Stories about my dad

 Jacob, you asked me to tell you stories about my dad, Orlando Arthur Rivera. He told me these stories, and I’m telling you the way I remember them. I do regret not recording or writing down when he told us these stories. So these stories are as accurate as I remember them, but there may someone reading these someday that can improve on them or correct them, and I would really welcome that.

For some reason dad would mostly tell these stories when we would go visit his home town in southern Colorado. He was born in a tiny town called La Jara. La Jara is also where his grandma, Ana Frenena Salazar lived in a little pink adobe house. La Jara is right in the middle of the San Luis Valley on the eastern slopes of the Rockies. He also lived with his uncle on a ranch in an even tinier town called Mogote, and on and off in Alamosa, which is a town maybe the size of Logan in Utah, which has a college that dad attended, Adam’s State.

Remember the article I sent you called Antonio’s Book? The setting there is really important to understand my dad’s story and circumstances. If you remember that story was set when Mormon pioneers were sent by Brigham Young to colonize Colorado in an area that was still Mexico? If find deep irony when people are anti-immigrant because they are afraid that they will be overrun or taken over, since that what the white peoples did to the Mexicans and native Americans for centuries. Anyway, the ranchers were Mexican (if I refer to them as Spanish or Spaniard it’s the same, because as I understand it, those folks descended mostly from Spain) and were aware that the Mormons (I won’t call them white because the Hispanic ranchers were also white) were looking to colonize and the ranchers didn’t want to be colonized or displaced. 

Two generations later, with the Mormons more established, there was still strong animosity between the two groups, they did not mix. Last year when we went to visit the area with my aunt Stella, who is my dad’s second cousin who married my mom’s brother, she told us that their family was not accepted by the Spanish families because of their religion and they were not popular with the Mormons because of their race. Plus, the family didn’t have much materially. 

My paternal grandmother was young and very beautiful, so much so that she was Miss Colorado 1927. She left me the diamond ring she won for that and mom wears it to this day. Being popular and attractive she got attention from the eligible young men in the area. One very handsome young man, Federico Rivera and her became very close and fell in love. But the differences in their backgrounds made it eventually impossible for the relationship to continue and Federico’s father forbade them from marrying. A result of their relationship was my dad, who as a result was without a father, in the traditional sense. It’s my understanding that my grandmother never got over the heartbreak of that forbidden marriage. It’s also my understanding that Federico was also heartbroken. While he wasn’t a fixture in my dad’s life, my dad knew him and received some support from him. The same prejudice that stifled the marriage also limited the relationship between my dad and his father. It always made me sad to think about that so much happiness was smothered because of bigotry. My dad really had a tough time because of it. It was equally hard on his mom.

On the other hand, my dad’s family was pretty strong. While his mom struggled to care for him, his uncle, Amos Abeyta, became his father figure. And what a strong example he was on how to work, how to be independent, how to be strong, how to have character, and mostly, how to be a man. Dad moved around between his uncle’s ranch, where from a super young age, he worked very hard. To his mom’s house in Alamosa, do his grandma’s house in La Jara.

I’m not sure why my dad wasn’t baptized when he was eight, I was always under the impression that my grandma and his uncle weren’t super active in the church at that time, but I really don’t know if that’s true. I also have the idea that his grandma was, that is mostly because of his conversion story that he told me that I’ll tell you again a little later.

I remember a few stories my dad told me from when he was really little. One was when he was four years old. He was at his uncles ranch quite a ways away from the house, for a four year old anyway. I think he was raised pretty free range because I’m not sure there were any adults right there with him. As a sheep rancher, animals were part of life. Along with the sheep they had goats. One day one of the billies started to ram him, horns and all. To you, a billy is about the size of a medium dog. To a four year old, it would basically be a bull. My dad told me that the goat would ram him and knock him off of his feet and knocked the wind out of him. Every time he would get up and run to the house the goat would ram him again. I guess this pattern repeated until he got close enough to the house for his aunt to hear him and come and rescue him. He said he was bruised and in bed for days after that. I can’t imagine how traumatic that must have been to have left such a strong memory from that age.

Another story he told me about was from when he was ten years old. He had a cousin his age, Charles Garcia. During the summer they would herd sheep in the pasture just on the other side of the Animas river from his uncle’s house. They would set up camp with a tent and cans of food, and they’d be on their own for a week. There was comfort in the fact that they could see the ranch house from their camp, but the crazy thing was that the bridge to cross the river was 10 miles downstream, so it was a 20 mile trip if there was an emergency. Dad said that his uncle would come by every Saturday morning, take them home for a bath and some of his aunt Beatrice’s delicious home cooking, take them to town to see a movie, resupply them, then drop them back off Saturday night. Dad said Saturday mornings were the happiest times ever and Saturday nights the loneliest times ever. He said that nothing bad ever happened, but the did hear and see signs of wolves more than once. 

Another story he told me was about the night they heard La Llorona. You know that story right? The legend has it that an Aztec Princess lost her husband to the conquistadors, her grief was so bad that she drowned her children and herself. From then on people would hear her screaming and crying at night wearing a white dress looking for children. Across from the ranch house, on the opposite side from the river, there was a tall mesa, over 500 feet I would guess. They were watching the herd on that side one cloudy and moonless night. In that area, the homes are far apart, really far, so on nights like that, it is so so dark. They were a couple of miles from the house when they could hear a woman’s cries, they were bone chilling cries. Dad said they ran all the way back to the house in the pitch dark without stopping. When they got there, his uncle told him of all the times he had heard La Llarona and all these stories about kids gone missing from the area over the years. I imagine that uncle Amos was just pulling my dad’s leg, but dad believed every bit of it back then. We’ll go for another visit there when you get home, maybe even see if we can camp by the river, it’s one of the most beautiful places in the world, but at night it’s so easy to see how spooky it could be.

