The Way We Were: Eddie Chavez: My Friend, Everyone’s Friend
By Paul Milan, Cibola County Historical Society, for the Beacon
Published: Friday, February 19, 2016
I met Eddie when I was about three years old. One of Eddie’s sisters (Chona) worked for my grandfather and once in a while my grandfather would bring me from Gallup on the train and I would spent a grand vacation in San Rafael.
Chona drove my grandfather’s pickup since he could not drive and once in a while she would take me to spend the night with her family. Chona had plenty of brothers so I had plenty of playmates and I never forgot them, especially Eddie. Later on Chona married my Uncle Freddie so I got to see her a lot and got to know her family better.
After my grandfather died and we moved to the sheep ranch, what is now the Village of Milan, I would run into Eddie up on the Zuni Mountains as my family had summer pastures next to my Uncle's. Eddie would greet us with a lot of flair, warning us not to drink the well water because there were a plenty of rats swimming down there.
Since Eddie was much older I did not see him very much while I was going to school but I did hear that he was working at the box factory, and lost a hand in one of the machines. Years later he told me that he was feeding a planer that built the corners of the crates that were used to ship carrots. The planer caught his hand and he yelled at the operator to shut the machine down. Unfortunately she (the operator) saw the blood and fainted leaving Eddie’s hand in the planer. Eddie said that he pulled his arm and pushed his body with his leg against the machine and lost his hand.
Eddie said that everyone was horrified so he tied his arm with a piece of baling wire and ran across the tracks to Dr. Fjord’s office that was behind Caradine’s Drugstore. The next time I saw Eddie he had a hook for a hand and a smile that caught your attention. Eddie could do more with one hand than most of us with both hands. Eddie earned the name “Mocho”, which meant one arm or a crippled limb, which would not be appropriate in this day and age but it did not seem to matter to Eddie who had an unbelievable sense of humor.
Eddie went on to work for Stanley and Cards Carrot Farms. He acquired a Studebaker truck and could be seen all over town and the farms constantly hauling carrots, workers, and people. On Sunday we would all gather after Mass and he would cruise around town, park in front of the Lux Theater and Caradines to talk to all the girls that would parade with their Sunday best dresses. Sometimes Eddie would suggest that we go to the camp at the farm and play baseball with the Navajo workers. It was amazing to watch Eddie catch a ball and hold it against his chest pull off his glove with his teeth and throw the ball with his good hand, about as fast as a player with both hands. Sometimes we would gather after mass on Sunday and head for Albuquerque for a dinner of Chicken in the Rough at the Court Café, and a movie.
I worked for Stanley and Card Farms during the summer of my senior year and two years during my college years and was able to see Eddie on a daily basis. Eddie seemed to work twenty-four hours a day. He would haul workers and supplies all over the farm, and sometimes transport workers back and forth from the reservation. During the Gallup Inter-tribal Celebration I went with him to take a number of Navajo participants and it seemed like we were gone for over twenty-four hours and I had a hard time keeping awake but Eddie drove everyone back to the camp early in the morning and was back to work at the normal time.
Another episode in Eddie’s life was when he was fixing a water pump on his ranch and as he was cranking it up to get it started the wheel flew back up on him and broke his good arm. He drove his truck back to town somehow and said he couldn’t open the gates so he just drove through them. Most people would have taken a medical leave but Eddie got a cast on his arm and continued working.
I didn’t see Eddie for over twenty-five years and when I returned to Grants and had the opportunity to visit with him I found that once the carrot farms were gone he had worked in the mines, had a store, and continued on his ranch. The first thing that he told me very excited was, “all of my Kids have college educations and have desk jobs like you have.” Eddie did not get an opportunity to get much schooling but he had a PhD in Life.
