Joe Eustace Lozano

Joe called Las Vegas home since 1954. He was a loving husband, father, and grandfather. He was preceded in death by his parents John and Lucy Lozano, children: Gloria, and Joey, brother: Sam, and sister: Mary.

He is survived by his wife Juanita, son, Anthony (Debra). Grand-children, Michelle, Joey Jr., Jeremy, Joshua, Angela, Patricia, and Jacob. Great grandchildren: Flavio Jr., Marissa, Adrian, Andrew, Levi, Jonathan, Jonah, Valentina, Jocelyn, Alicia, Olivia, Ivory, Mercy Joe, Luca, and Jaxsen.

Brothers: Albert, Ted, Carl. Sisters: Juanita, Linda, Sylvia, and Evelyn.

Joe was raised near Durango, Colorado. Went to school there, and his mom’s family was there with lots of cousins.

When you asked him where he was from, his answer was Durango.

His parents lived on a small farm and did all the things that farm life requires, plowing fields, taking care of the animals, living off the land and working hard to get through the tough times. He would talk about early morning wake-up’s, and working with his brothers and sisters in the fields at 7 years old.

He would mention his brother Ted, or his sister Juanita, or his brother Al, all of them working right along-side him.

The family business, that included his brothers, sisters, some Aunts, Uncles, and cousins, was working in the fields for the local farmers.

This work would have the family travel as far as Denver, along with the little towns in between, and back to Durango, harvesting whatever was in season. The family income was a direct result of how hard they all worked. He did that until his early teen years.

During those years he was working in the fields and going to school. Him and his Cousin Dolores, were a few months apart in age, and went to school together. He would talk about her with a smile on his face, as he remembered his school days and the trouble they would get into.

He also talked about fighting with anybody that would pick on her, and the fights he would get into with the local farmer kids at school.

They would make the mistake of thinking that because their parents hired his family to work in the fields, that gave them the right to try and boss him around and tell him what to do, they were wrong.

Around seventh grade, behind on his schoolwork from helping with the family income, he decided that work was more important than school.

His dad decided to move the family to Las Vegas when he was around 15 years old.

This is where he also found the Love of his life, Juanita. He was 17 years old when they met, and not long after that they were married on April 26, 1956. This year would have been their 64th anniversary.

He soon started a family. His first born was his son Joey, Next was a daughter, Gloria, who passed away at infancy, and then his son Anthony.

He started working as a welder’s helper for the railroad when he was 15 years old and was there until he was 20. This job required him to travel and be away from home but he wanted to be close to his family.

He settled on working construction as a landscaper, and then started working for a concrete contractor. From that, he learned a trade and became a Concrete Finisher. His work ethic, and ability to “get the job done”, soon earned him a reputation. He was hired as a foreman with M. S. Concrete and was promoted to superintendent.

He decided that he wanted to get his own contractor’s license. Which, he did in 1984, and got his business license as: J.L. Concrete. Inc. After starting his business, and a successful 13 years, he went back to work for Las Vegas Paving.

He retired at 68 years old from the Cement Masons Union and enjoyed his retirement years at home with his wife Juanita. Taking daily walks with Simon, Sandy, and Sophie, the family pets.

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Here are some things I learned through the years about my dad, my thoughts, and memories:

My Dad was the strongest man I have ever seen. When he put his mind to do something, he saw it through.

He taught me so much- from work, how to be a father, just the way he dealt with life, and how he handled things. I was fortunate enough to have my dad be not only my father, but so much more. He was my fishing, hunting, and business partner. I was fortunate enough to have been able to spend my whole life interacting with my father in one way or another.

I heard a lot of names for my Dad over the years by friends, family and co-workers, and they all were terms of endearment:

Joe, Jose, Tacho, Uncle, Grandpa, GG, Primo, Comparde, Compa, or Comps, “Man’s-Man.”

Co-Workers called him Boss or “Sidewalk Joe”

My uncles would greet him with “Hey Brother” or “Carnale”

“Gumbarde Joe,” from my father in law, Lou, and they would have a hug for each other. “Gumbarde” would come out from Lou, and my dad would respond, “Compa, good to see you.”

My brother and I called him “Dad, Pops”

My Mom: Honey, Dad, and most recent, “My Love.”

My mom was the love of his life and he was fiercely protective of her (and a little jealous at times), even through their tough times, basically becoming adults together and raising kids. They figured it out. One thing specifically he figured out right away, he wasn’t good with money. He spent it too fast! He learned that the family was better off if he let my mom be the money manager.

He did everything he could to provide for his family. Family vacations were a regular thing growing up. We had family in California and Colorado. We would usually alternate to see my mom’s family and then his in Colorado. He would throw in trips to Flagstaff, Arizona to go the Indian Pow Wow’s, which he loved. He always joked and said his was “Half-Indio” anyway.

He loved animals, especially the many dogs that he would pour out his love on. He had a parrot named Pretty Bird for over 30 years.