I wish I knew more about my dad when he was a kid, I know he did all sorts of hard labor jobs with all of that work on the ranch, and in an agricultural area. He even knew how to ride and handle horses. One big crop in that area was potatoes. There was a railroad that went through the valley and one of the jobs was to load big sacks of potatoes into rail cars by hand. I know that after high school he went to the small college in Alamosa, Adam’s State. He was on the football team there and was named Snow King for the big winter formal dance. From those pictures, my dad was super handsome. You have some resemblance to my dad In those pictures. If you get your height from mom’s side (of which I am dubious) you get your good looks from him. 

It was about that time that he started to notice how involved in religion his buddies were. There’s a Catholic Church right by Adams state. He told me he used to wait on the steps outside for his buddies when they’d go to mass on Saturdays. That’s when he started wondering about his own faith. Like I said earlier, I’m not sure how involved my grandmother or my great uncle were in the church. I do know that my grandma was active in the church by the time I came along. And my great uncle was buried in his temple clothing and asked my mom to do the temple work for my great aunt Beatrice. Whatever the situation, my dad sought out his grandma, who was always a devoted member. She told him it was time for him to get baptized, he was exactly your age then, 19. She took him to see the Stake President, and while I don’t know everything that was involved, he got baptized. There’s an old tabernacle in a town near La Jara called Manassa. Manassa is where the Mormon pioneers settled and remains mostly LDS today. It’s also the birthplace of the Manassa Mauler, heavyweight boxing champion of the world, Jack Dempsey was from. Anyway, dad was baptized in that old church. I doubt that dad met with the missionaries or had any form of investigator lessons. Being 19 during wartime (the Korean conflict) dad was eligible to be drafted, it was probable that he would be. So when the Stake President told dad that he should submit his mission application, dad didn’t think too much of it. When his Stake President told my dad that he could get him a deferral from the draft for his mission, dad started to plan. A little time went by and the deferral never happened, so dad kinda figured he’d go into the service after all. As I remember it, the Stake President ended up getting the deferral approved and dad was called on his mission. So it was a little stop-and-go for a while.

I love how dad described his experiences starting his mission. Before he knew it he was on a train bound for Salt Lake City. When he got of the train he had to ask directions to the mission home, which was near temple square. Apparently he had to walk. He was ordained an elder when he got there. I’m sure they gave very little in the way of training. I think he was there for only a handful of days before he was on his way to Mexico. 

In those days, Mexico was all one mission, can you imagine? He gets there and the APs ask for his line of priesthood authority. He had no idea of what the were talking about. He did show them the documents that he received in Utah. When they were impressed that he had been ordained by an apostle, Mark E. Petersen, and asked what he was like. Dad’s reply was, “who’s that?” That’s why dad described himself as the mission’s best investigator for the first six months of his mission. I don’t know too much about his mission. He used to say that he was always out in the boonies, kinda like your last area. My mom and all of her brothers served in that same mission. My dad overlapped with my mom, but they never met. She did recall seeing his picture in the mission office and thinking he was handsome. My dad was a bit of a legend in the mission for being hard working and serious. My dad was comps with my uncle, my moms brother Arturo Martinez. He was also comps with the brother of the future president of the Mexico City temple who would later call my dad to be his councilor. 

When dad came home from his mission he made his way to Salt Lake City to meet my mom. My uncle had invited him, and he didn’t waste much time. He went to my grandparents home straight from the train station. He visited with my grandparents and uncle while the waited for my mom to get home…from a date (I hope to some day be as bold as my dad). While they were visiting my dad made a very positive impression on my grandmother (sound familiar?), but my grandpa thought he was a little stuck up (my mom used a Spanish word for that that’s not as harsh, but I can’t remember that term). Well, that night my mom and her date and her friends had gone to Saltair for a dance. Coincidentally, the guy mom was with, the redhead as she referred to him, had also been one of your grandpa’s mission companions. They got home at two in the morning because a girl they had gone with lost her purse and they looked for it until the last train left. You can imagine the greeting dad got from his red headed former companion. But he did received an encouraging welcome from my mom. 

Mom and dad had a longer courtship, because dad did get drafted after he got home and served two years overseas in the army as a radio operator. Luckily, my dad was assigned to Germany rather than Korea to replace the troops that had been in Germany that had to go to Korea. Dad got to see a lot of Europe while he was there. While dad was serving in the army, mom was working, saving up for their marriage. They were married in 1957, my brother Arturo was born in 1958, my sister Patricia was born in 1960, I was born in 1966, and my sister Selena was born in 1972. During that time dad graduated in psychology and earned his phd. In educational psychology. During that time he worked in rehabilitation, as a university professor, and became the Associate Vice President of Academic affairs at the University of Utah.

Later in life he and my mom served a mission in the Salt Lake inner city mission and as a councilor in the Mexico City temple.

Jacob, there’s so much more I can tell you about my dad. I am so grateful for him. My proudest moments in life were times when I knew he was proud of me. He sealed your mom and I in the temple for our marriage and he ordained me to every office of the priesthood. We spent lots of time in the outdoors fishing and having adventures. There are times almost daily when I wish I could just talk to him.

I’ll do one of these for your grandma Irene, who I genuinely wished you boys knew better. I’d also like to write on about my brother, who had an equal influence on me almost to my parents.

Love you kid,

Pops