Chapter 1 - JOSE DIEGO

I remember Dad had a short beard, I never did see him smooth shaven. He was a short man, only 5 foot 7 inches tall. Although he was short in height he was long remembered, especially for his humor. Brother Bowman ran the store where Dad used to go down and buy groceries. Brother Bowman would always kid Dad about being so short when he would come into the store. "Hey, Brother James, how tall do you think a man should be to look respectful?"

Dad's reply to Brother Bowman was, "I think a man ought to be tall enough so that his feet touch the ground, Brother Bowman, to look respectful."

Dad was quite noted for his wit and humor wherever he went. In 1958 my brother, Abe, and I traveled back to Mexico. Every place we went, even though it had been more than fifty years, as we introduced ourselves as the "hijos de Jose Diego" either the young ones had heard of Joe James or the old ones had known him personally. We were quite proud of Dad, that everyone would still remember him after fifty years.

I only remember a few events with Father. The first was about the year 1907 when he used to take me out to go horseback riding behind him on the saddle, going round over the valley in late fall, starting forest fires all over the ranch to burn out the old grass, so when it came springtime there'd be plenty of new grass for the stock. I used to ride behind him, that's one of the few times I ever remember my father.

Another time I remember he had put Walter, a half brother my age, and me working out in the orchard, hoeing weeds out of the blackberries and raspberries and a special kind of berry that had put on fruit for the first time that year. In place of hoeing weeds, my brother and I decided we'd better see how those berries taste. So we proceeded to eat most of the ripe ones. We got to the other end of the row and we had the berry juice all over our face and hands and there stood Dad. We expected and deserved a whipping for eating these fine berries, especially since this was the first crop. But, being the kind of father he was, he went back into the orchard and picked us each another handful of these berries, what was left on the trees, and gave us each a handful of them and said, "Take and eat these, but don't bother my berries any more." So that was a better lesson than being whipped, for sure.

One other time is as he came home from working down at the sawmill. He used to get home weekends and spend his time with Mother and then go back on Monday morning. He would go back to the sawmill and live with the other part of the family.