was a 6-day, daily routine. What would really upset me was that many of the times she wouldn’t need any groceries, but I wouldn’t know until I would go pick up the note. I’d get real upset when that happened because not only would I not get my quarter, but it was the having to wake up so early. I always wondered why she couldn’t tell me the day before, so I wouldn’t have to get up that early. They had the first penny they ever made. They were very frugal & owned a “loan shark” finance company, Corona Loan & Trust. More on this later. Perhaps they were trying to teach me a lesson about work & responsibility. They were good people, though. They would buy fireworks on the 4th of July for all the kids in the neighborhood to see. He used to light them up in the arroyo. They also had a ranch in Mexico. They would take my brother Oscar to the ranch on some weekends. He was also a “Tirador del Norte” and used to teach Oscar how to shoot. A guy by the name of Roy Chapman had a “Kiddie College” program on Saturday mornings at the Plaza Theatre. A can of food was what was needed to get in. The place was full most of the time with kids from all over town attending. He had sing-alongs with someone playing the Wurlitzer organ. He would interact with the kids in the audience, and then a movie would be shown. One of my favorite movies was

Part IV: Adventures and Work23called “Spy Smasher.” We used to have a lot of fun with my buddies. I guess I must have been around 12 years old. I really don’t remember how old I was at that time. Then after, my Dad would have me go to work with him at Thirman Studio. There again, he would show me the workings of the darkroom. I did get paid, maybe 25 or 50 cents an hour. I hated this because it kept me from “hanging out” with my buddies after the Kiddie College was over around noon or so. I remember how my Dad improvised (I guess he learned this when he lived in Durango, where he was born & raised.) He cut a 2’ or 3’ square hole in the wall of the darkroom and made it so that it was on a wooden track with a rope so that he could open or close it as needed. He then hung a porous crock with water. Inside of the crock he put a “jarron” a Mexican clay water pitcher. He would place a fan on the floor in the adjoining room. This served two purposes. It would cool the crock which in turn cooled the water in the crock, which in turn cooled the drinking water in the “jarron.” There is a distinct good taste in the water in this clay “jarron.” I think that at some time or another, we might have had one of these sitting in the kitchen on Regal Lane. It was beige w/ dark brown rings & had a mug that would sit on the neck of it. These are still very popular in Mexico. Anyway, this working with my Dad, I guess taught me the value of work. So I am very grateful to him for instilling principles of hard work in me. At that time, Morris Thirman (that was his name) had a real stuffed “bucking bronco horse,” a real stuffed buffalo and a real motorcycle. He used these as props for taking pictures. Morris Thirman was from Budapest.

A Life’s Journey: Memories for My Sons24Dad’s StoryHe had worked all his life with carnivals. He was what they used to call a “barker.” He used to “bark” “holler” at people to come in to see the show or whatever he was “pitching” at the time at the carnival. This is what he did. He would stand in front of Thirman Studio at 217. S. El Paso Street, a couple of doors up, was the Palace Theatre, and on the south corner was the Venice Café. He would holler at the GI’s to come in to have their picture “took, to put in their “picture book.” He would use all kinds of expressions: “Come in and have your picture made, I guarantee to make you good looking, only 50 cents each.” When he got them in, they had their choice of the props, but mostly he sat them in a booth where he could take full-length photos. He had a stool where he would sit them and when doing so would ask them how many pictures they would like, “six or a half dozen.” When they would reply only one, he would tell them they came in “pairs of two.” After taking those two he would put a Mexican Sarape over their shoulder, paint a mustache with an eyebrow pencil, stick a cigarette butt in their mouth and place an empty gallon bottle of whiskey to hold in their lap. He would then tell them, “your mudder won’t even recognize you now!” He would proceed to follow the same routine and take more pictures. He would then remove the bottle & would put a guitar for them to hold, again the same routine. He would use expressions such as “Shut your mouth so I can see your face,” “Don’t sit there like a dummy in a storeroom, SMILE!” “Sit still, don’t move around like a fish in a fishbowl.” He had a whole slew of these sayings, the above are the only ones that I

