I barely remember him and, unfortunately, my mother’s memory of him is not better. But he should be remembered, even if only briefly.
He was the camp carpenter — both the Administrative (“American”) and the Labor (“Otro”) camps.
And he did fine work with wood.
My early childhood years are roughly divided by la casa vieja and la casa nueva: “the old house” and “the new house”, meaning the house I lived in the first 6 plus years of life, and the house we moved to in 1960, after the birth of my second sister.
Mr. Montaño visited us in both houses, although I do not have specific recollections or anecdotes from “the old house” other than I remember seeing him there. And I do remember a bookcase that he built and which my sister bravely attempted to climb only to have the case fall on her. She was terribly frightened, but otherwise fine. At the time there were only a few books stored there, along with some photos and decorations.
In “the new house” my memories are a tad sharper.
“Remember to touch the electric appliance with the back of the hand, like so. Should you get shocked, you’ll easily move the hand away instead of inadvertently grasping the machine and prolonging the shock.” I’ve never forgotten that advice which he gave my mother as she asked whether he could take a look at the washing machine because for some reason everyone who touched it got shocked. I just watched and did not wonder about a carpenter being asked about electric matters.
Back then folks knew much about their field and quite a bit about just about everything else that helped with our daily lives.
“Here’s the queso de mano, Sra. Adita.” He lived on the carretera de Caruachi (the road to Caruachi) and somewhere in his neck of the woods was a lady who made the best queso de mano cheese I ever tasted. I know, childhood memories are notoriously deceiving, but let me enjoy the memory! It was great. And I’ve never tasted the like since.
My parents commissioned him to build a vinyl record storage piece of furniture. I remember the day he delivered it but did not appreciate the work done until many years later. We used it not only in El Pao, but also in Georgia where my parents had it shipped after leaving Venezuela. It is still in my mother’s house outside Atlanta, and I admire it every time I visit.
He was gentlemanly and proper and methodical. His Spanish was that of an educated man. I enjoyed his company.
I do not recall the circumstances of Mr. Montaño’s death. Only that it was a shock to us all, even small children. He was beloved.
May he rest in peace.
The lamp was fashioned and preserved from a branch my father picked up from a shore of the Orinoco River.
