Long live Hector P. Garcia

I heard with interest that a new statue of Mexican-American civil rights leader Dr. Hector P. Garcia was to be unveiled Jan. 26, 2012, in front of the Mercedes Public Library in the Rio Grande Valley. The library will be renamed in honor of Garcia who grew up in the Rio Grande Valley town and went on to greatness after founding the civil rights organization The American G.I. Forum.

Today (Dec. 29, 2011), I also read that former Corpus Christi Caller-Times reporter Armando Ibanez was filming a documentary about Dr. Garcia.

It's welcomed news to this college professor who has noticed how the name and legacy of this South Texas and American civil rights giant has slowly disappeared both from the faces of history pages and the minds of thousands (millions) of young people, especially young Mexican Americans. It saddens me to see that this hero is being forgotten, and that's why the news of the new statue honoring Garcia and the filming of this documentary are so welcomed. Perhaps these humble offerings to the memory of Dr. Hector P. Garcia will inspire others to do the same - remember his legacy.

But, I doubt it. Politics being what it is in Texas, chances are the name of a Mexican American hero will continue to be absent from our history books. Chances are, politics and racism being what it is in Texas and parts of the nation, the work of Dr. Hector P. Garcia will be scoffed at and not remembered. Chances are, Mexican American teachers, ashamed of their roots and culture, will decide to talk about other American heroes and abstain from talking about Garcia for fear they will be called radical or, even worse, un-American. Chances are children who will be asked about Dr. Garcia's legacy will ask, "Whose legacy? Who was he?" Some will even say, "Oh, that was a long time ago. We don't have those problems now. We don't need to bring back the past." But, the same teachers and children will relish their instruction and information on Martin Luther King, Anne Frank and her diary during the Holocaust and talk about slavery as if it was yesterday, and not a long time ago.

Chances are these same Mexican American children will go to college where few professors will talk about the contributions of Mexican Americans to the success of our region, state, nation and the world. Chances are many of these Mexican American children will be ashamed to talk about their heritage and say, "I can't speak Spanish" and listen more to "Rhiana" and "Kanye"or some "Li'L Wayne" then hear a classical mariachi tune or a Tejano song.

Chances are these same children will forget who Dr. Hector P. Garcia and his struggle to ensure equal rights for Mexican Americans and all people of our great country. Chances are few people will show up for the dedication of this memorial and even fewer will say, "It's a good thing."

Well, it is a good thing.

Love live Dr. Hector P. Garcia.

Que viva el Dr. Hector Garcia
-30-

c/s

At the time of death . . .

"No one wants to die, and yet death is the destination we all share."

Steve Jobs, 2005

"En nombre sea de dios."

Manuel Flores, Sr.

circa 1957

Watching "End of Year" TV programs can be depressing.

Most every network, including ESPN and Fox Sports, seems to have a list of those "great" and "important" people who passed away during the past year. USA Today has a special edition it calls "Passages" to review the deaths of the year. This year there has been much ado about the death of Apple founder and genius Steve Jobs. Reportedly, on his death bed, his last words were, "Wow! Oh Wow!" It was Jobs who said at a commencement address at Stanford University in 2005, "No one wants to die, and yet death is the destination we all share."

But, "Oh Wow!" What did he see?

It must have been amazing, soothing and calm. It must have been something that verified his life as a great contributor to human progress and a vision that validated his life on Earth. Was he making his way toward heaven?

"Wow! Oh Wow!"

His vision must have been ecstatic. After all, he did change the world. President Obama summarized it all by saying Jobs was "brave enough to think differently, bold enough to believe he could change the world and talented enough to do it."

"Wow! Oh Wow!"

Perhaps, Jobs had seen "the light" which those who have come back from near-death experiences claim. For we Christians, "The Light" is symbolic of our religion and is like a stairway, or the very least, a big lit-up funnel toward heaven. Its religious significance is full of saint or sinner implications and salvation from damnation. But, do we all see the light?

My personal experiences with death have been, to say the least, sobering. I have witnessed many deaths - mainly of close ones and relatives - in my life. I don't believe anyone had as near a pleasant an experience as Steve Jobs did. Death, even that of Jesus Christ's, is generally not a pleasant experience. As the Kenny Rogers' song says, "The best that you can hope for is to die in your sleep."

