Memorable Storms while a student at Texas A&I - Revisitng Hurricanes Beulah and Celia and the night the Javelina Stadium Lights were blown down

With Hurricane season in full swing, one can't help but reminisce about storms that made their way into South Texas and, in particular, the Kingsville-Corpus Christi area. Many people were disappointed with the impact of Tropical Storm Don this past July. Don simply fizzled (evaporated?) under the Texas heat. Wow. But I venture to say, we were fortunate. When conditions are right, a storm churning in the Gulf of Mexico can mean death and destruction. We should count our blessings and look toward the Gulf warily as the Hurricane Season pushes on.

Many storms have hit the Kingsville-Corpus Christi area. Two in particular, left their mark - Hurricanes Beulah and Celia. Beaulah struck in 1967 and Celia in 1970. They were devastating killer storms, each with its own characteristic that left marks on South Texas for generations. Both times, I spent the eve of the storm in Kingsvile at then Texas A&I University, and both times I was surprised to what I heard or found when I woke up in the morning.

Both times, I felt lucky to have survived and realized that the fury of nature has no equal and must be respected.

Hurricane Beulah was a massive rain storm that caused unprecedented flooding in South Texas, forming lakes that lasted 20 years or more and impacting the area for weeks and months before things returned to normal.

It tracked through the Caribbean, struck the Yucatán peninsula of Mexico as a major hurricane, and moved west-northwest into the Gulf of Mexico, briefly gaining Category 5 intensity. It was the strongest hurricane during the 1967 Atlantic hurricane season. The hurricane made landfall in northeastern Mexico with winds near 160 mph.

The storm then weakened before moving into Texas as a major hurricane. Hurricane Beulah made landfall south of the mouth of the Rio Grande as a Category 5 storm. It then meandered over land with Category 3 conditions until it fizzled out Sept. 22. It spawned 115 twisters across Texas, which established a new record for the highest amount of tornadoes produced by a hurricane to hit the Gulf Coast. Due to its slow movement over Texas, Beulah led to significant flooding and caused more than $1 billion in damages. There were 58 fatalities. Three fatalities could be attributed to flooding in Corpus Christi. There were deaths reported from Mexico, the Rio Grande Valley, Corpus Christi and the deep Brush Country of South Texas.

Beulah was strange and refused to die. I remember pelting rain for more than 24 hours, non-stop. I mean RAIN. Big drops constantly splashing into the streets at a steady consistent pace that was unusual for this area. It rained all over South Texas for five consecutive days as Beulah moved at a snail's pace up the area. We wondered, "Is it ever going to stop?" Refugees from the Rio Grande Valley somehow made their way up to Kingsville, where hundreds found refuge in the university's dorms and buildings. Classes were cancelled for days. Of course, the students who stayed behind found ways to entertain themselves and for days played touch football in the standing water in front of Nierman Hall.

But, the university was not spared from Beulah's wrath. The A & I Citrus Center at Weslaco lost 80 to 95 per cent of the fruit crop with damage estimated at $29,000. The most notable damages on campus were uprooted trees and shrubbery. The Javelina Stadium lights were blown down to about a 30-degree angle and had to be removed within the week. Due to the extensive cost of replacing the lights during the semester, all home football games were held in the afternoon. That year the Javelinas won the Lone Star Conference championship with a thrilling come-from-behind 23-21 win over rival Southwest Texas State before more than 15,000 fans at sun-lit Javelina Stadium. John Kardow kicked a 28-yard field goal with 1:18 left to play to seal the victory. The Hogs finished 9-0 that year, which will forever be known as The Year Hurricane Beulah Blew the Javelina Stadium Lights Down.

Beulah was indeed memorable for me and my friends. The night before Beulah hit the Kingsville area, my cousin Adan and I spent the night in my dorm room in Cousins Hall. By now it was a category 3 storm. We had volunteered to stay behind to help the Army ROTC unit feed the refugees who were fleeing from major flooding the Rio Grande Valley. We played it as safe as we could, taping windows and moving away from any doors. That night we could hear the wind howl through the university and the rain, the rain, constantly falling on campus. We woke up in the morning, about 5, and the tree outside was down. We saw the water rising to the steps and just wondered when it would stop. Meanwhile, the cafeteria - now the Conner Museum - had become a temporary refuge. Sandbags had been packed around it to avoid the flooding. We were assigned to kitchen duty and informed to make chicken salad sandwiches. Someone had stayed up all night preparing the meal. There was no way out any more. All of Kingsville was flooded. Outside, we could hear helicopters and trucks scurrying around the area. We heard that Dr. Manning was outside Manning Hall, protecting it, making sure no one could get in. There were reports he had a rifle with him and he was looking for looters. We also heard he was letting people in for safe refuge. Our ROTC officers just laughed and didn't worry about a thing. After all, it was Dr. Manning.

Then, we heard we were stranded. The campus had been cut off, becoming an island. Farm road 141 leading to the cutoff to Alice and Falfurrias had six-feet of water over it. The King Ranch had moved its cattle now, south, where the waters were receding. Bishop was closed and the road to Riviera was impassable. There was no way out for three days. Phone communications were down. The winds had been strong enough to tangle the Javelina Stadium lights, but it wasn't the wind that downed the telephone and power lines. It had rained so much that even the slightest Gulf breeze would knock the poles down as the ground was saturated beyond any thing we had ever seen in South Texas. The ground was just a dark-brown mush. An "emergency" phone line was set up for the refugees and for the parents of students who stayed on campus to contact their children. My family finally contacted me. They were coming to pick us up. They said there was only one lane of traffic from San Jose to Kingsville and that it would take quite a while to get here. We waited at Cousins Hall. We were glad to leave. On the way back west toward Hebbronville, we could not believe our eyes. The King Ranch fence had water to the top wire. One lane of traffic moved west, as slow as a turtle crossing a lonely Texas highway.

Hurricane Beulah would not soon be forgotten. The lower Rio Grande Valley, the four-county region that comprises deep South Texas, was inundated with torrential rains. Rain also doused the Brush Country areas of Kenedy, Jim Hogg, Duval, Webb, Kleberg, Brooks, Jim Wells, Nueces, Bee and San Patricio counties. Within a 36-hour period it dropped more than 27 inches of rain near Beeville. Falfurrias received more rain from Beulah than it normally records during one year. Areas south of Laredo, San Antonio, and Matagorda were isolated for more than a week due to the resulting flooding. On September 28, President Lyndon Baines Johnson declared twenty-four counties in southern Texas a disaster area. During a four-day period Beulah rained and reigned over South Texas, daily totals of rain averaged more than 20-inches per day. It was estimated that more than 85 inches of rain drenched different areas of South Texas. In these days, when drought is the key word and many would welcome even the slightest of tropical storms to the area, it seems incredible that Beulah could dump that much rain in only a week - more than 80 inches in some areas. Beulah was a wet storm. But, aside from the immediate tragedy, Beulah's rains helped nourish South Texas for years. Maybe it's time for another "wet one?"

If Beulah was a "rain storm," than Celia was a "wind storm." On Aug. 3, 1970, it roared into Corpus Christi with a fury that city had not seen since the 1919 storm and has not experienced since. Winds hit 130+ mph. It spawned dozens of tornadoes. Its devastation was clear, once the morning sun hit what had once been the Sparkling City by the Sea.

My friends and I spent the night the storm hit Corpus Christi at our rent house down Santa Gertrudis Ave. on 4th St. We didn't expect much from the storm. We had heard, from TV news reports, that it was "small and losing strength." Hurricane Celia developed from a tropical wave moving through the Caribbean, becoming a tropical depression on July 31 and a tropical storm on August 1. In the Gulf of Mexico, it rapidly became a major hurricane, but weakened steadily to an 85 mph hurricane. It didn't seem too dangerous, so few people evacuated the area and we, down in Kingsville, felt safer than a sparrow on a nest high on a South Texas oak. On August 3, it again rapidly strengthened to a major hurricane, this time reaching 130 mph winds prior to its Texas landfall. Celia would kill 20 people.

