My daily routine of playing with Phillip changed abruptly in September, 1951 when he started kindergarten at San Jose Elementary. My brother was five and I had just turned four. Mom found more work cleaning homes so Grandma Remedios agreed to take care of me and baby Roy during the week. To get to Albuquerque Grandma took the Doodlebug, a small commuter train. In the early morning my parents drove to the downtown train station to await her arrival. I remember the station well because of the large, wonderful mural of a mountain landscape with the Santa Fe Chief speeding through it. It was done in such a realistic style the train seemed to be bursting right out of the wall. I sat in the waiting room until Grandma arrived, completely absorbed in the exciting tableau.
With Phillip in school I was left without a playmate. Grandma had her hands full caring for Roy and trying to entertain me. I tried to engage her in my play but since she didn't speak English she didn't know what I wanted. Grandma was also a very cautious person so I wasn't allowed to be outside by myself and as a result, I spent all my time indoors under her watch. We were making each other kind of crazy.
I thought Grandma and I were in for another long, restless day together when she sat down at the kitchen table one morning and motioned me to stand next to her. From the cloth traveling bag she always carried with her she pulled out a blank sheet of typing paper and set it on the table. Then she withdrew a colorful box. Its cover was decorated with a red stripe around the lid. On the lower center was a very impressive stamp composed of two royal lions on their haunches, each holding a paw out to the other. In the center of the lions was an illustrated bust of a man with a big moustache, dressed in a white uniform with medals on his chest. I was mesmerized by its color and decoration. This box with its mysterious contents would transform my life forever. I watched wide eyed as the lid was lifted.
"Mira que tengo aquí, Eduardo." Grandma said. In the box were colored pencils and a yellow lead pencil which she’d borrowed from Aunt Flora’s kids who used them for school projects. Grandma handed the lead pencil to me. Tómelo," she said. Take them.The next item she pulled out of the traveling bag was a comic book. On the cover was a black duck running for its life.
Opening up the first page she said, “Look at the crazy duck. What’s he doing?" I shook my head, I had no idea what the pato loco was doing.
I watched as Grandma placed the sheet of paper, cigar box and comic book on the floor. I sat down next to these strange, new objects and examined the comic book’s cover. Daffy Duck was running with his hands stuck out. There was a yellow flash behind him and in the distance Elmer Fudd brandished a shotgun. To me the illustration was like a visual jolt, too big and too overwhelming to draw so I turned to the first page which had little illustrations inside of squares. Perhaps because they were smaller the page looked easier to draw. Satisfied that I would stay busy for a while Grandma returned to her work a few steps from me.
There was no point in explaining to me how to use these items-I didn't speak Spanish, yet even with nothing said somehow I knew just what to do. I lay on my stomach and started drawing the cartoon blocks on page one with the lead pencil. I realized immediately I could control the pencil and draw the little figures. As I finished each block I colored it in, selecting the other pencils with care, feeling a sense of delight at the colors coming from them. I noticed each pencil was carefully sharpened which meant I could be very accurate and stay within the lines I had drawn. The hardest part was getting all the words into the balloon captions. Since I couldn’t read I had no idea what they said but I wanted to draw them anyway.
From Grandma’s favorite radio station the voices of classic singers like Pedro Infante and Luís Aguilar filled the room with the wonderful music of Mexico. Between songs the announcer read advertisements in rapid fire Spanish. When he finished he called out, “Estás escuchando a Raaaaaadio KABQ!”
Everything around me, including the music faded into the background as I concentrated on my art for I was in an enchanted cloud. Drawing with colors I was able to create a tranquil place for myself, one in sharp contrast to our poverty, Phillip's dominance and antics, my parents constant arguing and Grandma's inability to communicate with me, all part of the world of anxiety I lived in. Drawing was the refuge I desperately needed and also an intellectual and creative challenge.
I was into the second hour of drawing when Grandma called me to lunch. She served chicken stew, caldo de pollo, her favorite meal. Into it was cut up bits of onions, celery and carrots. As a treat Grandma pulled out an avocado from the same cloth bag, cut it up and put some in our bowls of hot soup. She also made fresh corn tortillas. I loved Grandma’s cooking but I needed to color the last few cartoon blocks so I quickly finished the soup. I asked Grandma for permission to leave the table and showed her my empty bowl.
"Muy bien, mijo," she said approvingly. I jumped off the chair and went over to my unfinished artwork.
