From the Arizona Daily Star: Carmen Duarte is a native Tucsonan.  She graduated from St. John the Evangelist Elementary School, Pueblo High School and Pima Community College. 

She received her bachelor’s degree in journalism, with a minor in political science from the University of Arizona in 1980.  She began working for the Arizona Daily Star in January 1981 and has covered numerous beats, including immigration, crime, education, social services and federal courts.  Duarte also has done feature writing and traveled extensively in Mexico covering stories for the Star.

In 1994, the Arizona Press Club honored her with its Distinguished Service Award.
Writing “Mama’s Santos” was a year-long labor of love and familial devotion for reporter Carmen Duarte.  It began as a simple idea – to illustrate the personal side of Arizona’s cotton industry by approaching it from the viewpoint of Carmen’s mother, Leonarda “Nala” Bejarano Duarte, who had labored in the cotton fields for much of her 83 years in Arizona and New Mexico. 

When Carmen wrote that initial, short story for the Star’s annual listing of the area’s largest employers, the Star 200, it became clear to Carmen and to her editors that a larger story remained to be told. 

And so Carmen directed her reporting and writing skills to a subject that is unusual for a journalist – her own family.  The result was “Mama’s Santos: An Arizona Life,” which ran in 36 installments in the Arizona Daily Star.

It is a story of one woman’s courage, fortitude and faith.  It is the story of Carmen’s familia and, as many readers have written to tell us, it is the story of many families who came to this harsh corner of a country full of promise and rich in resources. 

It is a tale of the obstacles they met on the path to that promise, the natural ones of flood, fire and disease; the societal ones of discrimination, economic inequality, even revolution and war.  It is the story of “Nala,” who found in her mother’s tale a source of strength and a renewal of faith in the future.

I attended a memorial fundraiser on Saturday March 6th held at La Galeria Hall. There was good food and music to help those who participated keep a positive attitude in what otherwise was a somber event.

On the evening of March 28th – two years ago, Jose Macias and his cousin were gunned down at 13th and Ridge Avenue.  The cousin survived – Jose did not. 

Kansas City, Kan. police have not been able to locate those responsible for what appears to be a cowardly and senseless act.

The event held on Saturday was to add to the $1,000 current reward fund with the Tips-Hotline.  There was a photo of Jose, his mother and grandfather in front of me as I sat at a table.  He appeared to be approximately eight years of age.  In the photo he looked happy as curly hair covered part of his smiling face.

'Later in the evening as I drove to 18th and Ridge, I remembered that it was only five blocks away on ridge Avenue where Jose had his young life snatched away.  I also remembered his family which I had met at 2 p.m. that afternoon.

His mother Josie is a very humble person.

It all seems so unfair that she will not see her son grow into an adult.  Until the responsible person is found, that is the compelling question she faces every day and night. 

The question of who took the life of her son - and why?  The Tips-Hotline has had its share of success in the past, and hopefully this way will bring some closure to a hurting family – at last.

The Tips Hotline number is (816) 474-8477.

March Thunder VI held at the Kansas National Guard Armory played host to a sold out audience. 

Congratulations to the KCK P.A.L.\A.G.I.F. Boxing Club, located at 407 N. 6th street for having 13 boxers as participants.  The club had the most boxers, and awards were given to the coaches, Greg Conchola and Dan Brayman.

Although they truly do not want recognition, they as coaches and trainers spend numerous days and hours at the club. They very much care about “the kids.”  In the club on 6th Street are 2 banners.  One reads “Respect Everyone” – the other reads “Respeto a Todos.”  One can easily observe that the coaches and boxers are united.

Also, Dr. Ed Friedlander was presented with an award.  When he asked to address the audience, he in return expressed his appreciation to the coaches, the golden gloves organization and to the many boxers who were demonstrating their devotion to healthy bodies and to their sportsmanship. 

Local singer and musician, David Tinoco was given an award for his many and long time contributions to Hispanic Music heritage. 

As lead singer, David Tinoco and the group Las Estrellas for many years have been highly respected for their talents and for the many hours the group donates to community events.

The young men and ladies Golden Gloves participants on March 6, 2010:
Wt.    Name and Club             Vs. Name and Club
65    Eduardo Flores -KCMO P.A.L.    Daniel Reyes -KCK P.A.L.|A.G.I.F.
75    Oscar Acevedo -Bad Boyz        Gage Hampton -Turner
65    Lauren Brunsky -Turner        Jennifer Tello -KCK P.A.L.|A.G.I.F.
141    Steven Kollin -Springfield        Stephen Koesterer -Gold’s
106    Powell Cornelius -Team Calloway    Emilio Ruiz -KCK P.A.L.|A.G.I.F.
95    Victor Bravo -Bad Boyz        Da’Reece Crawford -Turner
112    Elijah Green -Team Calloway    Eduardo Tello -KCK P.A.L.\A.G.I.F
112    Jose Guevara -Whatsoever        Chris Smith -KCK P.A.L.|A.G.I.F.
141    Chase Calloway -Team Calloway    Walkover
132    Gustavo Mejia -Dangerfire        Jake Hoskins -Turner
65    George Hammond -Gold’s        Eloy Ruiz -KCK P.A.L.|A.G.I.F.
132    Juan Reynoso -KCMO P.A.L.    Isais Rojo -Haskell
95    Melissa Macias -Bad Boyz        Karla Delgado -KCK P.A.L.|A.G.I.F.
119    Axel Gomez -Turner            David Villezcas -KCK P.A.L.|A.G.I.F.
95    Eric Huerta -Bad Boyz        DeVon Campbell -KCK P.A.L.|A.G.I.F.
132    Angela Bridges -Bad Boyz        Jasmine House -Haskell
125    Ralph Gramajo -Bad Boyz        Will Funk -Gold’s
132    Jonathan Aguilar -Bad Boyz        Victor Guerrero -Whatsoever
125    William Medina -KCMO P.A.L.    Guillermo Tello -KCK P.A.L.|A.G.I.F.
141    Bahadeer -Dangerfire            Caleb Brayman -KCK P.A.L.|A.G.I.F.
125    Idaly Ponce -KCMO P.A.L.        Walkover
125    Itzel Alvidrez -Bad Boyz        Raina Esparza -Turner
175    Rob Reider -Dangerfire        Oscar Acuña -Turner
152    Johnathan Garcia -Turner        Jacob Wilhelm -KCK P.A.L.\A.G.I.F.
165    Walkover                Tim Spears -Gold’s
132    Steven Garcia -Bad Boyz        Darin Hampton -Turner
195    John Collins -Gold’s            Alondis Wilson -KCK P.A.L.\A.G.I.F.

From March Thunder VI:  The American GI Forum is a national Hispanic American Veteran’s organization. The Kansas City Metro Chapter thanks each and every person who supports “Golden Gloves” programs throughout the United States.

The Golden Gloves program is known for excellence, sportsmanship, personal discipline and dedication.

The American GI Forum salutes the young boxers who participate in these events. To these boxers, keeping fit throughout the year is required. These are all learned attributes which will help them throughout their lives and we as a society are all the better for it.

The American GI Forum has a history of encouraging education for our youth. We very much support the added values of sportsmanship, competition and fitness.

Rudy Padilla is a columnist for the Kansan and can be contacted at opkansas@swbell.net.

Many of us remember our favorite teachers; even several decades later in life.  Teachers show their concern for their students in many ways.

In a few weeks I will be traveling to a Topeka Middle School upon the request of a teacher.  I will take along my video of “American GI Forum” as a motivational tool for the students. The story of founder, Dr. Hector Garcia is an outstanding story.

