I am deeply grateful that my grandfather, Felipe Garcia, took the time in his later years to journal his personal story. And what an amazing story that is. Reading the words he hammered onto the pages using two index fingers on the lettered stems of his Royal typewriter bring back a flood of pleasant memories.

I spent a lot of my childhood with my grandfather and have the fondest memories of our daily stop at the post office in Mission on our way to his real estate office that he shared with Justice of the Peace Leo Gonzalez. I would play around the office while he met with people and did lots of notary work for poor people, some of whom paid for his services with produce.

My Papa Felipe was born on January 23, 1891 in northeastern Duval County where his family had their ranch. When I was a kid, I loved to listen to his stories about growing up on the ranch and longed to visit the place that meant so much to him.

As a young teenager, he arranged for me to visit my country cousins at the ranch. He bought me a bus ticket from Mission to San Diego and then set me off on a great adventure — all by myself with a small suitcase in hand.

The only thing I remember about the bus ride was that I sat next to an older lady who had doused herself with an overpowering amount of perfume. I could hardly breathe and pressed my face against the window in hopes of getting a whiff of fresh air. Toxic fumes aside, I made it to my destination where my Uncle Florentino picked me up.

Florentino was a towering man. When I got off the bus there he was — wearing khaki pants, a long-sleeved shirt, black boots, and a straw cowboy hat. He looked down at me with welcoming eyes, shook my hand, took my bag, and led me to his pick-up truck for the almost twenty-mile ride to the ranch. That was the start of a lifelong friendship with Florentino.

Which all brings me back to my grandfather’s journal — page 28. My grandfather was 18 years-old and wanted desperately to go to college. The challenge was finding the money. With such a large family to care for, his family did not have the discretionary income to help him with tuition. But, they did have land.

The solution was for my grandfather to plant cotton on a 60-acre tract and then use the proceeds from the sale of the cotton to go to school. So, he put his hand to the plow and got to work. The 60-acres yielded 27 bales of cotton which he had ginned at Alfred, located west of Corpus Christi. In his words, he made “the fantastic sum of $1,195.00 in cash.”

His earnings became the seed money for him to attend the San Antonio Business College in 1910. The business skills he learned helped him to eventually work as a realtor and notary public and one of the longest serving city commissioners in the State of Texas. He, along with my dad, taught me the value of hard work and helped me to develop a good work ethic.

I miss my Papa Felipe but consider myself fortunate to have spent so much time with him. As a little boy always in tow and always watching him, I treasure every memory. He was always kind, ever encouraging, and set an example worthy of imitation. I’m glad that his hard work growing cotton paid off and paved the way for him to go to college. That chapter of his life laid the foundation for a lifetime of selfless service.