Part IV: Adventures and Work25can remember now. Anyway, when he was done with a particular GI (they were mostly GI’s at the time) he’d get hold of his buddy and so on. This photo process was called ‘direct positive.” In back of the camera was a small darkroom where the pictures came out from the camera into a black box. It used a paper that was a “direct positive paper.” The direct positive paper was put into a tray that had a chemical, “developer.” When the image was visible you would rinse it in water then stick it in a tray that had what was called a “clearing bath,” rinse again then into a tray with “bleach & redevelop,” then rinse and then into a solution called a “toner,.” then washed or rinsed for a few minutes I don’t recall which came after the developer, the clearing bath or the bleach & redevelop. This process took about 10 minutes. The pictures were then taken to the counter. There he would towel dry & would use a hair blower to dry the prints. He then proceeded to cut the pictures in what he called “picture frames.” All they were, were cardboard folders. He sold those for 50 cents each, and if they bought a folder for each of their photos, he would give them a free mailing envelope with each one. They were imprinted with various little boxes to be check off, that would say “To My Lovely wife, To My Dear Mother, To My loved One, To My Sweetheart, etc. When he got through with them, the poor guys had spent a minimum of $12 or more which was a lot of money then. He was the “ultimate salesman.” In retrospect, he was really taking advantage of those poor GI’s. From my Dad’s darkroom at Thirman Studio (which was in the back and totally different from the Direct Positive machines) I went to work developing those direct positive pictures, I guess for a year or so, maybe longer.

A Life’s Journey: Memories for My Sons26Dad’s StoryThis was after school and during summer as well. Again, I really don’t remember for how long. I do remember that the fingers in my right hand were yellow, like nicotine fingers, caused by the “bleach & redevelop” chemical. Love you all, more to follow, God Bless!

Part V: High School Years27I didn’t realize it’s been since February that I e-mailed you all part IV. Sorry, so here goes nothing! After working with my Dad & Morris Thirman, I went on to El Paso High School. (aka: El Pussy Hi!) I became a photographer for the “Spur,” which was our yearbook, and the “Tatler,” our newspaper. It wasn’t long before I outdid the other photographers & became “head” photographer. I could take pictures that none of the other guys could take. Of course, I used my dad’s 4” x 5” Speed Graphic camera that had two big flash guns with 7” reflectors on each side of the camera. So when you put 2 huge flashbulbs in the flash units, man, you could almost light all of El Paso! So, I was the only one who could take pictures of the full orchestra, full choir, etc., in the auditorium. I did this from the balcony. As a result, I was the “sweetheart” of Sunshine Bozeman, our teacher & yearbook/ newspaper sponsor. Later on, when she got married, she became Sunshine Callery. She was an “amazon,” about 6’ 1” or 2” tall, well stacked & was really a very nice person & teacher. I remember her always telling me, “Artura, I’m going to do something real nice for you someday.” I have never forgotten this & I’m still waiting! She was from South Texas & had this southern drawl, which is why she called me “Artura.” Since I used my dad’s cameras for all the picture-taking, I took some “mean” pictures. When seniors graduated, my dad, sometimes Ruben & myself, (my dad had 3 speed graphics) would take pictures on speculation of the graduates as they were receiving their diplomas. October 3, 2009 Part V: High School Years

A Life’s Journey: Memories for My Sons28Dad’s StoryI would then make 5” x 7” pictures and would take them to the graduates’ home. 99% of the time, the parents would buy the picture. I would sell them for $1.25. 25cents covered the cost of the film flashbulb & paper. $1.00 was the profit. There would be several hundred graduating, so it wasn’t a bad deal. Since I had saved a little money from working, I bought an old Ford or Plymouth, I guess like a model “A.” It was a 4 door, square car. I bought it from a senior, his name was Rene. I don’t recall what I paid him for it, but I remember paying something down & he let me make payments on it since he knew I was making money taking pictures. This is what I used to deliver the pictures in. I remember that you had to put a quart of oil for every gallon of gasoline! I’m not kidding, it burned oil like it used gasoline! I guess that’s the reason he sold it to me & on time payments to boot! Nice guy, huh? Anyway, we had a lot of fun, my buddies & I with this little car. I continued to use my dad’s camera & film. So, when I took pictures of all the jocks, football, basketball, baseball, track, etc., for the yearbook, I claimed ownership of the negatives (which was OK w/ Sunshine) since the yearbook didn’t have the film expense. So what I would do is make several “picture portfolios” in folders of one of the jocks as a sample. It had 4 different picture sizes, from wallet size to 8” x 10.” I would then “hire” the cheer leaders, on a commission basis, to sell pictures from this “sample portfolio” to the girl friends of the jocks! Talk about entrepreneurship, that was me! I did this all through high school, so I always had money in my pocket. The sad part was that I was never thoughtful or considerate enough to really help

