Wedding Wednesday: Gilbert and Joan (Schiavon) Huesca

Gilbert Cayetano Huesca (1915 - 2009)
Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca (1928 - 1987)

My parents were married civilly in downtown Chicago
on Thursday, August 19, 1954, by Justice of the Peace
Miles E. Cunat.  Apparently, Cook County did not require
a waiting period between obtaining a marriage license
and the ceremony itself.  The marriage license was signed
by Richard J. Daley, the County Clerk at that time, who
went on to become Mayor of Chicago for several decades.
Their marriage was solemnized a year later by Father
Thomas J. McKugo, the 64 year old pastor of Chicago's
(now closed) Saint Francis de Paula Catholic Church.

The weeks that followed my parents' engagement were quite full, both for the happy couple and my maternal grandparents, Ralph and Alice (McGinnis) Schiavon.  My father moved into a new apartment, and he and my mother began furnishing it with guidance from my grandmother and Mrs. Fern Waples, my father's former landlady and friend.

My grandfather, who had always loved parties and entertaining, began floating the idea of giving my parents a large wedding reception at the Swedish Club, a social club to which he belonged on Chicago's North Side.   He and my grandmother took my parents there one evening for dinner to discuss it further and go over a guest list.

My mother, who preferred a simple and small, intimate wedding, objected to this idea.  She feared that most of the guests would be business associates of my grandfather's.  She wanted instead to share her day with close friends and family only.

It also turned out that she was afraid that her father might quash the wedding plans altogether.  An old-fashioned Italian father, he had expected that his only daughter would stay home and care for her parents through their old age and not even consider marrying until after they died. Further, he had hoped that when my mother eventually did marry, it would be to an Italian. 

Now, it is hard to know whether or not my grandfather changed his mind about this over time.  We do know, however, that my mother saw things differently.  She was of a younger generation and though not rebellious by nature, she definitely differed with her father on this subject.  My mother was deeply in love, and she resolved that she would marry my father, no matter what obstacles stood in her way.

My father continued to visit my mother whenever he could.  On Thursday, August 19, 1954, he went to Chatham Galleries, the Schiavon family's antiques shop, to spend his lunch hour with my mother, who was minding the store while her parents were on vacation in Miami, Florida.

My mother locked the door to the shop so they could take a walk.  When it was time for my father to go back to work, he leaned in to kiss her goodbye and saw tears streaming down her cheeks.  When he asked her what was the matter, my mother plopped down on the curb and buried her face in her hands.

"I don't want you to go.  I want to get married right now," she sobbed.

My father sat down beside her and took her hand as she told him she could not wait a moment longer.

"My parents are away," she went on.  "If we wait until they get back, we won't be able to do this the way we want to.  Maybe we won't be able to get married at all."  She continued to cry as my father attempted to comfort her.

My father, who was a stickler for doing things properly, knew my grandfather would never approve of an elopement.  As he and my mother talked some more, he realized that not only was my mother was serious about not waiting, but he, too yearned to be with her all the time.  She was more precious to him than life itself, and the thought of spending the rest of his life with her beginning today seemed completely right. 

He looked down at his lunchpail.  "I'll call work and tell them I'm not coming back today," he said.

He and my mother got up from the curb and made their way downtown to the Justice of the Peace.

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Amanuensis Monday: "When We Two are One"

Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca (1928 - 1987)
Gilbert Cayetano Huesca (1915 - 2009)

"To my Darling," reads my father's inscription
  in the diary he gave my  mother on the day he
asked her to marry him.  She later wrote their
names underneath, adding what must have
been their nickname: "Mr. & Mrs. Zippo."
 

[Note:  Amanuensis is an ancient word meaning one who performs the function of writing down or transcribing the words of another.  Derived from the Latin root manu-  , meaning manual or hand, the word also has been used as a synonym for secretary or scribe.]

My parents became engaged on July 3, 1954, the eve of my mother's 26th birthday.  Besides a solitaire engagement ring, my father, Gilbert Huesca, gave my mother, Joan Schiavon, a small diary. She dedicated it to him and began recording the first weeks of their engagement. What follows are her entries for those first seven days.

