Run for Life

How do you put into words the life of a man who was larger than life?

He wasn’t perfect — none of us are — but he was the very definition of love in action.

Lino Padilla was born September 23,1938, he grew up in a world very different from ours, yet somehow managed to carry timeless values into every season of his life. He married the love of his life, Julia Loza — his partner, his steady ground, and the beautiful mother of his children. Like any marriage, theirs had its ups and downs, but their commitment never wavered. Together, they built a life rooted in faith, hard work, loyalty, and family.

In the early years of their marriage, Lino and Julia worked as migrant farm workers, traveling through Texas, Washington, and California from 1960 to 1965. It was hard work and long days, but they were building something bigger than themselves — a future for their children.

Education was deeply important to both Lino and Julia, and they eventually put down roots in Porterville so their children could attend school at John J. Doyle. That decision reflected the kind of parents they were — always thinking about what would give their children the best opportunities in life.

They raised five children — Veronica, Elizabeth, Lino Jr., Maria, and James — who went on to expand his world in the most wonderful way. Thirteen grandchildren. Thirty-two great-grandchildren. Three great-great-grandchildren. (And if you asked him, he probably knew every birthday… or at least expected someone else to remind him five minutes before the party.)

To us, he wasn’t just Grandpa. He was home.

He was warm hugs, steady hands, playful teasing, and the kind of laugh that filled a room. Watching him hold a baby — gently rocking, completely smitten — was something special. You could see his whole heart right there in his arms.

He was also a proud and involved father and grandfather. Lino volunteered for his children’s team sports, helping with Babe Ruth and Bobby Sox, always showing up to support the kids. Later, he helped raise money for his grandchildren’s activities using one of his most beloved talents — his barbecue skills — cooking teriyaki sticks at Friday night football games that people still remember.

Family fun was just as important to him as hard work. While his youngest daughters were attending John J. Doyle, Lino participated with them in the Father-Daughter Cookie Contest for two years. The second year, they proudly took home first place — a victory that likely came with a lot of laughter and a little friendly competition.

Lino also served his community in another way. From 1968 to 1972, he fought forest fires as part of the Black Eagle team when he was called to duty, putting his strength and courage to work protecting others.  Lino worked at General Cable Company, in Lindsay, as a machine operator for 27 years.

He was the kind of neighbor everyone hopes to have. If something needed fixing, lifting, building, or figuring out, he was there. No hesitation. No conditions. Just a simple, “Let’s take care of it.” His generosity wasn’t loud — it was consistent.

In August 2023, he was diagnosed with Liver Cancer.  He started his cancer treatment at Roger S. Good Cancer Treatment Center in November. According to the nurse in charge Julie, Lino was a good patient and followed his medical care to the letter.   Lino had befriended the staff at the Cancer Center and wanted to show his appreciation that, he asked his wife Julia to make them breakfast burrito on several occasions on his morning treatment. One morning on April of 2024, Lino received the news’s that the Cancer had spread to a lung and stomach and that’s when he decided to stop his treatment.  On that last visit appointment he requested said his good bye to the staff at the Roger S. Good Cancer Center.  But if there’s one thing he showed us, it’s that strength isn’t about never facing hardship — it’s about how you face it. And he faced it the same way he lived: with courage, dignity, and love for the people around him.  

Today, as we honor him at this cancer run, we don’t just remember a diagnosis.

We celebrate a life.

A legacy.

A man who loved deeply, worked hard, showed up fully, and left this world better — and fuller — than he found it.

And if he were here, he’d probably tell us not to make such a fuss… then secretly enjoy every second of it.