It was a pleasure to visit with the All Saints Church Youth Group last month.  Youth in some instances do not know where they fit in our society.  If given the opportunity, it would seem that us as adults should help youth by extending a hand of friendship. In some instances Youth receive a clearer picture if they are presented a view from a different perspective. 

The following “The blue-eyed Stranger” was written by Johnny Márquez:

I once had a friend named Kurt.  In a predominantly Hispanic grade school, it was hard not to notice him. He was blonde and had really blue eyes.  The first time I spoke to him he was really shy. To be honest he was the first Caucasian boy I had ever met.

When we would go out to recess, he would usually stand by himself close to the doors.  It was during this time that I walked up to him and asked him his name. He seemed to be nervous as he looked around me at the other kids and said “my name is Kurt.

We just stood there looking at the other kids playing.  He was a skinny kid, and if he’d gotten into a fight, I really doubt if he could win. 

The bell rang and we all headed toward our teacher to get in line. We went to class and other than answering the teacher, he sat at his desk and said nothing at all.  By this time I was really curious about him. 

There were a few shy kids in my class, but I knew them all and besides, he was the first Caucasian kid I’d ever met.

The next day during recess he stood by the door again. I was busy playing with my friends but decided I’d try to talk to him again.  I walked up to him and told him “hi.”  As we stood there, I asked him “hey, you want to go with me to the slide.”

With a big smile coming over his face, he said yes.  We walked over to where the kids were.  As we stood there one of my friends was running by and slapped him over the head shouting “gringo.” 

Now I knew why he would stand by the door.  Being one of the biggest kids in my class I ran my friend down and told him not to do that again.  He just smiled at me and took off running, but he never did it again.  I ran back to Kurt and asked him if he was OK.  He told me yes and I told him not to worry about being picked on, that I’d protect him.  He smiled and said “OK.”  After that we would talk about what kids talk about.  He really was a nice person, but I didn’t know everything about him like I thought I did.

One day Kurt didn’t show up to class.  Well, one day turned into two and pretty soon I was asking the teacher if she knew where he was.  She told me he was sick and that he’d be back in school soon.

As we made our way into the auditorium to watch a movie (I don’t remember what it was called) I wondered about Kurt and why he was sick.  I sat toward the back, having a good view of the whole class.  I remember our librarian walking up to my teacher and whispering something into her ear.  The surprised look on my teachers face made me aware something was wrong.  She stopped the movie and told us all to head back to the classroom.

Honestly, I wasn’t thinking it was about Kurt.  When we were seated, she stood before the class holding back her tears.  Then she said “the reason we stopped the movie is because something sad has happened.  Kurt has passed away.” 

Some of the kids asked what this meant and all I remember after that moment is children crying.  I also remember running all the way home from school since they let us out early that day.  I hadn’t ever dealt with death, but I knew you were supposed to cry.

Mi madre asked me if I wanted to pay my respects to his parents.  I told her yes, but as we drove up to their house, seeing the wreath on the door, I suddenly panicked and told her I didn’t want to anymore. 

After all these years I wish I would have, but as young as I was I understand why I didn’t.  I’ve often wondered if he ever spoke of me to his parents.  Kurt was born with a weak heart, but his soul was strong. 

He was the first Caucasian kid I’d ever met.  I realized then that no matter what color your skin is, it’s what’s inside you that matter the most.  I’ve forgotten that lesson a few times in my life, but when I do I always remember Kurt and what he taught me.  I’ve always been proud that I’m Hispanic.  I’m proud of my culture and all that it can offer, not only for me but society in general.

As a human being I’m proud and feel honored to have known Kurt the short time he was on this Earth. He was the blue-eyed stranger in my brown-eyed childhood. (The preceding printed with permission by La Prensa San Diego.)

Note: The monthly meeting of the American GI Forum will take place on Tuesday March 9, 2010 starting at 7 PM. 

The meeting will be held at the Joe Amayo Senior Community Center, located at 2810 Metropolitan Avenue 66106.

Rudy Padilla is a columnist for the Kansas City Kansan and can be contacted at opkansas@swbell.net.

In February 1944, the United States began the final push to rid the islands of Saipan and the Marianna Islands of Japanese forces. 

This was a secret and important mission for the U.S. Marines.  Important landing fields and bases would be built to allow bombers to carry out assault missions on the Japanese mainland.

“On July 7, 1944, the battle to secure the Japanese occupied island of Saipan peaked in one of the largest banzai charges of the Pacific War. The charge lasted over 15 hours and brought the total losses for the island battle to over 30,000. The next morning, American Marine reconnaissance patrols edged their dangerous way forward to map out Japanese lines. As one patrol approached the sea cliffs which line the north side of the island, they were greeted by a rare sight. On the flats at the top of the cliff was a single American Marine surrounded by hundreds of Japanese troops, many of them still armed. One might have thought that this Marine was experiencing his last moments on earth. But as the incredulous scouts looked on, it became apparent that the lone Marine was actually ordering his hundreds of "prisoners" into smaller groups, even as more Japanese streamed quietly up from their ocean-side caves. Eventually, 800 Japanese soldiers and civilians surrendered on this one morning, an astonishing number considering that the battle for Tarawa a few months earlier had produced only 146 prisoners from a total garrison of nearly 5,000.

That lone Marine was Private Guy Gabaldon, and by the time of his July 8 "bagging" of 800 prisoners he had already become well known on Saipan for his capture of hundreds of other die-hard enemy troops using a brisk combination of fluent Japanese and point-blank carbine fire. Indeed, his performance was so impressive that he was awarded almost total discretion by his superiors and his solo raids into Japanese lines soon became a hot topic of discussion.

His routine previous to July 8 had been simple but effective; carefully approach a cave, shoot any guards outside, move off to one side of the cave and yell "You're surrounded and have no choice but to surrender. Come out, and you will not be killed! I assure you will be well treated. We do not want to kill you!" At this point, anyone running out with a weapon would be immediately shot, but anyone coming out slowly would be talked into returning to the cave and bringing out others. “

The above written by James Burbeck was part of the incredible story narrated in the video “East L A Marine” and is also available in the public library. 

In the video Guy Gabaldon has a surprise meeting with his old Marine buddies and his Japanese American brothers in a 1957 video clip of the “This is your life” weekly television program.

Gabaldon credits his survival skills learned while growing up as a “10 year old lad living as a waif in the ghettos of Los Angeles, shining shoes on Skid row.  Fighting in the Pacific tropical jungles and living in the East Los Angeles ghettos had a lot in common – you had to be one step  ahead of the enemy or adios…!”  After being orphaned he was adopted by a Japanese family who happened to live in the neighborhood. 

This is where he picked up his basic Japanese language abilities.  His compassion for the Japanese people and his knowledge of the language were in full use that day on July 7, 1944.

“Because of the many lives he saved that day, his commanders requested that Gabaldon receive the Medal of Honor, but somehow a silver star arrived, which was only later elevated to The Navy Cross.  And while many contrasted his 1,500 Japanese prisoners to Alvin York’s 132 German prisoners, the U.S. Marine Corps of the 1940s did not arrange time for further investigation.

Guy Gabaldon lived March 22, 1926 – August 31, 2006. The following are his comments of when he met up with the enemy:

“I pointed to the many ships we had lying off shore waiting to blast them in their caves.  ‘Why die when you have a chance to surrender under honorable conditions?  You are taking civilians to their death which is not part of your Bushido military code.’”

“I am here to bring you a message from General Holland ‘Mad’ Smith, the shogun in charge…The Japanese didn’t know General Smith from Pancho Villa, but they respected the word “Shogun.’”