Back in Kingsville, we went about our normal routine - class, dinner, dates, TV, drink and tell tall tales. The night was tranquil. We heard from TV that the storm would hit the Corpus Christi area late that night or early in the morning. Little did we know that the small compact storm would gain strength and would be one of the most powerful storms to hit the area. The morning of Aug. 3 was quiet in Kingsville. Kingsville had been spared but there was no one on the streets. It was sunny, but there was an ominous feeling around. We woke up and turned on the TV. Nothing. We turned to our favorite radio stations - KUNO 1400 AM in Spanish and KEYS 1440 AM with rock 'n' roll tunes. Nothing. We scanned the radio looking for a station. Finally, through the static came the loud and clear voice of Andy Cook on Kingsville radio station KINE 1330 AM. It would be the only station on the air in South Texas for three days and the only source of information. The first words we heard were: "Corpus Christi has been destroyed . . ." Cook's crisp and definitely distinct radio voice went on to describe the horror the residents of Corpus Christi and the upper Coastal Bend area like Aransas Pass and Mathis felt. He had a straight connection to the Department of Public Safety and the National Guard that had been called up - within 24 hours - to prevent looting and set up spots for people to be treated medically and distribute ice and food. For at least three days, Andy Cook was the voice of South Texas to all those in the immediate Corpus Christi area. Eloquently, and with little rest, he told the story of the hurricane's impact. It was a story of sheer destruction, death and desolation.

The statistical toll taken by Celia was nothing short of staggering: The American Red Cross estimates now that 65,000 families suffered losses; the area took property damage totaled at $500 million in 1970 dollars; almost 9,000 homes were destroyed and some 55,600 homes suffered damage ranging from major to minor. Crop losses -- the storm hit during a harvest season -- were in the millions of dollars. More than 4,000 people were forced to seek shelter. There were many deaths - 20 became the official number.

But added to that toll in numbers was simply the shock for thousands of residents of having their homes, their livelihood, their possessions, perhaps their life's work, wiped out in one terror-filled August evening.

The Corpus Christi Caller-Times reported on the eeriness of the storm like this: "When darkness came -- as dark and as quiet a night as ever fell on Corpus Christi -- those who had survived were simply thankful to be alive. There was no electric or telephone service in many area cities. There was no place to buy ice."

Slowly, we got word from inside Corpus Christi. DPS officers would come to eat at the Round Table, a popular eating spot on 14th Street at the time, or stop for burgers and sandwiches at the Gridiron or Young's Pizza near the university on Santa Gertrudis. As they exchanged shifts, the shared the horror stories. We heard that one of our favorite watering holes when we would go to Corpus Christi for "fun" was giving away free beer while it was still cold, the day after the storm. The place was called Vernon's and still exists today. It was one of the few "bright" stories in the gloom that followed.

We were shocked. The roads to Corpus Christi were blocked. Many of us had family there and wanted to go help, but no one was getting past Robstown on the south and west and the Chapman Ranch entry was flooded and guarded vigilantly by the Texas Army National Guard. No one, except in an official capacity was getting in or out of Corpus Christi. We felt we had to make contact. We got an idea. We had press passes for working with the university newspaper - The South Texan. I even had one that was "approved" or "sanctioned" by the Texas Department of Public Safety. Surely, they would let us in. Kingsville still had electricity so we loaded up our ice chests with clean pure ice. Just in case, we filled one with Lone Star and Schlitz beers. We bought some bread, baloney, cheese and other canned goods and headed north to Corpus Christi. Sure enough, we got through. We had cameras and credentials and qualified as official journalists.

We drove slowly down Highway 44, now going east. We worked our way toward Leopard Street, Old Brownsville Road and Morgan. My uncle lived on Old Brownsville Road. It was a beautiful house with brick all around. Behind him, on Guatemozin St., lived the rest of the family. We passed by slowly, and saw nothing. I remember telling my friends, "I don't see my uncle's house." We were in area just across from Del Mar Tech. There was debris everywhere. We circled next to what used to be the old airport, now the state school and drove down Guatemozin. There was my other family's home. An oak tree had pierced the roof and was clearly stuck in the living room, its branches reaching, so it seemed, to all the rooms in the house. They were so glad to see me, us. We had come with supplies. "Mira, es Memito (Look, it's Manuel Jr.)," I remember Tio Beto shouting to the cheers and anxious eyes of other family members who all had distant looks on their faces as they set outside in what was left of the lawn in the blistering August Texas heat. They, honestly, did not know how they were going to survive. All were huddled around what they now fondly called "the tree house," as if they were waiting for help. That day, Aug. 5, we were the help. They were so grateful for the ice, especially, and all the canned goods and baloney and bread we had brought. They invited us to eat. We politely declined. This trip was for them. We even let them have the ice chest full of beer - at least 36 cans (maybe Adan drank one or two). My uncle Beto savored one and then said most of the neighborhood cantinas down Port and Leopard had been "wiped out" and that some "borachos" were picking up cans of beer on the street. "Now we can enjoy our beers in our tree house," he said smiling, letting out a roaring laugh we had always associated him with. He had such a good nature. I miss him. In the turmoil, it was good to hear him laugh. We helped clean up a bit and then said good bye. We took pictures for our story. They ran that week in The South Texan. Celia, was truly devastating to Corpus Christi and, just as Andy Cook said that gloomy morning, "Corpus Christi ha(s)d been destroyed.

As we drove around town taking pictures for our story, we came to realize the full extent of the disaster and damage. The people that we saw certainly felt despair. There was debris, and rubble all around. TV towers had been knocked down. Downtown was a like a war zone. Windows and doors had been ripped from skyscrapers. The once beautiful bay front had palm tree leaves and limbs littered all around and it seemed as if Corpus Christi Bay had vomited on the city's prized street - Ocean Drive.

It would take weeks, make that months, of clean-up of downed trees, restoring of power, clearing debris, of toiling in the late summer heat, of waiting in long lines to obtain precious ice before any semblance of normality would return.

We came back to Kingsville, thankful that none of our family members were killed or injured. We had heard what they had to do, each one of them, to survive. Their stories seemed surreal. One of my uncles said that their entire house was lifted, made a 360-degree turn while in the air and then dropped in a neighbor's back yard while they were in the house. That explained why I didn't see the house on Old Brownsville Road.

On the way back, we drove through Kingsville and other South Texas towns south of Corpus Christi to see if could find any other signs for destruction. There were none. This small compact storm had picked Corpus Christi and the area directly west and north of it to attack.

We came back to the South Texan office and started developing the film and writing our stories. For days, we were dazed.

Hurricane Beulah and Hurricane Celia were killer storms. I know many of us would welcome the rain from tropical storm or hurricane, but I don't think any of us wants the likes of the wrath of those two storms to visit our area soon.

What do you think? How do you feel?

"A Better Life" a moving experience. . . It draws one to Outrage or just rage

Note: In the movie "A Better Life" veteran Mexican actor Demián Bichir tries to seek "A Better Life" for him and his son. The movie is strikingly realistic. It touches the issue of immigratin reform in our country like few movies have. It sends a poignant message that Prsident Barrack Obama could understand better if he watched the movie. In El Paso, recently, President Obama promised comprehensive immigration reform. It's time.

I write this blog with a sense of outrage. No, make that rage.

I open this blog with a review of Chicano history. A generation ago in the 1960s to the 1980s many Mexicano young people took to the streets to protest the continuous acts of discrimination and denial of civil rights we suffered under the dominant Anglo population.

I would say, that for the most part, those protests worked. Today Mexicanos and Tejanos born in the United States and those activist Chicanos who valiantly fought for civil rights are enjoying a piece of the American pie and living "A Better Life." But, we grew old and lost our valor and many of us are now complacent and even reluctant to open our eyes and see that our brothers and sisters - the new Latino immigrants to our country - are been treated with disrespect and disregard for their humanness. They are being abused right before our very eyes and we do nothing (nada).

Oh, sure, Eddie "Piolin" Sotelo, the famed Latino radio DJ from California who has now won national acclaim, did organize a national rally and boycott to bring attention to the immigration problem in our country. But, many of us said, that's not our fight. We have fought our fight. It's the immigrants turn to fight for their rights. Besides, they are not even citizens, some may say.

Where is the outrage? Where is our soul and heart? Why don't we understand that when they belittle one Hispanic, Latino, Mexicano, Tejano, they belittle all of us? Why can't we see that the Arizona law is not the anomaly but the norm in this country that is becoming more and more anti-Hispanic with each passing year?

I must apologize for my "Juanito llego tarde (Johnny come lately) attitude on this issue. I have always wanted to do something, but .... It was a movie that changed my mind and opened my eyes.

The movie "A Better Life" was so realistic that it hit too close to home. The movie features veteran Mexican movie actor Demián Bichir in the role of Carlos Galindo, an immigrant father who is fighting to give his son Luis (Jose Julian) "A Better Life" in the United States. One thing leads to another and eventually he gets caught without a driver's license and is deported, leaving Luis behind. He is sent to a detention center as he awaits his deportation for months. He lives with the regular prison population even though he has been a law-abiding citizen his entire life in the United States. He is treated like a common thief, murderer or rapist. He gets no respect and his only crime has been that he was looking for "A Better Life" for him and his son.

