The Entire History of Automobiles in Western Civilization probably could have been based on and written in the Trujillo household where I grew up, on Railroad Avenue, or what we called Tough Street.

It’s not that we had an abundance of cars (Dad bought the first one, a 1942 Plymouth in the early ‘50s).

It’s not that we possessed great knowledge of cars (when the dial pointed to empty, we surmised it was time for a fill-up or a ring job, an expensive procedure at the time and a word foreign to my grandkids.

It’s not that we could even afford anti-freeze. In cold weather, my brother and I took turns draining the water from the radiator each night and sometimes remembering to refill it the next morning.

And it’s not that we traveled enough to learn much about how cars operate (Dad often took out a loaner from B.M. Werley Auto Company, where he worked). Continue reading →

Oh, I pity today’s comma chasers. But first, let’s make one thing clear. The term comma chaser doesn’t refer solely to that tiny punctuation mark but is a generic term for editors and teachers, and even parents who take the time to look over their kids’ homework.

And while on this subject, let me stress that every person who checks submitted work for spelling, punctuation (not just commas), apostrophes (especially) and content already has a place reserved in the Great Hereafter.

That doesn’t necessarily mean Heaven will be populated only with erstwhile English teachers asking, “To whom do I owe this heavenly honor?” Or people like Winston Churchill, who became tired of hearing, “Never end a sentence with a preposition.” He answered, “This is the kind of arrant pedantry up with which I will not put.”

No, Heaven should contain all the people who try to improve language — any language. And while still on the subject, I believe that even people who don’t teach language but who nevertheless remediate grammar and usage issues ought to get the fast track to paradise. Why? Because they (and we) have already spent our hell on earth. Continue reading →

Strictly as a joke, I recently wrote to some Facebook friends that I was considering returning to full-time teaching. Why? To save time, which I’ll explain in a few graphs below.

The career move would be iffy — especially for one who gave up the tweed jacket with leather elbow patches about 16 years ago. Would I even stand a chance, given that Latino professors with doctoral degrees have become more plentiful lately.

Today’s stable of professors probably grew up in the iPhone era and wouldn’t recognize a pencil and a reporter’s notebook.

But to get to the point, I joked to friends on my Facebook page that even a 24-hour-a-week job at the Optic can be daunting. I added that seeking full-time teaching work, at Highlands, Luna Community College or even the United World College, would give me the time I need for things I enjoy, like traveling across the Atlantic and this year — (we already have the tickets) — flying to Puerto Rico.

My returning-to-work reference apparently drew the attention of a number of people. “What do you plan to teach?” “Will you try to get your old job back?” Continue reading →

A young man, who left his studies at a Trappist Monastery in Kentucky, came to live in Las Vegas around the time I entered Immaculate Conception High School.

Frank Reesor, who died in his 40s, became my next-door neighbor, and more importantly, an older brother who spent time with me discussing religion, morality and maturity. We hit it off well when we discussed the deity, but on another subject: chile, we differed.

I tried. My way of welcoming Frank to Las Vegas was to immerse him (not literally) in our favorite cuisine, and to use him as a resource, for any questions I had about religion.

A matter about which there was divergence was what Frank called my morality. Because he had spent years in a monastery — not to become a priest, but to live out his life as a Trappist Monk — he urged (I didn’t say “encouraged”) me to look into a religious vocation.

To my recollection, no one had ever called me a heretic until Frank gave me that title after a discussion in which I questioned too many things. Once he even used “heretic” as my name, as in “Hi there, Heretic.” I must have deserved that title, as I did in fact pepper my side of the discussion with “why?” Continue reading →

Should I apologize for invoking the names of Ana Granado and Phaedra Wouters, our foreign exchange students, just one more time?

I admit it and plan to write about other things in future columns.

But now there’s an exception. Only last week, our youngest son, Ben, and his wife, Heather, made us grandparents — for the sixth time. Now we have at least one grandchild from each of our three boys. Of the six grandchildren, the latest one, Henry Alexander Trujillo, somewhat balanced the mix, as now one third of the sweet darlings are males. You do the math.

Naturally, a grandparent 77 years older than the newest arrival is bound to claim that the newcomer resembles the paternal grandparent’s side in all the right ways. I agree.

My first look at the 7-pound, 10.5-ounce new arrival, then about six hours old, convinced me that H.A.T. was the handsomest creature ever born. And the world’s best researchers and statisticians can sustain these findings, I’m sure.

