Saturday, April 28, 2007

100-year-old man credits 'buena suerte' for long life

Kenn Rodriguez Valencia County News-Bulletin

LAS NUTRIAS — You might miss Camino Ulibarri if you're driving down N.M. 304 too fast on your way to the New Mexico Boys Ranch or Bernardo.

Inside the first house lives Esequiel M. Ulibarri.

On April 10, Esequiel celebrated his 100th birthday.

There's no word on whether any morning TV anchors are going to visit him to commemorate a century of his being alive in Las Nutrias. But his family has already started to send things — on a recent Monday afternoon, he points proudly to the bouquet of flowers that arrived from California.

"Oh those are nice, qué no?" asks his daughter Bea Torres, who hugs him, then helps him rise to go to the living room where they will tell his story.

"Sí, sí," he answers, his voice low but not weary.

On April 10, they threw him a party.

When you first see him, you might notice Esequiel's eyes are rimmed red by age, but his brown pupils are sharp, focused.

Using his maroon metal walker, he moves slowly to the living room and, with Bea's help, navigates the wide wooden entrance to the room — a remnant in old adobe houses like this one, where the thick walls make entry ways into each room necessary.

"I bought this house from my brother," he says in Spanish, interpreted by Bea. "We bought the house and it didn't have a roof. We put a roof and moved in. That was in 1941."

Seventeen years earlier, Esequiel and his brothers had helped build the house with their uncle, who first owned it.

"We had a little house down by the arroyo," he said, gesturing toward the river, "but it burned down. The arroyo would flood here and destroy everything."

Esequiel can't remember much about New Mexico gaining statehood back in 1912 — only age 5 at the time — he says he remembers people shooting their guns. When he was 7, his father Leoniles died, leaving his mother Cruzita a widow. She eventually remarried — marrying Leoniles' cousin Ambrosio Ulibarri, who already had five children and was a widower himself.

Wars — World Wars I and II — don't ring a lot of bells either. He remembers a few people going off to war. But mostly he remembers people staying around and working.

He does remember the Great Depression, though.

"It was very hard," he said. "We didn't have much. We barely made it. We helped each other out — neighbors, family. It's very different now."

"Years ago, everyone would get together on Sundays and sit around, visit, play cards and horseshoes," he says. "We might have a few drinks. Then we'd go home."

Work was a big part of his life, he says through Bea.

Esequiel recalled going to Las Nutrias Junior High, "just up to the eighth grade," not wanting to go after that, Bea says.

Like so many at the time, he went to work on the family farm and at the New Mexico Boys Ranch, where he toiled for 24 years.

"We had 40 or 50 acres at the time," he says. "We used to bail hay. We had cows, sheep, pigs, chickens, rabbits. When I worked for the Boys Ranch — I'd work there all day then go work on the farm — we'd bail hay, take care of the animals, make sure the kids went to church."

Baling hay is no easy chore now, and Esequiel says it was even harder back then.

"We didn't have machines to help us," he says with a laugh. "We used to all help each other."

When he was younger, Esequiel says he remembers turning the scraper to move dirt in the fields — and having to hitch horses up to haul things.

"I always had trouble with that," he says.

So many things have come along since Esequiel was born - the automobile, television, microwave ovens. But the one invention that had the biggest impact — even more than electricity — was the telephone.

"We had no electricity in 1941," he recalls. "But the politicians were always asking us what we needed in this area. And we said 'a telephone.'"

Esequiel doesn't carry a cellular phone now — "he doesn't even answer the house phone, qué no, dad?" jokes Bea. But he remembers what it was like having a party line — six families to a phone line.

"If it rang once, it was for us, twice for the neighbor across the street, three times for the other neighbor," Bea says. "Everyone used to pick up just to listen. My mom hated that."

Esequiel Ulibarri has outlived all seven of his brothers, his four step-brothers and his one step-sister, said his daughter.

Esequiel's wife of 64 years, Soylita Baca, passed away 10 years ago. Not surprisingly, he remembers meeting her.

"I went to La Joya to visit some uncles and saw her talking to a friend of mine," he says, "I thought she was pretty. Then I went to a dance on Saturday and saw her there. We danced."

They two married in 1932 — but not before Esequiel and his mother went to ask for Soylita's hand in marriage.

"(My mother) said 'You better ask in front of her dad or else," he says laughing.

Like his brothers and sisters, Esequiel has outlived many of his children. His oldest son, Abran, died at age 72 in 2006. Bea, her sister, Sally Chavira, and her brother, Jerry Ulibarri, are all still alive. Two of Esequiel's other children have passed on — Criselda "Crissie," who died in 1967 at the age of 18, and Herman, who died at age 60 in 2000.

But Esequiel has 13 grandkids and 15 great-grandchildren, who visit him at times. He doesn't tell them many stories anymore. If he did, he might tell them about being chairman of the Republican Party or being deputy chief for the Las Nutrias precinct of Socorro County. Or being county appraiser for Socorro County

Or going to the rodeo (to watch — "I didn't ride, I just went to enjoy it," he says.) Or to dances.

Esequiel says he's learned a lot of things in life — but the secret to long life isn't one of them. Bea says he would often have a shot of whisky to end the day and he's chewed tobacco most of his life (that got him in some trouble with doctors when he went to have his cataracts removed a few months ago, she says with a chortle). He also still had his driver's license until he was 95, he says.

Asked how he lived a long life, he replies "No se.

"Buena suerte." Good luck.

"And love with the heart," he says.

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