Part V: High School Years29Mom and Dad out financially with more than what I did. I was young, having fun, and had no responsibilities. I was very popular in school. I was either the first or 2nd Mexican (now Hispanic) to make the “Who’s Who” in the yearbook. There were only 15 or so that made it every year. At that time in high school, there were two “plans” you could go on, college plan or general plan. I chose to go the general plan, which had the easier courses. I joined band, played clarinet & bass clarinet. I did pretty well, but I never had the “ear” for music. Some people are “gifted” w/ an ear for music, but the good Lord missed me with his magic stick when he was passing out the “ear” for music blessings. I could read music quite well, but unlike Bobby, (I should say George, sorry Bobo) that can hear a tune & play it. There was an ROTC unit in school (we called it “Real Old Tin Cans,”) which actually was & still is, Reserve Officers Training Corps.) There was a marching band to it & I was their Drum Major as I pretty much excelled in music & leadership. Upon graduation, Alfonso (aka: El Tacho) Kennard, one of my buddies also from Sunset Heights & I were awarded music scholarships to Western New Mexico in Silver City. Obviously, I didn’t take it. Tacho went on to the College of Mines, now UTEP. Per usual in high school, I dated. One of the times I went to this girl’s house in my car to go on a date. When she got in the car, smoke started to come out from under the dash. Two wires had stuck together, causing a short, thus the smoke. It was very embarrassing as this was my first date & I was trying to make a good impression. That killed our plans to go to the movies that night.

A Life’s Journey: Memories for My Sons30Dad’s StoryAnother time, there was a beautiful girl that moved from California (temporarily,) her name was Rosie Raygoza. I invited her to a dance which was at la Cate’s rooftop. While getting up to dance, I accidently stepped on the inner heel part of her sandal which broke the sandal strap, so I was in deep doo doo with her. Needless to say, we didn’t do much dancing after that. Don’t get me wrong, I had a lot of successful dates, but as always, one seems to vividly remember the embarrassing moments in life, at least I do. A bunch of us used to “hang out” to smoke cigarettes (I didn’t smoke, but did hang out) after lunch on the side of some steps going into the school, which pretty much concealed you from others. There was this guy, named Amado (aka: El Tamal, like tamales). He was a pretty big boy who lived outside of the Sunset area. He was big, dark & kind of fat & his English was pretty bad. At the time, Clell R. Smith was the school principal. Anyway, one of the times we were hanging out & smoking, we heard a voice from the other side of the stairs, “Orite boyz, estop dat esmokin in de eschool grounds!” Then the voice again said, “Se escamarone eh? Pensaron que era el Mr. Esmit!” It was hilarious! Something I’ll never forget! I tell this story many times over. Here is this big, dark, fat-accented Mexican trying to scare us by trying to imitate Mr. Esmit! I used to run into Tamal at the Y, from time to time. He became a big rig truck driver and would work out lifting weights, so he was a pretty big strong guy. The first time I saw him at the Y, I said “ese Tamal” com estas? He replied, “ya no me llamo Tamal, mi nombre es Amado.” So from then on, I was quite respectful of “Amado!” All for now, Enjoy! Love you all, God Bless!

Part VI: Early Career31Part V left off w/ my running into El “Tamal” in the showers at the YMCA. Prior to that, during high school, we used to hang out at a little bitty store at the corner of Main & Porfirio Diaz, owned by “El Baba,” who was Pablo Dow’s father, aka “El Bulos.” I don’t recall the name of the store, but he also owned a little store on South El Paso Street. There were a total of 9 kids in the Dow family, one became Dr. Anthony Dow who operated on Mom & removed her breast which had cancer. He was one of the best surgeons in El Paso & did a good job on Mom as he got it all, the cancer. Bulos & I were the best of friends. Up from the store were 3 garages that butted the alley and El Baba had a car, a Terraplane, that was the make of the car, who made it I don’t know. At night Bulos would get the key to the car & the garage door. We would push the car out of the garage and coast it down Porfirio Diaz to Main St., then start it and all of the guys would pile in and go joy riding. Jaime Jeffers, Manny (Aggie) Aguilar, Art Loustanou, Robert Martinez, aka, “El Dopey,” Bulos & myself. We’d just go cruising all over. When we were done, one of the guys would walk from a couple of blocks up from the garage, would open the doors & we’d coast the car down into the garage. We were pretty smooth! I don’t remember if at this point I had bought my car or gotten rid of it. I graduated from High School in May 1951; I had just turned 17 on March 16, so I pretty well “flew” through high school. Even though I took the easy courses, I still had to take Algebra, English & all the mandatory courses. I started to July 28, 2010 Part VI: Early Career