“The one in charge is a Chuii (First Looey).  He reaches over and accepts a cigarette, a break.  They’re coming around.  I try something else, the Japanese adage I learned in East L.A., ‘Warera Nihonjin toshite hazukashii koto o shitara ikemasen.’  They smile, probably at my poor pronunciation.  They know that I am not Japanese.  I look like a typical Chicano.”

“We talk of their families, where they are from, and so on.  I tell them about having lived with Japanese Americans in California and my love for my foster family.  I tell them my belief that we, the common soldiers, obey orders and in reality have nothing to do with starting wars.  They agree.”

The movie “From Hell To Eternity” is based on the life story of Guy Gabaldon, although the lead actor, blond-haired Jeffrey Hunter, looks nothing like the real East L.A. Marine.  Inside the DVD container is a postcard calling on the Secretary of the Navy to “Award a world War II veteran and hero, Guy Gabaldon, the Congressional Medal of Honor.”

Rudy Padilla is a columnist for the Kansas City Kansan and can be contacted at opkansas@swbell.net.

One of America’s most haunting past military battles would likely be the Vietnam War.  When I hear the song “More Than a Name on A Wall” by the Statler Brothers, I am reminded of our brave men and women of the U.S. Armed Forces. 

The first few lyrics of the song are:

I saw her from a distance
As she walked up to the wall
In her hand she held some flowers
As her tears began to fall

She took out pen and paper
As to trace her memories
She looked up to Heaven
And the words she said were these

She said “Lord my boy was special
And he meant so much to me”
And oh I’d love to see him
Just one more time you see

All I have are the memories
And the moments to recall
So Lord could you tell him
He’s more than a name on a wall

It has been said of the Vietnam Wall “You can touch it and in return – it will touch you.”

My cousin, Frankie Sanchez was a casualty of the Vietnam War.  He was an extraordinary young man.  As the others, he obeyed orders and gave it his all before his life was cut short.  I, along with family attended funeral services for his Mother in Dodge City, Kansas almost 2 years ago. 

I remember my aunt Marcelina as always being very pleasant and she always made us feel welcome when we visited Western Kansas.  The loss of her son in 1966 in my opinion gave her a sadness which could never go away.

It was always a joy when I visited Dodge City or my cousins visited us in KC Kansas in the 50s.  Cousins Lena, David and Frankie were always fun to visit with.  David was my age and liked adventure.  Even though Frankie was 2 years older, he always liked to talk to younger kids to get them to speak up.  He was like an older brother to me.

Recently after I requested some material about Frankie from his sister Lena, she sent me several newspaper clippings from the Dodge City Globe.  The publication of Wednesday, March 9, 1966 had the headline “Mass Conducted For First Local Viet Nam Fatality.”  The Mass was held at Out Lady of Guadalupe Church, where Frankie had served as an altar boy. 

During the sermon, the Rev. Leonard Burghart spoke of responsibilities.  He said “Our boys died in vain, when our citizens at home will not take up the torch of liberty and justice - and minority groups are denied the very rights our boys are asked to defend on the battlefront.”

The history of the Sanchez family was one of service.  Frankie’s dad and 3 uncles all served in World War II and his other uncle was badly wounded in the Korean War.  He was a good brother to his only sister Lena and younger brother, David.

He would serve in the Kansas National Guard for a year then would switch over to the Regular Army.  He had 10 continuous years of active service in the Army.  He was a gunner as part of a helicopter crew - 1st Air Mobile Unit, Co. A1st Cavalry Division.  He was to be flown back to the States the next day when he lost his life on Feb. 23, 1966.  He was the first casualty of Dodge City in Vietnam.

His loss was deeply felt by all who knew him.  According to the newspaper headline later in the month, his loss was also a wake-up call to many. 

The title “Dodge City War Impact Reviewed” followed a copyrighted story in the Wall Street Journal of March 24, 1966.  This story reviewed the effect of the Vietnam War on the 14,000 residents of Dodge City.

“In interviews with scores of residents, reporter Everett Groseclose found that Our Lady of Guadalupe church was packed for the funeral of Frank Sanchez, a victim of the war. College students contributed double the quota of blood at St. Mary of the Plains College, aided by Dodge City Junior College; and youth are working harder to stay in colleges in hopes of avoiding the draft.”

On JULY 1, 1965 the 1st Brigade (Airborne) of the 1st Cavalry Division was no longer a conventional infantry unit, but had become an air assault division. Frankie Sanchez was a part of the new 1st Cavalry Division.  I am proud of him. 

He will always be in the thoughts of his family and the Air Cavalry at www.allthewaybrigade.com – scroll down to “Our Fallen Comrades” – click on January – March 1966 – under “YOU ARE REMEMBERED” – Killed in Action date 02/23 – Sanchez Frankie SP4 A Co 1st Bn/12th Cav.

His sister, Lena remembers him as a loving person who left Dodge City as a very young man.  She recalls his working part-time at a local dairy farm before his classes at high school.  In spite of being neat in appearance and a hard worker, there were no full time jobs offered to him, after his many attempts. 

The U.S. Army was an option for his later earning a college education.  There were no employment opportunities for him in his home town – then he would spend many years away from his home in western Kansas. She remembers the family trauma on learning of his death in Vietnam and then – the loneliness which was felt after he was gone.

Note:  March Thunder VI Golden Gloved Boxing will be held on Saturday March 6 at the Kansas National Guard Armory, located at 100 S. 20th Street.  Showtime is at 7 PM.  Many local amateur boxers will display their skills.  A 10 dollar donation for Adults – 5 dollar donation for ages 12 and under.  Proceeds benefit the AGIF local educational scholarship fund.

Note: Strong Avenue Studios announces its first release of the Bilingual Amigoman™ Kids Comic Book. The book is for beginning readers from 1st – 3rd grade. All are invited to explore – especially teachers.  The web site is www.amigoman.com/htm/flip_books

Rudy Padilla is a columnist for the Kansas City Kansan and can be contacted at opkansas@swbell.net.

Caminos has asked the public library to purchase the book. 

I have purchased and read the book.  I probably will read the book several more times.  I had many features of interest. 

The beginning of the book gives us a good description of the environment of the city of Guadalupe (California) and its history: “First the early Spanish colonizers cut a path through Guadalupe in the middle of the 18th century and then it was Mexicans, then a smattering of people from various European nations, then the Chinese, then the Japanese, then the Filipinos and finally the Mexicans began their return in such significant numbers they now make up over 85 % of its current population.

In 1965 Guadalupe was a town with around 2,500 residents.  This small rural town in northern Santa Barbara County would send an astonishing 228 of its young men to help fight the war.

All of them were young, most just out of high school, between 18-21 years old. This included 148 sons of Mexican parents (around 65 percent), 34 sons of Anglos (15 percent), 34 sons of Filipino parents (15%), and 12 of Japanese parents (5%).

According to Chance and Circumstance: the Draft, the War and the Vietnam Generation, by Lawrence Baskir and William Strauss, over 60 % of the eligible draftees nation-wide avoided the draft by legal means. But I am not aware of a single Guadalupan that consciously avoided military service.

Many employees throughout the United States benefited from federal leadership in the mapping out of equal opportunity in the workplace. These leaders such as Vicente Ximenes who were not political figures would apply their experiences and foresight for the benefit of many. I met him several years ago. I knew that he worked in Washington D.C. and had formulated plans for the EEOC in its infancy. I was very impressed with his abilities and his down to earth personality. He is one of several featured in the video “Justice for my people,” which is available in the public library. Many thanks to Wanda Daisy Garcia for letting us know about a recent article on his life.

