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.

My friend Rev. Cathy Jenkins and I used to discuss what our lives were like when we used to both live in the country.  Of course that was a long time ago. She then asked me to write down some of my experiences which she could possibly show her children to use in their future life.  Two events came to mind:

We lived in a house with a few acres on the edge of Bonner Springs, close to the city cemetery, and that was my territory.  At the age of five, I used to visit my grandmother in a small house which she lived on the property, usually before I went to Kindergarten in the afternoon.  I was usually not afraid of anything, except being close to the cemetery at night fall.

Then my father purchased a flock of white geese.  Anyone who has lived around geese knows that they can be vicious and mean if they are in the mood to scare a person. I always carried with me a broom handle which I had salvaged from the trash to hold them off when I had to cross paths with them.

Except that one day, when I forgot to have in my possession the wood handle as I took off walking to mi abuela’s house.  I did not get far when they were after me.  To a five-year-old they looked ferocious and loud as they took off after me with their wings spread open and trying to peck at me.  I had no defense, so I immediately ran for a near-by tree and climbed up out of harms way.

I was so humiliated and embarrassed to be standing in that tree.  I really was hoping no one in the family was watching… I would not be able to bear the laughter.  The flock of geese soon lost interest in me, so they moved away until I could safely climb down and try to steady myself.  That would be my first lesson to the Jenkins teenagers – always be prepared.

The second lesson which I learned came in the form of a type-A personality quarter horse named Dynamite.  In a previous column I described how I received the surprise (almost) of my life, when mi padre gave me a beautiful horse.  I was approximately 10 years then.

We had moved to a farm west of Bonner Springs when I was 8 years of age. “What is his name?”  The man who sold him to us replied “Dynamite.”  I expected a friendlier sounding name but, it was an okay name.

I rode him only briefly that evening.  He appeared to be too excited, so I was told to take off his saddle and bridle and let him out to pasture for the evening.  I recall spending a long anxious evening making periodic visits to make sure that this was really not a dream.

I had the vision of jumping up on the saddle and taking off with my new quarter horse Dynamite in the morning. We would look as one – just as in the movies. We would ride off in a cloud of dust along side a large cornfield – a place which I had thought of beforehand. But, was I ever wrong:

In the morning, first I had to catch the horse.  At 8 a.m. he did not appear to be interested at all.  As I approached him, he seemed so much bigger than he had yesterday.  None of my older brothers were at home to give me advice – nor mi padre.

When I would approach Dynamite with the bridle, he would move away.  I followed him around the pasture for awhile, almost pleading with him to let me put on his bridle.  Finally I remembered that I had some sugar lumps which I found in the kitchen before. I then was able to put on his bridle correctly and led him toward the house. 

He was just too tall for me, so I had to move him next to the front porch of the house.  I made a trip to the shed where I had stored his blanket and saddle.  I was breathing hard now as I contemplated my next move.  I did not want to but I would need help, as Dynamite would move away from the porch when I attempted to place the blanket over his back. I knew my sister would be too afraid to help me, so of course I thought of mi madre.

Then, I was about 4 foot 10 inches and mi madre was not much taller.  “Hijito, por favor, esperate,” mi madre repeated several times. She knew I was stubborn – and this could turn ugly.  Surprisingly, to my joy, Dynamite now began to cooperate and I felt so much better.  At the time, I was certain that no self-respecting cowboy would be treated in this fashion by his horse.

The blanket and saddle was now in place.  All that was left was to tighten the wide belt called the cinch and the saddle would be firmly secured on his back. I did not know then, but many horses will puff out their stomachs at the first feel of the cinch. The solution to this detail is to tap the horse on the side and wait until they let their stomach in – then you tighten the cinch until it feels snug and secure. I did not know that then. This was my second lesson to the teens in the Jenkins family – pay attention to detail.

Dynamite was close to the porch, so I was able to mount fairly easy.  I then told mi madre that I was going for a little ride.  I think that I forgot to thank her for her assistance. As Dynamite and I left, I could see mi madre making the sign of the cross as she walked back into the house. That was not good.

After a minute, I was feeling more confident, so I tapped Dynamite on the shoulder with the reins, just as it was done in the movies.  He immediately broke into a trot.  I didn’t think this was right; the way I was bouncing around in the saddle. After a minute we were at the top of a hill.  I felt that something was not right, so I turned him left to go back to the house. At that instant, Dynamite took off at full speed – down the hill…

To my horror, the saddle was now slipping from side to side. The saddle had not been secured on his back properly. The next thing I knew, I was hanging onto the out-of-control horse. The saddle had now slipped to his side, and I was also now – sideways.

I have to admit, I thought these were my last few seconds on earth. I was hanging onto the now fast-galloping beast with my right heel dug onto his back. I could see his left front hoof flashing only inches from my nose – my eyeballs were now flopping side-ways in my head.  Also, I still have the strong smell of a sweating horse vividly embedded in my memory.

I knew that I could hang on no more, so I let loose of the saddle which was now hanging sideways on the flying quarter horse.  I recall the violent feeling as I crashed into the dirt and I am certain that I looked as in the cartoons – rolling over and over with the dust flying everywhere. 