One of my former students had a similar experience. He made a mistake on some paperwork. Soon, the Department of Homeland Security came to look for him at Texas A&M University-Kingsville. They found him working at the University Bookstore, handcuffed him and took him away. He had no chance to pack his belongings, make sure his car was okay or talk to his professors about his classes. He had no rights in this country. He was illegal. In an instant, he was off to Houston. Three days later, he found himself in a detention center in Louisiana where he began a nine-month stay in the Immigration Services detention centers. He was finally released and will be taking classes at A&M-Kingsville this fall and hopes to get his master's soon. He is still searching for his belongings. He has lost everything, but he is back "home" in the Corpus Christi area. He was offered the choice to be deported to El Salvador, his home country as a child, and avoid the trauma of living in a jail cell for almost a year, but refused, saying simply, "This (the United States) is my home."

He was lucky. Ninety-nine out of 100 immigration detainees are deported. Under President Barrack Obama's administration, those numbers have increased and undocumented immigrants (not criminals) in the U.S. deportation center are treated worse than ever. The deportations under President Obama are on pace to surpass 37,100for the year, an increase of more than 1,200 from 2010. If the trend continues, the Obama administration will have prosecuted more illegal immigrants for illegal re-entry in his first term than George W. Bush’s administration did in his two terms combined. From 2001 to 2008, 111,920 aliens were prosecuted for the crime — 42,465 in Bush’s first term and 69,455 in his second, an annual average of about 10,600 and 17,360, respectively. Obama's administration is averaging about 34,355 annually and is on pace to surpass 103,000 in his first three years.

So, why is this Democratic president who rode to victory behind Hispanic vote turning a blind eye to this? It's baffling. Statistics show 64% of Hispanic males and 68% of Hispanic females supported Obama. Latino youth supported Obama over McCain by a lopsided margin -- 76% versus 19%.

So, what's the deal?

Reports from Washington say Obama has simply decided that we are a nation of laws and laws should be followed. He forgets that slavery was once legal in this country, but that law changed.

One thing is clear, Barrack Obama would not be president of the United States without the Latino vote in the American Southwest and, to a certain extent, Texas. It is clear that the Hispanic voter looked to Obama to lead the immigration reform. It is clear that the Hispanic gave Obama a mandate to go to Washington and "change the law or practice" that is clearly as unconstitutional as the issue of slavery was in the 19th century. Besides, it's simply a human rights issue. Period.

We must urge President Obama to do something. We must show him we are outraged that he has sat there motionless and made campaign speech after campaign speech, including a recent one in El Paso, where he promised, again, he would take the lead in this quest.

I would like to start by asking President Barrack Obama to go see the movie "A Better Life." Then, if he is moved enough, I would like to ask him to visit an immigration detention center and talk to some of the immigrants. He would find that the vast majority of them are hard-working "residents" of our country who deserve a better chance, "A Better LIfe." He will find that they are treated inhumanely and we are probably violating the Geneva Convention.

Then, I would ask him to go into the Mexicano barrios and, after witnessing first-hand how the jornaleros (journey man or day laborers) who line up for "work" at street corners in cities throughout our country, call a press conference and say simply, "Bienvenidos (Welcome)."

I want him to say, "There is work here for you. Come out of the shadows and join our society. We will develop a system for you to gain your citizenship. Continue working hard and you too will have a piece of the American pie and realize el sueno Americano. This is your country. We are a country of immigrants who worked hard to seek 'A Better Life.' Continue to work hard. Be decent hard-working people and you will have 'A Better Life' in this great country you so desire to be a part of. We did away with slavery years ago. It's time now for immigration reform."

Of course, right wingers would cry foul and President Obama will be put down by lunatic fringe among our country's conservatives. But I would bet the Hispanic would come to his rescue. I would bet he would a hero bigger than life and more important than all the revolutionary heroes in Mexican history - well, maybe not Emiliano Zapata. I would bet that few would threaten him after they realized the Hispanic population was solidly behind him. I know. I'm dreaming, but it could happen.

The movie - "A Better Life" - will get him thinking about his current stance on immigration reform. It will get him moving. He needs to see it. It will definitely open his eyes and stir his conscience.

Oh, after Birchir's character - Carlos Galindo - is deported, the true message of the movie is revealed. The last time Galindo talked to his son Luis, Luis made him promise him he would come back. The last scene shows Galindo and other undocumented immigrants approaching the U.S./Mexico border in Arizona. As the coyote points and says the United States is just north of a certain landmark. Galindo looks up to the sky and says, "I'm going home."

Let's hope he made it and let's hope by the time another movie is made on this character President Barrack Obama would have seen the light and done the right thing. We are a nation of laws, Mr. President, but laws have changed in the past and it's time to make comprehensive immigration reform a reality. It's time to stop the undignified treatment of Hispanic, Latino, Mexican immigrants and help them have "A Better Life."

On rooting for Mexico at a soccer game in the Rose Bowl . . .

There has been much consternation from right-wing extremists over the show of support for the Mexican soccer team during the recent matchup with the USA team in Pasadena, Calif. The U.S. Men’s National Team lost to Mexico, 4-2, in the final of the 2011 CONCACAF Gold Cup in a thrilling encounter in front of more than 93,000 at the Rose Bowl, June 25.

Problem was, perhaps 80,000 of those at the Rose Bowl, were rooting for Mexico. Essentially, Mexico was the home team on one of the USA's most hallowed sports arena. When the ceremony was over, the public address announcer - perhaps noticing the preponderance of Mexican fans who most assuredly spoke Spanish - decided to do the awards ceremony in Spanish.

Of course, this angered many Americans, including the players for our national team, some of whom are Hispanic. The explanation for the lack of American support at this CONCACAF finals is simple, Americans are not soccer fans. Period. Our (USA) fans were not there. The few thousand who were rooting for the USA team at the Rose Bowl represent the soccer fanatics in our country. Others were enjoying baseball, hockey, basketball or thinking about the coming football season, be it high school, college or pro.

Fact is, football, not futbol soccer, is the single most important sport in the United States. Futbol, is most important sport in Mexico. In the good ol' USA, soccer ranks somewhere between ice hockey, synchronized swimming and middle school basketball. Yes, even Little League football and baseball rank higher than soceer in the USA.

Those "Mexican" fans certainly have roots in Mexico. Many just arrived here seeking the American Dream. At most, they are a generation or two removed from Mexico. Their allegiance to Mexico is strong. In fact, any Mexican-American can tell you that our ties to that country remain strong no matter how long we have been in the United States, so it's natural, very natural to root for Mexico. A couple of traditional Mexican songs will explain this.

Luis Miguel's hit, "Mexico en la piel (Mexico in my skin or under my skin)" is a classic that will send goose bumps over anyone who has Mexican ties or roots.

Como una mirada hecha en Sonora (Like a look made into a song)
Vestida con el mar de Cozumel (Dressed with the Cozumel sea)
Con el color del sol por todo el cuerpo (With the color of the sun throughout the body)
Asi se lleva Mexico en la piel (That's how Mexico gets under your skin)

Como el buen tequila de esta tierra (Like the good tequila of this land)
O como un amigo de Yucatan (Or like a friend from Yucatan)
Y en Aguascaliente deshilados (and lost like a losse wire in Aguacalientes)
O una lana tejida en Teotitlan (Or like silk sewn in Teotilan)
Asi se siente Mexico, asi se siente Mexico, (That's how Mexico feels, That's how Mexico feels)
Asi como unos labios por la piel (Like lips all over your skin)
Asi te envuelve Mexico, asi te sabe Mexico (That's how Mexico consumes you, that's how Mexico tastes)
Y asi se lleva Mexico en la piel (And that's how Mexico get under your skin)

Como ver la sierra de Chihuahua (Like seeing the mountain range of Chihuahua)
O artesania en San Miguel (Or the art work and handicrats in San Miguel)
Remontar el cerro de la silla (Climb again the mountain peak of the silla)
Asi se lleva Mexico en la piel. (That's how Mexico gets under your skin)

Como acompanarse con mariachi (Like being backed up by a mariachi band when you sing)
Para hacer llorar a esa cancion (To make that song cry)Que en el sur se toca con marimba (in the south of Mexico do it with a marimba)
Y en el norte con acordeon (and in the north they play the song with an accordion)

Asi se siente Mexico, asi se siente Mexico, (That's how Mexico feels, that's how Mexico feels)
Asi como unos labios por la piel (Sort of like lips touching your skin)
Asi te envuelve Mexico, asi te sabe Mexico (That's how Mexico consumes you, that's how Mexico tastes)
Y asi se lleva Mexico en la piel (And that's how Mexico gets under your skin)