The following was written by Erika Martinez: “Vicente Ximenes and the Civil Rights movement of the 1940s.”
Vicente Ximenes (born 12-05-1919) still recalls his days as a Mexican American boy growing up in the 1930s in Floresville, Texas, a town where segregation formed part of his everyday life.

Ximenes also remembers that out of the 100 Mexican American kids who started elementary school with him, only five, including him, made it through high school. “It was tough growing up,” he said.  “Coming from an elementary school that was segregated into a non-segregated school… you experience discrimination.”

The last incident Ximenes and his fellow Mexican American high school friends had to encounter was their graduation banquet, where they were ignored because of their race.  “We all gathered over, and at the corner there were five seats for those five Mexican Americans that had graduated,” said Ximenes, laughing. After that, Ximenes and his friends didn’t attend their graduation ceremony and decided to get their diplomas by mail. “We had to give a message, that things had to change, that we were hurt, but we had graduated,” he said.

Ximenes was determined to make it, and even though he said he was aware of what was going on in the system, he added that he never gave up.  “There was a certain attitude that said, “I’ll take this but I’m gonna get through it and I’m gonna beat you,” that was the attitude I had,” Ximenes said.

In 1939, after graduating from high school, Ximenes had no chance of finding a job, but his father, Jose Ximenes, who was a Democratic leader in Floresville, knew Lyndon B. Johnson and arranged for his son to join the Civilian Conservation Corps. He started out as a field worker, clearing out mesquite trees, before becoming a chief clerk. In the camps, he also made sure there was enough food supplies, and he wrote letters for those who didn’t know how to write so they could communicate with their families.

He says this job was the part of his life that taught him about human relations.  “I learned a whole lot about the need for cooperation with each other,” he said.

After a year in the CCC camps, Ximenes had saved enough money for his first semester at the University of Texas at Austin. There, he became friends with Dr. Hector Garcia, who would later organize the American GI Forum.

Ximenes lived in a cooperative and worked serving lunches to other students. He also worked another part-time job to get through his first year of college.

Then in 1940, with three semesters of college, Ximenes was able to get a job as a principal at a two-room elementary school in Picosa, Texas.  But, Ximenes said the school merged with a larger Floresville school after only one year.

When World War II broke out in December of 1941, Ximenes volunteered and was appointed a U.S. Air force cadet in San Antonio, Texas.  A week after Pearl Harbor was attacked he was on his way to Kirtland Field in New Mexico, where he became a 2nd Lieutenant at the bombardier school.

“I had no idea about bombs and planes,” he said. “We were thrown into a situation where you had to learn, and you had to learn quickly because the Air Force needed people as soon as possible.”  After a few months of training with a B-17 crew, they finally took off from West Palm Beach on Christmas Eve of 1942, and Ximenes was on his way to the Mediterranean to “throw out the Germans in North Africa.”

“I had no idea where (North) Africa was or who occupied it,” said Ximenes, a smile on his face. “That was an awakening for me. I had no idea of what was going on.”

Finally in 1943, after flying 50 missions as a lead bombardier in North Africa, and after having received the Distinguished Flying Cross for bravery under fire, Ximenes returned to the States. He remained in the Air Force as a cadet flying instructor at San Angelo Air Force Base in Texas, and four years later, retired as a Major in the Air Force.

But after coming back home, Ximenes saw that discrimination continued to be part of Mexican Americans’ everyday life. He said he clearly remembers how Mexican Americans in Floresville couldn’t go to the same barbershops Anglos went to, and how Latinos had to sit in the movie theater’s balcony during Saturday afternoon shows.

Several years ago I had a supervisor named Larry who lived in the country for a longer period of time than I had in our youth.  He was a bit more in years than I and had white hair.  He many times joked that his hair turned prematurely white because he spent many hours plowing fields with a team of horses.

He also described the farmers where he lived in Northern Missouri as upbeat when it was spring, summer or fall.  But in the months of February and March an almost depression would set in the county.  People would associate this with a feeling of pending doom.  But just like clock work, the longer days in April would bring the optimism of spring into their hearts.

When I was 8 years of age my family moved to a small farm west of Bonner Springs and I can recall similar feelings in February. For the first 2 years we had no electricity on the farm, so we did not have the use of a radio as entertainment. 

On week-ends we invented our own entertainment by reading books, comics or magazines. Drawing was a fun past-time if any drawing material was available.  On some occasions we played Monopoly or checkers.  I believe our first December and January there we experimented by baking layer cakes, cookies or sometimes fudge.

Life on our farm was fairly inactive in February, except for that one Saturday. One of my older brothers had been given a young dog with long floppy ears. The young dog was not a pretty dog. He had floppy ears, big feet and his color was a strange mixture of mottled spots and freckles. He was a gentle puppy, but was excited easily. Instead of barking, he made the howling sound of a hound.

My older brother Rueben saw me playing with our new puppy and in a knowing voice told me “That is a Bluetick hound!”  He then added, “Bluetick hounds are used to catch raccoons!”  I did not pay much attention to the type of dog, but the word “catch” quickly started my imagination to speed up.

I had spent the summer doing quite a bit of fishing in several surrounding farm ponds, but I did not know much about hunting.  I had previous luck in trapping for rabbits. We did have an old 22 rifle in the house.  As I started to think of hunting, I realized I had never seen a real raccoon, except maybe in a newspaper. I had no idea how to “catch” a raccoon or what to do with it – if we did “catch” one.

The thrill of being the hunter began to set in. I had no idea how to proceed with any hunting expedition. The more I thought about the hunt, the more excited I became. I begged my brother most of the afternoon to get ready – so we could go hunting.  After awhile he began to gain interest. “You know, the best time to hunt raccoon is night time – that is when they come out into the open,” he added.  I recall the feeling of excitement – of going out into the woods under a moonlit night.

It was usually dark at 6 p.m. in February. By 7 p.m. I was standing by the door ready to go hunting. I believe that I remember mi madre shaking her head and trying to discourage us from going…

But I was more than ready, I was excited. I was bundled up with my old coat covering up my thick sweater – I had on my dark blue ear muffs, with my stocking hat in my hand. In the right side of my jeans I had a pocket knife, in my hip pocket I had a sling shot and in my left pocket I had a short length of thin rope.  I felt that I was ready in the event we came across a wolf, bear, or any unfortunate wild animal.

As I leaned against the door with my arms folded, I waited. The call of the wild was very much pulling me, but I waited patiently.  Finally Rueben decided it was time to go as he stood up; put on his coat and picked up the rifle.

The young puppy was surprised when we appeared outside, but he was definitely ready – as he took off like a shot.  I do not recall how he received his marching orders, but he soon was heading for the creek with both of us racing behind him.

The hound was running and howling, with Rueben running not far behind.  He suddenly veered left and ran down a small bluff, across the creek and then up the other side of the bluff into a thicket of bushes and small trees.  I was excitedly running behind, eyes wide-open and amazed to be out in this beautiful moon-lit night.  It did not seem cold.

As I splashed across the creek and ran into the thicket, I hollered for Rueben to slow down because I was having a hard time keeping up.  He stopped for me to catch up. I was right next to him when he took off again this time as he brushed up against a small tree one of the limbs hit me across the side of the face, causing an assortment of scratches.  The limb also lifted my hat off of my head and flung it far out into the darkness.  I did not bother to look for the hat.

Soon the hound was heading north across a dirt road and under a barbed wire fence to the adjoining property.  He was tracking close to the creek which also crossed under the dirt road.  His howling now picked up to a frenzied pitch.  I was running as fast as I could when entering a small cluster of trees when I almost tripped over a sleeping cow.  I remember a bit of irritation then as the cow was interfering in my big time hunt. The cow stood up. I am certain that if the cow could have spoken she would have given me an earful.