 JULY  Three (1954)

"My Secret Love" - "When we two are one"

The most wonderful day of my life.  Gil gave me an engagement ring this evening at home before we left with Mr. and Mrs. Waples to go to the Ivanhoe.  We had dinner, danced, had our fortunes told and went down thru (sic) the "Catacombs."  Then, my darling Gil had some singers come to sing "Happy Birthday" to me.  This evening will live in my heart forever as my love for Gil is for all my life.

I love him as I have never loved anyone before.  For you, Gil dearest are in my every thought, action, and breath.  May you always be as proud of me, as I am of you.

My mother's first diary entry, July 3, 1954
"My Secret Love," she wrote at the top,
When we two are one"

JULY  Four  (This was my mother's 26th birthday)

How happy and proud I was to show everyone at Downer's Grove my engagement ring, because I love you, my darling, with all my heart.  It was wonderful meeting your brother Carlos*.  He is very sweet.  I do hope he will like me.  

Mrs. Waples was so darling to make such a beautiful cake for my birthday.  I was so thrilled and happy today.  But, I know that I shall always be happy as long as you are with me.

JULY  Five

My thoughts were with you all morning, as they shall be every moment of my life.  I was so sorry that Carlos was unable to spend more time with us.  But, selfishly, I was very happy to have you all to myself for the afternoon.  We had such a lovely time at the home of your friends, they were so sweet and kind to us.

What a beautiful home 457 was, and what happy memories you must have of the times you spent there.  My dearest wish is that our life together will be a happy one for you.

JULY  Six

Today I went shopping with you for the first time.  I hope that in later years you will always take me with you, as such little things when shared together should keep us very close to one another.

We got caught in the rain and put your raincoat over our heads!  I even enjoy the rain with you, my darling.  I was so afraid you wouldn't get a chance to kiss me goodnight when Dad and Mother took you home.  But we did kiss and now I am happy.

JULY  Seven

Being with you tonight was wonderful, but Darling, you really gave me a scare when you said you had something to show me.  You didn't tell me it was your heart until after you unbuttoned your shirt.  Then, I felt so silly because you told me I was blushing.

Mrs. Waples was so sweet to make that jar of cookies for me.  Dearest, I am so proud to love you.  I really am very fortunate to have you to love.  

Your Mother was very sweet in her letter.  I hope I will make a good wife to her son.

JULY  Eight

Dearest:  you are the sweetest most wonderful man in all this world. I'm writing this tonight with your fountain pen.  You were so dear to let me use it.  You read this diary tonight, and I only wish that I could express all the love that I have for you in my heart.

It was so nice of you to take Mother, Margaret**, and I for coffee tonight.  I wish that you were here now so I could give you a big kiss. 

I wonder what you will think ten years from now when you read this?

JULY  Nine

I just finished talking to you on the telephone.  The roses that you brought me this evening are beautiful.  I have them here in my room so that I can look at them as I go to sleep and think of you and how much I love you, my Darling.

I hope you will get a nice rest tonight - you sounded so tired on the phone tonight.   I'm getting sleepy, now dear, so goodnight for now.  I love you.

JULY  Ten

What a lovely evening we've had tonight! It's just a week now that we've been engaged.  I'm so proud of my ring and of you.

Has any girl ever been as happy as I am.  And darling you are what makes this little package of oatmeal so happy.  It was so nice dancing at the "Sociedad Española."  (Is my Spanish improving?)

To be with you is always wonderful.  I was very sorry that the Algarins did not come.  But you were with me.  That's enough for me!

*   Carlos Huesca, my father's younger brother.

** Margaret Lesueur, a friend of my grandparents.

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Sentimental Sunday: Popping the Question

Gilbert Cayetano Huesca (1915 - 2009)
Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca (1928 - 1987)

A postcard of the Ivanhoe, a popular medieval-style
Chicago restaurant, where my parents feted my mother's
26th birthday and their engagement on July 3, 1954.