But then I remembered the words of Margaret Vazquez, a retired anthropology professor at Highlands University, who told her classes of a custom of residents of New Guinea who apparently didn’t necessarily think of every newborn as good looking.

Vazquez cited yet another anthropologist named Margaret, this time Margaret Mead, author of a best-selling book, “Coming of Age in Samoa,” who observed that people in New Guinea look at a newborn and remark, quite simply, “How baby!” Continue reading →

Arthur says it’s hot. Arthur who? Arthur Mometer!

Las Vegas is darn authentic. I toned down the official adverb here, the d-word, in keeping with my policy of not using in print words that some people deem profane.

The “authentic” reference is one of several descriptions used through the ages for and about the Meadow City.

Going through copies of old Optics, I found an ad that referred to Las Vegas as “The City of Blanket Nights.” There have been others: “Air-Conditioned by Nature,” “A Breath of Fresh Air,” and possibly some other weather-related slogans I’ve forgotten.

Surely many Las Vegans recall when Las Vegas was a much cooler place, especially in the summer. We Trujillos never owned a fan, much less air conditioning. People came to this burg in the summer, often to escape the heat of other university towns such as Portales, Albuquerque and Las Cruces. Continue reading →

Note: This unsolicited Father’s Day missive from my Denmark son, Stan Adam, might well be called “Work of Art’s Son.” I love the message and am printing it here in the hopes that readers will discover that some of the spirit will trigger memories of their own paths to maturity.

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Before becoming parents, most people imagine their life with kids as one of endless patience, tireless playtime, and sweet, cuddly moments. Every parent knows, however, that no matter how calm and reasonable they imagined their parenting to be, nothing can prepare them for the constant fraying of nerves they are subjected to.

Seven years into being a father, I see that no matter how much fun and how playful I imagined myself to be before becoming a parent, and despite the fact that playing with kids is a great deal of fun, we still have to make time for it. Or I do anyway. Continue reading →

The last shall be first and the first shall be last.” I hope the words (or at least their promise) from the book of Matthew come clear in this recounting of graduation services I’ve attended.

Late in May, I attended a complete graduation ceremony and part of another. The ceremony I stepped in and out of was to take a photo.

Because our three boys are way past their high school and college years, we’ve skipped quite a few such ceremonies but realize a few grandchildren will soon be coming through the pipe, so we’d best prepare.

The “full” ceremony we attended was for one of our “Euros,” Phaedra Wouters, from Belgium. As many as eight non-WLV-connected people attended the graduation because of Phaedra. There was Belen, a World College student from Spain. Also there was an out-of-town volunteer for the program that places students from other countries. Several of us Trujillos attended. And a couple of other exchange students, from other New Mexico cities, Rama and Wasif, joined us. Continue reading →

The problem may be that we have simply too many easily confusable words in the English language, and because they’re readily available, we often commit malapropisms.

So what’s a malaprop? An English playwright named Richard Brinsley Sheridan wrote “The Rivals,” featuring a Mrs. Malaprop, whose passion thrived in choosing the wrong word, sometimes a sound-alike. Many people use malaprops for emphasis or for a laugh. Others simply confuse these words with others.

My dictionary defines “malaprop” as “the use of a word in place of a similar-sounding one, often with unintentionally amusing effect.” The example it provides is “dance the flamingo” in place of “flamenco.” In his 19th century play, Sheridan used a number of verbal slippages, courtesy of Mrs. Malaprop. That character, giving advice, suggested her friend “illiterate him quite from your memory.” That’s quite a novel use of “obliterate.” And she referred to another as being “headstrong as an allegory,” when we would have said “alligator.” Continue reading →

Memorial Day weekend was surprisingly busy for the Trujillo family. It included trips to the Veterans Cemetery in Santa Fe to see the burial site of my older brother, Severino, who succumbed to prostate cancer in December. On a separate trip to the same place, I took a friend to visit the place where her husband was laid to rest about 10 years ago.

Here in town, we visited the gravesite of my parents, J.D. and Marie Trujillo, at Pilgrims Rest, near Meadows Home. We also spent a day at Santa Rosa’s Blue Hole, a place where experienced divers train in wetsuits. We took along our foreign exchange students, Phaedra and Ana. And we drove to Holman Hill to see the spectacular views from scenic lookouts.

The walled-off barriers prevent cars from running off the roads, but they don’t prevent pickups from backing up to dump trash.

So here’s a bit of trash talk: Continue reading →