Life is, indeed, a gamble.

My first "death" experience was that of my great uncle Jose Angel Flores. I used to call him 'buelo (grandpa) 'cause that's what I was told to call him. I was 5 0r 6. For some reason, we needed firewood. We went to the ranch where Tío Juan Ramos worked, about 10 miles south of my hometown of Hebbronville. Jose Angel always wore khaki pants and shirts. It was a hot South Texas day, too hot to be walking in the Chaparral looking for pieces of firewood while wearing heavy cotton clothing. But, that's what he did. Jose Angel was a strong man, big and solid. He really had never been sick and now, approaching his 80s, was the face of good health. He didn't smoke and drink and had led a very healthy life, with maybe the exception of a very Mexicano diet that included chicharrones (pork rinds), tripas (tripe) and cow head and pork barbacoa. We had been out on the ranch brush country for about 10 minutes, not too far away from a ranch road. Suddenly, Jose Angel grabbed his chest. His face was that of disbelief. He slowly sunk into the ground, saliva pouring out of one side of his mouth as he hit the dirt in front of us. His eyes were dilated as if asking "Why?" He truly was not ready to go and had planned, I believe, some sort of family feast that night. He had been fattening up a hog near the homestead close to town. Tío Juan Ramos looked at me and said, "Go for help (in Spanish)". But where? I ran to the dirt road and it just happened that the family was making its way back to the rancho in a older model car. We rushed Jose Angel into the car and rushed to town. We took him home and, on the way, had stopped to let Dr. Zack know of our dilemma. Jose Angel was alive in the car. When at the house, we lay him on his bed. His breath was measured and he had peed on his pants, something a proud man would not have done, even in his old age. He looked perplexed. Then, he looked at the family one more time....he never spoke...and closed his eyes. By the time Dr. Zack arrived, he was gone. He was an old man, but I'm sure he thought it was too soon. He had much to live for and much yet to teach us. We would miss him dearly for years, and still do. There were no "Oh wows" when he left us, but as we Christians believe, it was his time.

I remember my father's death as if it were yesterday. He died in a car accident. I remember his last facial expression - it was one both of horror and determination. Manuel Flores Sr. died trying to save his wife, my mom Maria, from dying. We were in Oilton, Texas, when a car hit us from behind on U.S. 359 right around downtown. His last words, less than a few seconds before, had been "En nombre sea de dios (roughly, in God's name we go)." As the crash from behind us drowned the silence of the brush country surrounding the quaint oil hamlet between Hebbronville and Laredo, the car doors (we did not wear seat belts in those days) swung open and my mom, seating on the passenger side, almost flew out the windows. My dad flew through the air, grabbing her arm and pulling her back in as the car made three turns in the air. He was flung out the passenger side door, his body passing me in a blur. Still, the car door crushed my mom's leg as my dad fell out into the nearby gravel on the side of the road. The car fell on his upper torso, crushing him and killing him instantly. Miraculously, I was fine. Seating in the middle of the back seat with some baseball cards in my hand, what I witnessed seemed surreal. I knew dad had been thrown out of the car. As the car came to rest, I ran out of back window yelling " 'apa, 'apa (Dad, Dad)." I saw his legs up in the air and figured the rest of his body was trapped inside the car. I touched the legs and they fell down with a thud I can still hear. He was crushed. There was no room between his body and the car. None. In shock for a while, I knew he was gone. I had seen death before. I was 9. I then ran around to help my mom and the other two passengers in the car. I don't believe my father saw any lights. There was no time for it. But, later, my other abuleo, Pedro Chapa, told me my dad's soul was taking care of me now. So, perhaps, his soul did see the light. I know one thing, his last second on Earth was not pretty. And, for the record, every now and then when I'm sleeping at night I look around my bedroom and in the corner of the room, I see him standing there. I look older than he does now. He just stands there, hands crossed in front of him, smiling, as if saying, "You're going to be okay. It's not your time yet." Why are there violent deaths? It makes no sense.