A Life’s Journey: Memories for My Sons32Dad’s Storylook for work. I applied at then Popular Dry Goods Co., which was like Macy’s is now, but locally owned. They offered me a job as a Jr. wrapper. I asked what was the chances for advancement, they said “Sr. wrapper.” What a challenge & great opportunity, huh? I forgot what the pay was, but I said (to myself) thanks, but no thanks. When I was working w/ my Dad, I used to go with him to the Caples building when he would go buy photographic materials, both for Thirman Studio & for his little studio & darkroom at home, from W. D. & Margaret Patterson. They had a little “warehouse” in one of the offices I think it was on the 7th floor. At the time I also used to have a small camera of my own. I would buy a package of 12 rolls of film, “wholesale,” for my camera. That’s when & where I met the Pattersons. They also had a concession, where they had photographers with them, special long roll film cameras, where the photographers they hired would stand outside of the Caples building & take pictures of people that were walking by. They would hand them a “ticket,” which said, “your picture has been taken, you can see a proof of yourself under no obligation and can order pictures,” etc., something along those lines. In the lobby of the Caples building, they had a little stand where they had the “proofs” for people to look at & buy if they wanted. They were a real hard working couple. Out of high school, looking for a job, there was a job ad in the paper from Patterson Photo Supply, which by then was located at 113 E. Main, across from the alligator park in downtown El Paso. Railroad tracks were still located on Main Street, which were still in use by trains. I went and spoke to Margaret, who did the interview. The interview consisted of how to spell Albuquerque. Of course, I didn’t know how to spell it (even

Part VI: Early Career33though I competed in the Spelling Bee almost every year at Vilas School, but never won.) Guess what? I was hired on the spot! The reason, of course, was that they knew my Dad very well. He was very well respected. They knew that I had worked for Morris Thirman, etc. I started working as a gopher & in shipping & receiving. Their place of business was under an old hotel & a movie theatre. The theatre was the Crawford Theatre, where they always showed “double features.” For the life of my I can’t remember the name of the hotel, but it will come to me. The shipping, receiving & stockroom at Patterson Photo Supply was in the basement below the store. You could access it from a dead- end alley or from inside the store. Shipping & receiving was done through the door to the alley. To the left of the alley as you faced Patterson Photo Supply was El Paso Trunk & Luggage, owned by Hipolito Vasquez, a real nice gentleman & next to it, Coney Island, 10 cent Hot Dog with chili beans & cabbage, man they were good! They used to steam the bread, so it was nice & soggy! On the Corner was the Barrel House, one of a chain of bars. Back to the basement. Since it was a very old hotel, the plumbing was pretty bad, and quite a few times, a pipe would break or the drains would clog, and the basement would flood. Many times you’d have to doge the “floaters” from the sewer. We had to keep the stock of photo supplies a foot or so off the ground so it wouldn’t get damaged when flooding happened. When things were slow, I would go upstairs & familiarize myself w/ the cameras for sale. Pretty soon, I was waiting on customers and selling cameras as well. There was a guy woking in the store, Bert Saldana, a nice guy. He worked part time as he was going to then, College of

A Life’s Journey: Memories for My Sons34Dad’s StoryMines. He working on an electrical engineering degree. He didn’t take his job too serious. Of course, I put my heart into it (like I told Bobo to put his heart into his job as usher at a theatre when he got the job, told him he could go up the ladder to high places (manager) by putting all he had into it. I think he was disappointed after a few weeks, seeing he wasn’t going anywhere! I don’t know if he’s ever forgiven me!) Anyway, pretty soon, I was running circles, outselling Bert. Customers were coming looking for me instead of him, even though he was much older & had been there for a long time. A couple of weeks after working, I was given keys to the store. Man, was I going places! 17-year- old kid, trusted w/keys to the store! I didn’t disappoint them. I would come in on weekends, would rent a polisher and would mop & wax the floors, dust the shelves & cameras & photo items. The place was always full of dust because of the trains. This, of course, impressed the Patterson’s, although Pat was kind of an eccentric, egotistic person & hardly ever acknowledged my extra efforts. I knew though that he appreciated it. A few months later he sent me out to call on the motels around town to try & set up film dispenser racks on consignment. There were only a couple of takers. I didn’t realize it at the time that he was “grooming” me for outside sales. A couple of years later, he took me to a photographer’s convention in Albuquerque, NM, at the Franciscan Hotel. I set up our display & Pat introduced me to the photographers present & told them that I would be his outside salesman & would be calling on them, WOW! A 19 or 20-year-old kid, a traveling salesman! I took the opportunity quite serious and again, put my heart into this job.