I could see the hound had stopped and then was running in a small circle.  Soon he was off again.  I thought for sure he was now closing in on our prey as his howling became even more excited.  But soon he stopped again, would run around in a small circle and then take off again.  I soon had a tree limb snag my ear muffs from my head and they were lost forever.  We had soon been chasing the hound for what seemed like an hour and I was out of breath.  I asked Rueben to stop and let me rest.  I sat down on the bare ground. The ground felt cold but I didn’t care. I sat there for 5 minutes breathing hard as perspiration ran down my face.  The hound had lost us as an audience so he soon came back.

We continued chasing after the hound for 30 minutes more. We had seen no wild animals. The young hound obviously knew less about hunting than we did.  I then took the rope out of my pocket and placed it around the young hound’s head, then led him home.

We both walked into the house with the look of defeat on our faces.  No one had to ask us what happened. 

There would be no hunting stories tonight. I went to the mirror and applied mercurochrome to the many scratches on the right side of my face until that side looked like a ripe tomato.  I would soon be asleep.  In my dreams I relived chasing that young hound for many nights thereafter.

Note: A Bluetick Hound named “Smokey” is the official athletic mascot of the University of Tennessee.  He was in attendance at a televised football game at the University of Tennessee last fall.  When you see him, raise a glass in honor of a great hunting dog, as you picture me at the age of 8 faithfully chasing after him through the thickets of life’s experiences…

Note: The PAL/AGIF Boxing Club had a successful amateur boxing event last December. Under the leadership of Greg Conchola and Dan Brayman the once empty building is now a center of activity at 407 North 6th Street.  Recently an anonymous donor showed his support by donating two thousand dollars to the boxing club.  Beside’s being a Veteran, the donor liked what he saw in the benefit for our Youth.

Local resident and member of the PAL/AGIF Boxing Club, Eduardo “Lalo” Tello is moving on to fight in the Silver Gloves Nationals. He will be fighting in the 10 – 11 year-old (105 lb class) and will be the first member of the club in the national finals.  The National Silver Gloves event will be held in Independence MO February 4th, 5th and 6th – Hilton Garden Inn, 19677 E. Jackson Drive. Admission is 5 dollars. (

Rudy Padilla is a columnist for the Kansan and can be contacted at opkansas@swbell.net. 

The following book review was published by Daniel Muñoz - La Prensa San Diego:

At last a book that will touch your heart, with its tender  beautiful heartfelt memories of the author, Elva Treviño Hart. Her autobiography will reach every Mexican American who in their childhood were by circumstance a migrant child, following the road to the next ranch, the next field with their familias.

Elva’s journeys begin every year from their ramshackle house in Southern Texas where their family eked out a living during the winters. As the summer season arrived, their Apa (Father) would load the children, from the youngest to the oldest, and head for Minnesota or Wisconsin, to work the beet fields. These were the short-hoe killing fields that crippled the workers until the Chicanos of the Movimiento protested and made the use of the short-hoe a national issue. 

Their Ama (Mother) and Apa might have been poor, but in their hearts they held the hope and aspirations that their children would someday have a better life than what they were going through.

Elva’s autobiography will touch the heart and soul of all of us who lived in the segregated barrios of California, Texas, Arizona, or New Mexico and other parts of America. The Barrios that were home to the Treviños, held within them all the essential elements that we needed to survive and make our lives worthwhile. 

Our lives were vibrant, full of family love, our poor barrios were essential supportive areas where we, the children of those times, could nurture and grow. The warmth and love of the cocoon provided by our mothers, fathers, and the large extended families within the barrios assured that no child would lack for food, warmth and love.

Elva Treviño, like so many of today’s Mexican Americans, overcame the disadvantages placed in her path. She managed to go to elementary school and high school and with her family’s support on to higher education and earn a Bachelors Degree in Theoretical Mathematics and a Masters Degree in Computer Science and Engineering from Stanford University.

In the end, Elva Treviño ended where many of today’s Chicanos, Mexican Americans & Latinos have arrived. They became educated, financially successful, but in the process, they mortgaged their souls and became migrant workers and slaves to today’s “short-handle hoes”: The multi-national corporations, which demand your life, soul, and spirit and turn you into a robot. Her life was not her own anymore. It belonged to the faceless corporation.

In the end, Elva discovers, she is no better off than her parents were. She had given her heart and soul to IBM. They give her money in return, but her soul was shriveling in return. 

What she did to save her soul, her Mexicaness, will make many of us think what we have sacrificed our souls for.  (All author royalties from the sales of this book will be donated to scholarship funds.  ISBN 0-927534-81-9 - contact Hispanic Research Center, Arizona State U.  P.O. Box 872702 Tempe AZ  85287-2702. )

Caminos has purchased the book.  BAREFOOT HEART is also available in the Kansas City, Kansas Public Library.  The children in the Treviño family dreaded the long hours of clearing fields of weeds in Minnesota and Wisconsin, especially after a heavy rain.  They also feared their father, who was driven to keep his family working in order to survive. 

Some comments from the book:  “The only thing I know is that I wouldn’t have been able to finish another row, Delmira said as she put her hoe into the trunk of the car.”  Also, “When we got back to the car everyone tried to get the mud off their shoes with the blade of the hoe. 

But of course only the largest pieces came off.  All day we went around with ruined shoes and wrinkled toes inside.  In Pearsall we would be ashamed, but here everyone was in the same condition.”

Readers should be advised that there is some violence in the book. One of Alva’s brothers attacks the other brother out of anger and frustration. The life of this migrant family was filled with tension and anxiety. 

Rudy Padilla can be contacted at opkansas@swbell.net.

Pete Gomez was born on April 18, 1931 in Wilder, which is now a suburb of Shawnee, Kansas.  He attended Wilder Grade School, across the Kansas River from Bonner Springs then on to Bonner Springs High School where he graduated in the spring of 1949.

He then worked on various farms for a few months in the Bonner Springs area.

On a summer morning in September 1949 he would be waiting for a bus to take him to Kansas City, then on to basic training at Camp Chaffee, Arkansas.  Little did he know while waiting outside Watson’s Drug Store for the bus - of the violence and destruction he would witness thousands of miles away in a few months.

Gomez joined the U.S. Army on his own accord.  After 16 weeks of basic training he was on a train headed for Seattle, Washington where his orders lead him to Japan.  He was a passenger on a transport ship named the USS O’Hara for 15 days.

The ship then unloaded them at Yokohama Japan on January 15, 1950.  From there he stepped aboard a train which took him to Sasebo Japan.  He then was assigned to the 24th Infantry Division, 34th Regiment.

It was while he was receiving advanced Infantry training in Sasebo that war broke out in Korea on June 25, 1950.  Gomez was then shipped to Korea on July 1st 1950 on a LST Craft which landed at Pusan Korea on July 2nd.  He recalls that they “went north by train to Suwon, just south of the South Korean Capitol of Seoul.” They were soon outnumbered by the enemy and were “forced south to the Pusan Perimeter.

Then, after Gen. McArthur’s sea invasion of Inchon, we headed back north.  We drove the North Korean Army back to the Manchurian border. 

As an 18 year-old, Pete Gomez saw such action that could be a breaking-point for most adults. Gomez recalls the bitter cold.  When asked about Thanksgiving Day, he recalls “My Thanksgiving dinner was brought up to our unit by jeeps in insulated containers. 

It was at least a good hot meal with all of the trimmings.  Better than our every day c-rations.  We ate outside as we were in an area with no buildings.”

