Poverty to the Moon: My Stories of Grit and Glory. Welcome to my corner of the internet—a personal collection of stories, reflections, and moments of my journey. This blog shares the milestones that shaped my life—family, service, triumphs, heartaches, and lessons learned. These stories are written not just to remember, but to inspire. Thank you for being here.

I was born in the shadows of war, in a slum in Manila, where hunger was familiar and dreams were often a luxury we couldn't afford. My parents made a humble living operating a small laundry business, scrubbing clothes for small change while raising a family with more love than means. Our roof leaked, our meals were simple, and the world outside our door was anything but kind. But somewhere between the cracked walls of our home and the distant roar of wartime sirens, a quiet determination began to grow inside me—a refusal to be defined by poverty or circumstance. When I left the Philippines after two years of college, I carried little more than hope and a restless spirit. I enlisted in the United States Coast Guard as a steward, serving meals and cleaning quarters for officers whose ranks I could barely imagine reaching. But I learned. I listened. I worked. One step at a time, I climbed. And after 27 years of service, I retired with the rank of commander—something almost unthinkable...

One of my first childhood memories is fleeing our home as bombs fell and exploded around us. We frantically ran for our lives and took cover in an air raid shelter somewhere near Manila.  The attack came from the American forces who had just started liberating the Philippines from the Japanese before the end of WWII.   Fireballs lit up the sky and looked deceptively like fireworks in my four year old mind as they rained down upon us.  Huddled together in the shelter, my mother clutched me close to her side as she fervently prayed the rosary with other women who were gathered with us . They were worried and frightened as the deafening booms made our ears ring and the  ground quake beneath our feet. The air was stifling and thick with smoke and terror, but I was mercifully too young to be afraid as we cowered beneath the ground and the world imploded above our heads. Once the bombing ceased and the skies and streets were quiet, we emerged from our shelter, and tri...

On the morning of November 27, 1959, I was bursting with pride and excitement as I took the oath at Sangley Point to enlist in the U.S. Coast Guard. The balmy, humid air smelled of possibility and promise of new adventures waiting up ahead.  There were twenty-five of us, and we all understood that after our swearing in ceremony, we would be restricted to the base, and could no longer go home. Our lives as we knew them would never be the same. After our short indoctrination, we learned we were “Steward Recruits”.    As the weight of what I had committed myself to settled over me, I felt a yearning sense of homesickness and a piercing loneliness. I realized I needed to accept the fact that I wouldn’t see my family again until my four-year enlistment was over, unless I was found unfit to serve for some reason. As I looked around at those who were being sworn in with me, I noticed we all had the same scared, uncertain expression on our faces. Our future was now completely unk...

Just before enlisting in the Coast Guard in 1959, my barkada (my close friends, all guys) and I got together one evening at the neighborhood basketball court drinking San Miguel beer.  It was a farewell get together as I was leaving the next day for Sangley Point.  We were having a great time singing Elvis songs at the accompaniment of Carlito’s ukulele.  Carlito was good.  He had taught me the chords to play Elvis’ “Loving You”. My friends were sad that I was leaving the barkada, and yet they thought it was a great opportunity for me to meet and date American girls, which they could only do in their dreams.  Boy Fernandez reminded me to write often and to tell them about my social life in the United States. My first report to Boy Fernandez was about my experience in Los Angeles on my way to St. Petersburg by Greyhound bus.   I was invited by a pen-pal, Barbara, to spend a few days with her family.  I was introduced to Barbara by her brother, John...

Louise Ann Chavez was born on April 22, 1942  to the late Frances Cummings and Thomas Alfred Spratt in Cortland, NY.  The youngest of three children, she is survived by her brother, Gordon Spratt (Terry), of Tellico Plains, Tennessee.  Her sister, Doreen Holbrook (Earl), formerly of Coral Gables, FL, preceded her in death. Louise, or Weezer, as she was called by Gordon growing up, was beautiful and smart, kind and loving, hardworking, resilient and a bit of a rebel.  Her grandfather immigrated to the US from England and her family made its way to upstate New York, then moved to Florida from Cortland, NY when she was young.  Late in life, as dementia made recent memories fade, she’d happily recount details of childhood visits to a family farm in NY. Louise graduated from Dixie Hollins High School in St. Petersburg, FL in 1960 as salutatorian, and attended Florida Presbyterian College on a full academic scholarship.  (Did we mention she was smart?)  But ...

Mang Bading’s barber shop was a very popular hangout in my neighborhood when I was growing up. Mang Bading had only one barber’s chair, but his place attracted many; not for haircuts, but for entertainment and amusement.   There were benches and chairs outside the shop where the regular visitors would play dama (Filipino checkers) and chess while onlookers gathered around to watch the games.   I frequently played dama with my Uncle Pelagio, but wasn’t good enough to challenge any of the regular players at the barber shop.  After school, I would often stop by the barber shop to watch people play even though I wasn’t very interested in chess at the time.  I knew the basic rules of the game, but I thought it was too complicated.   I became much more interested in chess when I was fourteen years old.  My high school friend, Eliezer Fortunato, and I liked to compete with each other on just about anything, and since we were both chess beginners of ...

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 My Wife’s Story I was born in upstate New York.  Our family moved to Florida while I was in grade school.  I had never even seen a black person before going to Florida.  I was shocked and confused to see rampant discrimination.  It was beyond my comprehension. When I was 18 years old I went on a blind double date with Zack and another couple to see an Elvis movie.  It was not love at first sight.  I was looking for a 6-foot blue eyed blonde with broad shoulders.  But as I got to know him, I saw how intelligent he was.  That was the greatest attraction for me.  It was my number one characteristic in a potential mate.  He showed me so much talent, humor and kindness that to know him was to love him.  I also learned about the discrimination in the service and hated what I learned.  I thought it was terrible to waste his talents as a TN. After falling in love I pondered what to do about it.  I finally decided that we wou...

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