Part VI: Early Career35We had a customer, C. E. Redman, a photographer, a real nice old grouch guy. He was one of our better customers. He did commercial photography, very little studio or portrait work. (Since I worked in shipping, I knew all the customers by name. I knew what & how much they bought) One of the times I called on him, he was complaining that one of his photographers didn’t show up & he had quite a few appointments at the same time. I told him that I had been a photographer in school and would be happy to go out & cover what needed to be covered. He took me up on it. One of his clients was Galles Motor Co., a very prominent Albuquerque Family & car dealership. He sent me out to cover the assignment. I don’t recall exactly what it was (he sent me out on several assignments), but Mrs. Galles was there & I put on my best. Talk about a happy customer, Mr. Redman was thrilled to death. He told me he got a call from Mrs. Galles and told Mr. Redman to be sure & send that nice young photographer for all her future photographic needs! Was I a hit or was I a hit! A had Mr. C. E. Redman as a life customer from then on. All for now, more to follow! Love you all, God Bless!

A Life’s Journey: Memories for My Sons36Dad’s StoryI did quite well selling on the road, covering the towns I mentioned in part 8. This was my territory. Some of these towns were very small, and I would have only one account. They were very prejudiced in West Texas at the time (probably still are), so it was a little difficult at first getting accepted, but after a few calls, I overcame it. They still had signs on some of the restaurant doors, “whites only.” This was not necessarily for Mex., but for then, “blacks,” but Mex’s as well. I used to call on L. A. Shugart, in Levelland, Texas. He was our best customer & the only one in Levelland. On one of my calls with Mr. Shugart, my “88” Oldsmobile convertible had to go into the shop for a minor repair. I went into a restaurant next to the shop for breakfast. There weren’t that many customers in the restaurant, but it took a heck of a long time for the waitress to wait on me. Finally, after a long wait, she kind of “slid” a glass of water to me, & not in the friendliest way, took my order. It was quite obvious that I wasn’t that welcome. Of course, I was dressed in coat & tie, so I guess after seeing me eat & my good manners (eating manners just like Ruben,) yuk, yuk! she seemed to get friendlier. I had to go back for lunch as my car wasn’t ready. I was treated totally different. I think that the reason they didn’t like Mexicans at the time was because this was the time of the “bracero” program, migrant farm workers working the fields. Unfortunately, the braceros, being humble & uneducated farm workers, living in squalid conditions, gave a bad image to anyone of Mexican descent. November 1, 2013 Part VII: Life on the Road

Part VII: Life on the Road37When calling on the Shugat’s, I usually spent a day or two with them as I never wanted to “push” them into giving me an order. But after spending a little time with them, Mr. Shugart would give me a nice order for film, paper, chemistry & from time to time, Photogenic Strobe lights & Beattie Portronic Cameras that his traveling “photo crews” used taking pictures of kids at variety stores throughout the southwest & New Mexico. His lab was in Levelland. At some point as his business grew, he needed a processor to develop his long roll film that the Beattie Portonic Cameras took, so we sold him a Pako Cine Film processor. I don’t recall the price, but it had to have been somewhere around $15,000 to $20,000, for which he paid cash. Our Joe Felix, who worked with me at the time & did the installation as he was our factory-trained technician. Another time, I had the Taprell Loomis rep (manufacturers of photo folders) with me, as Mr. Shugart needed to buy folders for his pictures. We got an order for 1 million folders that he would be drawing against during the course of a year. How bout’ that, was I a super salesman or what?? Pretty soon he got so big that Eastman Kodak opened him up as a dealer where he could buy direct, bypassing us for his film, photo paper & chemistry purchases. As I mentioned before, Pat Patterson was quite an eccentric individual. He would tell me from time to time that someday he was going to take off & never come back, that the business would then be mine, which I figured was all talk. He would tell me stories like when he & his wife Margaret would go to conventions & be in an elevator. You all know how quite it is in a crowded elevator with everybody looking at the