The Korean War is commonly referred to as “The Forgotten War.”  The returning service men were for the most part not greeted with parades and speeches as in World War II.  The Korean War had many conflicts in the U.S. and in Korea.  President Truman and the U.S. Congress had to plan strategy which was not always accepted at home. 

Syngman Rhee was a 73 year-old Christian and a long-time fighter for Korean Independence was venerated by his countrymen.  He had been imprisoned as a young man by the Japanese and then was able to flee to the United States, where he earned degrees and graduated from Georgetown, Harvard and Princeton Universities. 

He was eager and expected to be the leader in Korea.

On October 25, 1950 South Korean forces were on an errand to draw water from the Yalu River and then place the water in a bottle as a gift to Syngman Rhee.  They were destroyed by an unknown enemy soon after.  The unknown enemy also later had a skirmish with U.S. troops.  The Americans took a few prisoners and then realized that they did not speak Korean.  Within a few hours calls were being made to the command-center that the U.S. and their ROK allies had discovered and made contact with approximately 20,000 Chinese troops. The Russians soon after were giving the Chinese troops some air cover with MIG jets in order to ease passage of troops crossing over the Yalu River.

On November 26th the Chinese in their movement to spread communism invaded with all of their power.  They attacked with approximately 300,000 men.  In this unusually cold winter they attacked approximately 200,000 Koreans, 178,000 U.S. troops, 11,000 United Kingdom forces and 1,000 Australians.  Many of the Chinese movements were made at night.  They were badly equipped, which included few radios.  Many times when conducting assaults they communicated with bugles and other instruments.  By Mid-December the Chinese were slowed down and weakened because of a slow supply system.  They moved equipment by foot, oxcart, horses and even camels.

Gomez recalls those days, “shortly after, we were attacked by Chinese troops.  They drove us back south again to the 38th Parallel.”   He was also part of the battle for Taejon, one of the fiercest battles in Korea. U.S. rocket-launcher teams were able to keep away several T-34 tanks, but eventually the tanks prevailed.  They were overwhelmed and had to withdraw through enemy fire. The 34th lost at least 530 men out of its 1,549 present at Taejon.  He speaks quietly.  There are some experiences of the war he does not care to remember and he in some cases will not even discuss.

Gomez returned home in April 1951.  He earned extra points for his being involved in heavy action at the front and was allowed to leave Korea after 9 months of war.  Later he would be assigned to a construction battalion in Colorado where he learned to repair and maintain diesel driven motors.  This would later lead him to his life-long career of working on locomotives.

In years past, he recalls very little discussion of the Korean War.  “It was not mentioned and I did not talk about my time there.”  But a few years ago he started getting interested when talks of Korean War Memorials were being discussed.  He started getting active in his Post 6401 Veterans of Foreign Wars in Bonner Springs.  He even visited Seoul South Korea 6 years ago with his wife Trina.  He drove his two-ton Army truck in the Heroes Parade last September and in the Leavenworth Veteran’s Day Parade last November 11th.  It has been an honor for me to personally know more about Pete Gomez.  I only wish I had known him sooner.  I thought I knew him, but my thoughts were not even close.

Gomez remembers the Yalu River.  At the age of 18, he had always lived close to the Kansas River (sometime referred as the Kaw River), but the Yalu River was completely different, as it was very wide and ran at a fast rate – among many mountains. 

There was a major battle on the bridges there in November 1950 which included 200,000 Chinese troops.  In 2000 there was a proposal by the Chinese to build a new bridge over the Yalu River.  There used to be 3 bridges close to the Korean border over the Yalu River, but 2 of the bridges were destroyed by American forces during the war.

History has shown that the Korean War was fought in the coldest winter on Record.  Troops on both sides many times fought under difficult conditions.  There were several countries and personalities involved. 

Unfortunately, the war had a negative effect on then-President Truman, who left office with a 35 percent approval rating from the public.  President Eisenhower whose term started in January 1952 was troubled by the complexities of the war. 

He followed President Truman’s plan and the Korean War halted with the signing of an armistice with the communists on July 27, 1953.  Neither North Korea nor South Korea signed the document.  Today, they remain technically at war.  

Rudy Padilla is a columnist for the Kansan and can be contacted at opkansas@swbell.net

Each January, the Kansas City metro chapter observe the birthday of Dr. Hector Garcia, founder of the American GI Forum.  He was far ahead of the civil rights movement of the 60s.  It appears that more of the country will hear of the life of Dr. Garcia soon.  The following from Nuestro Magazine (1984):

When World War II started, “I wanted to serve my country” García said, “so I didn’t wait for a medical commission. In 1942, right after Pearl Harbor, I volunteered on the basis of an infantry commission that I had gotten by going to the military camps in the summers when I was in college.”

García served in a variety of ways in the military, revealing a large range of his abilities.  His first assignment was at Fort Edwards in Massachusetts, where he trained the first amphibious brigade ever formed by the U.S. Army.  Late in 1942, he crossed the Atlantic as a combat engineer, in his own words, “training soldiers how to land from ship to shore and from shore to ship.”

García ended up the war as an officer in the Medical Corps.  Of his military career, he said: “I started out wearing crossed rifles of the infantry and then switched to the castle of the engineers.  Then they took the castle away and gave me the caduceus of the Medical Corps.”  It was while he was with the Army in Italy that he met his wife, Wanda Fusillo, and would be married on June 23, 1945.

After the war, García set up medical practice in Corpus Christi.  “I had no money,” he recalled, “so my office was a little cubbyhole and next to me was a new Veterans Administration center, a little office itself.”  Soon García’s life would be moving in a direction he had not anticipated.

The young doctor got to know the two men who ran the VA office.  “We made friends,” he explained, “and before long they asked me to examine veteran patients.  I didn’t even have a car, so I said yes.  I got maybe two dollars a patient and did everything; examination, treatment, medicine.”

“Most of the veterans were Mexican Americans,” García went on, “and many of them were very sick – a lot had malaria.  So I would try to hospitalize them in the Naval Air Station hospital in Corpus Christi.  But they turned us down, in a nice way, saying those people are army, most of them, and we’re navy.”

“So I got a little upset and worried about it,” García continued, “and went to various hospitals in Corpus Christi,” but did not meet with success until he and others concerned about veterans’ rights began to organize.  “We voiced our objections,” García said, and “we organized a group of veterans to protest this thing and we were able to get the Veterans Administration to permit the admission of veterans to the Naval Air Station hospital on a contract basis.”

“Remember,” García emphasized, “we were not Mexican Americans - we were veterans.  We were about 98 percent mexicanos, but first of all we were American veterans.”

Having tasted victory, Dr. García and his group now turned their attention to another problem faced by the Latino community in South Texas: education.  “At that time,” he said, “the average Hispanic veteran’s education level was perhaps a little over 2 years of school, which was fantastic illiteracy.

“A lot of them didn’t have a job,” he added, “so we started setting up schools in conjunction with the Veterans Administration and the local school system.”  The idea was to confront the problems of illiteracy and joblessness head-on, with schooling and job training directed toward those who needed them the most. 

In addition to being awarded six battle stars and awarded the Bronze Star for his war time service, Dr. Garcia would go on to be much more than a medical doctor.  His daughter Wanda has commented on the importance religion had in his life and his love of family.  He was a faithful and loving husband to his wife until his death. 

The following from La Prensa San Diego (Dec. 23, 2009):

WASHINGTON--- U.S. Rep. Solomon P. Ortiz (D-Texas) and Senator Robert Menendez (D- New Jersey) have introduced legislation in the House of Representatives and the Senate, respectively, honoring the leadership and historic contributions of Dr. Hector P. Garcia to the United States and the Hispanic community and his remarkable efforts to combat racial and ethnic discrimination in this country.