Como un buen sarape de Saltillo (Like a good sarape from Saltillo)
Como bienvenida en Veracruz (Like a welcoming in Veracruz)
Con la emocion de un beso frente a frente (With emotion of a kiss on your forehead)
Asi se lleva Mexico en la piel (That's how you carry Mexico under your skin)

Como contemplar el mar Caribe (Like you're contemplating the Caribbean Sea)
Descubrir un bello amanecer (Discovering and observing a beautiful sunrise)
Tener fresca brisa de Morelia (Feeling the fresh breeze of Morelia)
La luna acariciando a una mujer (And the moon carassing a woman)

Asi se siente Mexico, asi se siente Mexico, (That's what Mexico feels like, that's what Mexico feels like)
Asi como unos labios por la piel (Just as if you're sensing someone's lips touching your skin)
Asi te envuelve Mexico, asi te sabe Mexico (That's how Mexico consumes you, that's how Mexico tastes)
Y asi se lleva Mexico en la piel (And that's how you get Mexico under your skin)

I have to admit. Mexico's romanticism, history and culture are very strong in me and my family and we certainly feel an allegiance to the country. But, I don't think I would root for Mexico against the USA. It would take special circumstances. It would be sort of when Texas plays Texas A&M in football or any other sport. Because of family ties, I am going to root for Texas. But, when Texas is out of the picture, I will root for Texas A&M.

But, there's another song that is deep in my roots that may help explain allegiance to Mexico. It's a song my grandfather was familiar with and a song my father took with him when he fougt for the USA four years in World War II. It's called, "Mexico Lindo y Querido" and it has some haunting lyrics that every one with an ounce of Mexican blood or culture would get goose bumps to if they listened carefully. The great charro movie star Jorge Negrete made it popular. Here is the most haunting part of that song:

México Lindo y Querido (Dear and beloved Mexico)
si muero lejos de ti (If I die far away from you)
que digan que estoy dormido (Let them say that I am asleep)
y que me traigan aquí (And have them bring me back home to you)

Que digan que estoy dormido (Let them say that I am asleep)
y que me traigan aquí (And have them bring me to you)
México Lindo y Querido (Beloved and dearest Mexico)
si muero lejos de ti (If I die far from you)

Okay, so allegiance to Mexico for anyone who has the culture in him or her has been established. That does not, however, explain why those living in the United States either as citizens or legal residents would cheer against the USA. Honestly, if you are in the United States, you should cheer from the USA. Right?

Well, let's wait a while. If you live in the United States and other Americans have had a history of treating you like a second-class citizen, passing anti-Hispanic laws like Arizona and other states, and saying that you are not worth much to this country, you're going to feel a certain sense of pride for your culture and roots and you just might root for the other team. This will not change until the anti-Hispanic fervor of reactionary Americans, mainly Republicans, changes and America decides to treat all with Hispanic roots as real Americans. For the record, you all, "Aquí estamos y no nos vamos, (We're here and we're not leaving)." A better wat of saying that, my gradfather used to say is, "Aquí estuvimos, y no nos fuimos (We were here and we didn't leave when you all got here - c/s).

Mexican Americans have been treated unfairly in this country since different parts of the American Southwest became part of the United States. We became strangers in our own land and now some politicians have the audacity to pass horrid laws designed to belittle us. I don't think so.

Let's look at what happened in California a little more carefully. It was just a soccer game. It's not politics. No one says anything when southerners proudly salute the battle flag of the Confederacy, or even when skinheads proudly salute the Nazi flag. Most feel these people have the right to do this, as Americans. Wow.

Okay, so let's assume that the majority of the 80,000 Mexican cheering for the Mexican team at the Rose Bowl are either American citizens or legal residents of the United States, do they not have the right to cheer for any team they choose?

I think so. So, let's not be self-righteous about a sporting affair. Let's sit back and realize that years-and-years of atrocities and denyig of civil rights to people who were born and raised in the American Southwest is going to take a little time to get over. Let's realize that allegiance is as thick as blood and that while all Mexican Americans love and respect the United States, cheering for old Mexico (and I don't know why they call it old) is allowed and heallthy. It's just a soccer game and most Americans (of any ethnicity) don't care about soccer. I know, I know, I just insulted my hermanos mexicanos(Mexican brothers)who swear soccer is the the one only sport. To them I say, just as I say to those who critized them, sacanse la daga (get the sword out of your body, or simply, get over it).

As another song says:

Viva Mexico, viva America (Long live Mexico, Long live America)
oh suelo bendito de Dios (Oh, land that God has blessed)
viva Mexico, viva America (Long live Mexico, long live America)
mi sangre por ti dare yo (My blood, life Y would give for you).

Happy Father's Day - Amando

On this Father's Day, I want to stop to honor the man who took care of me, raised me and showed me the value of being a good man. Today, I realize I have let him down many times and I apologize for that. Still, I hope that in some way I have made him proud of me through the years. Today I want to honor my step father Amando Saenz (pictured above waving and in his Army uniform). I want to tell him simply, "I love you Amando, dad."

My biological father died in a car accident when I was nine, just a few days short of my 10th birthday. It was as hard a blow as a boy that age could take. Two years later, Amando became my step father as he married my mom, Maria.

I remember Amando visiting the family to watch on TV Gillette Friday Night Fights with my father. They would sit in the living room, drinking beer and munching on snacks and talking about everything from the weather to high school football and their experiences in World War II.

Amando was a bachelor. One day my father asked him when he was going to be married. Amando responded quickly, "Manuel, I'm not going to get married until I find a woman like your wife, Maria."

He was serious and my dad didn't take too kindly to the words. I still remember his reaction. He was, well, aghast. There were other words exchanged and shortly after, Amando left.

But, he had made it known. He liked my mother. Such is life.

After my dad's horrific death, Amando started coming by asking how he could help. Soon, he started courting my mother and shortly thereafter they were married.
Amando became my step father, but he really just became my father, I know that now. I remember the first birthday present he gave me - an entire box of TOPPS baseball cards. Wow! I looked for a Mickey Mantle card. Of course, there wasn't one of the famous New York Yankees star and swith-hitting slugger who was my idol. I still have all those cards, which I hope some day my sons will cherish and perhaps pass on to their children, especially my grandson Aidan (pictured here with a baseball cap when he was maybe 9 months old) who seems to love baseball at the early age of 2.

Amando was always there for me. He was kind, understanding, and loving.

I remember some of the older folks in town who used to gather in front of the Post Office to chat and watch the traffic go by and see who was arrested and going to jail across the street. One day when I was going to get the mail, one of the old men, my neighbor, Don Lupe (who rode with Pancho Villa) asked me how my family was doing. I said fine. Another old men asked me for Amando, in particular. Don Lupe interrupted and said that Amando was a true caballero and wonderful person. Then, he said that Amando had a perfect name. "Amando esta siempre amando," he said, explaining that Amando was loving and caring and a good person who liked everything in the world and had a positive attitude, always. "Siempre nos saluda a mi a mi esposa Estefanita con una sonrisa y siempre esta allí para ayudarnos (He always greets me and my wife Estefanita with a smile and he is always ready to help us). Si, su nombre esta perfecto. Amando esta siempre amando (Yes, his name is perfect. Amando is a loving person).

Of course, after a lifetime having him as my step father, my dad, I agree.

On this important American holiday, I can't help but reflect on how he made a big difference in my life. I was so lucky and blessed. I could have gotten a mean old man for my step dad, like many young people do. Instead, I got the most loving and caring man in the world to guide me through my rough teen years, college experience and life, in general. I owe much to him and I in no way can repay him for the kindness and guidance he gave me.

I'm sure he doesn't know how proud I was of him when I was growing up. He was a stellar example of a father. He had gone to Laredo Junior College. Few Mexican American man could claim that. That example, and others, helped pave my life. I at times likened him to St. Joseph, who helped raise Jesus and must have made a difference in his life. Not that I am anything close to being holy, (ha), but Amando's loving ways impacted who I was, whom I became and who I am now. Growing up, I often said a prayer of thanks at night or at church for being blessed with such a wonderful step father, dad.

I know I've let him down, like all children do at times to their parents, but every thing I do I do thinking of what he would say. And, that is a proper way for a man to show the love for his father. That is what God and Jesus expect us to do, as well.

And, about his love for my mother, there was no question. I remember that conversation he had with my dad very distinctly. I knew then he loved my mom, even then. They became a wonderful and adoring couple. I was happy for mom and for Amando and, I guess, for myself and my sisters, Lynda and Judy.

