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Abe Peña's "From the Past" newspaper column

All material used with the kind permission of the author, given to me personally.

Published Thursday, October 14, 2010 5:59 PM MDT

"Mi Tia Sostena

"(Author’s Note: This is not to be confused with the story of Mi Tia Sostia which ran in the Beacon recently. Both were our nannies but they are two different ladies.)

Mi Tia Sostena is buried in front of La Morada in the village of San Mateo. She was an “hermana,” a sister, in La Hermandad de Nuestro Padre Jesus Nazareno, the Brotherhood of Jesus of Nazareth, also known as Penitentes.

We called her Tia, aunt. Although, to my knowledge, we were not related, still, she was very special. In our small village, we were one happy family. She sometimes took care of us when our mother and father went on trips. Our parents did not travel much, but, when they did, she was our granny. If, for some reason, she couldn’t stay with us, mi Tia Sostia took care of us. Both lived nearby.

Notice how I address both Sostena Trujillo and Sostia Baca as “Mi Tia.” In Hispanic village culture, we generally addressed both our uncles and aunts as “my aunt” so and so, “my uncle” so and so. We were fortunate to be raised by the village. Mi tia Sostena, born in 1875, had five children: Catarina, Blas, Lizardo, Elijio, and Celestino. Celestino, called “Cele,” maried Juanita “Jennie” Castillo while home on furlough from the army during the Second World War.

Jennie told me recently that mi tia Sostena was “a very kind mother-in-law.” She said, “When Cele and I got married in 1943, I lived with her when he left to go overseas,” sorrowfully adding, “she died of breast cancer in 1946, the year after the war ended.”

In 1945, I remember my mother asking if I would drive her and mi tia Sostena to Gallup to see a doctor. Mi Tia was in pain and I recall my pensive and concerned mother after the doctor gave her the results of the examination.

Mother, who called her Mi Comadre, told us later that the doctor said the cancer had progressed too far to do anything about it. The word cancer was coming into our vocabulary at that time. In those days, cancer was almost always terminal. Doctors had very few, if any, weapons to fight the disease. Chemotherapy and radiation were just beginning to come into use. She suffered a great deal and died quietly. Her greatest comfort was her large and caring family.

Jennie told me recently, “Your father Don Pablo and his sister Eufemia baptized my husband in 1916. When your father married your mom in 1922, your mother simply started calling her Comadre and quite naturally assumed the role of god-mother to my husband Cele.”

Don Lizardo Salazar, who married my grandmother Manuelita after my grandfather Abelicio Peña died of a massive brain hemorrhage, used to tell of the time about 1926 when they were lambing a herd of sheep at Canyon Largo. Tia Sostena was the cook cooking for about a dozen men. Sometime after lunch, they noticed some dust devils sprouting here and there and an occasional twister picking up dried thistles and hurling them in the air.

In the distance to the south, they noticed a funnel rising high into the sky and, although it was about six miles away, they could hear noise. Tia Sostena years later told us, “You could see the tornado cutting a wide swath several hundred feet wide, uprooting juniper and pinion trees on the face of the San Mateo mesa,” adding, “y el ruido got louder and louder as the tornado moved closer and closer to us.”

Mi Tio Abelicio says that Ismael Salazar, who later married Abelicio’s sister Leticia, was at the ranch house with Tia Sostena. Ismael was a young man, and, when he saw the tornado coming at them, wisely ran for cover in a small cellar behind the ranch house. I remember him years later saying, “Era un zumbido de los infiernos! It was a hellish roar!”

Tia Sostena saw it approach the windmill and, the next thing she knew, the tornado picked up the large 14-foot Aermoter windmill and its heavy pine tower and hurled them about 100 feet north toward the house. She said, “The roaring noise was deafening. I froze in place. Fortunately, the tornado missed the house as it passed by,” adding, “it’s been more than 15 years, but I can still hear the roar of that maldito viento when I close my eyes and think about it.”

In her family, Catarina was the oldest, and she married Bonifacio “Bone” Torres. They had two children, Juan and Felix (Feles).

Blas, her older son, was a large, imposing man. He was married to Ventura Montaño, and they had three children: Vivian, Eddie, and Veronica. He had a pool hall and a small store, and also owned and drove the bus when I started high school in Grants in 1940.

He purchased the truck and chassis, then build the box with an entrance from the rear. He built benches and windows along the side from front to back, and curved the exhaust pipe into the box and ran it down the center about a foot off the floor, where we warmed our feet and used it as a footrest. We withstood a lot of cold, but I cannot recall any complaints.

Lizardo, who was married to Flora “Florita” Velasquez, was a quiet man. He was soft-spoken and visited his mother frequently. They had seven children: Dulce, Dennis, Greg, Mike, Annie, David, and Frances. I remember him standing very straight. He had a medium complexion and black hair with long sideburns and a well-trimmed mustache.

The third son, Elijio, married Genoveva Barela. He had a pleasant disposition and a fine sense of humor. Doña Genoveva was a tall, energetic lady and was co-director of Los Pastores pageant when I was about 13 years old, and played the shepherd Aparrado. They had seven children: Frances, George, Eugene, Katherine, Diana, Rose, and Larry, who was killed in an auto accident.

George, married to Janie Cordova Trujillo, told me recently, “We have fond memories of my grandmother. As a child, I lived with her for several years. I recall when she danced Los Comanches... she was very light on her feet.”

Next to her grave at La Morada chapel rests Don Severo Gutierrez, and, recently, Ramon Salazar was buried there, also. They rest quietly in the watchful presence of three crosses overlooking the Morada and the graveyard in the historic canyon of San Mateo." .