I lost my grandmother, Nana (Julia Flores, my dad's Manuel Flores' mother) during the height of a hurricane on the Texas Gulf coast. She had been having cholesterol problems and her body was worn down due to the hard work as a young woman. She was frail, but very strong of mind and heart. Finally, her heart gave out. Nearing 80, she was hospitalized at Spohn Hospital on Corpus Christi Bay. Almost immediately, in the hospital, they told us she was dying and was only a matter of days. She had been in a nursing home for her last five years, except for weekends when I took her to my house. Her dying wish was that she could die at my home. Oh, wow. There, in the hospital, we all knew that she would not get that wish. The doctors told us she would not make it. As her veins constricted she would cringe in pain. I hated to see her suffer. I asked the doctors and nurses to give her something for the pain. They said it didn't matter 'cause she was dying any way. It's one of the few times I lost my temper. "At least let her die in peace and not pain," I yelled at them loud enough that my voice echoed down the near empty hallways and startled a skeleton staff due to many evacuations because of the approaching storm. They felt they didn't need to move Nana, she was going to die any way. I still remember her eyes, the last time she looked at me. They were the epitome of sadness. Perhaps it was my imagination, but there was a sense of disappointment in her stare at me. It was as if she was saying, "Take me home. Take me home now. I don't have long for this earth. I want to die in a house your home." I thought I heard her whisper "Junior" - her name for me as I got older. I said, "Si Nana. Mande (Yes, what do you need, basically)." But she turned away from me without saying a word. I looked for a priest, but they too had evacuated. Sadness and darkness filled her room. Close family members could not come to see her 'cause of the approaching storm. The light from the hallway and the dark clouds we could see from the window certainly had a deathly fluorescent, greenish glow. Sadness engulfed the room. My Nana was dying and she did not get her dying wish. She died peacefully in her sleep, but she was drugged out of her mind thanks to my screaming command at the understaffed nursing center. Did Nana see lights? Did she say, "Oh wow," or the equivalent. I think her last thoughts were that of disappointment in me and of not having her wish fulfilled. I also still see her in my dreams. At least she's happy, now. At least she's in heaven. I wonder if she is still disappointed. I can't tell. I can't tell.

My mom's death was expected. Cancer and other maladies had eaten away at this once bubbly and vivacious woman. In the end, she was drugged and not at all cognizant of her surroundings. It was devastating for my sisters, my uncle Pete (her brother) and my step-dad Amando. We all knew Mom had a rough life, losing her mom at childbirth and then going from home-to-home as a young girl and teen-ager. Still, she was a fighter, a survivor. She had fought a good fight and now it was her last round at life. We watched her slip away from us in a hospital room, too. Deeply religious, perhaps she saw the light. Perhaps. Death took her away before she would see her great-grand kids grow up - the one last thing she longed for. So now, all we have is photos of her to show. Oh wow, if they only had met her. They would be impressed at this feisty lady with the quick-witted mind and somewhat athletic tendency. We remember the good times. We remember she was a Notre Dame fan and believed in "Touchdown Jesus" even when they were playing a Texas team. We laugh now, but I wonder. Perhaps her death vision was that of Jesus with his hands up in the air signalling touchdown and welcoming her to heaven. Perhaps. I don't see her as much in my dreams or visions. Perhaps it's because she suffered too much in this Earth and is busy enjoy the fruits of heaven now. Perhaps.

Oh Wow. Steve Jobs had the best death ever reported in modern history. Oh wow, I wonder of my own mortality. I'm not ready to go, I know that. But, I will accept death, if I have the time. But, like the Gambler in Kenny Rogers' western ballad said, "The best that we can hope for is to die in your sleep."
-30-
c/s

Air Accordion - or Acordion al aire

Note: Performances from greats (pictured here) like Ramon Ayala, Raulito, Estevan Jordan and Flaco Jimenez have helped make the accordion part of Tejano, Mexicano, Chicano culture. It's part of our roots and an instrument which we have learned to dominate and enjoy. Is it little wonder some of us break out in air accordion routines? It's part of our roots, raices, and we are proud of our link with this instrument.
I have often marvelled at the fun people have "playing" air guitar.