The morning that Grandma brought pencils and paper to keep me busy and out of her way she had no expectations I could do anything more than childish scribbles. Now I was so quiet she was curious to see what I was doing. “How is your drawing going?" she inquired. I sat up and handed her the sheet of paper. An astonished look came over Grandma’s face. “How well you did this drawing!” she exclaimed.
I didn't understand the Spanish words but I could tell by her expression that she was very pleased. I had neatly filled the entire sheet of paper with page one of the comic book including the balloon captions. Every margin was in place and all the colors matched up with those in the illustrations. My artwork was in sharp contrast to her other grandchildren’s art which were mostly simple stick figures.
She took the sheet from me and sat down at the kitchen table to examine it more carefully, adjusting her round spectacles as she did so. I sat by the magic box pencil in hand, watching her. Grandma looked thoughtfully at me for a long moment. By now she had at least thirteen grandchildren. Until that day I did not have a special relationship with her, I was just one of many. With this drawing she saw me for the first time. Grandma was a collector of pictures of saints slaying dragons and guardian angels. She appreciated art. Now, I was creating art she appreciated.
When my parents returned home that afternoon Grandma talked to them about how well I could draw. “Eduardo tiene mucho talento,” she said showing them the drawing. I stood next to her still holding on to the lead pencil.
My parents smiled at my artwork and then went about their business. But their lack of reaction didn’t matter to me for my grandmother, the most spiritual person in our family, had given her approval to what I'd done, and that felt like a benediction. While Phillip was at school getting an education our grandmother had revealed to me my life's work. Until then I was defined only as the second son and as companion to my older brother who by virtue of his age and outgoing personality was the leader in all that we did together. Phillip was the focus of our parents' attention and there was no way I could compete with him. But I was blessed with the ability to draw, something he had no interest in. I began to realize it was the most important difference between us.
Grandma gave me the yellow lead pencil but Flora’s children needed the colored pencils for school so she took those back to Belen. They were a poor family and it would’ve been a hardship to buy a second set of art supplies.
On a trip to visit about a month later I was eager to see the colored pencils again. In fact it was all I’d thought about for days. In the car I questioned Mom, “Does Grandma have the colored pencils?”
“We’ll ask when we get there,” she promised but in the swirl of family and food Mom forgot to ask.
I couldn’t stand waiting anymore so when we were all in the kitchen I tugged at her skirt impatiently. “Can you ask Grandma about the colored pencils?”
“They belong to your cousin Odelia,” Grandma answered in Spanish.
My need to see the pencils was so overwhelming that I ran through the door to Aunt Flora’s side of the house. As soon as she saw me Aunt Flora picked me up and gave me a hug. I struggled to get free and she set me down. I absolutely had to find those pencils.
“Odelia!” I exclaimed.
“Está adentro.” She’s inside.
I ran into the bedroom where Odelia was ironing and listening to music on the radio. Next to her was the familiar water filled Coca Cola bottle which she used for sprinkling clothes. Cousin Odelia always seemed to be doing chores.
She looked down at me. “Who do we have here?” she said, laughing
“It’s me!”
“It doesn’t look like you,” she teased.
“It is me!” I said, jumping up and down in frustration.
“Well, I’ll believe you this time,” Odelia said. "What do you want?”
“Do you have the colored pencils?” I asked, frazzled from waiting so long to see them again.
Suddenly my cousin took me seriously. She thought about it for a moment. “I have some colored pencils. They’re in a box.”
“Yes, a box!” I shouted.
Odelia put the iron down. “Let’s go find them.”
She started looking under the bed, then she stood up and thought a moment. “Oh, I know where they are." Odelia walked down the hall to a closet covered by a curtain. Moving it aside she rummaged through things and then pulled out the cigar box.
“Here’s the pencils. You want them?”
My eyes widened. Finally I had the colored pencils! I could hardly believe it.
Just then Mom walked in, intent on gathering up children so she and Dad could visit her sister Benny.
“Come on, Lee it’s time to go,” Mom said. “Give the box back to Odelia.”
“But…” I couldn't finish. Tears sprang into my eyes.
My frustration wasn’t lost on Odelia. “He can have them,” she offered generously. “They’re just colored pencils.”
Mom shook her head. “No, no, you’re going to need them for your school projects. Give the box back to Odelia, mijo.”
It was too good to be true anyway so I handed the magic box back to my cousin. It was returned to the closet and that was the last time I saw it. I had to wait two more years-until I was six, before I was given crayons in school which was where they stayed. I didn’t get colored pencils I could keep at home until I was in junior high, when I had enough money from cleaning yards with Dad to buy my own art supplies.