Lucinda Peña Martinez

Lucinda Peña Cárdenas was born on December 6, 1936, on a small ranch called Los Olmos — “The Elms” — outside of Matamoros, Tamaulipas, Mexico. She was the daughter of Salvador Peña and Rosita de Lima Cárdenas Longoria. Like the elm trees the ranch was named for, Lucinda grew up deeply rooted in that land, shaped by hard work and family. From a young age she picked cotton and corn, tended to the crops, and cared for the chickens alongside her siblings. The sheltering strength of Los Olmos forged in her a resilience that would define her for the rest of her life.

Lucinda was among the first of her many siblings to leave home and make the brave journey to the United States. On November 5, 1953, at just 17 years old, she obtained her passport and crossed the border on her own — a fearless young woman in search of opportunity. For nearly two decades she worked general labor jobs across the Rio Grande Valley, traveling back and forth between Hidalgo County, Texas, and her homeland across the river in Matamoros — never losing touch with the roots that made her who she was. By the early 1970s, she had made her way to Fort Worth — the city that would become her home for the rest of her life.

In Fort Worth, Lucinda found work as part of the cleaning staff at the Fort Worth Osteopathic Hospital — the same institution that, beginning in 1970, housed the newly founded Texas College of Osteopathic Medicine (TCOM), which initially held classes in a former bowling alley before operating within the hospital. TCOM would eventually become the University of North Texas Health Science Center. By August of 1972, Lucinda was featured in a hospital publication learning CPR — a testament to her dedication on the job. It was here that she met “Chavela,” known today by her legal name, Isabel Jones. Chavela credits Lucinda for showing her the ropes on the job. The two became inseparable friends, and every weekend they would scheme to get to their favorite dance club — The Rocket. Their ride, a third friend, would make excuses about having nothing to wear, but Lucinda and Chavela were relentless. They would find something for all three of them to put on and head out the door. They were successful most of the time.

The Rocket Club, at 2202 Jacksboro Highway, was built and operated by William Byron Smith, who came to Fort Worth from Long Street, Louisiana in 1946. He and his wife, Cordia Iones Smith, ran the club until their retirement in 1973. William D. Satterwhite managed the club before moving on to the Skyliner Club. The stage hosted ballroom dancers, acrobats, jugglers, magicians, comedians, and exotic dancers. The collection of receipts, clippings, and photographs from the club was later donated to the Fort Worth Public Library by Probate Judge Steven King, who presided over Smith’s estate in 2004. It was on this storied dance floor that Lucinda met Albino Martinez Sr. According to Chavela and others privileged to witness it, Albino was always enthusiastic about knowing Lucinda — always looking forward to seeing her and loving her deeply. Being the modest woman she was, Lucinda would never reveal such things to her son, but the love between them was unmistakable. Their love led them to the Cameron County Courthouse in Brownsville, Texas, where they were married on December 27, 1972 — witnessed by Pablo Rodriguez, her father Salvador Peña, Eduardo Sarala, and her sister Olga Peña Cárdenas.

Lucinda and Albino Sr. began working together at the Volkswagen of America plant at 4401 Blue Mound Road in Fort Worth — or as everyone simply called it, “El Volkswagen.” Built around 1978, the plant produced air-conditioning systems, heating units, and plastic trim components, supplying parts for VW Rabbit production at the Westmoreland Assembly Plant in Pennsylvania. In 1988, when Volkswagen closed its U.S. manufacturing operations, the Fort Worth plant was sold to Valeo SA, the French automotive supplier, and workers became Valeo employees — though to them, it was always “El Volkswagen.” Fort Worth would become the city Lucinda called home for the rest of her life. Lucinda was a matchmaker at heart: it was she who introduced Chavela to Michael Jones, casually mentioning that a fellow associate at the plant liked her. That quiet introduction blossomed into marriage, and Lucinda proudly served as the Madrina at Isabel and Michael Jones’ wedding.