This activity mimics dance and rock 'n' roll as a person - usually a guy - pretends to play a guitar while heavy-metal-style electric guitar music is heard in the background. The person gyrates wildly on the stage (floor?) as his fingers and hands strum through imaginary parts of the song - including riffs and solos. The performance usually involves exaggerated strumming and guitar-picking motions at times coupled with lip-synching.

I can relate to air guitar, having been around for the birth of rock 'n' roll and enjoyed the heavy metal and punk rock era. I understand the energy rock music generates. I can see where a person can just be taken away by the sound electric guitar and how a person would want to be able to play that instrument with the efficiency professional rock musicians do every day. And, so, air guitar was born.

Growing up Mexicano, Tejano, Chicano, air guitar didn't really make the rounds at our parties until the late 20th century. We Mexicanos, Tejanos, Chicanos were way ahead on that simulated playing an instrument notion, ese (dude). I mean, don't get me wrong, we love rock 'n' roll and heavy metal and can jam to Jimi Hendrix as well as Santana, but our raices (roots) are too strong to just settle for that.

In the 1960s and to this date, most Mexicanos, Tejanos, Chicanos grew up with the sound of the accordion accompanying a conjunto or banda. The sounds of Tony de la Rosa, Estevan Jordan, Los Relampagos del Norte, El Indio, Flaco Jimenez coming from our radios graced our automobiles, living rooms, backyards and patios, and dance halls more frequently than any other sound.

The songs these and other bands played were as electrifying to us as any punk rock tune or classic Santana ballad. This music was ours, combined from the meshing of cultures that settled our beloved Texas and refined in the farm fields of our nation and in neighborhood cantinas and dance halls. The sound took the Mexican corrido (ballad) and the European (mainly German) guitar instrument the accordion to interpret the melody that accompanied the legendary lyrics that were an integral part of communication within our culture.

So, it was not unusual at pachangas (parties, gatherings)for some of us, as we were listening to a tune by Tony de la Rosa, Paulio Bernal or any other top conjunto to break out in our own air accordion (el acordion del aire) routine. We'd be sitting there, drinking beer or other beverages, eating barbacoa (barbecue) and charleando (chatting) with our families and friends when one of us just couldn't take it any more and we had to break out into a air accordion routine.

Granted, this air accordion routine is not a pretty site, but no one seems to mind. It involves (usually a man) standing up and starting to strut around the floor (dirt or otherwise, his arms shoulder length, his hands facing toward his body at about chest level and his fingers moving wildly as he hits the keys of an imaginary accordion hanging from his neck. The routine also involves lifting the heels of your boots or Los Chucks (old-style black Converse tennis shoes)up in the air while you prance around on your toes and do a little dance a la Raulito fame (Emilio Naivara's brother) and slowly making a circle (a la washing machine like in the Selena movie) while those around you whoop and holler and sing the song you are trying to perform on your air accordion. Raulito's famous air accordion routine now includes a shuffle that he performed during George W. Bush's fund raiser for his presidential bid. Ese (That) Raulito. Wow.

So, I've been thinking. They have national air guitar festivals and competitions. What would it take to have an air accordion competition? I know, I know, we Mexicano, Tejanos, Chicanos think that contest stuff is below us. When we perform we do it spontaneously and with gusto. We do it because it's natural and we don't want to perform for anyone but ourselves and our families. It's kind of like the grito. It just comes out - naturally - when we hear a song by Vicente Fernandez, Jose Alfredo Jimenez, Michael Salgado or Ramon Ayala or from a group like Intocable or Solido.

Ahua!