So, Happy Father's Day Amando, dad. May you have many more and please forgive me if I disappointed you somewhere along the way. I love you Amando, dad. Please take care. Happy Father's Day to the most loving person I know. As Don Lupe said, "Amando esta siempre amando." Today we give you some love back. You deserve that and much more. Enjoy!

c/s

Sanctuary cities...really?

Gov. Rick Perry and the Republican leadership in Texas are trying to pass a law that would prevent cities from becoming “sanctuary” cities. The term "sanctuary city" has no legal meaning, but it generally refers to a municipality that has established policies prohibiting police officers from enforcing immigration laws or cooperating with federal immigration officials. In fact, Texas law states that police officers generally cannot arrest people without probable cause of a crime, and immigration violations often are civil matters, not criminal cases.

So, okay, where are these sanctuary cities in Texas? As far as I am aware of, None of Texas' major cities claim to be a “sanctuary” city. So, then, what is behind the motive of our gun-toting governor and his Republican cohorts? It's simple, this is just another cover for the anti-Hispanic agenda being advanced by the governor and his Republican compatriots in Austin.

Some have said Houston is a sanctuary city and Dallas, Fort Worth and San Antonio are also in the same line. Ironically, all of the police officers in the cities mentioned above are following what is practice by the Texas Department of Public Safety of not allowing troopers to inquire about immigration status during routine patrols. Houston does not allow its troopers to stop individuals solely based on the suspicion that they might be illegal immigrants. "We do not enforce federal immigration laws," said Tela Mange, a DPS spokeswoman has said in news reports. "If, for some reason, a trooper on a traffic stop suspects that someone may not be here legally, the trooper can contact ICE for assistance, but we can't detain that person solely because we think they may not be here legally."

With no respect to the people in Arizona who supported anti-immigration legislation, if this sanctuary bill persists and becomes the norm of the law, our legislators will bring shame to Texas. Unfortunately, "Gov. Perry and the Republican-led Legislature are on the brink of enacting a law that will bring shame to this state, hurt our economy, set back public safety and insult my family," State Sen. Leticia Van de Putte wrote.

Van de Putte argues that the state's Republican leadership is pushing a measure that would allow law enforcement to judge her by the color of her skin even if she had not committed a crime. I agree. All Texans should be outraged.

Fact is, the Texas Rangers, DPS, the state's business community all feel this is a bad idea that would negatively impact the economy and cause much unneeded strife for all citizens of Texas. "Policies such as these serve only to rip communities apart, and rip families apart," Van de Putte has said.

Texas' strength is its diversity and its acceptance of other cultures as it tries to identify what Texan represents. It's as simple as ordering a Polish sausage taco (sausage wrap)at a high school football on Friday nights, having a beer at Wurstfest in New Braunfels and celebrating the Czech heritage in La Grange. The names of our cities and towns speak of diversity: Fredericksburg, San Marcos, Pawlekville, Benavides,etc. Texas is nothing more than a blend of cultures. The Spanish and Mexican took the accordion that the Czech, German and Polish immigrants brought to Texas and trasnformed its sound into a unique blend of music that has evolved into Tejano. Why stop that natural evolution where bratwurst and chorizo can co-exist?

Let's make one thing clear right now. Rick Perry is not thinking about Texans at this point. He is thinking about a possible run for the Republican nomination for president or vice-president. This is why our state is now allowiwng anti-immigrant propaganda to rear its ugly head in our state. It's propaganda for Perry. Nothing more.

Now, we are no better than Arizona. Why have we decided that we are no better than Arizona? As Sen. Van de Putte points out, "Let's not forget that since Arizona passed its legally challenged law, tourism has gone down and so have tax revenues from visitors. The economy has taken a big hit and job growth has stalled. The situation is so dire that this year, as conservative extremists tried to move new anti-immigrant bills, business leaders told them to stop for the sake of the state's economy. And they did."

We are better than Arizona, right? Let's stop this. Let's send Perry the message that Texas' strength is its diversity. Democrat Leticia Van de Putte represents District 26 in the Texas Senate.
c/s

On teachers . . .

(Note: Pictured here is Coach Eliseo Ramos. He was my history teacher and baseball and football coach at Hebbronville High School. Coach Ramos had a big impact on my life. He showed me how to be a respectable man. He always dressed up to teach and he was always ready with a quick lesson. As a coach, he always had us prepared to play anyone we faced. He told us were as good as anyone else out there. Turns out, he was right. Thanks Coach.).

When did our teachers become the enemy?

I have been watching with much interest the recent struggles on school financing throughout the nation and in Texas. Somehow, watching the various state legislatures arguing for cuts in public school financing has been akin to watching Attila the Hun attacking defenseless women and children in a mountain village. It doesn't make sense.

It's bad enough these legislators (mainly Republican) are attacking our children, but now they are attacking the lifeblood of the public education system - the classroom teacher.

First of all, teachers are not paid much. They sacrifice much of their lives to ensure that a proper balance of education is put forth to scores of children who enter their classrooms. Many spend their own money and many spend countless hours counseling students (and their parents in some instances) as they try to make it through today's rugged society. These classroom teachers are the heart and soul of public education. Much of their individuality in the classroom was taken away from them when state mandated curriculum became all the rage. Now, testing has taken away their personality as they teach to test. Now, we have assured we are not going to pay them adequately. Just leave, old man and old woman. You are in your late 50s or early 60s but just leave, they are being told. We don't need your knowledge, education and classroom savvy any more. Leave!!!!

And,they have. Every state of the union reports high increases in teachers taking early retirement or, for those who are younger, just leaving the profession. It's as if the letter "T" for teacher resembled the "A" in Hawthorne's Scarlet Letter. The teachers are being depicted as the bad apples here and are being asked to leave with their tails between their legs, so to speak.

Well, they shouldn't do that. They are the ones who have kept the American way of life alive. Without public school classroom teachers we would be no better than a monarchy where the haves have more and the have nots don't even get the scraps. But, oh, that's the way some politicians want it and that's what they will get - people eating scraps.

What the politicians don't know is that America's success is based on people being able to share a piece of the pie. It's call the American Dream. As long as everyone gets a piece of the pie, it's okay. If you limit educational opportunities, the ones who baked the pie (okay, the politicians and their rich sponsors) will get a bigger share of the pie and those of us left behind will get only the crumbs that may fall from their voracious and arrogant appetite for power. That will destroy America. Doing away with a quality public education for all will destroy our country and our way of life. Making the teachers the enemy to dispose of will eventually result in ruin for our country and our way of life.

I remember my teachers. It wasn't easy growing up Hispanic in a Anglo-dominated educational world. But, somehow, these marvelous individuals were able to transform a proud and somewhat arrogant little boy into an educated man.

In elementary school, the nuns at Little Flower School taught me confidence, patience and perseverance. Sister Grace and Sister Leticia gave me the confidence to read and write in English, and I still do that. Mother Josephine showed me how to be leader, just by example. They all taught me the wonder of books and joy of writing, in any language that I could command. In high school, my teachers showed me that reading, reading, reading and writing, writing, writing would make me a better student. They also taught me not to be afraid to speak my mind and to do so with confidence. Teachers like Mr. Oliphant, Mrs. Morris, Mrs. Pearson, Mr. and Mrs. Perez, Mr. Smith, Mr. Huerta, Mr. Valon, Mr. Martinez and Coach Gonzalez.

Coach Eliseo Ramos (pictured above) touched my life in remarkable ways. He was a true professional educator. In the classroom, he treated everyone fairly and with respect. He always dressed professionally. He demanded excellence from all of us, and most of us gave it back. In the playing field as a baseball and football coach, he demanded excellence, sacrifice and focus. His teams were winners and he left a lasting legacy in my hometown of Hebbronville. Today, the baseball stadium is named in his honor. We were great, thanks to him. Coach Ramos was just a solid example of how to fight for what you want and to never, never think others are better than you. He taught me that I could compete with anyone in the world in spite of my limitations, if I just worked hard enough to succeed. I have followed that example. Thanks, Coach Ramos.


Mr. Oliphant, in particular, exposed my friends and I to the world outside my little hometown of Hebbronville. Through reading assignments and class discussions we explored the world of philosophy and history. I bet he never knew I would some day write a book.

Mr. Smith was so wonderful. He took a young man with a very heavy Mexican brogue (of which I was very proud) and tutored him every day and on weekends with tongue twisters and other exercises to transform me into a - well - decent speaker. He saw that I had the charisma to make a good speech but felt my very heavy Mexican accent would hinder my ability to communicate. So, on his own, he helped this young man whom he saw potential in and whom he felt would have a better future with this work. He was, in essence, my speech therapist and I am forever grateful to him for doing this.