Though Lucinda did not have biological children, her heart was more than big enough. Before 1987, she and Albino Sr. opened their home to a young woman named Melida Sanchez. The adoption was planned before Albino Jr. was even born — and when Albino Martinez Jr. arrived in 1987, Lucinda and Albino Sr. gave him not just a home but a life overflowing with love. Managing two working parents was no small feat — one took the night shift, the other the day. They relied on family: Albino Jr.’s godmother, Ramona Canizalez, would look after him, feeding him fresh tortillas rolled up with a little salt, warm soup, and endless love. For school mornings, they would bring him to his uncle and aunt’s house just across the alleyway, and after school he attended the Wesley program across the street from H.V. Helbing. Some of the sweetest memories are the simplest — like riding along with his mother to take his father lunch at work, and while bored in the Ford Astrovan, sticking pennies into the gaps of the gear shifter on the floor. He must have been about five years old.

On September 15, 1993, Lucinda became a naturalized citizen of the United States — a proud achievement and the fulfillment of a dream that began when a fearless 17-year-old crossed the border alone forty years earlier. It was a bittersweet moment: just months later, the world she had built would be upended.

In the early 1990s, life at VALEO came to an abrupt end. When the North American Free Trade Agreement took effect on January 1, 1994, the plant’s future was sealed. Lucinda and Albino Sr. were forced into early retirement alongside their coworkers. Their union — believed to be affiliated with the IUE-CWA (International Union of Electronic, Electrical, Salaried, Machine and Furniture Workers), which represented workers at multiple VALEO locations — organized a defiant campaign. Shirts were printed with a bold circle and slash over “N.A.F.T.A.” and the words: “Say NO to N.A.F.T.A.! Don’t take my job to Mexico!” In 2002, workers at VALEO Switches and Detection Systems in Fort Worth filed a NAFTA-TAA petition with the federal government, seeking transitional assistance for jobs lost to trade.

But it wasn’t enough. After VALEO, Lucinda took on various odd jobs through a temp agency before finding work at Nestlé. Albino, though still a desirable asset with his knowledge and skillset, was offered a management position at the City of Fort Worth — but politely declined for reasons he kept to himself. When Lucinda came home from long shifts at the Nestlé factory — a plant without air conditioning, just like VALEO before it — she would bring her son treats: Carlos V chocolates, Atomic Ball Jaw Breakers, Crunch bars. Even after a grueling day of hard labor in the heat, she thought of him first. Her son would later reflect that he never truly understood how hard his mother worked until he started working himself.

To know Lucinda was to know a woman who was funny, fierce, strict, and loving all at once — kind and nurturing, yet a force to be reckoned with. She was a devout Catholic whose faith guided every step of her life. Her days were filled with the things that brought her joy: dancing, attending church, tending to her beloved roses in the garden, and playing bingo. In the kitchen, she was an artist — everything she made was delicious, but her enchiladas and pork chops held a special place in her family’s heart. After her husband passed away, Lucinda and her son became inseparable — best friends who would go out to eat together, dance, hug, sing, and share inside jokes that only the two of them understood. She would go to any restaurant he chose, even the ones she didn’t care for — because being together was what mattered.

Lucinda and Albino Sr. were a beautiful couple who worked hard and earned every penny the way they knew how. They may not have been the most educated, but they were remarkably intelligent with their money — and generous enough to change lives. Many people, including family members, credit them with helping them buy their first house, their first car, or simply being there for their weddings and birthdays. They were such a popular couple that they never had to plan to celebrate holidays — they were always invited to someone’s event. Birthdays, holidays, weddings, quinceañeras — they danced the night away at them all.

Lucinda had a saying that everyone who knew her will remember: “¡Yo digo la verdad!” — “I speak the truth!” And she did. She lived honestly, loved fiercely, and left an imprint on every life she touched. She was 89 years old when she passed on March 29, 2026. If you listen closely, you can already hear the faint sound of tejano music from a distance — because Lucinda and Albino Sr. are finally back together, with no worldly worries, free to dance and laugh together once more. The roses may miss her hands, the dance floor may miss her steps, but those who loved her will carry her truth in their hearts forever.