“Dr. Hector Garcia was a pillar in our nation, and it is appropriate we pay our respect to this man who was a fierce advocate of civil rights in this country,” Ortiz said. “I thank Senator Menendez for joining me in this effort as we pay tribute to Dr. Garcia in Congress.”

The bill was filed in the House of Representatives on Tuesday (Dec. 16) and filed in the Senate on Wednesday.

“Today we honor the life of one of our nation’s most distinguished civil rights advocates in the Hispanic community,” Menendez said. “A leader of national and international prominence, his pioneering work opened paths and set precedents that to this day are evoked and serve as an inspiration for those that carry on his legacy.”

Co-sponsors of the bill are U.S. Rep. Joe Baca (D- California), U.S. Rep. Grace Napolitano (D-California), U.S. Rep. Jose Serrano (D- New York), and U.S. Rep. Gregorio Sablan (D- Northern Mariana Islands).

“As the only Hispanic Member of the United States Senate I am committed to civil rights—the guiding force in Dr. Hector Garcia’s life—and it is truly a privilege to join my colleague Congressman Ortiz in honoring the life of this exceptional man,” Menendez said.  The bill has been referred to the committees of jurisdiction in the House of Representatives and Senate.

“The life and work of Dr. Hector Garcia will long be remembered and never forgotten, that is why I am so diligent in getting this important and significant legislation passed in the House and Senate,” Ortiz said.

In 1948 Dr. Garcia founded the American GI Forum, a Mexican-American veterans group to redress the injustices done to returning World War II veterans.  Through this organization he made his most significant impact with advancements in opportunities for health care, education, veterans’ benefits and civil rights equality.

On May 30, 2009 the Governor of Texas established the third Wednesday of each September as “Dr. Hector P. Garcia Day” in Texas.

About Dr. Hector Garcia: born on January 17, 1914, in Mercedes, Texas. He was a Mexican American physician, surgeon, World War II veteran, civil rights advocate, and founder of the American GI Forum. 

Dr. Garcia was named  alternate ambassador to the United Nations in 1967, was appointed to the United States Commission on Civil Rights in 1968.  He was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom, the nation’s highest honor, in 1984, and was named to the Order of St. Gregory the Great by Pope John Paul II in 1990. 

He passed away on July 26, 1996.

Note: The next monthly meeting of the Kansas City Metro Chapter will be on Tuesday January 12th – 7 pm at the Joe Amayo Sr. Community Center 2810 Metropolitan Avenue 66106. (

Rudy Padilla is a columnist for the Kansan and can be contacted at opkansas@swbell.net.

In years past, the Superintendent of Kansas City Kansas Public Schools commented in the Kansan on the need to support all students, even though some cannot show proof of citizenship.  Caminos fully supports this view.  The motto of the American GI Forum “Education is our freedom and freedom should be everybody’s business” also comes to mind.  Our area is in need of retaining and also developing our human resources talent.

The following is a review of the book available in the Kansas City, Kansas Public library, “Farm Worker's Daughter: Growing up Mexican in America.”

“When Rose Castillo Guilbault was five years old, she and her recently divorced mother crossed the border from Nogales, Sonora, to Nogales, Arizona, and boarded a Greyhound bus that would carry them to a new life.  In this affectionate memoir, Guilbault invites us into her girlhood, revealing what it was like to grow up as a Mexican immigrant during the turbulent 1960s.  With openness, courage, and charm, she reveals her early struggles to learn English, to fit in with schoolmates with their Barbie dolls and cupcakes, to win approval, and to bridge the tensions between home life and the public world to which she was drawn.”

In the story she always felt as an outsider:  “At six years of age, I lived in a world of confusion—the language, the kids, the culture spun around me like a vortex.  Within one year I had moved away from family and the stability of a routine to a foreign country with a foreign language.  Then we moved from town and our newly established relationships with friends and neighbors to an isolated farm where I had to readjust again and, now, school.  Each day presented challenges and I had to sort through them by myself.  Even if I wanted to ask for help, what exactly would I ask for? Help me understand what the teacher is saying, or stop the kids from treating me like an oddball?  … and just as the Wizard of Oz had nothing in his bag for Dorothy, he had nothing to smooth this assimilation for me.”

For a large part their lives depended on the weather: “Growers had to strategize where and how much to plant and when to rotate the crops.  The wild card was the weather.  Not enough rain or too much rain could ruin the careful planting of crops, and that could mean no work for Papa.  But predictable weather cycles brought abundance to the fields.  There was no overtime or time and a half on the farm.  As with most of the farmworkers, Papa’s employment arrangement was straightforward—you got paid for what you worked.  Farm labor provided no benefits, no health insurance, no medical or pension plans, no guarantees.  Many years later, after almost twenty years of working for Don Ray, Papa was laid off with a handshake and 2 weeks’ pay.  Don Ray, wealthier than he ever dreamed, had decided to retire from farming.”

Guilbault’s opportunity to feel free and celebrate was at the yearly vacations spent in Mexico during Christmas.  “For me, an only child, it was wonderful to roam the neighborhood with a pack of cousins, fighting, playing, and defending each other from bullies.  It filled the emptiness created by my psychological isolation in American culture and the physical isolation that came from living on a remote farm.”  When in Mexico: “The celebrations continued through New Year’s Eve, the night we stayed up, even the very youngest cousin, to greet the New Year with tears and hugs for good luck.  Volleys of fireworks exploded throughout the city, and we joined in until our bag of red firecrackers was empty and our noses were burning from the smell of sulfur.  We’d run home where the adults were already having hot, steaming bowls of menudo.  I loved these Mexican holidays—the nonstop partying, the food, the cousins, the family, the warmth and sharing.”

One of the most interesting characters in her book was a former teacher:  “What Mrs. Rojas gave me was something more tangible.  The seeds of self-worth, acceptance, and pride in who I was were planted so subtly that I didn’t even realize they were growing until many years later, when I found them rooted inside me. 

The last time I saw Laura Rojas was one winter afternoon in the late sixties.  I was a teenager and had made it a practice to occasionally visit my old fourth-grade teacher.  That day I went to brag about winning a writing award.  I wanted to be a writer, I told her, and would start by writing her story. 

She looked old and ill, but her drawn face brightened.  Matching my bravado, she leaned toward me and said, ‘And I have a very interesting life to tell.’  For Laura, college was years of hardship, loneliness, and deprivation.  ‘But it was all worth it.  Those girls…most of them dropped out of school to get married.  I became a teacher, and a respected one.  I’ve loved every minute.’  I never heard about the rest of her life—her marriage, her travels, her children or grandchildren—as she died shortly after that conversation.  I’ve never been able to tell her story, until now.”

Rose Castillo Guilbault left her home in King City to attend Palomar College in San Diego County, where she was editor of the school newspaper.  After receiving her A.A. from Palomar, she enrolled at San Jose State University, where she graduated with a B.A. in broadcast journalism.  Later, she earned an M.B.A. from Pepperdine University and an M.A. in writing from the University of San Francisco.

Note: Caminos thanks the Kansan for publishing the weekly column.  Also, I am pleased to have been in contact with some outstanding business owners and private individuals who are true supporters of Wyandotte County.  The Central Avenue Betterment Association (CABA) held a Christmas breakfast meeting which was well attended and will lead to a more-united community. 

