Dust rose off the road as I climbed down from the bus in Las Cruces, New Mexico. The air was sweltering, but it was a blessing to be here after the three-day bus ride. I picked up the small gunnysack that held my few possessions and looked around the town.
Las Cruces in those days, deep in the Depression, wasn’t the lively city it eventually became. But it was still a whole new world to me. The New Mexico desert was nothing at all like the lush pine forests of East Texas where I grew up.
What now? I asked myself. I’d traveled hundreds of miles and spent the few dollars I had to come here, but I really didn’t know where to go next. I’d come to New Mexico to find my father, but I had no idea where he might be.
I started to walk, not knowing where I was going. A few blocks from the depot I spotted a neon sign flashing Open. A diner. My stomach rumbled. I hadn’t eaten since I’d left Texas. I only had a few cents. Maybe enough for a cup of coffee. “That’ll have to do,” I muttered.
I pushed open the door to the diner and looked around at the other customers. I felt sure I would recognize my father, even though we hadn’t seen each other in eleven years. I was seven then. My mother had just died.
Dad didn’t think he could care for me on his own and took me to the county orphanage. It was there that I last saw him.
“Have a seat, honey,” a waitress behind the counter called to me. She was five feet tall at the most, but her smile was the biggest I’d ever seen.
Smiles weren’t easy to come by in my life. Seemed like the workers at the orphanage were more interested in keeping kids in line than making us happy. I’d spent many years without getting even an orange for Christmas. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been welcomed so warmly.
I took a seat at the counter, thinking back on all those years I’d spent alone, planning my escape. A couple of times I’d even tried it with some of the older boys, slipping out of the orphanage at night and running. But each time the authorities caught us. They dragged us back to be punished.
Like I said, it wasn’t a place for smiles.
Glad I never have to go back there again, I thought. I was 18 now. An adult. I could go wherever I wanted. And what I wanted—what I needed—was to find my father. I needed to see him one more time. I wanted to see him face-to-face.
The waitress came over, wiping her hands on her pink apron. “What can I get you?” she asked.
I’d planned to just ask for a cup of coffee, but she seemed so friendly, and it had been so long since I’d had someone to talk to.
“I don’t have much money,” I said. “I just got off the bus. I’m from Texas.” I dug in my pocket for the little change I had. “Would this get me a slice of pie? And maybe some coffee?”
The waitress looked down at the change in my hand. “Don’t worry, honey,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
I sighed with relief. I had enough for pie. What then? I’d spent so long focused on getting to Las Cruces I hadn’t thought about what I’d do when I got there. I didn’t know where Dad lived. I didn’t know anything about his life since he’d left me at the orphanage.
A while back I’d gotten a visit from a distant relative and asked her about him. “I heard he’s homesteading in New Mexico—Las Cruces, I think,” she’d said.
“What’s that?”
“Homesteading means he’s got a parcel of land from the government. If he can find water on the land he gets to keep it. He has to prove there’s water enough to plant—that means setting up a working well.
"To be honest, the odds are pretty slim for homesteaders out there. He might not have had any luck. But that’s where I heard he might be.”
It was all I had to go on. So when I turned 18 I took the little money I had and bought a ticket to Las Cruces, hoping against hope to track my father down.
I don’t know why I was so desperate to see him after he’d left us all behind. I just knew this was something I had to do. That is, if I could even do it.
I looked around the diner again, filled with strangers’ faces. How did I ever expect to find Dad here? New Mexico was a big place. I had no idea where my father’s land claim was—if he still had it.
The waitress came back to the counter with a cup of coffee, a slice of pie and the biggest sandwich I’d ever seen. The pie was topped with a big scoop of ice cream, which must have cost extra. “Oh, I can’t…” I began.
“On the house,” she said. “All of it.”
I stared at the lady in her pink apron and thought she must truly be an angel. I wolfed down the sandwich. Then the pie. Each bite was like heaven. When I finished my coffee my angel was there to refill it. “Thank you,” I said.
“No problem,” she said. “What brings you to Las Cruces?”
Might as well tell her, I thought. Have to start searching somewhere!
“I’m looking for someone,” I said. “Ever heard of a John P. Fogarty?”
The smile that had been on her face since I walked in suddenly disappeared. Now she just looked surprised. “Why are you looking for him?”
“I’m his son,” I said.
Her eyebrows rose. “If you wait until my shift is over I’ll take you to him,” she said.
I thought I must have misheard her—could it be that easy?
“You know my father?” I said. “How?”
“I’m Ora,” she said. “I’m his wife!”
True to her word, that friendly waitress—my stepmother—took me home with her. That home became my home for more than a year. I helped Ora and my father develop their land until I left New Mexico to join the armed forces.
During that time I got to know my father and understand why he’d done what he did. I forgave him for leaving us. Maybe that’s the real reason I needed to find him after all.
It was no coincidence that I walked into that diner during Ora’s shift. Angels guided my steps to New Mexico, just as they made sure Ora was waiting for me when I got there. Those angels have been guiding my steps ever since. From Texas to New Mexico, and everywhere I go.
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