My father, Gilbert Huesca, could hardly contain the love he felt for my mother, Joan Schiavon. His workdays at Lakeshore Printing flew by as he waited for five o'clock to come so he could see her again.  When he was not with my mother, he was talking about her to his younger brother, Carlos Huesca, who had recently arrived in Chicago from Mexico City, or to his friends, Louis and Theresa Algarin and Frank and Fern Waples, or writing home to his mother, Catalina (Perrotin) Huesca, in Mexico City.  

By late June, it had been only two months since he had met her at the end of April, 1954, but he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. One evening, over a game of chess with Frank Waples, my father was less focused than usual. Fern sensed his mind was on something else, and she asked him if everything was all right between him and Joan.  

"Oh, yes," he said. "It couldn't be better. But Fern, she is very special. There are other fellows who are very interested in her.  They're very rich and powerful."   

"And is she interested in any of them?" Fern asked, always quick to cut to the heart of the matter.  

"No. The way she looks into my eyes, I know she loves me."

"So what are you waiting for?  Go ask her to marry you, Gil!"  

"But how can I ask her so soon?  We've only been seeing each other for a little while."  

Fern Waples was not a woman to listen to excuses.  "Well, Gil, I told you before that she was too much girl for you.  I guess you'll either just have to ask her or let her go."  She turned around and left the room.

That was all my father needed to hear.  Like the expert chess player he was, he began strategizing for the most important move of his life.

Before he could ask my mother to marry him, he knew he would have to approach her father for his permission.   Some men would have paled at this and thought it old-fashioned, but my father had come from a very traditional Mexican family and understood the importance of showing respect for the father of one's intended.

On July 2, 1954, two days before my mother's birthday, my father went to see my grandfather, Ralph Schiavon, to ask for her hand in marriage.

My grandfather had seen a proposal coming, but not this soon.  He hesitated at the thought of his only daughter marrying someone who was not Italian, though he himself had married an Irish-American.  He looked at my father sternly.

"Do you have any insanity in your family?" he asked.

My father had anticipated that my grandfather would be tough on him, but he did not expect this question.   He smiled.  "No," he said confidently. "Is there any in yours?"

Ralph Schiavon had to laugh at my father's quick comeback.  He shook his head and knew he had met his match.  He gave my father his permission, albeit reluctantly.

The next evening, my father arrived at the Schiavon home to take my mother out for an early birthday dinner celebration.  My grandmother, Alice (McGinnis) Schiavon, who had heard of my father's intentions from my grandfather, met him at the door and showed him to the living room. My mother soon appeared in a lovely red lace dress, and my grandparents disappeared, leaving the sweethearts alone.

My father could not believe how beautiful she looked and almost forgot to give her the small gift-wrapped package he had in his hands.  Inside was a diary with a deep red cover, "the color of my heart," my father said.  

My mother loved it.  "I'm going to fill it with all my love for you," she said as she hugged him.

But that was not all my father had for her.  He took another small box from his pocket and got down on one knee.  My mother's eyes grew wide as his trembling fingers opened the box to reveal a white gold diamond solitaire ring.

"Darling, how would you like to have a honeymoon in Acapulco?" he asked, his voice filled with passion.

My mother didn't hesitate for a moment in her reply.  "Oh, Gil, I'd just love it!" she said breathlessly.

My grandparents soon returned to the living room and congratulated the newly engaged couple.  After a short celebration, my parents left to meet Frank and Fern Waples at the Ivanhoe, a famous medieval-style restaurant at Clark and Wellington Streets in Chicago.  

It was a Saturday evening, and the good people of the City of Chicago had already begun their festivities for Independence Day, just hours away. Fireworks celebrating the American holiday were going off all over the city, but for two people who had just promised their undying love to each other, they seemed to be heralding the start of a beautiful life together.

 Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Once More Around the Block

Gilbert Cayetano Huesca (1915 - 2009)
Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca (1928 - 1987)


A love story

When we kids wanted to hear a story, our parents, Gilbert and Joan (Schiavon) Huesca, often reminisced about their first date.

It was early May, 1954, and they went to see Otto Preminger's River of No Return, starring Robert Mitchum and Marilyn Monroe.  When my father picked my mother up at her family's antiques store, Chatham Galleries, she said her father, Ralph Schiavon, had told her in no uncertain terms that she was to be home by 9:30 p.m.