The Armourdale Renewal Association also had a fun Christmas buffet and was also an informational gathering event – led by Mayor Joe Reardon. The Armourdale Optimist Club is for positive people of which all are invited. The Strawberry Hill Museum had beautiful displays, highlighting important culture and people from our past. We give many thanks to the Village West Rotary Club for showing their pride and energy in the western part of town. Greg Conchola and Dan Brayman continue to work with many amateur boxers at 407 N. 6th Street. Please feel free to stop by from 5:30 – 7:30 Monday through Thursday and 10 until noon on Saturday.

There are many with good intentions in our community.  The above organizations are lead by people who wish for a well-prepared community.  One can only hope that they are given sufficient support. In most cases, there lies the problem.

Rudy Padilla is a columnist for the Kansan and can be contacted at opkansas@swbell.net.

In August, 1954 Mr. Collins who had the rights to the Kansas City Star route in the neighborhood where I lived stopped me on the street one afternoon to talk. I was then a newspaper boy for the Kansan and we would often greet each other when out delivering our newspapers.  I then delivered the Kansan – a once a day publication. 

He was thinking of expanding his newspaper area and would like for me to consider working for him.  I told him that I appreciated him thinking of me.  I was flattered that he would think I could handle carrying around the much larger and heavier Kansas City Star newspaper. He then had 2 teen age boys who threw newspapers off the back of his pick up truck. They were both older and physically bigger than I was. 

Mr. Collins wanted me to take care of not only residences, but the many businesses and apartments around Central Avenue.  These were customers where it was necessary to have a paper boy walking on foot to deliver the newspaper twice a day.

In September of 1954 I had started my freshman year at Bishop Ward High School.  The first 2 weeks there were a bit stressful.  I had never been around so many students. Most were older than me and I only saw a few familiar faces. For the previous 2 years, I had walked to Holy Family grade school, but that summer I would wait for a school bus at the corner of 7th Street and Ohio Avenue. The school had the doors opened at 8 a.m., but students arriving early could wait in the gymnasium until then enter at 8.  I believe that school was out at about 2:10 p.m... I would then walk home. I could not wait on the bus. I had to rush home for a snack and then deliver my Kansan newspapers.

That start of the school year was very different for me, but I was adapting to my new surroundings.  I was able to get a good nights sleep then, but that was about to change. On the third week of September, Mr. Collins knocked on the door. 

He was now in an emergency situation. He needed me as soon as possible to deliver newspapers for him. Since I would be waking up at 3 a.m. to deliver newspapers – then going back to bed after that, I would have time to get another hour of sleep, before going to my classes at high school.  I had to ask permission from my parents before accepting.

In retrospect, I probably should have turned down the offer.  I had no idea what sleep deprivation would do to me and also how my grades at school would suffer.  I accepted the new position of delivering newspapers twice a day and once on Sunday. In my odd way of reasoning then, I took this as a challenge.  I would be earning 15 dollars per week, but just as important to me, I would be doing something difficult.

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The Christmas season is a joyous time of the year where different customs all add to the splendor and celebration.  Elisa Martinez, teacher and writer allows us to relate in her following “Christmas Ghosts and Traditions.”

It was cold and I wanted to run, but I couldn’t.  My grandmother was holding on to my hand and she couldn’t walk very fast.  I could see the light shining through the stained glass windows at Holy Family Church.  The bell was pealing loudly and the posada was about to begin.  Tonight was special because I was going to be in the procession.  I wanted so to run!

El Paso has a unique flavor.  Two cultures, Mexican and American, have blended to make Christmas a special time.  Shortly after Thanksgiving the giant star is lit on the slope of Mount Franklin, ushering in the season.  Rows and rows of tiny colored lights adorn the city on this side of the border, and in Juárez multicolored piñatas and bright pieces of paper with intricately cut patterns flap in the wind.  My house starts to bustle.  Traditions are strong and there is much to do. 

We have to decorate.  The first to come out will be the nacimiento.  The Nativity has a special place – Mary and Joseph with the crib empty until Christmas Eve.  When candles are lit and the baby is lain, my grandson Carlitos will stand by and softly sing to the Christ child “Apio Verde to you” (the phonetic version of “Happy Birthday to you” that translated literally means “Green Celery”). 

We have to shop and wrap gifts.  Stockings will be filled and the kitchen becomes our haven full of the delicious smells of cinnamon, butter, and hot chocolate all mixed with laughter and good cheer.  Bizcochitos, cookies spiced heavily with anise, are baked.  We spend a whole day making tamales and sacking them to take to friends and relatives.  We make buñuelos and hot Mexican chocolate.

THE COLD NIGHT AIR MINGLED WITH CINNAMON

My grandmother would knead the dough with muchas ganas and she would hand me a testal. I would flatten the ball of dough between my hands and place it on my knee over a piece of clean muslin and stretch it as far as it would go without tearing.  I would pull down, away from my knee until it would stretch no more. 

She would then lift the paper-thin buñuelo and drop it gently into a pan of hot grease.  When it was done, she would sprinkle it with sugar and cinnamon.  Stacks of buñuelos two feet high occupied every available space in the big kitchen.

In the evening the two of us would set off to deliver our day’s work.  Abrazos and saludos were exchanged as we scooted into warm sitting rooms.  I can’t forget the smells of the cold night air as it mingled with the cinnamon on our buñuelos wrapped in white tissue paper covered with grease spots.  I don’t decorate the tree until my daughter Marta is home.  She lives far away in Rhode Island.  As soon as she arrives she brings out the boxes and hangs the adornos on the fresh fir tree.  The ornaments are old. They are made of straw, yarn and tin.  There are tiny dolls my girls played with when they were little and construction-paper stars made by little loving hands in kindergarten, as well as long red chiles   These combined with strings of clear lights completed the tree.  Poinsettias are everywhere.  In Spanish we call them las flores de la Nochebuena.

Merry Christmas, Feliz Navidad. Greetings are exchanged in two languages everywhere.   Carolers are heard outside and we open our doors to the young singers of the posadas.  They come in, guitars in hand, and stand around our living room.  “¿Quién le da posada?”  they sing. 

Who will welcome these two weary travelers?  They leave and continue until they reach the last house, where they’ll be received and stay to celebrate.  There the traditional piñata will be broken.  The posada will continue through the nine days before Christmas.  It’s like a novena, hence the nine days.

The luminaries are set up around the outside of the house on Christmas Eve.  Small brown paper bags filled with sand and a candle lit inside adorn the rooftops and outline the houses.  It looks beautiful from a distance.  Candles illuminating the way in the dark of night as we drive to Holy Family Church to mass.  The lights are shining through the same stained glass windows. 

I feel the ghosts in the old church as father begins the procession.  After mass, we come home to open our gifts and enjoy each other’s company.  The tree and other decorations stay up until Jan. 6, Día de Reyes.  On the feast of the Magi, I go to Juárez to buy rosca de reyes, a round loaf of sweet bread decorated with raisins, nuts and colorful dried fruit. 

Before the rosca is baked, a little toy is pushed into the dough.  As we each take our slice, we look for the baby.  Whoever finds it will host another party Feb. 2, the feast of Candlemass.  Dia de la Candelaria.

Why all the fuss with tradition?  The fiestas give the extended family an excuse to gather together, celebrate and partake of good times.  They all come to our house, our children and their children to nestle close by me and the ghosts that I always carry close to me.  The little girl that held on to her grandmother’s hand is now herself a grandmother.  As the years pass, the memories fade more and more. 

Now I will be a part of their memory.  That’s how traditions are passed on.  The grandchildren hold on to my hands now, observing, smelling, feeling and attaching themselves to that long line of identities that will make them who they are.

Rudy Padilla is a columnist for the Kansan and can be contacted at opkansas@swbell.net.