Commentary:
Saturday [22Feb2025], they buried Enrique Simon Miranda Lucero across the street from where he was born in 1925.
Into his 90s, Enrique was still working the farm his father had won in a raffle after returning from World War I. Enrique graduated from Hill Public School, then from Las Cruces Union High. At 16, following Pearl Harbor, he tried to join the Navy. He obeyed his first order: to graduate from high school, then sign up. In 1942, he became a medical corpsman in the Pacific Theater.
He stayed in the Navy 20 years. He took his growing family wherever he could. They camped all across Europe, while he was stationed there.
He even signed two up for guitar lessons in Italy. Saturday, celebrating Enrique’s life, one son played the guitar and sang, a couple of Mexican songs Enrique had loved, and then Willie Nelson’s On the Road Again. The family had been on the road a lot. He and another son visited the Ryman Auditorium (original site of the Grand Ole Opry), from whence emanated the first radio broadcast, also 100 years ago), as they bonded over love of country and western music.
After his Navy service, he used his medical skills working with the local hospital, then took a medical job at La Tuna Federal Penitentiary in Anthony. Being Enrique, he worked hard and well. Years later, he was the first Hispanic warden in the U.S. Bureau of Prisons system. It was a high-rise prison in San Diego, with a big office. “You look important,” one granddaughter told him.
He was important, there and on the farm near Radium Springs, and in the northern part of our county for decades after he retired. He and his wife of 73 years, Enedina, were actively involved in making things happen, such as the Radium Springs Community Center and Radium Springs Volunteer Fire Department.
Meanwhile he improved the farm. He worked on it physically well into his 90s. Six years ago, Enedina passed away suddenly in the kitchen. He missed her tremendously, but persevered.
In his 90s, he was a strong man. He’d show grandchildren his biceps, still “hard as a baseball,” we’re told – but “It’ll cost you!” he’d proclaim, then collect five bucks – which, he secretly returned later on.
In his 90s, he was a thoughtful man, constantly reading, mostly history and geography, or writing about his life or how the day had gone, or organizing the marvelous family videos, papers, and other artifacts that evidenced a life well-lived.
In his 90s, he was always “fine,” if asked; always, “just sitting here waiting for your call,” if you phoned. All his life he’d made family and friends laugh with his unique one-liners. Several were retold Saturday – but, in case anyone forgot, he also left a two-page typed list of them.
Hill is as gone as a tumbleweed in the spring winds. Most Las Crucens have never heard of it. Nor of Enrique.
They buried Enedina outside a farmhouse window, so’s he could look out at where she was. Now they’re together again, under a tree. A while back, he showed a granddaughter a map of the spot, saying he’d be so close to his great-grandfather, who’d rolled his own cigarettes, that he’d smell the smoke as they laughed over old times, and not far from Pat Garrett, with whose kids Enrique’s father, Simon, played.
They buried a hell of a man!
Peter Goodman's opinions are his own and do not necessarily reflect the views of KRWG Public Media or NMSU.