Somos en escrito The Latino Literary Online Magazine
Excerpt from The Inspiring Life of Héctor P. García, a memoir-biography
The first book signing for The Inspiring Life of Héctor P. García will be held on Wednesday, April 13, 2016, at Texas A&M University Corpus Christi, in the Bell Library at 1:30 pm. Dr. García donated his entire collection of papers and memorabilia to this university in 1990.
The first book signing for The Inspiring Life of Héctor P. García will be held on Wednesday, April 13, 2016, at Texas A&M University Corpus Christi, in the Bell Library at 1:30 pm. Dr. García donated his entire collection of papers and memorabilia to this university in 1990.
By Cecilia Garcia Akers
The Death of the Namesake
It was a bright and early Sunday morning in July, 1962. Young Hector was packed and ready to go on his trip to Morelia, Michoacán, Mexico. He was traveling with his older sister, Daisy Garcia, and another family to stay for an extended vacation and to learn Spanish.
That morning, young Hector was so excited. I was still in bed because it was still very early but could hear all the commotion in his room. He had one large suitcase ready to go. On his way out, he came to say goodbye to me and tossed me one of his favorite baseball pamphlets. He said “goodbye Squirt, I got this for you.” I was so surprised that he had given me the pamphlet that he used and cherished. I said “Bye Sonny, come back soon.” That was the last time I would see my beloved brother alive.
The next day, my mother received a telephone call from my father. Her face turned grim and her voice lowered. She told me that Sonny was in an accident and they were leaving immediately to Morelia, Mexico. She said that Sonny was climbing up some steps on a mountain and fell. Unfortunately, he fell on his only one functioning kidney and went into shock. My parents decided to drive to Mexico. The plan was to bring Sonny home in my father’s Cadillac. My father’s main confidant and friend Santiago Castro was going to drive them to Mexico. My mother’s plan was to bring her beloved son home in the Cadillac, resting his head in her lap for the trip.
My parents drove straight for days, through the rain and mountains trying to reach young Hector. My mother said that when they reached the hospital, everyone was wearing black. Dr. Xico Garcia, my father’s younger brother came to greet them. My father started shaking his head in disbelief, and my mother knew immediately that they had not made it in time to see their only son before he passed on. That date was July 17, 1962.
Things were very intense from that point on. My father had to request assistance from Congressman John Young to have Hector, Jr.’s body returned to Corpus Christi. The ladies that were staying with us at home told me about my brother’s passing. I was only 9 years old. My father arrived home first, then Daisy Garcia and my mother come back another day.
I will never forget my father’s appearance when he arrived at the house. The first question to me was if they had told me about Sonny. I responded that they had. After that, he never said another word. He started weeping and weeping for hours. I attempted to comfort him by hugging him. He would not let me go.
The grieving had begun. We were lost without young Hector and we all took it very hard. The next few days were filled with company, friends, family and mourners. We had food, desserts and hundreds of plants were sent to the house. We were never left alone. Preparing for Sonny’s funeral was an arduous task. When we arrived at the funeral home, my mother lost control. Gazing at Sonny in the casket, was a shocking moment for her and she wept openly. My father felt tremendous guilt for sending him on that trip to Mexico. I felt that this guilt never left my father for all of his life.
My father never left Hector’s side at the funeral parlor. He stayed through the night and only returned home in the morning to change his clothes. Hundreds and hundreds of people came to offer their love and condolences. The funeral was beautiful and perfect. All of Hector’s classmates were lined outside of St. Patrick’s Catholic Church to greet us and the casket. It was unbelievable that this nightmare was happening to us.
After the funeral was over and a few weeks later, I noticed that my father never mentioned Sonny again. Growing up, I could never understand his grieving process. However, I did notice that my father’s workload became more intense. President John Kennedy was assassinated November 22, 1963 and that also was a dagger in my father’s heart. He began to take on some intense projects such as the Civil Rights and Voting Rights legislation. There was a high profile lawsuit, Cisneros vs Corpus Christi Independent School District, which lasted several years. My father received numerous awards and recognition, including Alternate Representative to the United Nations in 1967, U.S. Commission on Civil Rights in 1968 and accompanied Vice President Hubert Humphrey and the U.S. Delegation for the signing of the Treaty of Tlatelolco in 1968. My father had become a true public servant.
My mother Wanda left my brother’s room intact for many years, just as he had it when he left for Mexico that morning. She would go into the room daily to pray and silently weep. She would look at his pictures that she had in many areas of our home. The crucifix that had draped his coffin had a permanent place on his bed. She had a difficult time dealing with his death, and was reminded everyday of her loss.
So my father channeled his grief in a positive manner. Not accepting this until much later in life, I had a full understanding when my father was on his own death bed and called out for his only son, Hector, Jr., Sonny, “Mi Hijo”!! My father had always grieved for young Hector, Jr., but maintained his strength and love for his family through his work. He knew that he would draw from the death of his only son for strength for the years ahead of him.
In saying goodbye to my beloved brother, I remember him lying in that white casket, peacefully. It was very disturbing to see him there, and not running around with me, playing baseball. I remember my last kiss to him on his forehead. I told him how much I missed him, how much I will miss being with him, and not growing up with him. Somehow I knew that he would always be with me, and watch over me. I would never forget him.