At the university level, teachers continued to make a difference in my life as I tried to prepare myself for a career in journalism. At Texas A&I, Fred Neusch, Bill Holmes, Ben Hobbs and Sheralyn Alexander certainly honed my skills. Mr. Neusch in particular prepared me for a career in sports journalism. How else could a young man from Hebbronville wind up a Dallas Cowboys beat reporter and covering the Super Bowl? Well, it happened. Dr. Ward Albro, Dr. D.J. Stinebaugh, Dr. Ed Su and Dr. J.D. Phaup were among those who made a difference in my life, as well.

My teachers at the high school or university level saw teaching as a mission. Many of them "picked" to go to a rural community where they could make a true impact and be proud of their professions.

A recent radio commentary by Glen Ford pointed out that many politicians simply want to do away with teaching as an honorable profession. Full-time teachers are not needed, he says those politicians feel. Public education’s corporate enemies – Democrat and Republican – are now waging open warfare against teachers unions, seeking to strip them of collective bargaining rights, he said. But that’s just the beginning, he feels. “The billionaires, and the politicians they have purchased, want nothing less than to destroy teaching as a profession.” In the ideal corporate world, most teachers would have the status of temps - or subs. How can we teach our children with temps? It would be like the replacement players making believe they are the real pros in the National Football League. Now, that's something Americans won't stand for, right? So why not go to bat for our teachers? Why not be outraged about losing our qualified teachers? Where's the outrage?

It's time. We must be outraged and we must fight back. We have to. No one gave the Republicans the mandate to attack public education in the manner they have. NO ONE! We asked them to be fiscally conservative and to watch over the budget, but now they've gone too far. They have become the enemy of our children and our future and someone has to stop them. Education should not be messed with. It should be nurtured and cared for and made the best for everyone.

Texas has a long history of fighting for school finance reform (The Edgewood Cases). Forty years later, we are still fighting. But, if these current trends continue, there will be nothing left to fight for in the future. All we will have is a series or charter schools and private schools and only the chosen ones will get an education. If that happens, the American way of life is gone. Trust me. We will become a second-rate country in an instant. Soon, we will elect a king or queen. Soon, the rich will have us serving them tea in their hot tub. Soon, we will become indentured servants to a rich classes society led by vulgar politicians whose only salvation would be the dollar bill. Soon, we will not exist.

Ray McMurrey, head of the Corpus Christi teachers union said, "I am convinced we are in the midst of an organized scheme to devalue and defraud public education to the point it becomes dysfunctional. The deceptive plan also places blame on teachers for the impossible position public education is in, further convincing the public that tax credits, vouchers and private schools are the answer."

He is right. This is a well-planned scheme to deny a proper education to millions of our children. Consider this, "Why is this happening just as the majority of Texas' public school children are Hispanic?" Why is public education being devalued just as the Hispanic children are the ones who must be educated? You have to wonder, is there a plan here? As one well-known politician would say, "Youbetcha!"
Politicians, mainly Republicans, want to devalue education because then only their children will be able to afford a quality education. Have you seen the cost of a college eduation recently? They have to be stopped.

We must fund public education properly, not adequately, or it's over, as McMurrey said. We should stay the course of supporting our public schools and let our state officials know that defaulting on public education is never acceptable. Instead, we should ask our legislators to fully fund education, even if it means finding new revenue (insert rainy day fund for Texas here).

We should encourage our legislators to support laws demanding higher standards for teacher certification. Empower teachers to handle discipline in their class rooms to uphold safe schools, and allow teachers to assign failing grades when deserved without harassment by administrators.

And, the key here is not the dollar sign, although that would help. The key here is continuing to treat teachers with a little respect, a little dignity and a little class.

They deserve, at least, that.

Thank you Sister Grace, Sister Leticia, Mother Josephine, Mr. Oliphant, Mrs. Morris, Mrs. Pearson, Mr. and Mrs. Perez, Mr. Smith, Mr. Huerta, Mr. Valon, Mr. Martinez, Mr. Neusch, Dr. Phaup, Coach Gonzalez and Coach Ramos (and all the others, including those in college), thank you.

c/s

Los Versos del Veterano - With Respect to Eligio Escobar

For those Mexican Americans who served in the military, in particular World War II, one of the most popular songs was one sung by Tejano artist Eligio Escobar. It was titled simply, "El Veterano" - The Veteran.

The song has had staying power and those who served in Korea, Vietnam and now in the Middle East conflicts can relate to its message. The message is simple, a Mexicano will not shy away from anything in the battlefield. A Mexicano will fight with honor, valor and persistence to defend his country. If you go to YouTube, click on this link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jHBe-QZIea0 and you should hear the song. If not, just put down El Veterano Eligio Escobar and you will get the link. Good luck. It is inspiring.

On this Memorial Day, I would like to offer the lyrics, the song and the message with all those who had a military veteran in their family. "Que dios los bendiga a todos" (May God bless all of you). Eligio Escobar is in the center, my step-dad Amando Saenz at the top, and my father, Manuel Flores, is on the right with the Mexican and American flags in the background. This, too, is for them.

Los Versos del Veterano
Canción de Eligio Escobar

Veterano, soy señores (Gentlemen, I am a veteran)
De la guerra más terrible, fui guerrero
(of the most terrible war, I was a soldier)

Soy Mexicano de raza,(I am a Mexican)
Por la mano del destino,(Because of destiny)
Nacido en el extranjero (I was born outside of my land of Mexico)

Me llamaron al servicio, (They called to serve in the military)
Como macho es mi deber decir “¡presente!” (Like an honorable man that I am, it is my duty to say "present").
Me toco la infantería, (I was assigned to the infantry)
Esos que van en el frente (Those who go toward the front in battle)

Después del entrenamiento, (After my training)
Me mandaron en un barco, (They send me in a boat)
A ir a jugarme la vida al otro lado del charco (to go an gamble my life on the other side of big puddle - ocean)

Yo en mi vida avía rezado, (In my life I have prayed)
Pero allí aprendí a rezar mil oraciones.(But over there I learned to pray a thousand prayers).

Bajo la lluvia de acero, (under the rain of steel)
Balas de martilladoras (bullets from machine guns)
Y bombas de mil aviones (and bombs from a thousand airplanes)

No he podido comprender,(I cannot comprehend)
Como pude yo volver, (How it is I was able to return)
¿Quizás la suerte? (Maybe it was luck?)

Pues, es que mi dios es muy grande,(Well, it's because my God is so powerful)
Mi Virgen Guadalupana (And my Virgen de Guadalupe)
Me protegió de la muerte (Protected me from death)

Y hay que vida tan amarga, (What hard life)
La que un soldado se pasa (A solider has to endure)
sin ninguna esperanza de regresar a su casa (Without any hope of ever returning home)

En los campos de batalla (In the battlefields)
Se mostro su valentía, ser Mexicano (The valor of what it means to be Mexicano was shown and proven).

Para que el mundo lo sepa, (So that the world will know)
Que no se afrenta de nada el que tiene sangre Azteca (Don't one with Aztec blood will not back down to anything).


Ya me despido señores con mi Máuser en las manos (I say farewell now gentle, with my Mauser in my hands).

Y, aquí, se acaban los versos del veterano (This is the end of the lyrics of the song El Veterano).

c/s

My trip to San Juan (Mi viaje a San Juan)

Visiting the church, now Basilica, of Our Lady of San Juan del Valle is somewhat of a tradition for many South Texas catholic families. My families are no exception to the draw this once simple church has to many faithful. San Juan, Texas, is the destination of many pilgrims from South Texas.

According to church literature, the legend of the virgin dates back to colonial Spain. In 1623, an acrobat travelling with his wife and children stopped in San Juan de los Lagos, a town near Guadalajara. While practicing for their act, the youngest daughter lost her balance and was killed. An Indian woman begged the parents to place the image of the Immaculate Conception in the church at San Juan de los Lagos over the young girl's body. Miraculously, she came back to life. Since then, the devotion to the Virgen de San Juan has grown throughout Mexico and the United States.

But, that devotion has not been part of the Texas catholic tradition for long. San Juan, Texas, was but a small community in the rural Rio Grande Valley when the Rev. José María Azpiazu became pastor of St. John the Baptist chapel in 1949. He was convinced that fostering a devotion to the Virgen de San Juan would benefit the people and draw the community together. A reproduction of the statue of our Lady of San Juan was brought to the chapel and, after receiving permission from Bishop Manuel Garriaga from Corpus Christi, a church was completed in 1954 to permanently house the small statue of what was now to be called Our Lady of San Juan del Valle, La Virgen de San Juan del Valle.