That reminds me of one time when I heard the grito and saw the air accordion routine performed together by more than 2,000 people. It was at Fairgronds Field in Robstown, Texas. The Coastal Bend Aviators were playng a baseball game against another minor league team when the PA announcer started playing Ramon Ayala's "Tragos de Amargo Licor (Drinks of Bitter Liquor - I know, it's not the same in the translation). Almost instantaneously, the mostly Tejano crowd of men on a Thirsty Thursday promotion rose to its feet, joined in the chorus of the song as others let out a grito and some did their air accordion routine. Here's the chorus:

Tragos de amargo licor (drinks of bitter liquor)
Que no me hacen olvidar (don't help me forget)
Y me siento como un cobarde (and I feel like a coward)
Que hasta me pongo a llorar (and I break down and cry)

Truly, it's a moving song. The air accordion routine, the gritos and the community chorus that night were inspiring. It touched to the nerve of what it is to be a Tejano, Mexicano, Chicano in America. We have our own music and we use the accordion. It's unique and it's ours. We don't need no pinche (sorry) contest to let us know we're good at it. We're Tejano, Mexicano and Chicano and we have the American right to party like we want to...(simulate air accordion routine here accompanied by a chorus of gritos).
Ahua!

"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."

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 father and step-father were part of The Most Honorable and Patriotic Generation Ever Produced by American Society - The Greatest Generation of all

We have all heard of "The Greatest Generation."

NBC-TV news broadcast journalist Tom Brokaw coined the phrase in his 1998 book of the same title. It is supposed to honor those young men and women who defended our country's honor while serving in the military during World War II. Generally, it included people born between 1901 and 1924. Most survived WWI, the Great Depression and then saved the world during World War II.

This Memorial Day, we pause to honor all veterans, especially those who served in WW II and are still with us. We honor all veterans. Today, May 30, however, I wish we could stop to honor the Hispanic veterans of WW II. I'll explain.

Brokaw said, appropriately, the young men and women in WW II fought not for fame and recognition, but because it was the right thing to do. I agree, but every generation has had its war and those who serve do it because they feel it is the right thing to do. But, yes, it was "the right thing to do."

Said Brokaw, "It is, I believe the greatest generation any society has ever produced." Strong words, but certainly, appropriate.

With no apologies to Mr. Brokaw, I would like to put forth the thesis that the generation he refers to had a distinctly Hispanic tinge and that those young Hispanic (mainly Mexicano) men and women who served their country deserve to be recognized as The Most Honorable and Patriotic Generation ever produced in American society. My father - Manuel Flores (photo top right) and my step-father Amando Saenz (photo top left) were part of that Most Honorable and Patriotic Generation ever produced in American society. It is estimated that more than 750,000 Hispanic men and women fought during World War II.

University of Texas professor Dr. Maggie Rodriguez has documented this in her magnificent project "Defend the Honor." She has made sure that an oral history of these proud "veteranos (veterans)" is documented for all to hear. Dr. Rodriguez's work is priceless. She even took on famed documentarian Ken Burns when he totally left out the Hispanic contribution in World War II in his PBS documentary. Burns made some changes to include the Hispanic contribution in WW II, but why did it take someone to point it out for him to make the change? We, too, are part of U.S. history. Hispanic have contributed to the U.S. military effort since the American Revolution. WW II was no exception.

While the contributions in the battle fields of Europe, Japan and the Pacific were numerous and honorable during WW II, what this generation of Hispanics did for the status of Hispanic citizenship in the United States is both remarkable and inspiring. Hispanics, though small in numbers in WW II, proportionately won more Medals of Honor and Purple Hearts in the Great War. Back home, however, they would change the landscape of the nation, initiate the nation's civil rights movement and let people of all colors understand that the Mexicano, Tejano, Puerto Ricans and Centro Americanos were as proud of being Americans as their white neighbors who ate apple pie and drank Coca-Cola.

These young Hispanics served with honor. They served with courage. Some had but an elementary school education, but they volunteered and said, "dale shine (Let's go)." Others volunteered even after they were denied their civil rights, often being denied service in restaurants or loans from a bank. Yet, they had the courage to fight and to say with honor, "We too are citizens of the United States. I will defend my country even though you do not want to grant me full citizenship. I will fight for our country." Others came from Mexico and Central America, gambling their lives for a chance at U.S. citizenship. All these things were "the right thing to do."

Thousands of Hispanics died. Every small South Texas town has a monument to these heroes. But those who survived, contributed even more. They came back with a pride and courage our country had hardly seen. They came back ready to be accepted as full partners into American society. When some found little had changed, they protested. Armed with the GI Bill, they forged forward to get high school and college educations. Yet, it was hard. Good jobs were hard to find. Loans were hard to get. Teachers said they couldn't succeed in college. But, they did not give up.

