It was the 1920s and the world had evolved. In San Ciro de Acosta, located within the state of San Luis Potosi in Mexico, a young family was living on a farm and sharing in the responsibilities of farm life. The family was large with a total of eight children but due to illness, three of the children passed away. Shortly thereafter, both parents – my Great Grandparents – died within a year of each other, leaving the remaining five children without family and without an inheritance, causing them to eventually move to Mexico City where they lived on the streets and struggled to survive. The youngest of these children, Jeronimo, was my Great Uncle. He developed an entrepreneurial spirit as a young boy and eventually turned himself into a successful businessman who, amongst other things, loved anything and everything Americana. Whether it was something as mundane as drinking a Coke or as expansive as his passion for Harley-Davidson motorcycles, my Tio Jero enjoyed American ingenuity. He also loved Jeeps.