Almost immediately, pilgrimages to the church started. From all over South Texas and points north to San Antonio, Del Rio, Eagle Pass Uvalde, Houston, Austin and beyond, the people started to visit the shrine to venerate and worship the little statue of the miraculous virgen.

I remember first visiting the shrine with my family sometime in the mid-1950s. We had just purchased a house, and that was a big accomplishment for a Mexican American family. We were going to give thanks and leave an offering at the church so that the Virgen de San Juan del Valle would take care of us and make our house a happy one. My father and mother had brought with them a jar of the dirt the house was built on. My dad made the sign-of-the cross, said some prayer in Spanish and held my mom's hand as he placed the bottle of dirt on the floor of the chapel next to the Virgen's statute. There were other objects - crutches, photos of young graduates, flowers (mainly roses), and letters in English and Spanish. There were alter servers (helpers) keeping things orderly.

I was very young - 7 or 8 years old. I was immediately impressed by the devotion of the pilgrims. They were humble, proud and came from all walks of life. They were mainly Tejanos or Mexicanos. Some were crying. Others were in deep prayer. Some were smiling and actually in a celebratory mood. It was strange. This was the usual scene every time we visited. The people were beautiful. The faces seemed blessed, even when they were in tears. There was an aura of mutual respect and understanding that can only be achieved at a shrine such as this. It was much more than a Catholic church, and I guess that's why the National Conference of Catholic Bishops designated Our Lady of San Juan del Valle a national shrine on March 14, 1998, and the following year on June 12, 1999, Pope John Paul II designated it as a minor basilica. Now, it is truly a sacred temple and thousands of people from Texas, Mexico, the nation and the world visit it daily. And, I can honestly say that during my lifetime, I have visited the shrine more than 100 times. It's always a special occasion and very solemn and moving experience.

A usual occurrence at the church was for pilgrims to light holy candles or candles of adoration in the Virgen's honor. Today, thousands are lit daily. They are allowed to burn out in a special ventilation room that makes one wonder how many miracles happen every day.

During one visit we made to the old church, I noticed some of my townsfolk were also visiting. We said "hello" and continued along our way. We all had private reasons for being there and no one dared asked, "How are you?" or "What are you doing here?" Mrs. Morante was in deep thought. One of her sons was talking to her very insistingly. She had made a "promesa (promise)" and I heard her tell Alejandro that she was going to keep it no matter what he thought. Shortly after, I saw her on her knees at the start of the church. Others joined her. Slowly, with her son behind her, she started to move toward the altar where the Virgen de San Juan was stationed. Her hands were spread wide open in prayer. She wore a beautiful Spanish mantilla veil over her head, her face now filled with tears, as she prayed the Hail Mary in Spanish. I thought, that's a real sacrifice. She "walked" or "crawled" on her knees for nearly 50 yards. She was old, for me. She was surely 60 or older. That was hard. Every now and then her son would touch her shoulders, but never stopped her progress. He, too, was praying. By the time she got to the altar, she was dead tired and she fell forward, bowing in front of the statue. A priest came to help her, but Alejandro stopped him. It was his mother. He would help her if she needed help. Besides, she had a "promesa" to fulfill and her quest could not be interrupted. There had been some kind of miracle in her life and she came to give thanks to God and Virgen de San Juan. Walking on knees is no longer allowed in the basilica, but every now and then, an older pilgrim will attempt the sacrifice. I never have.

On another visit, I saw a young Mexican family walk in hurriedly to the Hall of Miracles where families and individuals are allowed to pray, make offerings, leave messages or just meditate as long as they want. The couple was in their 30s. Their children all teen-agers. The eldest was being dragged by the hand by the mother. She spoke to her in Spanish and all I understood was "Tienes que pedir perdón(you must ask for forgiveness). In the Hall of Miracles there are several saints and statues the devoted can implore and pray for help to as they meditate. By now the young girl was sobbing slightly. She was deep in prayer next to us. She had beautiful jet black her that went down to her waist. She had a strand of her hair over her mouth and eyes. Her mom was standing next to her with her hand over her right shoulder. The father stood proudly behind them, as if protecting from eavesdroppers or something unexpected. He held his "petate (palm)" hat in his hands, in front of him. He had his head down. Again, it seemed as if he was anticipating something. Just then, a gust of wind made its way through the Hall of Miracles. Everyone noticed and got a cold chill. The wind blasted by us, interrupting our meditation and made its way toward the young family. The gust blew the hat out of the father's hands and lifted the girls jet black hair straight into an adoration candle. It caught fire and quickly made its way toward the teen-agers face. The mother, who had her hand on the girl's right shoulder, immediately took her mantilla and doused out the flames. By now, the young woman was in tears and all the family was crying. People started to leave as the young family gathered round their daughter. A young boy asked, "¿Que paso? (What happened)." The mother answered tenderly, "No te mortifiques. La virgen nos esta hablando. Todo esta bien. (Don't worry. The Virgin is talking to us. All is fine). Everything may have been fine, but we left them to their prayers. I think all of us got a message that day.

I believe the shrine is truly miraculous. Why would people keep coming if it were not a holy and marvelous place? After all, in 1970 the entire original shrine was destroyed when a small plane crashed into the roof, causing the church to explode in flames. No one was killed, although there were more than 150 people there in mid-morning. The altar was engulfed in flames, but two courageous priests rescued the statue of our Lady of San Juan del Valle that now rests in the basilica and which is adored daily. Miracle? Perhaps, but I'm sure there is a message there, too. The message, I'm sure, was the virgin telling her faithful to build her a bigger, better shrine to accomodate the thousands of pilgrims who wanted to come and implore her help. Now it is done. Now they come, and so do I.

Every day they come, the lost and hopeless, those in need of prayer and miracles, the sick, the lonely, the happy and the blessed. They come from near, and they come from far; many having traveled hundreds of miles to feast their eyes, and their souls, at the famous Shrine that stands near the community of San Juan, in the Rio Grande Valley. Today, the Shrine features full-scale outdoor Stations of the Cross and one of the world's largest mosaics. It's truly a holy experience to see them. Sometimes one just has to see them. You don't have to pray, just watch and listen. Your mind will do the rest.

My last visit to San Juan was this past Saturday, May 28. Again, the faces of the faithful touched me. They were humble, proud and came from all walks of life. They were mainly Tejanos or Mexicanos. Some were crying. Others were in deep prayer. Some were smiling and actually in a celebratory mood. The people were beautiful. The faces seemed blessed, even when they were in tears. There was an aura of mutual respect and understanding that can only be achieved at a shrine such as this. This is truly a sacred place and, as I said earlier, much more than a church.

On this day, I had personal issues that made me want to ask for help for me and those whom I love. In the past,the Virgen has always been kind. I have survived many ordeals in my life, thanks, I feel,through her intercession. In spite of many "bad" things happening to me, I have been blessed. Now, as I reflect on my prayers at the Hall of Miracles and ponder my reverence as I lit the holy adoration candles in front of the giant mosaic where her small statue is stored, I wonder if I can be helped yet again. Perhaps this request is not to the Virgen's liking? Perhaps I'm out of miracles? Perhaps I have already been blessed in abundance and it's my turn to suffer? I still believe in her intersession, and so I ask for help and forgiveness. That's what I believe in and I remain faithful.

On that Saturday, I attended mass and was pleasantly surprised. I heard a Mariachi Mass in English. For a man used to hearing Mariachi sing in Spanish, it was "interesting." It particularly resonated with the younger Mexican Americans in the church who are now starting to speak more English than Spanish at home. Is that a miracle or just evolution? The priest officiating the mass was black. He implored us to pray and read the bible. He asked to pray so that drugs and violence would disappear from the lives of the people in the Valley.

He implored us to follow the words of the gospel that day and to go home and read John Chapter 14. I did. It reads, in part:

"Truly, truly, I say to you, he who believes in Me, the works that I do, he will do also; and greater works than these he will do; because I go to the Father. Whatever you ask in My name, that will I do, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If you ask Me anything in My name, I will do it. If you love Me, you will keep My commandments."



And, so, I pray and ask forgiveness and ask for hope and understanding. While I feel I have let my religious standards down, I ask the Virgen de San Juan del Valle to help me find the strength to survive, to love again, to be forgiven and to again be close to my family, culture and values. I know I will get help. I await the miracle.

c/s

On birth and renewal

The birth of a child is one of most wonderful events in the world.
Yes, I know that some children are born into hunger and poverty and some are born with debilitating diseases that will never help them lead what we consider a "normal" life.