Then, when the family of a young soldier killed in the Philippines was denied to have a "velorio (wake)" in Three Rivers, Texas, everything changed. His name was Felix Longoria (Photo bottom right). He deserved to have a wake in his hometown. Someone said "no." That was the last straw. The veterans organized and formed the American G.I. Forum under the leadership of Dr. Hector Perez Garcia (photo center right), a WW II veteran himself. No one would push Hispanics around any more. This time, when someone pushed, the Mexicano would push back and point to their service in WW II and simply say, "How dare you deny us the rights of an American citizen since we fought to defend those rights?" It was and continues to be "the right thing to do."

This generation of Hispanics was outraged at the thought some people in our great country considered us to be second-class citizens. They wanted improvements in everything for us and fought valiantly in the courts, the political battle fields and in the halls of education to bring about change. They took on racist and discriminatory policies and practices at public schools all over Texas and asked the state, and the nation, to treat Hispanics equally. They were there before the NAACP and Brown v. Board of Education asking for integrated schools and fair treatment of students. Among the Texas heroes were Gus Garcia and James de Anda, two attorneys who changed the face of South Texas education and politics. It all started with their service in WW II. There were more, many more. The point is, these were honorable and courageous people who would no longer accept second-class citizenship for themselves or any Hispanic. They risked their lives and careers to make America a better place, not just for Hispanics, but for all citizens.

So, this Memorial Day as we honor America's military veterans, let's pause for a while and single out those Hispanics who served in WW II. They are our true heroes. They served with class, dignity and respect and they changed our country forever. Let's honor them with a simple salute at home, the wave of a flag or a visit to a grave site. It's "the right thing to do."

My father - Manuel Flores - was one of those World War II veteranos. He had a third-grade education. He fought four years in Europe and came back ready to change the world by working hard, being a good citizen and seeking the American Dream, El Sueño Americano. Yet, I remember distinctly how his dream of being a full American was denied several times. I remember he came home late on night from drive to Houston to deliver gasoline. It was late at night and he was hungry. He stopped in Three Rivers, George West and Refugio in search of a hot meal. At every restaurant he stopped, he was denied to sit down and enjoy a meal. By the time he got to Freer, where he felt he would be accepted, it was too late. The restaurants had closed. He got home furious. He hurt like I've seen few men hurt. He cried and hugged me and said to never let anyone push me around. Mom and I cried, too. He went to his bedroom opened the closet and took out his WW II Army uniform and just shook his head.

On another incident, we went to Corpus Christi to seek a home improvement loan for our home. He was a veteran and had, supposedly, veteran's benefits. At bank after bank after bank he was denied a loan. I could see the disappointment in his face. I could see and even feel his anger. But, he didn't give up. "Vamos para Austin la semana que entra (We will go to Ausin next week)," he said with confidence. He did. We got the loan and eventually added to our house.

That same commitment to being a good person, leading a solid life and raising a good family were followed by my step-father Amando Saenz. He married my mom two years after my father's death when I was 9. He is very proud of his service in the U.S military and considers his experience as a reason why he was able to achieve an education, attend college and support two beautiful young women - Lynda and Judy - and, of course myself. Citizenship is earned and his character help pave that reality.

Today, for the most part, Hispanics born in the United States enjoy the benefits of American citizenship. My father and his fellow Hispanic soldiers who served in World War II made that happen. While there are still many battles for Hispanics to fight, let's pause today and honor those who had the courage to fight for our American rights. It is "the right thing to do."

Gracias, papa y mi padrasto (step-dad) , for being part of the The Most Honorable and Patriotic Generation U.S. society has ever produced. Gracias. You both did the right thing. I hope I have made you proud.
(That's me with the gold bar on the Army cap. I was commissioned in August 1970 during the height of the Vietnam War. I, along with 6 others who received their gold bar to signify they were 2nd Lieutenants in the U.S. Army) were booed at the graduation and commissioning ceremony. I served 12 years in the U.S. Army Reserve and Texas Army National Guard and retired as a captain).

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