Salas

Tolley

As I begin to rewrite this tribute very early this crisp, cool morning, I think of my father, Eugenio Gamboa Salas. Not only do I think about my father, but also I think of my father-in-law, Henry Blair Tolley. Both are deceased now, but the memories of them live on.

My father, affectionately named “Popem” by one of his grandchildren, passed away right around Thanksgiving in November 1984. Very often as I sit in front of my computer reminiscing about our Dad, I recall old pictures of him that I have often viewed. His deceased sister, Concha Salas, had previously given us some pictures of my Dad as a young man, a soldier in the Army. I also recall an old photo of him sitting very close to the top of an old wooden windmill in west Texas. Then there is another picture of him standing proudly in front of a barbecue pit made of brick that he had built at our childhood home in San Antonio, Texas. It is hard to believe that it’s been 40 years since his death. Somehow there are people in our lives that impress us, and my Dad was absolutely one of them!

My father had various jobs in his career; first as a young man, then as a father and later as a senior citizen. Hah, and now as I write this article about him, I am a senior citizen myself! How is it that time passes so quickly as a person ages. One task that awaits me is going through several boxes of photos and retrieve precious memories, not only of my Dad, but of various family members. Nowadays, most people do not possess photos needing sorting and placed in photo albums because cameras are no longer used; digital images taken on a smart phone or tablet have taken their place. My, how times have changed!

Why write this tribute to my Dad and to my father-in-law? Realistically it is to recognize that often fathers have had a very influential role not only in their children’s lives, grandchildren’s lives and they in turn have a great influence on others that they meet in their lives!

Our Dad, who all of us later in life, called “Popem” was officially named Eugenio Gamboa Salas and was born on September 3, 1911, in a very tiny west Texas town of San Vicente. Previously, that small village was a part of Texas, but the Rio Grande changed course and San Vicente became a part of Mexico. I have a copy of an old card indicating that my Dad’s nationality was Mexican, but his birth certificate indicates otherwise! What might have Dad done to finagle that card, there’s no telling! Dad was one of 11 children in his family and he, unfortunately, only went to the 3rd grade due to his mother’s early death. Since there were many siblings in his immediate family, Dad, being one of the older siblings, was entrusted with providing for his younger brothers and sisters and subsequently, as he grew older, entered the job market at a very young age. From my recollection from oral accounts that he shared with us as we were growing up, he worked as a ranch hand in west Texas doing whatever needed to be done on ranches and worked as a sheep shearer. Upon his death and going through his belongs, I came across a worn out, rusty sheep shearing tool and just imagined what work he performed so long ago! Memories of my dad’s sheep shearing days long ago are triggered by the shorn sheep located on a farmer’s adjacent fields where I currently live outside of Beverly, West Virginia! Just recently, as I tilled and worked the beds in my garden, the sheep peer at me occasionally and often just dismiss me as they munch on the grass. When my siblings and I were young growing up in San Antonio, I vividly recall a fenced-in field across from our childhood home containing many sheep and rams. Our Dad kept a well-trimmed lawn, so when he had finished mowing our small city lot, we begged him to let us give the grass to the animals. What delight we took in “feeding” these sheep and rams our meager grass clippings! Now, I think that maybe in my Dad’s mind, he recalled vivid remembrances of by-gone days of sheep shearing. Who knows?

On Facebook recently, a posting by a friend asked the question, “What one word reminds you of your Dad?” Well, it was difficult to choose only one word, but one of the words that came to mind was barbecue! Living in south Texas that word was synonymous with breathing! Dad, our dad, purchased bricks and built a family barbecue pit without any know-how or guidebook, Not only that, but it also still stands in the backyard of the house where we grew up in the South San Antonio, Texas. How grand the pit was, and all made by our Dad! He was not a mason but was an outright handyman and creator of man practical things and one of his fine accomplishments was that barbecue pit! Memories of succulent ribs, sausages, barbecued chickens, occasional ears of corn, hamburger patties as well as hot dogs, brought memories of backyard barbecues long ago with family and friends. What a treat that was for us! I still recall a photo of our father smiling proudly holding a hatchet that he used for cutting up Texas mesquite wood for the barbecue pit. Now, to this day whenever I hear the word barbecue, so many grand memories come to mind! When a local Elkins business opened that featured Texas barbecue and I saw the Texas flag and tasted their delicious barbecue, so many memories of days gone by flooded my mind. Another photo that I enjoyed seeing was that of our Dad in his handsome Army uniform most likely taken in the 1930s or 1940s. As I gazed at his photo, I visualized a calmness about him. This mere photo served as an inspiration to pursue and to accomplish many things. Although our father only completed the 3rd grade and was not afforded an elementary, high school or a college education, he always worked hard and did his best in whatever he did! He was one of the most intelligent people I knew and was a problem solver to the max! My sister in San Antonio reminisced the other day about his memorable statement to us as children, “If you do something, do it in the best way possible or don’t do it at all!”

