My Dad was a Recycler

Because of all my doctor’s appointments I had not been able to pack away all the Christmas decorations until now. I probably put too much packing in the breakables since there is little chance of them being moved before I unpack them next Christmas season. The packing material that I use primarily is old tissue paper that has been used in presents of Christmases past—the kind of paper that we used to call papél de china.

That got me to thinking of how my dad was a great recycler when it wasn’t even trendy.

The wholesale produce market was in San Antonio, and Dad and my uncle would go there about twice a week, sometimes only once a week. When my uncle was not working with Daddy anymore a driver was hired because Daddy never learned to drive. The bananas were bought by the entire stalk, not cut into bunches as you see in the produce markets today. Watermelons, cantaloupes, melons, and pineapples were also loose, not in big containers. To protect the produce in transit, especially the bananas, the material used was excelsior. Excelsior is old newspaper that has been shredded. Looks a lot like a newspaper run through the ubiquitous paper shredders in today’s offices. It was fun to play with the excelsior, but it was messy when the printer ink came off on our hands.

One other recycling that my dad practiced was the recycling of comic books. Comic books were the Nintendo of the 1940s and the 1950s. It didn’t matter if it was Superman, Katy Keene, Little Lulu, or my favorites—the love comics, the price for a new, uncirculated comic book was ten cents. Most of us could not afford to spend that much on a comic book. My dad would buy comics that were in good condition at two for a nickel, and then he would sell them at a nickel a piece. Great recycling and a great profit!

But the best recycling that I now realize was recycling was the use of used motor oil. There used to be a Texaco filling station next to our fruit stand in the early years (the early 1940s). They kept the used motor oil in a big drum and Daddy would either purchase or get the oil for free to mop the floor of our store. The first few days after the oil was applied, it was really messy. If the wooden floor did not soak up the oil after so many days, I remember that sawdust was used to soak up the excess. I never saw any other stores ever having oil-stained floors, and I never bothered to ask why he did the floors that way. But my brother has told me that he did, and that the reply was “so the bugs don’t get into the wood.” That makes sense now, since the weather of the Texas coastal bend area is friendly to termites, roaches, and other such.

Even after Dad no longer had the store, I remember he would save soda cans for my nephew to take to the recycling places.

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My pretty Mom and my Daddy are on the left. My Tío is on the right. Notice the stalks of bananas way in the back, the heater in foreground by Mom, and the oil-stained floor. This photo was probably taken in the late 1940s.

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My uncle was the driver of the truck. The building is the cold storage. It was elevated so that unloading could be done at the same level as the backside of the truck. During the summer months Dad and/or my uncle would send young boys into the barrio selling ice cream for a nickel a piece.

 

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Dad liked to wear white shirts and his white apron when he was at the store. My kid brother enjoyed playing on the watermelons. Mom enjoyed soda pop—even if it ruined her teeth. This photo was taken in the mid to late 1950s.

Sandias are Festive . . .

This last Father’s Day was special in several ways. For hubby it was the first Father’s Day since becoming a grandfather! Adding to that, our grandson was with us, so I decided to have a very informal Open House. The purpose of such an event was to have other California family members meet him.


I improvised a menu with entries that were easy to prepare, but at the same time a bit festive. How else can we justify having deviled eggs and watermelon included on the bill of fare? Back when Dad had the fruit stand, I particularly thought of watermelons being special and festive.

I remember Dad going to the produce market in San Antonio once or twice a week. Back then the melons sold for one to three cents a pound. I recall Dad stating that the melons grown in Luling were the best. After the loaded truck arrived at the fruit stand, there was the task of unloading them. There is no way of doing that except one melon at a time. Picture the bucket brigade in some little towns of yore struggling to put out a fire. That was the way it was done from the truck to the cold storage (which melons sold for a half cent to one cent higher than the others). After that came the unloading to the outdoor display. That was a beautiful display, and Daddy always made the signs with the price. The outdoor display could be fenced in, but for some seasonal displays the fence came down during the day and went back up at night.



My young brother loved playing around the watermelons when he was a small boy. I liked watching people who came to buy the watermelon. Some would inspect the stem part of the melon; others would listen to the sound as they rapped on the melon like they were knocking at the door. Still others would ask Mom or Dad to see the inside of the melon to taste and view its color. This was done without opening the melon. A square roughly 2 inches by 2 inches was cut at such angles that when it was pulled out it had the shape of a pyramid. After inspection by the customer—and I don’t remember a watermelon ever being rejected—the pyramid which now lacked the top was plugged back into the melon.

During the watermelon season, which seemed to last the whole summer, Mom always found a way to get a watermelon to her mother, Mama Yaya. Usually she succeeded in sending her a melon three or four times during the season. Mama Yaya loved watermelons, and I am told that she could and would make a watermelon a complete meal. Mama Yaya had no teeth. I don’t know when she lost her teeth, but I don’t recall ever seeing her with any dentures or her own teeth. Watermelon may have been one of her favorite foods because it was easier for her to eat than other food. At any rate, in her view, watermelons were a treat and she considered them festive food, too.



Our family Sunday traditions, I recall, was for Mom, my sister and I to attend Mass at St Anthony’s Catholic Church. Dad stayed at the fruit stand working. After Mass, the three of us would walk to visit Mama Yaya. On the way from church to Mama Yaya’s we stopped at a neighborhood tiendita. There we purchased pan dulce, milk, or other things to take to my grandmother. When our visit was coming to an end, Mom would announce our departure. But Mama Yaya not wanting to have our visit come to an end would humorously announce, “Al rato vamos a partir una sandía.” To me it meant: don’t leave now. The festivities will start before long and in a while we are going to cut open a watermelon.

Mama Yaya, you were in my thoughts this Father’s Day. I wish my grandson and you could have met. Even though you were not physically at our Open House, I know your spirit was here enjoying our gathering and the sandía.