"He was a big man with a big voice," my father told me.  "And your mother said, if he said 9:30, it had to be 9:30.  Not a fraction of a second later."

They took the Illinois Central (known locally as the I.C.)  "L train," short for Elevated train, downtown.

"We never saw the movie, of course,"  my father confessed.  "I sat there looking at her, and she was looking at me.  And we left there and got to the station and found that the train had already left.

"She said, 'Oh my God, we missed the train!  What can we do?'

"I said, well you better call your father.  So she did, and he asked where we were.  She told him we were right in the Loop, and he said, well you must return on the next train.  I could hear his voice, even from the phone booth.  It was very stern. 

"When we arrived at the station, he was there to meet us.  I thought, oh my God.  I was already afraid of meeting him, and this was the first time I met him.

"And he was very kind.  What a relief.  I was very thankful for that."  

Did they kiss goodnight? 

"Not that night.  Not with her father standing right there," my father grinned.  "I knew I couldn't if I wanted to see her again."

My mother loved talking about that first date.  She removed one of her earrings and gave it to my father to hold for her during the movie.  She conveniently "forgot" to ask for it later, so my father would have an excuse to bring it back to her and they could see each other again.  (My mother told this story so many times that when I began dating, I always planned ahead what small item I could "forget" in case I wanted to see my date again.)

She didn't remember seeing much of the movie, either.  While they sat in the theater, she spent most of the time moving my father's arm off her shoulder, only to have him put his arm around her again.  

Whenever she recalled this part, her face would light up.

My father's friends, Frank and Fern Waples, waited up for him that night as if he were their own son.  Fern asked how he liked the movie.  "Beautiful movie," my father replied.  "I don't know what happened, but it was a beautiful movie!"  

"Gilbert!" she exclaimed.

When he told her about the missed train episode, she frowned.  "This isn't just any girl, Gil.  If you really want to see her, you'll have to get her home on time and do exactly what her father says."

The Schiavon home, 8200 South Saint Lawrence Avenue,
Chicago, Illinois

From then on, my father walked over to the Schiavon home most evenings to visit my mother.  He did not own a car or have much money, so their dates typically consisted of coffee and dessert at the Waples home, strolls in the park, or simple walks around the block, holding hands and talking.  As far as they were concerned, they could not have enjoyed each other more if they had been on the Champs-Elysées or dining at a five star restaurant.  Being together was all that mattered.

Though my mother was nearly 26 and a responsible adult, she still lived at home with her parents, as most young single women did in the 1950s.  Moreover, as the daughter of a strict Italian father who loved her fiercely and protectively, she accepted that he was the head of the household and respected his stringent rules.  

This, however, is not always easy to do, especially when the days have grown long and you are very much in love.  

"Oh, please, Gil," she would say most evenings.  "Let's just go once more around the block."  

How could he say no to her? Off they would go, again and again, oblivious to the neighbors watching amusedly from their porches in the sticky Chicago heat, until the street lights on Saint Lawrence Avenue came on and my grandfather would look out the front window.

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Thankful Thursday: A Priceless Find

Gilbert Cayetano Huesca (1915 - 2009)
Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca (1928 - 1987)

Alice (McGinnis) Schiavon  (1895 - 1963)
Fern (Lawton) Waples (1899 - 1961)


"She's too much girl for you."

My father, Gilbert Huesca

So said Fern Waples, my father's landlady and friend, with her sly smile as she watched him look back longingly at the Chicago antiques gallery where he had met the girl of his dreams on a sunny afternoon in late April, 1954.

My father, Gilbert Huesca, grinned back.  He loved nothing more than a good challenge.

That morning, he had asked Mrs. Waples to show him where he could buy a Mother's Day card to send his mother, Catalina (Perrotin) Huesca, in Mexico City.  Mrs. Waples, a savvy woman who knew all the best places to shop, remembered there was a place, Chatham Galleries, about two blocks from her home.  Known chiefly for its European art and antiques, it also carried a nice greeting card selection.  She offered to take him there.

Mrs. Waples busied herself looking at the antiques while my father wandered around.  As he would tell the story years later, a "beautiful young lady" approached him and asked if she could help him.

