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<html>
It was undoubtedly cold on the morning of January 14, back in 1925, and 98 years ago to this day.
<p>
It was a Wednesday. And undoubtedly that day when Bettie Ernestine Long was brought into this world anticipation and anxiety were on the minds of her parents. She was born into a world recovering from the Great War and about to enter into the Great Depression.
<p>
She was born into a world where Hunter Long would have had to break the morning ice to fetch water by the pail, and to gather wood to build a fire, and bring light into their room. She was born into a world where a doctor was a full day wagon ride from their homestead in the pinon dotted mountains beyond Magdalena, New Mexico. One can only imagine the trepidation of birth. Joy but also relief.
<p>
Her mother, Virginia Rucker Long, was older for a first child at 24 years. The work of being a homesteader no doubt had slowed the building of a family, with most days spent just trying to survive.
<p>
Bettie Ernestine Long was born into this world in a now bygone era, one that required every effort of man and woman from sun up to sun down. Her Daddy, as he was known, was a cowpuncher that was carving a new life in the Territory of New Mexico having survived the Great War fighting the huns.
<p>
<b>
Fortitude.
</b>
<p>
Arguably, Mother, as she was known, was a bit of a cowpuncher too having spent much of her day atop a stubborn mule gazing across the Plains of San Agustin. Bettie Ernestine Long was the first of two daughters born into the Long Family in the stark and demanding Land of Enchantment. In their early years, they would move from outpost to outpost, moving cattle from sparse forage to scarce water, and ultimately settling into the valley known for the Jornada del Muerto, the fateful journey along the Camino Real where the early Spanish conquistadores met their match. No water, no forage, no fuel. It is no wonder then that they named the nearest town Socorro, or Relief.
<p>
Bettie’s early days were minted by this enchanted land, where water was scarce and work was hard. Where the cleanest of Sunday dresses were blistered by blowing sand. Where Mother and Daddy would continue to forge a life from the land. The Long Sisters, Bettie Ernestine and Anna Lou would travel by wagon, on their own, to attend school, and where they would stay many a night behind the old one room school house in their own smaller room, fetching water and tending the fire. Forged from the earth then, the strength to live was etched into Bettie Ernestine as the bright spots in a Great Depression were a fresh orange on Christmas day, or a handwritten letter dropped from the sky by airmail on its bi-weekly route over a desolate land.
<p>
<b>
Perseverance.
</b>
<p>
The trip to town was mostly to seek relief, and ultimately into the life of Thomas L. Houston, a student of the New Mexico School of Mines. Houston as he would later be called was shipped off to the next Great War against the huns, leaving a 19-year-old mother to be. Bettie would bring Margaret Ann Houston into this world only a few months before Houston was be cut down in the Steinwald Forest, another cold morning in January. Now 1945.
<p>
Silver City beckoned the Long Sisters and sister-in-law Estelle. These ladies, as teenagers, took turns working, sharing a bedroom, and raising a child. Post-war America wasn’t easy, but it was an easier time. Less water and wood to fetch, and more time at hand to enjoy new friends and ultimately the love of her life, a local legend from Lordsburg. Back from the Korean conflict, now 1955, the combat wounded veteran Ralph Eugene Craig would come into the life of Bettie Ernestine Long Houston – now a war widow and single mother. His athletic physique certainly attracted her, as did his easy smile, but undoubtedly it was sparkle in his eye that hinted at an everlasting love between the two. For they had both survived childhood, survived war, survived personal loss. They survived with a toughness few now know.
<p>
<b>
Resolution.
</b>
<p>
Now 1965, it was the dawn of a new day on their westward migration, from the cool pink glow of desert hills to the lush warmth of the San Gabriel Valley. Coming to California and to Covina, they made a new life in a new city and in a new era. It was the heyday of Southern California living, with its swaying palms and doughboy pools; an almost Hollywood lifestyle was now the life of Bettie L. Craig. With new friends and new neighbors, Ralph and Bettie settled into the football fraternity, with ebb and flow of the win and loss of football games at West Covina High and later Mt. SAC. As the seasons passed on, the moments off the field were filled with backyard beers, and weekend trips to Carpinteria and Big Bear. Longer trips to Puerto Vallarta, and also to Hawaii -yah, as Bettie used to say. Trips back to New Mexico to fish in the mountains and pass time with in-laws Jim and “Loubelle” Brooke, and with the growing families of their daughter Margo and nephews Tom and Craig. Now 1985.
<p>
<b>
Endurance.
</b>
<p>
It was the fall of 1988 when Ralph was cut down by cancer. A titan on and off the field, the loss of Coach Craig was to his family, his friends, his fraternity, but mostly to his love. The sparkle in his eye and easy smile now gone, the yin to her yang was now gone and in so doing it was the moment of Bettie’s one expressed regret. After months of daily care, Bettie was forever sad that on the day of Ralph’s passing she did not give him his daily bath. The care and comfort she gave was unbreakable, but this loss truly broke her heart. She would spend the next twenty years volunteering at the local hospice, caring for those she did not know, but knowing that they too would experience the passing on of life. They too would know that survival is not forever. They too would know that the sustaining plains of San Agustin, with its enchanted light, are only ephemeral.
<p>
<b>
Quietude.
</b>
<p>
A titan in her own right, she held court on the West Covina cul de sac for many passing years, enjoying the small moments, the kindness of her neighbors, the lemons on her tree, the roses in her garden. Knowing that the light some day dims and the warmth fades comes serenity.
Now, not yet 2025, but 98 years later to the day we mourn the passing of Bettie L. Craig. She passed with serenity and with grace in late September, as the earth began to cool and the light began to fade, as the words of amazing grace filled her room and her heart, and with her prayerbook from St. Augustine turned to one closing passage:
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