homestead in Bon Carbo. Filbert and Alice contributed two boys to the baby boom, John in 1949 and Michael in 1952. By the time my father John was born, Poppa had been promoted to captain.
On May 18 and 19, 1955, Trinidad suffered what probably was its greatest disaster. A 48-hour rainstorm changed the usually placid Purgatoire River into a raging demon, with the river rising 30 feet at the height of the flood. All traffic into the city – railroads, bus and highways – was suspended. Public Health officials ordered everyone in the city to have a typhoid shot and to boil all water used for drinking or cooking. On Friday, May 20, the bright sun beamed down on a ghastly scene of wreckage and ruin along the flood-widened river. Damage ran into the mil-lions of dollars. President Eisenhower allocated $ 100,000 for flood relief. Filbert recalls those sleepless hours as one of the most challenging of his police career.
In January 1957, Filbert accepted an appointment as probation officer to the County Court of Las Animas County at a salary of $ 280 per month with a mileage reimbursement of 8 cents per mile. With a bone-crushing hand grip and great personal charm, he devoted himself unselfishly to a host of humanitarian causes. Filbert found the time and the energy to serve, to work and to lead, shouldering countless bur-dens with unfailing good humor and grace. Then in 1960, a career move changed his duties to that of investigator for the District Attorney’ s Office.
Beginning in 1962, and through six succeeding elections, Filbert was“ the Sheriff“ of Las Animas County. My grandfather ran unopposed in four of the six races in which he was elected. Always humble, when I have asked him,“ What makes a good leader?“ he is shy about expressing the great service that he rendered to the community. But I know what he modeled in his life: courage and loyalty, under-standing, initiative and vision, and a saving sense of humor.
As one of the many in whom he evokes the keenest admiration and respect, I call him a true gentleman.
One of the proudest moments of my life was when, as a youngster, I rode beside him in the sheriff’ s car with lights flashing and my finger on the siren button. I knew that the citizens of the community saw me sitting next to the most respected and honored of men.
My father, John E. Garcia
Trinidad began experiencing a downward spiral in its economy in the 1960’ s. The unemployment rate reached 12.2 %, and only the Allen Mine remained open, Some young men who would have been drafted left the country or went to jail.
Peace loving flower children, better known as hippies, arrived in Trinidad preaching a new and better lifestyle. They dressed in weird fashions and let their hair and beards grow long. Five miles east of town four college
graduates founded a commune which acquired the name Drop City. Buildings were constructed in a geodesic dome style, using stripped car tops salvaged from junk piles as building material.
Nearly everyone who lived there were college graduates practicing a philosophy that would avoid all noncreative and compulsory work.
It was during those turbulent years that my father, John, was attending high school where he was a cadet colonel in ROTC. My dad was, and still is, active in all sports. He was on the wrestling team, played varsity football and baseball, and helped my grandfather at the family ranch. After graduation, he continued with academics at Trinidad State Junior College where he was part of the police cadet program.
Then in October 1969, a most unwelcome envelope for John arrived at the family home, with a draft status of 1-A enclosed. He reported for his physical examination in Denver and returned home to Trinidad to wait for his enlistment date in December. The draft lottery started in January 1970, and my dad was spared a tour of Vietnam by the high lottery number of 330.
While the Watergate scandal kept
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