Paul Milan contributes to the Beacon’s history column and is a longtime resident of Cibola County. His father, Salvador Milan, was the Village of Milan’s first mayor.
http://www.cibolabeacon.com/cibola_living/the-way-we-were/article_4a36837c-db49-11e5-a8bf-1300ee3d9f34.html
By Paul Milan, Cibola County Historical Society, for the Beacon
Published: Friday, February 19, 2016
I met Eddie when I was about three years old. One of Eddie’s sisters (Chona) worked for my grandfather and once in a while my grandfather would bring me from Gallup on the train and I would spent a grand vacation in San Rafael.
Chona drove my grandfather’s pickup since he could not drive and once in a while she would take me to spend the night with her family. Chona had plenty of brothers so I had plenty of playmates and I never forgot them, especially Eddie. Later on Chona married my Uncle Freddie so I got to see her a lot and got to know her family better.
After my grandfather died and we moved to the sheep ranch, what is now the Village of Milan, I would run into Eddie up on the Zuni Mountains as my family had summer pastures next to my Uncle's. Eddie would greet us with a lot of flair, warning us not to drink the well water because there were a plenty of rats swimming down there.
Since Eddie was much older I did not see him very much while I was going to school but I did hear that he was working at the box factory, and lost a hand in one of the machines. Years later he told me that he was feeding a planer that built the corners of the crates that were used to ship carrots. The planer caught his hand and he yelled at the operator to shut the machine down. Unfortunately she (the operator) saw the blood and fainted leaving Eddie’s hand in the planer. Eddie said that he pulled his arm and pushed his body with his leg against the machine and lost his hand.
Eddie said that everyone was horrified so he tied his arm with a piece of baling wire and ran across the tracks to Dr. Fjord’s office that was behind Caradine’s Drugstore. The next time I saw Eddie he had a hook for a hand and a smile that caught your attention. Eddie could do more with one hand than most of us with both hands. Eddie earned the name “Mocho”, which meant one arm or a crippled limb, which would not be appropriate in this day and age but it did not seem to matter to Eddie who had an unbelievable sense of humor.
Eddie went on to work for Stanley and Cards Carrot Farms. He acquired a Studebaker truck and could be seen all over town and the farms constantly hauling carrots, workers, and people. On Sunday we would all gather after Mass and he would cruise around town, park in front of the Lux Theater and Caradines to talk to all the girls that would parade with their Sunday best dresses. Sometimes Eddie would suggest that we go to the camp at the farm and play baseball with the Navajo workers. It was amazing to watch Eddie catch a ball and hold it against his chest pull off his glove with his teeth and throw the ball with his good hand, about as fast as a player with both hands. Sometimes we would gather after mass on Sunday and head for Albuquerque for a dinner of Chicken in the Rough at the Court Café, and a movie.
I worked for Stanley and Card Farms during the summer of my senior year and two years during my college years and was able to see Eddie on a daily basis. Eddie seemed to work twenty-four hours a day. He would haul workers and supplies all over the farm, and sometimes transport workers back and forth from the reservation. During the Gallup Inter-tribal Celebration I went with him to take a number of Navajo participants and it seemed like we were gone for over twenty-four hours and I had a hard time keeping awake but Eddie drove everyone back to the camp early in the morning and was back to work at the normal time.
Another episode in Eddie’s life was when he was fixing a water pump on his ranch and as he was cranking it up to get it started the wheel flew back up on him and broke his good arm. He drove his truck back to town somehow and said he couldn’t open the gates so he just drove through them. Most people would have taken a medical leave but Eddie got a cast on his arm and continued working.
I didn’t see Eddie for over twenty-five years and when I returned to Grants and had the opportunity to visit with him I found that once the carrot farms were gone he had worked in the mines, had a store, and continued on his ranch. The first thing that he told me very excited was, “all of my Kids have college educations and have desk jobs like you have.” Eddie did not get an opportunity to get much schooling but he had a PhD in Life.
Paul Milan contributes to the Beacon’s history column and is a longtime resident of Cibola County. His father, Salvador Milan, was the Village of Milan’s first mayor.
http://www.cibolabeacon.com/cibola_living/the-way-we-were/article_4a36837c-db49-11e5-a8bf-1300ee3d9f34.html