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Having lived my life along Route 66, one sees many things that
occur as a result. Although my father's parents were from California, he
moved to Albuquerque where he was raised in "Martineztown."
You're probably wondering why he would make such a move to this
sleepy little town, but it was only because he met a beautiful young
lady working at a diner called Jay's Cafe and fell in love with her. My
dad dated this young lady and found that she lived in Santa Rosa, and
during the relationship visited her parents and fell in love with the
town. Then, having gone through the traditional courting process, my
father and his new bride moved here to raise a family.
My father (my namesake) in his early years worked on the route
with Skousen Construction Company, constructing the two bridges located
within our little community. One bridge spans the Pecos River, the other
spans El Rito (Little River) creek, and when the construction wound up
its stint in Santa Rosa my father opted to stay and raise his family.
The family grew to four within a year; my mother was pregnant with me
when my father's sister (who wasn't married) gave up her one-year old
daughter. My parents wouldn't have strangers adopt her, so when I was
born in the spring of 1958 I had an older sister to torment me.
My father was a great mechanic and having worked at one of two
Hedges gas stations owned and operated by my relatives he saw many a
movie star and worked on many a tour bus!
Living in a small town, one can achieve a level of independence
not possible in the cities. When my younger brother and I were four and
five years old we would walk to town and visit the stores. Home was
several blocks from town, and across Route 66 and the railroad tracks.
Mom was always frantically searching for us until one of the townspeople
would call on her, telling her that we were at the Town & Country
clothiers store trying on hats or at the Comet Drive Inn or Del Rey Cafe
having a soda or ice cream.
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My brother and I were quite adventurous and my uncle (mom's
teenage brother) would borrow my parents' car under the guise of
"babysitting the boys" and would take us on his adventures, or should I
say dates, often using us as "bait." It worked! He would get his date
and we would get our cruise. On one such cruise we were headed to the
eastside Hedges gas station to see my aunt and uncle. As we left the
station, Beto, my uncle, veered sharply onto Route 66 whereupon my
brother Ronnie grabbed the door handle, the door flew open and in his
desperate attempt to grab onto something found that something to be me!
We both sailed out the door in front of and under an oncoming
car. I heard screeching rubber from both my parents' car and the
oncoming car. I rolled under that car; Ronnie sailed beyond. Boy, the
attention we got from my uncle after that stunt, he bribed us with
treats telling us not to tell my mom, but the adventure was too great
for my brother to keep to himself. He kept telling mom that we flew just
like Superman when she inquired of the scrapes and bruises we had on our
bodies. Pressed to tell the truth Beto confessed.
My formative years took me across the route on a daily basis to
and from school and along 66 where my father, after working many years
at the Hedges stations on the outskirts of town, opted to find work
along the route within town. He worked as a mechanic for Ray Robinson's
garage (now the local grocery store), then with Jimmy Johnson at the
Riverside Texaco in the mid-sixties. At Riverside he was also the town's
only ambulance driver and EMT, often having to close the station and
with any one of the kids in tow would make the "run." On one such run we
came across a really bad accident on 66, an elderly couple, he died at
the scene, she had been disemboweled and was still alive. I remember my
father asking me to hold her hand while he tried to hydrate her, she
calmed down I think only because she didn't want to frighten me and she
passed peacefully holding my hand.
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Fall 2000
