We are officially in business and became a corporation!
We moved from our old location to our current location, 2001 W. Barberry Pl., after the 1965 South Platt River flood.
Construction began on the two story new build that previously sat empty on a plot of land right next to the original building.
We officially moved the office, retail store, and warehouse into the new build, allowing the older building to be used for our manufacturing plant.
President John Delmonico retired. Adeline Smith, his daughter, became President and Paul Delmonico, his son, became Vice President.
This building contained the store, offices, and manufacturing plant
This building now contains space for the manufacturing plant alone
Painting the new build, of course, with our own paint!
Color change, but don't worry, it's still our own paint!
Brand new look and feel for Old Western Paint
Brand new look but same cozy feel!
Our original building from a birds-eye view
Birds-eye view of the current layout of our building after construction
Old Western Paint is a family owned company, and we are proud to share that part of our history includes a World War 1 veteran, Gaspero Cristiano. We are happy to announce we were able to donate his WW1 uniform, pictures, and a gas mask to be displayed at the VA Medical Center. The New Hope Voice article written in 1986 by Gaspero states the following in his "World War 1 Photograph Story"
"This is the story of why my hands are clasped in front of me in the picture taken with me in my World War One uniform. At that time I was 25 years old and had been living in America since I was 16. My mother, father, sister and brother were still living in Italy.
I was in France on August 27, 1918 when I was shot. A bullet hit me in the upper left arm. It broke the bone in my arm. I remember that it was 3 a.m. when I was shot. There were Germans on both sides of the hills. After I was hit I had to get to my own camp. The Red Cross had set up a long white ribbon to show soldiers the way home. I walked for two miles, following that ribbon and holding my wounded arm.
Back at camp, I was afraid I was going to lose my arm. There were cutoff arms, legs, and feet... they were throwing them in a pile. I was afraid the doctors were going to cut off my arm, too. They told me they were going to fix my arm and not to worry. I was still afraid when they put me to sleep.
When I woke up the sun was shining in my face. I looked over at my arm, and it was all bandaged up. I couldn't see my arm, but I could feel my hand and fingers moving, and I knew the doctors had done a good job.
The Italian and American Red Cross informed my folks that I had been shot. My folks thought I had lost my arm. I got a letter saying they were worried. I was on my back for 47 days but I still managed to write them. I told them how good the American doctors were and told them I'd be all right. But they didn't believe me. I couldn't convince them. We wrote back and forth, but it didn't help.
Back in Italy, my parents could see that soldiers were coming home without arms or legs. I knew that they would have to see with their own eyes or they would never believe me. For two weeks I pleaded for a furlough that would let me go to Italy to see my family. The very day I got my pass the war ended.
All furloughs were cancelled because the order to return to America might come at any time. My parents wrote me and told me they were going to come to France to see me. I told them not to come because I might be gone by the time they got there. I left France on Christmas morning 1918.
When I got back to New York, I still needed to convince my parents that I still had both my arms. Outside my camp they were taking pictures of the soldiers returning from war. I knew that taking my picture was the only way to convince my folks. I had my picture taken with both my arms showing and my hands clasped in front of me.
I made plans to return to Italy to see my folks again. For years I tried but I could never afford it. My folks lived a long life but I never saw them again."