My dad loved to sing. Like a lot of things, he was self-taught. He knew a few songs that he would strum a guitar to and sing to my mom, grandkids, or his dogs. Two of his brothers also like to sing, and they had a small band for a lot of years. So he would leave the singing to them, but he would also join in around the camp fire on hunting trips. He liked country music, the older country artists- Hank Williams, George Jones, Freddy Fender, Johnny Paycheck, and my others. He loved Elvis. His favorite Mexican music stars were Vicente Fernandez and Antonio Aigular. Their music genre was called Ranchera’s, similar to country music. He was fortunate enough to meet Vicente Fernandez in his later years, thanks to my mom’s cousin, Ralph. He wasn’t star struck, but he was very thankful and grateful for the opportunity. I imagine after meeting him my dad’s thoughts were something like, “Yeah, you can sing, but I got a brother that sings just as good.” He loved listening to his brothers sing, and joining in.

My dad was a very independent man, a loner. If you didn’t know him, he seemed intimidating, not too friendly. He wasn’t the type to approach someone and introduce himself just to talk. Usually when someone he didn’t know approached him, his guard was up. He wouldn’t say much or open up about anything personal about himself or his family until he felt comfortable with you.

He didn’t like the attention or spotlight on him. He was comfortable in his own skin, he didn’t ever try to impress anybody, he was not the flashy type. He was a humble man; respectful to people he would meet, but that respect came with a string attached- or more like a rope- so if you disrespected him, he could snatch you back to reality and let you know how he felt.

He liked an ice cold can of beer, and like the times were back in the day, if one was good, two were even better. Not only did he like it, according to my mom, he told her “he loved beer.” He also enjoyed smoking in his younger days. One day after being asked why he smoked by my daughter Angela, he responded, “I don’t know.” She said to him, “then why don’t you quit?” and he quit. That was over 30 years ago, and he gave up his “love” of beer a few years after that.

He was a practical man. He liked the simpler things in life. He enjoyed eating my Mom’s home-made tortillas and a bowl of beans and rice just as much as the steak dinner that he would treat himself to from Jerry’s Nugget- which had to be WELL done. He would usually make eye contact with the server when he said WELL done, followed by, “I don’t want to see any blood.” He loved my mom’s New Mexico green chile and red chili. He had a sweet tooth. He liked chocolate anything, loved cherry pie, and chocolate cakes that my mom would bake. He loved cookies- anything sweet. In his later years, he loved Werther’s Caramel hard candies.

He was an avid reader. He loved western paperback novels, anything about the south west- especially if they talked about Arizona or Colorado towns Denver, Silverton, and Durango. He could relate to them. Growing up in Durango made such an impact on him. He made a point to try and go back there when he could. His last visit back home was in 2011. Durango is where I think his love for the outdoors came from. He loved the mountains. He loved driving there and seeing the scenery change from Las Vegas through Arizona, the High Desert Bluffs, the rock formations that rose up from the dirt, changing into the mountains that he came from. He was always pointing out the scenery on the trip.

He loved hunting and fishing and being outside. My brother and I were able to enjoy this time with him as kids. Seeing how my daughters are with their husbands, I can hear my mom now, “oh no, you’re taking the boys with you,” and I am forever grateful for that. I have great memories of all the trips with my dad, uncles, and his few friends from work that he considered family. There were fishing trips to Lake Mead, Willow Beach, Searchlight, and Cave Lake. Deer Hunting trips all through Northern Nevada, Colorado, and Wyoming- more than I can remember.

My Dad didn’t have much growing up. Not a lot of spare time to go out and shoot hoops or play games, time to really just be a kid. So, he pretty much earned everything that he had. When he got something that he wanted or bought something, he put it to use or put away for future use. He tended not to get rid of anything.

The early years, working on the farm and that lifestyle, gave him his work ethic. For him there was no, “I don’t feel good today, I’m gonna call in sick,” instead it was, “family is depending on me.” He hated being late. He wouldn’t tolerate tardiness at work, or excuses. He would send guys home from work if they showed up late. His attitude was, if I can get up in the morning and make it here on time, you should be able to too.

He very rarely asked for help from anybody. His was proud of his self-reliance, and anything that he thought was a “hand-out” from someone was politely not accepted.

Unfortunately, my dad didn’t have a filter when it came to getting his point across. You usually knew where you stood with him, no guessing, he would let you know.

My Dad’s Faith:

My parents were both raised Catholic. My mom accepted the Lord when she was in her early 20’s. My brother and I would go to church with her every Sunday while growing up. My Dad would attend on the holidays and “every once in a while.”

He had told me about a time when he had a “man of the cloth” request that he sign over his checks to him and the church. My dad worked hard for his paycheck, so that made him wary of “leaders” of the church. Even with that unfortunate incident, he allowed my mom to attend church on a regular basis. After time, and interaction with Pastor’s Fred & Carol Dawson of Calvary Foursquare, he accepted my mom’s faith in God and his distrust faded. He was ok with my mother’s request and decision to tithe regularly.

I remember when I was around 10-12 years old our family went to a Billy Graham Crusade here in Las Vegas. He accepted the invitation to an alter call by Billy Graham, that was the day my dad’s eternity in heaven was secured.

