So I've pretty much had the pleasure of meeting my hero early on in life. A true hero, not some: "oh I just look up to you kind of hero". More like he saved lives, improved lives, and creating them. Yeah the last one may not sound so unique. Yet, I'm here to write and share his memories and of course my sorrow...
His name IS Antonio Villalobos (77). And this is a somewhat cut version. He was naturally born in Mexico. Worked on a farm till his teens (16-17). Then finally voyaged to the country of the free. He made his way through water, mountains, deserts till he got to Austin Texas. He traveled smart and had enough rations and water. He was always a smart man. Planned everything ahead of time.
In Austin, he needed to figure out a way to get to Chicago. He had heard of a garage that was offering work that paid well. He knew his way around a tractor and truck so he figured why not try this. He found something called the gray hound. Had enough money (that was American). He bought a ticket to Chicago. He may have said it took 8-10 days was the expected time to get there. Well on the gray hound, there somehow was a fire under the bus and it popped the back two tires causing the bus to go into an uncontrollable state. The flipped and was aflame when my grandfather came too and started pulling the 24 people that were on the bus. He had a few broken fingers but he still prevailed.
Either way no one was able to thank him because he was an illegal immigrant. So he fled, and hitch hiked till he finally made his way to Chicago. Took over a week to get there. He arrived and seen mainly white folk until he followed the instructions to the garage where he got in contact with the man who would give him work.
I need to charge my battery and I'm not home. I will continue this story in a part two tomorrow morning with a clear and fresh mind... See you then.