Yet, with each child we have a message that humankind is expected to reproduce and live on and hopefully make the world a better place to live in as time marches on. The births of my three children and nephew, whom we adopted in Texas, were wonderful experiences for our family.

On the subject of Hispanic children, it is important to note that the Hispanic birthrate is twice as high as that of the rest of the American population. That high fertility rate will fuel the rapid Hispanic population boom in the coming decades. By 2050, the Latino population will have tripled, the Census Bureau projects. One in four Americans will be Hispanic by mid-century, twice the current ratio. In states such as California and Texas, Hispanics will be in the clear majority. Nationally, whites will drop from near 70 percent of the total population in 2000 to just half by 2050. Hispanics will account for 46 percent of the nation’s added population over the next two decades, the Pew Hispanic Center reports.

My Hispanic children are all grown up now. One of my sons will soon have three children and two others have two each and counting. More importantly, with each generation, Hispanics are becoming better educated. My children certainly have gotten a good education and are ready to impact society.

I will review them, one by one.

Numero Uno: When Mario was born, he came into the world screaming, crying, moving and almost wanting to jump out of our arms when we held him. He was hungry, very hungry. The doctor had given strict orders that he would only be fed natural milk, but that wasn't enough. Ha. When they carted him back to the baby nursery he would cry and cry and cry and soon all the babies in the nursery were crying. Imagine a symphony of 25 crying babies. It was more like a cacophony, a mixtures of sobs, cries, snorts and wails. It was loud enough and scary enough that even crows wouldn't stop by.

"What's wrong with him?" I remember nurses asking as I watched through the glass windows at the nursery. "Is he sick?" Finally, I heard one say, "He's a big boy (almost nine pounds and 21 1/2-inches long). Maybe he's hungry?" There was a small pause in the action. Nurses gathered round the head nurse. I think one said, "But the doctor said not to feed him anything but natural milk."

Again, there was a pause. Babies were still crying. Mario was the loudest. Then, it was decided. Next thing I know one of the younger nurses was coming with a baby bottle full of formula milk in her hand. She moved Mario up and pointed the bottle toward his mouth. He seemed to jump out at it and grab it with both hands (wait, babies can't do that). But, he did. The young nurse yelled back something. It must have been, "He was hungry." Soon, the nursery was quiet. There was peace again. At that point, Mario earned a new nickname for his voracious and insatiable appetite. It was in Spanish and it was not "pretty," for a baby any way. Suffice it to say that it had to do with a hobbit with pretty much a glutinous hunger.

Throughout the two days Mario was in the nursery, the nurses would periodically give him extra bottles to keep peace in the nursery. As far as I know, the doctor never found out. Mario grew up into a beautiful young man. He is at least 6-foot-2 and maybe weighs 275+. He still hits the bottle every now and then and he has a wonderful appetite. He was a blessing in our lives. He went on to be quite and athlete and an outstanding baseball pitcher. He helped lead Miller High School to the state baseball playoffs and was named all-state, earned his degree from Texas A&M-Kingsville, led both Laredo Community College and Texas A&M-Kingsville to either conference championships or playoffs in college baseball, played a little pro ball, was a successful high school coach and now he is in education working with highly at-risk kids at a charter school.

My second son, Marcos, is a completely different story. He came into the world quietly. Again, I was not allowed in the delivery room. The first glimpse I got of him was when they wheeled him out in a baby crib of sorts and paused momentarily to show him to me. His eyes were wide open. I had been told babies couldn't really see at birth, but I swear I saw him focusing on different things around the room.

He was healthy, too. A big boy, but he seemed interested in everything around him, including me. He seemed to focus on me as if to say, "Who are you?" His baby eyes were dark, dark blue, like the hues in a Walt Disney animated show. He was eager to learn everything about the world around him. His quest for education would continue and now, with a master's degree in hand, he is the principal at Calallen Middle School. He is well on the way to having a successful and beautiful life. In between, Marcos helped lead Miller High School to the baseball and football playoffs, making all-state in baseball. He set several hitting and home run records that still stand at Texas A&M-Kingsville. He played a little pro baseball, was a successful prep coach for a while and then went into educational administration. He is still looks at the world with wonderment and is one of South Texas' premier Tejano researchers and an accomplished genealogist. Every day, for him, is full of wonder. Now he is enjoying life with his family and is one of the most respected people in Northwest Corpus Christi.

Tres is not enough: My daughter's birth was traumatic. When we arrived at the hospital, the afternoon shift was going on. Nurses were scurrying to and fro and somehow they forgot about my wife and I.

I was left to tend to the birthing myself in the "waiting" room. Ha, there were really nervous dads there and they were all smoking except me. Wow. All of a sudden, it was time. I shouted for help. No one came. Finally, one of the nurses who had just arrived said, "We have to hurry." This time, I was allowed in the delivery room. They wheeled my wife, who was screaming loudly at this point, to the delivery room. Now, there was no doctor. I thought the nurses would know what to do, but it wasn't their patient. "Who is her doctor?" one of the nurses asked. I yelled out a name and said, "It's too late. He's not here." The nurse screamed, "There are no doctors here. We're all on break."

I panicked and ran into the hallway. At a distance I could see a young man in a light green scrubs. I ran him down and asked, "Are you a doctor?" Wow, he looked much too young. I didn't wait for a response and said, "We're having a baby!" He replied, "Now?" I grabbed by his right arm and led him toward the delivery room.

My daughter's head was now "showing." The young doctor gasped and started helping. Within minutes, my daughter was born. She was petite, about 2-3 weeks early and didn't have her eye brows or eye lids yet. She was almost a preemie,but I could tell she was going to be a big girl. Her eyes remained closed as they took her to the nursery and put her under some lights they said she needed for whatever medical reason, but she was fine and we were fine and that was what was important.

We learned later that the inefficiency of the hospital staff could have caused us her life or that of my wife as well, not to mention the heart attack I almost got that day. We talked about the lack of professionalism of the hospital staff and considered filing a lawsuit, but we didn't really care. We had our girl and she was healthy.

The baby stayed in the hospital several days before they allowed us to take her home. She was beautiful. So, we didn't care about any lawsuit. We had our little girl.

She went on to do great and beautiful things. The most important thing she did was overcome dyslexia, a reading disorder that often stops a person from being successful. She, too, was quite an athlete in high school and college. She excelled in all sports, but was very good in softball. She was all-state in high school and all-conference and All-American at Texas Woman's University. She led both her high school and college teams to the playoffs, played a little international softball and played with the nation's top amateur teams. She went on to get her bachelor's degree from TWU and master's in special education from the University of Texas and is now a successful university softball coach and spends time as a consultant for reading disorders.

She is a marvelous young woman and one who has made us very proud.

I could not write these words without mentioning my nephew, Raymond Acevedo, whom I love dearly. Raymond was our pilón (extra or bonus). He moved in to live with our family twice. The last time, when he was a teen-ager, he stayed and we became his guardians and adopted him into the family.

Raymond was born at a military base in Taiwan. Of course, we could not celebrate his birth. We wouldn't see Raymond for some time. Eventually, we adopted him into the family. The one thing I never told him was how happy we were when he was born.

I remember my father-in-law Lupe coming to me with the news. We were at the rancho. He said, "Manuel, vamos a celebrar. Soy abuelo otra vez (Manuel, let's celebrate. I'm a grandfather again)." With that we called the family, went to the store and bought some supplies (fajitas, tortillas, hot sauce, soft drinks and beer) and planned a small but honorable barbecue at the ranch in Raymond's honor. Raymond was a whole world away, separated by an ocean and land masses neither my father-in-law or I had visited, but we were going to celebrate his birth. It was a joyous time.

Ray grew up into a wonderful young man and a strong family man. He has survived much and we are so proud of him. Today he works for AT&T and is a supervisor. He, too, was a great athlete, probably the best in the family. He still ranks seconds in stolen bases at Miller High School, and he did get a college scholarship to play baseball, but the university was not for him.

After some struggles, he earned an electrical engineering certificate from Del Mar (Tech) College. He was the top student in the program when he finished the course. We are so proud of him. Did I mention he makes more money than my children with bachelor's and master's degrees.

Yes, the birth of a child is cause for celebration. A new life has come to earth and the possibilities are boundless. When a child is born, there is renewal of the life cycle and also rebirth of the adults involved.

Mario, Marcos, Teresa, Raymond....thanks for the memories and good luck.

c/s