He told her he needed a card for his mother for Mother's Day.  "I want something very special for her," he said, "with simple but loving words."  She paused thoughtfully and led him to the greeting card display.

As she began pulling out cards and making suggestions in a soothing voice, my father nearly forgot why he came in the first place.

She was five-foot-four, but she looked much taller in her high heels and slender frame.  She moved with the grace of a dancer, looking up often at Gil intuitively as she talked.  Her medium brown hair was swept into soft curls that crowned her head, drawing attention to her expressive brown eyes.  Her complexion was fair and smooth, and her red lips curled easily upward into a smile that was confident yet sweet and gentle.  Her words were crisp and lilting, and to him, they sounded like music.

By the time he paid for a card and left, Mrs. Waples, who was already outside and was watching through the window, looked at him knowingly.

"You sure took a long time in there, Gil," she said.

My father was breathless.  "Fern,  I bought a beautiful card...but...I just love the girl!"

She shook her head.  "Forget it," she said, 'She's too much girl for you.  You could never handle her."

As they walked down Cottage Grove Avenue, my father reflected on his landlady's words. Maybe she was right about this girl.  Then again, he wondered how it was that he could think of nothing else.

The next time he was off work, he found himself returning to Chatham Galleries.  Not seeing the young shopkeeper, he asked the older lady working there whether she was there that day.

Alice (McGinnis) Schiavon looked up at the handsome young man.  "Oh, that would be my daughter Joie," she said. "She's at the restaurant* next door." My father thanked her and went over to the restaurant.  There she was, sitting at the lunch counter.

My father took a deep breath and approached her.  "Joie, do you remember me?" he asked, trying to sound calmer than he felt.

He thought he saw her blush.  "Oh, yes," she said.  "You bought the Mother's Day card with the flowers on it."  She let him take the stool next to her.

My father could not believe how easy she was to talk to, and he soon forgot his nervousness as he told her about his home in Mexico City and his experiences in Chicago over the past eight years.  She asked to see a photograph of his mother and laughed when he told her about his first weeks in Chicago, when his restaurant meals consisted of only apple pie because that was all he knew how to order in English.  He was captivated by her own stories and her sharp wit and her devotion to her parents, and he became intrigued with learning more about this beautiful lady. There was something about her - a sense of goodness and dignity and culture - that appealed to him.

My mother, Joan Schiavon, with her parents, Alice  (McGinnis)
and Ralph Schiavon, Chicago, Illinois

Joie - Joan Schiavon - had not forgotten him at all.  She was thrilled to see this handsome stranger again and could not believe he had taken the trouble to find her.  She had been impressed by his politeness and charmed by his Spanish accent.  He seemed different from the other young men she had met until now, and she liked the way he related to others, from the respect he showed the older woman who had accompanied him to the store a few days before to the kind way he talked to the waitress at the lunch counter.  And his eyes - how they seemed to see right through her. She wondered if he could read her mind right now.  The thought made her blush even more.

Before either of them knew it, it was time for Joan to go back to work.  My father noticed she had hardly touched her food.   He asked if he could see her again.

"Oh, no," she shook her head, quickly coming back to reality.  "You have to ask my parents."

My father was confused.  "How old are you?" he asked.

"25 - but you have to see my parents first."  She smiled back at him, slid off the stool, and went back to work.

As it turned out, Joan - asked her mother, then her father, for their permission to go out with Gilbert Huesca.  Being protective Irish-Italian parents, they must have asked her a million questions but finally gave their approval as my grandmother recalled the polite man in the store who had asked about her daughter.

Gil and Joan's first date was to the movies to see River of No Return, a romantic Western starring Robert Mitchum and Marilyn Monroe.  Though the fictional movie turned out to be far less stellar that its illustrious cast, its title would mark the beginning of a real life love story between two people whose lives would be changed forever.

And all this because my father had gone looking for a greeting card and came away with a priceless find in the lady he would soon ask to become his wife.   For that I will be forever thankful.

* This restaurant may have been a place called "Flukies," located at 8211 South Cottage Grove Avenue.

 Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Did you know Gilbert or Joan (Schiavon) Huesca or any of the people mentioned in this story?  Are you a member of the Huesca or Waples families?  If so, share your memories and comments below.

Life with the Waples Family

Gilbert Cayetano Huesca (1915 - 2009)

Frank Waples  (1901 - 1993)
Fern (Lawton) Waples (1899 - 1961)

My darling father, Gilbert Huesca, at
the home of Frank and Fern Waples,
Chicago, Illinois.  Circa 1952 - 1954.

Some time around 1950, my father, Gilbert Cayetano Huesca, set out to find a new room to rent in Chicago.  He had lived for several years with his good friends, Louis and Theresa Algarin, since arriving in the United States, and he had started his own business, Lakeshore Printing, on Lakeshore Drive in Chicago. 

We don't know why he decided to move.  Did the large Algarin family need the space for other children or grandchildren? Or did my father want to be closer to work?  At that time, he did not have a car and had to rely on public transportation, so this would have been a good reason to move.   In any case, the Algarins were sad to see him go, but my father's friendship with them remained strong and endured through two generations.  

When he saw a sign in a two story home on Chicago's South Side advertising a room for rent, my father called the number on the sign and arranged with the lady of the house, Fern (Lawton) Waples, to view the room.   When he arrived, he was impressed by the meticulous  cleanliness of the room and the rest of the house, which was quite large.  

Frank and Fern Waples, dear friends of my father's, at
their home in Downer's Grove, Illinois, Memorial Day, 1957

Being fastidiously clean, my father minced no words but asked Mrs. Waples whether her house was always this tidy or had she cleaned up because she knew he was coming?   She was not put off by the remark but proved herself equally picky when it came to renters.  "Young man," she said, "I should be insulted, but instead I can see that we think alike.  The room is yours if you want it."

Frank and Fern Waples were about fifteen years older than my father, but they treated him like a son, much as the Algarins had.  

Frank had worked in various positions, from land appraiser to railway worker to insurance agent.  He was an affable man who seemed happiest when he was surrounded by family and friends. He and my father spent hours talking about everything under the sun.  He loved nothing better than hosting a large circle of family and friends at the Waples home for summer picnics and celebrations.  It was Frank who taught my father the art of the barbecue.

Gilbert Huesca, age 36, Chicago Illinois, January 20, 1952

Fern was a private school teacher.  She was charming and direct.  She noticed how much my father missed his family and friends in Mexico and took him under her wing, helping him with his English and coaching him on American culture and customs. She was always encouraging him to meet new people and experience new things.  My father recalled that Fern was a stylish dresser who rarely went anywhere without her trademark pearl necklace and earrings. She loved a good sale and was the person you went to when you wanted to know where to find that "something special."  This special knack of hers would one day change my father's life.

From what he told us, the big house was usually bustling with young people - the grown-up Waples children and their friends.  The family's relaxed nature and constant activity made him feel right at home.  When he wasn't playing chess with Frank or testing Fern's baking, he was taking one of their daughters to the museum or the movies. 

I was only 6 years old when my father told me that Mrs. Waples, as we knew her, died.  It was the first time I knew someone who had passed away.  I recall my parents driving with my two sisters and me to the funeral home for the wake.   (I couldn't figure out why they called it that when we knew she would never wake up.)

The sky was overcast, and a light rain was falling.  My father parked a short distance away from the funeral home. He and my mother took turns watching us while the other went inside to pay respects. They were very quiet all the way home.

Frank retired some time after that.  He moved to San Marcos in Southern California and marred a second time to a lovely lady named Katie.  They later moved to Arizona, where he died in 1993.

Still, the memories of those happy times with the Waples family would remain with my father all of his life, always sure to bring a smile to his face and a story to his lips.  

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Treasure Chest Thursday: The Lady Plate

My mother, Joan (Schiavon) Huesca used to say that my grandmother, Alice (McGinnis) Schiavon, was her own best customer when it came to their Chicago antiques business, Chatham Galleries.

The Lady Plate, signed by the artist Dapoigny and undated, was with
 us so long, she was practically a beloved member of our family.