He still was not a regular church goer, but through his occasional attendance at church he built a relationship with the Dawson Family gained through mutual respect. My parents took two trips to Israel, “the Holy Land,” put together by Pastor Dawson. They were able to see a lot of places that Jesus walked and hear about the history. I remember when they got home and my mom said that Pastor Dawson was able to perform baptisms in the Jordon River for their group. My father was included in that group of people. As he got older, he would attend church with my mother more often. He was not your typical “Christian” man as far as going to church and doing church functions.

Around 2004 my wife and I had met the pastor of East Vegas Church, Pastor Troy Martinez. He was getting ready to start construction for a new building. During that time my dad was able to put his “Concrete Finisher” skills to work and help with the placing of the foundation of the church. He would attend there regularly with my mother. Pastor Troy was thankful for the help that my dad gave that day when the building slab was poured. He had my dad come up on the stage one Sunday. Pastor Troy wanted to express his thanks and acknowledge how grateful the he was for the help in front of the congregation. He was thankful for the help, but also the impression that my father made on some of the younger men that helped. They were impressed how hard he worked. It was hard for my dad to understand why the fuss was being made; it was another day’s work for him, no need to single him out.

My mother attended another church for a while, The Church LV, with Pastor Benny Perez. My dad, who was around 70 at this time, would attend church with my mom. After one of the services, he again raised his hand for one of the alter call invitations.

My mother started attending Living Faith Assembly Church with Pastor Reggie Bryant. She would tell me about how they would be there and my dad would raise his hands during the worship service.

I know that all of these memories are way more information than my father would have ever given. But I feel they are necessary to get some insight to who he was.

My dad was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s in 2012, at 75. He was able to stay at home until May of 2017, but then we could see the need for assistance in his caretaking, and he was placed in a private health care home. The common theme from the caretakers when I would visit was how “strong” he was. They would ask, “What did he do for a living?” He didn’t like the way they would grab him or try to get him to do something, and he would “protect” himself. He eventually settled in, and when I would visit, he would be in his own chair away by himself. This was my father; he didn’t want to be bothered and was perfectly fine being left alone.

The family settled in with regular visits. My “routine” visit would be to take him McDonald’s pancakes and to shave him. The caretakers would shave him with an electric razor and I knew how much he didn’t like it, because of the irritation. I had tried one in my younger years and told him to try it because of how good it worked, but he didn’t like it. My dad and brother could grow nice, thick, manly beards. I have always been envious of them. For the first couple of years, my dad would respond when he felt the warm water on his face or me applying the shaving cream- even puff out his cheek or lip for a closer shave. He might not have been able to remember me or other members of the family all the time, but for the majority of the time that he was there, it seemed like he never forgot who HE was.

The last year or so, they used a wheelchair to get him back and forth to the dining room, bathroom, and bedroom. If they didn’t pay attention, he was regularly trying to get up and walk outside or go get something he wanted.

There were two caretakers that cared deeply for the residents of the home, and I am especially grateful for them. One was Nora, who it seemed was there endlessly. Some of the responsibilities I saw were to help with the women, do the cooking, and pass out medication. The other was a man named, Val. I would show up and be able to see through the glass that he was sitting next to my dad. I could see through his actions and care for my father that he genuinely cared for my dad. He had told my mother that he reminded him of his father. Val was about the same height as me, darker complexion, same age, with black hair. I believe that the evidence of God’s hand guiding my dad’s life could be seen through this difficult time.

Through it all, and in time, Alzheimer’s might have been the disease that stripped my father of his memories, but it didn’t strip him of his essence. Through little things that he continually did, I saw my dad.

His health never really failed him until the last 3-4 months. The caretakers said that he would be safer if they could leave him in bed. They were concerned that he was going to hurt himself if he fell, or that they were going to possibly hurt him moving him from one place to another. This is when his physical self started to change. Up to this point he looked in good health, but aging. I would still hear from the staff that he was “fighting” them at times if he didn’t want to do something. They continually were amazed how strong he was for the condition he was in.

The last week, when we got the news that his health was failing, most of the family was able to spend time with my father and say their goodbyes in their own way.

I tried to play some of his favorite music, which included a couple songs by his brother’s Sam & Carl, two of my dad’s favorite singers. I also included some worship songs. During one of these visits, I was blessed to see my mother’s faith and trust in God as we sang along to worship songs for my father.

On his last morning, I could see his body was failing. My wife, Debra, sent me some scriptures and I was able to read them to him. After she arrived we also played some of his favorite music again, singing along with many worship songs, and we were able to pray for my father. My nephew Joey and his wife arrived, and they were able to spend time with him as well. Our family’s concern that my father would pass alone didn’t happen. As difficult as the week was, I thank God for allowing me to be there as my dad stepped into the presence of his Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

The day my father entered Heaven was a day that he would have liked. It was raining and cloudy. My dad loved rainy days. When he was younger this was a day off, you can’t “pour concrete” in the rain. During his 30-40’s he would often make it a “fishing” day with a trip out to one of his favorite fishing holes.

In my mind, I picture him giving my brother and sister a hug that only a father can give.

Next would be my father-in-law Lou, “Gumba, good to see you.”

I will miss my dad. God-willing never forget him, and I will see him again.