Recently,while I was hanging up clothes outside on the clothesline and taking advantage of the soft, gentle breezes that West Virginia provides, I thought of the times when I used to put on my Dad’s long-sleeved shirt so many years ago. In the south Texas heat, it was a necessity to wear protective coverings while hanging up the wash! The process of rolling up the sleeves to accommodate my short arms and clipping the clothespins all along the edge of Dad’s long, protective shirt brought much joy to a mundane task. What a sight I must have been with clothespins dangling from the bottom of Dad’s long shirt. It was of no concern to me, because wearing one of his shirts, brought a sense of comfort. Here in West Virginia, it’s not necessary to wear protective coverings as much because the heat is not as intense. As I hung out clothes just the other day, I did not need any protective clothing because, frankly, the West Virginia sun does not burn and tan a person’s body so readily. Not only that but the gentle breezes provide such pleasant “outside natural airconditioning!”

After bringing boxes of photos from San Antonio, South Lake Tahoe, to Elkins and then to Beverly, WV, I recalle one photo of my Dad dressed smartly in his Army uniform, most likely taken in the 1930s or 1940s. As I gazed at his photo, I visualized a calmness about him and doing his best was truly exhibited while he was in the Army during World War II. He was assigned a medic position and carried wounded soldiers to safety. Because of his heroic actions he was awarded the Purple Heart as well as the Silver Star medals. He had been wounded in action on his leg, survived, but never spoke about his getting injured to us as children. He was a brave man indeed and did his “best” and when I think of him, I have so much pride in who my Dad was!

Another memory was triggered by a photo I found of him sitting atop a wooden windmill in west Texas. The story was retold to us by his youngest living sister at the time. Dad, being only one of three male siblings, was surrounded by eight sisters! Somehow, our Dad, as a young child, got hold of one of his older sister’s love letters and with letter in tow, climbed to the top of the windmill and pretended to read it! Most likely, Dad was so young that he couldn’t even read at the time! What words must have been shouted by his sister to get him to come down from the windmill and return her stolen love letter. Without a doubt, this story told by our Dad to us and repeated by his younger sister, brought us much laughter and a fond memory. Have you ever retold some story of your youth to your own children or heard about some antic that made you laugh?

After being discharged from the Army, Dad worked at Ft. Sam Houston Army Base as a dishwasher. He stayed there for several years and then set out to find another position as then he was a young father. Afterwards, he secured a job as an aircraft mechanic at Kelly Air Force Base in San Antonio. He would tell us that very often replacement parts couldn’t be obtained from any distributor for those large airplanes, so, he hammered out and devised parts to fit and make the planes operable. How ingenious and creative of him! How often do we, when something breaks, discard the item instead of trying to fix it! Should we return to olden days when if something breaks and we don’t have the means of purchasing another, figure out some way to make it work? Maybe repairing an item isn’t so bad after all and using good old-fashioned ingenuity! Think back, have you ever taken apart some in-operable machine or item and fixed it? In my younger years, I did! Sometimes, the effort was rewarded with an operable machine and sometimes it was just a “bust!”

As I drive around Elkins, I’ve noticed that many houses have vinyl siding to make them look fashionable and appealing. This was not the case while growing up in hot, and occasionally humid south Texas. After a specified number of years, houses had to be repainted due to blistered, peeling paint caused by extreme hot temperatures. So, many times the arduous procedure of scraping the house was begun! Dad gave me some basic instructions which included an infamous wire brush and a wood-handled craper with sharp curved blades. It was amazing what those little implements could do! Occasionally, out came coarse sheets of sandpaper that enabled us to continue the project. I had no idea why my brother and sisters didn’t like scraping the house and participating in the subsequent painting! I loved being around my dad and “helping” him as he was always patient with me and showed me how he wanted the project done. Being with him and being his assistant was such a joy to me and it didn’t matter that both of us were sweltering in the south Texas heat, but the job got done! Maybe I was more of a hindrance than a helper, but I never knew! I recall so vividly when Dad decided to put in a patio in our backyard. He didn’t own a truck, so slowly, load after load of chipped landscaping bricks were hauled to our backyard. Dad intricately and patiently chipped away at the less costly bricks into a fashionable and colorful work of art! The resulting product was used many times for backyard gatherings for family and friends. Years passed but the patio remains.

The first car that I ever owned was a Chevy Malibu. I just remember that it was purchased after a full-time job as an elementary teacher was secured. My car was two-tone, white on the top and a Kelly-green lower portion. One of the first things that my dad did was show me how to fix a tire, although the tire on my car wasn’t flat at all! That fact didn’t make a difference to Dad one bit! While my brand new car was parked in our driveway, I questioned about what was going to happen! Not only did Dad tell me about the specific steps regarding the art of changing a flat tire, but manual labor was involved! I never realized that there were certain steps to follow and that these steps had to be done in a specific order! The process involved: locating the spare tire, finding the jack, properly placing said jack on the proper location underneath the car’s bumper, using the other side of the handle to loosen the lug nuts before jacking up the tire, and removing the lug nuts and placing them in the hubcap so those items would not be lost! Whew! Talk about a multi-step process! Another very important item that was needed was a shovel! A shovel, you may ask, what on earth for? There was no way that this scrawny 20-year-old car owner would be able to lift a heavy tire off a vehicle, but I did it with the help of my assistant shovel! Dad completed his instruction by having me put the “donut” securely on the car, repeat the process and then return the original tire to its proper place! What a task that was, but then I realized with the proud ownership of a brand-new car, definitely came other responsibilities. That day still remains so memorable to me!

