Farewell to Francisca
This piece was written as a eulogy delivered at the funeral of Francisca Molinar Velásquez,
who passed away May 31, 2007.
Today, we are gathered here to mourn the passing of a great woman, my mother, Francisca Molinar Velásquez, who held the deepest love and respect for Johnstown, the small midwestern town in northern Colorado where she was raised as the oldest daughter of Saúl and María Molinar, one of Johnstown’s foremost founding families.
Francisca Molinar Velásquez’s life, her spirit, and courage, have made Johnstown what it has become today. There are no streets in Johnstown named after Francisca Molinar Velásquez. No schools to bear her name. But Francisca’s legacy will remain in this small town she sincerely loved. It is embedded in the small home on South 2nd Street that her only son – one of the first Colorado casualties in Vietnam – gave her in exchange for his death in 1968. I remember how stunned I felt that summer day as we were driving back from Frederick, where Mom worked cleaning Tim’s laundromat, when Mom suddenly pointed to a dirt road, saying, “That was where I wanted to kill myself when Fini died.” But Francisca did not take her life that day because she loved life too much. Mom always believed in living life to its fullest.
Francisca’s mark will forever remain in Johnstown, as will that of her only son, Lance Corporal John Robert Velásquez, or Fini, whose death she mourned every single day of her life. This humble and uneducated woman who has been forever immortalized in my poetry and fiction, in the PBS documentary, “La Raza de Colorado,” in my Stanford University archives. I remember how mom would humbly shake her head when I would tell her that she was a famous woman.
Francisca Molinar Velásquez was a proud, stubborn woman of the highest integrity, who like Rosa Parks, refused to sit at the back of the bus that day in the local Johnstown doctor’s office. Instead, she lost her job as a nurse, a job she loved dearly, for Francisca had always wanted to study nursing, but she couldn’t. Times were hard back then in the ‘50s and ‘60s for Mexicans, let alone uneducated women of color.
But Francisca was a proud, hard-working woman. She never took anything from anybody; she even hesitated taking anything from her own daughter and granddaughter. Instead, Francisca gave of herself. She gave away her time, her energy, the little money she had, rescuing Aunt Hope each time she needed anything whatsoever, helping Amá care for Tammy, Renee, Joette and Nicole, the nieces who became like her own daughters. And how Mom loved Uncle Arthur. She never hesitated each time he needed money. She even would go out of her way to help his sons and daughters. They all knew they could count on “Aunt Kica.”
As I stand here looking back today, Mom’s house was like a boarding house over the years, for she took in anyone who needed help – my cousin Edward Molinar, who lived with us during my teen-age years. Edward would become like another son for her. The Flores girls who lived with mom for a while after their own mother was killed. The four cousins Mom brought over from Juárez when their mother died – whom she loved deeply – María, Manuel, the twins, Lupe and Chuy, whom she later adopted. The countless cousins who lived with her – Angel, Julia, Juan Molinar – it’s impossible to name them all, the list is long. Just as it would be impossible to name all of Mom’s compadres and ahijados – Francisca became the Ultimate Godmother in Johnstown, like Marlon Brando himself in The Godfather.
As for her brothers and sisters – Uncle Saul, Aunt Lola, Aunt Hope, Aunt Dora, Uncle Jesse and Aunt Alice – Francisca was the inspirational older sister whose courage and strength they all admired. They each knew how much Amá and Apá uniquely loved their daughter Kica. And Aunt Hope meant the world to Mom. Mom loved Aunt Hope almost as much as she did Amá and Apá. Mom would share another special bond with Aunt Dora, whose only son, Steve Joseph Quintana, also died young like Fini. The bond between Aunt Dora and Mom would grow stronger during these past three years, as Aunt Dora visited day-in and day-out with Mom at Bonell Nursing Home. I will forever be indebted to Aunt Dora for the weekly visits, the time spent at Mom’s side, the pain Aunt Dora herself endured caring for her older sister, “Pancha,” as she used to call her. There are so many others that I haven’t mentioned, like little Dora, my cousin Juanita, comadre Kica, Marie, who helped care for Mom as she slowly worsened from the illness. To all of them, I say thank you, desde el fondo de mi corazón.
It is equally important to recognize the deep love and respect Uncle Manuel, Aunt Carrie and Uncle Louie – Dad’s only living brothers and sisters – had for my mother, Francisca. Mom was the ideal sister-in-law. My grandfather, Dalin, loved her deeply. Above all, Mom always held a special place in her heart for Uncle Louie, since he was the last person to see her Fini alive in Vietnam.
My daughter, Brandi, and my grandson, Angelo, will mourn Mom’s loss for a lifetime. Francisca was always there for Brandi. There wasn’t anything Mom wouldn’t do for Brandi. Perhaps this is why Brandi always called Francisca “Mom,” instead of “grandma.” It was Mom who made it possible for Brandi to get her college degree, helping her both financially and spiritually. She also babysat Angelo from the time he was born – Mom loved Angelo as she did Fini. Angelo would become Francisca’s little Fini. And, although my son Bobby wasn’t raised with Mom, he always loved spending time at Mom’s house. Bobby loved and respected his abuelita or “grandma Kica.”
And for her daughter, Gloria Velásquez, it is because of Francisca Molinar Velásquez that I have become the woman, the mother, the professor, the writer – all that I am today. Francisca taught me all of the values that I hold in the highest regard – to be strong, orgullosa, to fight against social injustice, to be honest, hard-working and compassionate. I can truly say I have walked in the presence of greatness, in much the same way as I did upon meeting Cesar Chávez for the first time.
I know that each of you sitting here today has been similarly touched by Francisca’s greatness, by the humble proud Francisca Molinar Velásquez, who is finally at peace today with her beloved son, Fini, and her husband, Juan, the humble man who worshipped Mom until his death in 1992. In all the faces gathered here today, all the lives that she personally inspired, Francisca’s mark will remain. And Johnstown history will indeed record: Francisca Molinar Velásquez was buried here today. Hasta pronto, Mamá.
Now, I would like to end with a poem I wrote for Mom that appears in my new book of poetry along with the many photos of Mom, Dad, myself and Fini:
“Homage to Francisca”
Born en un barrio mexicano
that 11th day of April 1929,
in Pico Park California,
the year of the great Depression
when Apá was just another Mexicano from Juárez,
crossing the demon river in search of a better life
for his young Salamanca bride and their children.
Francisca spent her childhood moving from
one state to another, Tejas, Nuevo México,
la pizca de algodón, papas y cebolla
until they settled in a small adobe house
built by Great Western for the sugar beet workers,
the Mexican Colony in Johnstown, Colorado,
where a teen-age Francisca would fall in love
in the fields with the wild handsome Juanito,
secretly meeting him at night by the cemetery,
loving each other amidst the poverty life,
running away with him one day to Dalin’s
despite her father’s wrath and mother’s tears,
the hard years that were still to come,
puros hard times for Francisca Molinar who
bore two children while working in the fields,
the responsibility that kept her from following
her own dream of becoming a nurse,
tied to a husband whose hurt grew unbearable.
No jobs for smart Mexicans like her Juan
who drank himself to an early death
dreaming of a better life for his familia.
Tonantzín Mamá,
she bore it all until the day her only son
came back a hero from Vietnam in a sealed coffin,
dead at the age of nineteen.
Francisca, the proud Xicana woman warrior
who refused to get food stamps or welfare,
Tonantzín Mamá,
who taught me right from wrong,
that justice and equality must be lived,
this woman whose face I wear
whose voice I speak
whose spirit I possess,
my greatest gift in life,
Mamá.
By Gloria Velásquez
Former Johnstown Resident