One of the most stunning pieces in the Chatham collection was the large porcelain plate pictured here.  Measuring about 27 inches in diameter, it bore the likeness of an aristocratic lady dressed in vivid hues of burgundy, white, pink and blue, painted on a gold field with raised designs.    The plate was signed "Dapoigny"on the bottom and was not dated.  

The lady on the plate appears to be French.  Beyond this, we know nothing of the plate's provenance.  This was one of the articles my grandmother and mother brought back from Europe, though I do not recall hearing where they found it.

The "Lady Plate," as our family called it, hung in Chatham Galleries for a while.  Like so many other things, she eventually made her way to my grandparent's home, where she reigned in splendor for nearly a decade. Before my grandmother died in 1963, she gave the Lady Plate to my mother, knowing she would always cherish it.

My mother at Chatham Galleries, the antiques business she and my
grandmother owned.  The Lady Plate hangs behind her on the wall.  The
gentleman with my mother is unidentified.  Chicago, Illinois, 1951.

The Lady Plate became a special part of our family, and we accorded her the reverence and love as the grande dame she was.   

She came with us when our family moved down to Mexico City and again a few years later when we moved to California, both times safely cradled in a bundle of blankets on my mother's lap in the front seat of our yellow 1962 Ford Falcon station wagon. This was no small feat, considering the plate's size and heaviness.

The Mexican roads were not the best, even the modern toll roads. My father did all he could to navigate around bumps and holes in the road, but this was not always possible over the 3,000 or so miles we covered.  There were no seat belts in those days, so we were jolted back and forth and up and down as the car rounded sharp curves, dodged erratic drivers, or hit the inevitable surprise pothole.  Through it all, my mother held tight to her treasured bundle.  Thanks to my parents' diligence and care, the Lady Plate survived without a scratch.  She seemed to graciously accept her new place of honor on the living room wall wherever we went, presiding over us with her peaceful countenance.

The Lady Plate hung on the living room wall of my grandparents' 
Chicago home, circa 1950 - 1959.

My father, Gilbert Cayetano Huesca, always carefully anchored the Lady Plate to the wall to keep her intact and safe.  Despite her vintage, which we guessed to be between 200 - 300 years, she never grew old but remained serenely beautiful, outlasting her many owners, including my grandmother and my mother. 

She was there for us during the milestones of our lives: our first steps, birthday parties, graduations, marriages.  She was there as we faced the loss of our mother to cancer and when we brought our newborn children home to visit their grandfather.  

She seemed invincible all those years, surviving the jarring  7.1 Loma Prieta Earthquake that struck Northern California in 1989 and who knows what other calamities centuries before.   Yet like many things of beauty, she could not last forever.

Her long life span finally came to an end one afternoon about four years ago.  My precious father, by then 92 years old and still strong and independent of body and mind, was deep cleaning his living room when he moved the couch away from the wall. Somehow he must have bumped into the Lady Plate, and she came crashing to the floor.  Thank God he was not hurt.

Not knowing what had happened, I arrived at his apartment for lunch a short while later and found him sitting at his table with his head in his hands, a large plastic bag containing the pieces of the beloved plate by his side.  He was overcome with grief.  I think he felt as though he had lost a good friend who had been a part of his life for over fifty years.  To him the Lady Plate represented my mother - his wife, the most beautiful and important lady in his life and the owner of his heart.  We held each other and cried.

It could have happened to any one of us.  My dear father, the most careful and meticulous person I have known, was not at fault for the demise of the Lady Plate.  Ever mindful of my mother's love for this prized possession, he had cared for the plate for over two decades as one who had been given a special treasure to guard.  Sometimes, though, things happen, no matter how hard we try to prevent them. Perhaps it was simply her time.

I have the Lady Plate now, carefully put away in her new form.  A large part of her face is still intact, but the rest of the pieces were not so lucky.  I just cannot bear to part with her, even in her fragments. Maybe some day I will be able to have someone put her back together so she can resume her place on our own living room wall to lovingly watch over and be cherished by future generations..

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully


Did you know Ralph and Alice (McGinnis) Schiavon or Joan (Schiavon) and Gilbert Huesca, or are you a member of the Schiavon/Schiavone or Huesca families? If so, share your memories and comments below.