I rarely see baseball games anymore but when I hear someone talk about one,my ears perk up and memories of my dad come to mind. Years ago as a child, both Dad and I would sit in front of our black and white TV that only had 3 or 4 stations on it at the time and watch a baseball game. Several words became very familiar to me such as: bunting, triple-play, stealing a base, homerun, fly ball, walk, out, three strikes and others. I became very familiar with the song “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.”

Often my elderly cousin, Catalina, who lives in San Antonio, calls to check on me. One day I spoke with her, and she told me that she was watching an old Western show on her TV. Just then a memory came to me of my Dad and I watching old westerns and war movies. We’d sit in our living room, and I sometimes would imagine that he may be thinking of the many times when he was in war-torn France, Italy or northern Africa during World War II. It was quite extraordinary that our Dad was appointed as a medic in spite of his not having completed grade school, high school or college. As we sat and watched the bombings and the soldiers being affected by the war, it was a quiet time for both of us as we took in all the action in those movies. How strange it seemed to me that my Dad had been an active participant in the war and I was an observer of something that was so foreign to me. One thing that I learned from sitting with my Dad in those moments, was sometimes it is not such a bad thing to just sit, watch and be there for someone! He probably saw some powerful and tragic scenes during World War II, but we never heard stories about those happenings. I would see him reading the paper, playing with his grandchildren, doing things dads and grandfathers do.

I can’t leave out my father-in-law, Henry Blair Tolley. I was lucky to know him as an adult after my husband, Timothy, introduced me to him upon our engagement. Henry Blair Tolley was born on a farm in Rockbridge County, Virginia. Upon the death of his own father, he dropped out of school after the 6th grade to run the farm. His older siblings had already left the farm to start their own lives and solely his younger brother remained in school. My father-in-law worked the farm for many years, using only horses and mules before eventually transitioning to a tractor. He went to enlist in the military for WW II, but was told by military officials that he was to continue farming instead. On the farm he raised various grains dairy cows and eventually mostly beef cows. He milked the cows, mostly Jersey and Guernsey, by hand, sold the milk, cream and butter to a local creamery in Lexington, Virginia. Eventually, he had to work off the farm at a local factory that produced carpets. He worked rotating shift work, one week at each of three shifts, until he retired. He continued farming all of his life even during those many years of working shift work a the carpet factory.

To the best of my husband’s knowledge, Blair Tolley left the state of Virginia only three times: to attend the World’s Fair in New York, to go on a family vacation to Florida and to attend the wedding of my husband and myself in Texas.

Blair Tolley was a man of great integrity which is something of great value when living in a small community where everyone knows everyone else! He had a great passion for gardening and of course, always planted by the signs based on “The Farmer’s Almanac.” His garden was several times larger than the entire area where we live presently in Beverly. He harvested bushels and bushels of potatoes, many sacks of corn, untold amounts of green beans, peas, squash, tomatoes, apples and the list goes on and on. For my husband as a child, it was work, but for his Dad, it was relaxation. All of those vegetables and fruit were frozen, canned or otherwise preserved.

Both Blair and his wife, Frances, were quite healthy all of their lives. Think about it, maybe eating all of those homegrown vegetables had a lot to do with it! At the age of 83, he had a death like we would all love to have. He made his breakfast that morning, washed and put away his dishes, laid down for a mid-morning nap and simply never woke up. We should all be so lucky.

Getting to know my father-in-law especially after my husband and I had our two sons, was a treat for me! Experiencing farm life in Lexington and just enjoying those fresh vegetables that took a lot of effort to produce, made me admire my father-in-law all the more. He did many things for our young sons and showed a lot of caring for them.

Kudos go out to all the fathers, grandfathers, stepfathers, foster parent fathers, women who are raising children on their own without a father, and anyone else who has taken on that very important role! Many father figures have taken time to share stories of their lives, shown their offspring how to repair or rebuild some item and most of all exhibited patience, love and caring towards their children. Unfortunately, there are some fathers who have not shown such a positive display towards their children. It is never too late! If you did not have that positive father figure in your life, there are many other “father figures” that you can unofficially adopt and make your own memories! May each one of you all have a peaceful, relaxing, and memory-filled 2024 Father’s Day!

If you are interested in the Elkins Writers’ Group, please email Cornelia Tolley at elkinswriters@gmail.com for further information. The group meets at Alexandria on Main Bookstore on the fourth Friday of each month at 5 p.m. If you love writing, telling tales and sharing your writing with others, please join in!