Orlando Lujan Martinez
The green tinted popular tree in the yard was full of singing birds. when woke up in morning. After several cups of coffee I decided too take few days off to pay a visit to San Acacio, in El Grande Valle de San Luis in Colorado, where I scattered the ashes of my parents. I packed a few clothes into a suitcase, jump into my car and rode off into the morning sun. It was San Mateo Boulevard to 1-25 and out of Albuquerque.
Old familiar towns drifted by, Santa Fe the home of the Anglo gentry and the notorious Española, where an offended Native American chopped off the foot of the statue of Juan Onate, the conquistador, Ojo Caliente and Tres Pietras. Then along the base of San Antonio, the last mountain before entering El Valle. The last miles of my journey rolled by and then Antonito , the first town in the San Luis Valley, appeared just around a sharp curve in the highway. It is a half worn out town, with boarded up stores, but still glowing with the memories of the past and had me wondering why happiness is sometimes touched by sadness.
Back in the fifties, the last time the good times were rolling for that town, Antonito was a Friday and Saturday night Boggie town. Rancheros and canciones bounced out of five taverns and dance halls and the large Rainbow Ball Room a mile on the other side of town.
I rented a room at the Palace Hotel, an old stone two story structure built in 1902 with none of the toilet in each room and the air conditioning that the tourists demand. This relic from the past had the toilet down the hall, wallpaper, and in the tall lobby there was a mural of a pine forest on a wall and a large statue of Our Lady of Guadalupe and a holy shrine. A little touch of comfort for the weary catholic traveler. It was just the place to escape the institional feeling of the modern motel and the suspicion that the sheets hadn’t been changed since April, May, June and July.