On the morning of May 31, 2018 I got that call we all dread. I was half asleep when Mom called and told me the news that Nana, my paternal grandmother, had passed. It took me a moment to process the fact that she was gone. The one we joked would one day outlive all of us had left us. She was my last living grandparent. Grandpa had been gone nearly thirty years now.
Nana taught me a lot growing up. The first lesson was that the things in Nana’s house belong to her, and they are not to be touched. That was something that I carried with me even into adulthood. The hardest lesson I learned from her was learning to let go, and that included letting go of her. Even when I moved away to college, it was hard for me to let go right away. When I found out she was sick in the hospital, I knew it was going to be hard for me to let go of her. We formed a strong bond that went back to when she babysat me.
I have a lot of fond memories of those times. From adventures in the kitchen to trips to downtown Texas City to run errands. When I was old enough to start kindergarten, Nana went to teach school in La Pryor, a rural community west of San Antonio. I missed her dearly, but I looked forward to Christmases and summers with her. One summer we went to San Antonio and saw the Alamo. Nana told me that our ancestors had been here before Texas was even a state. She also mentioned that there were Tejanos who fought alongside the other well-known heroes of the Alamo.
I always loved to travel with Nana because she was full of interesting tidbits of trivia. For instance, when we walked around the Strand in Galveston, she was full of stories about her childhood growing up on the island. She remembered the Serbian baker and the Italian grocer, and that their children were her classmates. One of her fondest memories was of her dad, who was a policeman in the 1930s. His beat was Mechanic Street and he walked from one end to the other checking the trouble spots and keeping an eye out for suspicious activity.
Her and my dad also had a lot of great memories of Momo, my great grandmother. Dad said she lived in the Magnolia Homes just east of the Strand and that he and his cousins would go all over with her. My favorite story is of Momo passing the fish monger with her grandkids. He asked her if all those kids were hers. She said yeah the bastard died and left me with all these kids. Without hesitation, the fish monger gave her a whole fish, no questions asked.
One afternoon, Nana and I were on Post Office Street and we stopped in at McCrory’s, which had an escalator inside it. Nana told me that on one of her visits, Momo told her she had to show her something. Naturally Nana got excited and went along with it. They walked in the store and Momo was fascinated with the escalator. Nana naturally wasn’t amused, but understood her fascination with it. Momo after all was born at the turn of the last century and she had seen the advent of the automobile and once traveled by train and later bus.
The one thing I found amazing is Nana remembered the Strand when it was a thriving downtown district. My dad remembered when he was little a lot of the buildings were boarded up and he said winos were passed out in the doorways. Another lesson learned was that nothing lasts forever. All we are left with is our memories and in some cases, mementos of that period in our lives.
Nana had accumulated quite a few memories in her home. Some were gifts from friends and relatives. Others were souvenirs from her travels, or from our uncle who was stationed abroad with the Air Force. Some were family heirlooms like her dad’s shaving cream bowl, and other items passed down to her.
I caught the bug too and accumulated my own collection. Among my treasures is a calendar plate from 1910, the year Grandpa and also Wela, my maternal grand mother, were born. For reasons, I had to have the doggone thing even though I had no place to really display it.
We were at the flea market in Texas City when I found this plate. I normally took my leftover lunch money and kept it in a change pouch. This was a practice that went all the way back to the days of Nana babysitting me. Mom put my money in my Mickey Mouse coin purse for me to eat on, or for Nana to use on me. Nana said I freaked out the first time she got my money out to spend on me because I thought she was using it for her.
In my coin pouch, I had quite a bit of quarters and assorted coins I’d saved. Nana offered to help me with the four dollars, but I told her I got it. Her jaw dropped when I took out all these coins and paid with exact change. She teased me that I’d learned to save my money like that from my Grandpa, who she claimed was tight-fisted. Yet another lesson learned in saving money.
Probably the most important lesson from Nana was our history, the lessons I didn’t learn in history class. I remember when she told me that the Texas Rangers lynched a group of innocent Tejanos along the border. Later on, I found out that indeed it was true, and it’s unclear exactly how many Mexicans were killed during that time period. And yes, she was right, there were Tejanos who fought in the Texas Revolution.
I also found out years later that my Longoria ancestors had a massive land grant that straddled the Rio Grande. Their tomb still stands along the military highway in Blue Town. From my understanding, my great great grandparents came north to Sugarland where Papa Loya took a job at the Imperial Sugar plant. When my great great grandmother died in the flu outbreak, they went back to the Valley. Then when the second phase of the grade raising in Galveston started, Papa Loya moved to Galveston.
Nana told me about how her dad came from Corpus Christi to Galveston with his parents when he was a little boy. She told me Grandpa Sanchez taught himself English, and how he survived the 1900 Storm. From my understanding, his career in law enforcement started as a payroll guard for the grade raising.
Something that I’ve learned from all this is to treasure our elders. They hold the key to our past. It is important that we listen to them and record that history if not in writing, at least on video or audio. Nana always asked when I was going to tell our story, our history, and I guess there is no time like the present.