A Life’s Journey: Memories for My Sons38Dad’s Storyelevator numbers, that he would say quietly, but loud enough for everyone to hear, “Honey, are you sure it’s OK to leave the baby in the bathtub all by himself?” So, you can just imagine how that would go over! He was a real character! Margaret, of course, was his backbone. He did the traveling/ selling & she minded the store & took care of the orders that he & I would take on the road. One time, he asked me to come into his office as he wanted to talk to me. He asked me, “What did I think about how he was such a successful businessman & has a successful business,” or something along those lines. Since I was always upfront with him & got along fine, I told him that if it wasn’t for Margaret doing all or most of the work, he wouldn’t be where he was at. He thought for a few minutes & came back, “Why don’t you give me the credit for marrying her & letting her do the work for me!” He always, always, had the last word! Margaret, his wife, was an alcoholic, but covered it quite well. When I first started working for them, the railroad tracks were where Main Street is now, north of the plaza alligator park that faced the old original Coney Island. There were benches at the park. One time Margaret was dead drunk, passed out, laying in one of the park benches. Someone came to the store & told me about it. I had to go pick her up & take her to her house at 3000 Piedmont in Kern Place. Another time, Margaret called me from her house & asked me if I had any money. I told her I did. So she asked to please buy her a bottle of whiskey & take it to her. I called one of my older buddies & had him buy it & I took it to her. Later on Pat was all pissed off, saying “Damn it, I took all the bottles she had hidden at home & didn’t know where she had gotten the liquor as

Part VII: Life on the Road39she was smashed! Obviously, I kept my mouth shut, as I had to walk the middle road with both of them. So it was quite an education working for both of them. Both were very good to me & I of course reciprocated with doing the best job that I could for them. All for now, the saga continues! Enjoy! Love you all, God Bless!

A Life’s Journey: Memories for My Sons40Dad’s StoryThese stories represent just a portion of the memories and experiences that shaped a life lived with purpose, hard work, and love for family. Through these pages, we see not just one man’s journey, but a reflection of an era, a community, and the values that bind generations together. The lessons learned in the arroyos of El Paso, the darkrooms of photography studios, and the roads traveled as a salesman all contributed to the man who wrote these words for his sons. In sharing these memories, he fulfilled his wish to give his children what he never had from his own father - a window into the experiences that shaped him. From the mischievous adventures with brothers Oscar and Ruben, to the entrepreneurial spirit that emerged in high school, to the profes- sional relationships that defined his early career, these stories paint a vivid picture of growing up in the American Southwest during the 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s. The detailed recollections of family traditions, neighborhood characters, and the close-knit community of Sunset Heights in El Paso provide valuable insights into a simpler time when children played freely in arroyos and canals, when a penny could buy a week’s worth of candy, and when hard work and determination were the keys to success. May these stories continue to inspire and connect families for generations to come, serving as a bridge between past and present, and reminding us of the importance of preserving our family histories. With love and respect for the storyteller and his family. Epilogue

Epilogue41

A Life’s Journey: Memories for My Sons42Dad’s StoryThis memoir was compiled from a series of letters written by Art Moreno to his sons between 2009 and 2013. The stories chronicle his childhood and early career in El Paso, Texas, offering a vivid portrait of life in the American Southwest during the Depression era and the post-World War II boom years. Art Moreno was born in 1934 in El Paso, Texas, the youngest of three brothers. His father was a photographer, night watchman, and former jeweler who had emigrated from Durango, Mexico. His mother’s family, including the beloved “Welita” (grandmother Guadalupe), were integral parts of the close-knit Mexican-American community in the Sunset Heights neighborhood. These personal recollections provide valuable insights into family life, community relationships, and the entrepreneurial spirit that characterized this era. They also document the experiences of a Mexican-American family navigating the social and economic landscapes of mid-20th century Texas, including the challenges of prejudice and the opportunities created by hard work and determination. The memoir captures not only personal family history but also serves as a social document of its time, describing everything from childhood games and neighborhood dynamics to early business practices and the photography industry of the 1940s and 1950s. The original letters were written with warmth, humor, and deep affection for family, intended to give Art’s sons the family history that he himself had never received from his own father. This compilation preserves those stories for future generations, ensuring that the lessons, laughter, and love contained within these pages will continue to connect family members across time. Originally written as individual letters between 2009-2013 Compiled into this single volume in 2025 About This Collection

A Life’s Journey: Memories for My Sons44Dad’s Story