When I stopped rolling and came to my senses, I had grass in my mouth and nose – it seemed awful hot and humid. I think I wanted to break out in tears then, but soon my fear turned to anger. 

I was a mess. My jeans and t-shirt were smeared with grass and dirt. And the person who was responsible for all of this was Apache. I looked around for him – and there he was – calmly eating fresh corn stalks 50 feet away. My next thoughts were the fear that someone had witnessed it all.  No cowboy had ever endured such humiliation.

I was then able to get Dynamite back to the pasture, where I removed the cursed saddle and blanket.   Fortunately, no one saw me – so I did not have to answer any embarrassing questions. I then had to go to the pond which was secluded and clean up. I removed my jeans and t-shirt; cleaned them as much as I could in the pond water. It was a sunny and warm day, so I was able to spend the day under a tree in my shorts, waiting for my clothes to dry.

Most of my thoughts on that day centered on - if only I had known the correct procedure to applying a saddle. My second lesson to the Jenkins teens and all teens is: please pay attention to detail.

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

Excitement filled the air as the Village West’s Rotary Club 3^rd Annual Heroes Parade began to assemble on France Family Drive.

The American GI Forum was number 38 in line so I took my time taking in all of the beautiful antique cars parked along the way. Jeeps and Army trucks were also made their presence known.  I saw and waved to Pete Gomez and the Bonner Springs VFW.  Pete’s U.S. Army 1 and ½ ton truck looks impressive, along with its huge mounted speakers atop.

As we waited, a golf cart stopped next to our group and I was pleased to meet Julius Novak in person.  I had spoken with him by telephone awhile back but never had seen him in person – and there he was in a golf cart.  He was being escorted to his place in line toward the front. 

That is another positive aspect to the parade – you have the opportunity to meet people you might not normally get to know.  It was good to see young people, beside those in our group, involved in the parade. All of the greetings, positive expressions and support shown would seem to be an excellent example to our youth, in community building.

The parade was a bit late in getting started, but that allowed for more time to checkout the vintage cars going by.  Someone was driving a 1955 baby blue and white Chevrolet Bellaire convertible. The car looked so new that for a few seconds – it felt like 1955 again.

 We moved forward a few feet in Martha Upchurch’s red convertible.  Martha was driving with her daughter Nan Sewell in front. Our Miss AGIF, Diana Reyes and I were in back where the wind let its presence known.  Joe Amayo Jr. was driving his van behind us, towing a large float. It was a fun night for our chapter.

 The Washington High School Jr. ROTC members were waiting in the Nebraska Furniture Mart parking lot, ready at a moments notice to be at “attention.”  To make time pass a bit faster, they would break into some impromptu cadence calls that were funny.  Later, they were behind us and I could not see them, but I am certain that they did their school proud.

My only regret was that I forgot to walk up to the front of the line to personally meet the Grand Marshall’s of the parade, WWII Veteran, Bill Thompson and Korea/Viet Nam Veteran, Beau Kansteiner.  But I made it a point to get their phone numbers and will report on them at a later date.

Along the parade route, it was a bit breezy, but it was fun.  Waving and hollering along the way, it was very pleasing to see the waving of hands and flags in response.  Especially interesting was the expressions on the faces of the 3 year olds.  They were spell bound by the band in front of us.  They appeared to not know what to make of it all – and they stayed close to their parents.

Another outstanding job by announcer Mike Thompson at the grandstand.  Mike is the WDAF TV Meteorologist.  He is also a U.S. Veteran, having served in the U.S. Navy as an Officer.  He is a very good choice as the MC.

After the end of the parade, many of us gathered at the Cheeseburger in Paradise Restaurant.  It was a fun-atmosphere there as the regular customers were joined by the parade workers and participants.  The Cheeseburger in Paradise is still doing very well, probably thanks to its extensive menu and delicious food items.

We were very fortunate to be seated close to the area where Pat Sedlock’s family was having dinner.  Pat is such a super nice person and still as optimistic as ever.  Since I met Pat a few years ago, I decided that I also want to be as optimistic a person as she is.  In the last year, she has had some health issues, but she is on the way to recovery.  We are very lucky to have had Pat Sedlock as part of the Wyandotte community all of these years.  Her daughters Cherise Sedlock and Patti Green who were at the table also are very pleasant. Also at their table were Phil Sedlock, long-time Wyandotte County resident, husband of Pat, Son-in Law Tim Green and nephew Timmy Green.

In recent years in Wyandotte County we have added Nebraska Furniture, the Kansas National Raceway, The Kansas City T-Bones and - soon, the Kansas City Wizards Soccer Stadium.  We thank those who had the vision for Wyandotte County.  Who knows what other news we will have when we convene for the parade in the year 2010.

Joe Amayo Jr., Lisa Amayo and her son Joseph Ortiz who is a senior at Bishop Ward High School, Christina Enriquez, Martha Upchurch, Gabriella Moreno, Lupe Moreno, Angela Moreno, Jesse Ramirez – we all had a good time at the post-parade celebration.  The evening seemed to pass too fast. The Heroes Parade gives opportunity to thank those who tried to make a difference and succeeded.  We also thank those who organized the parade and carried out the many details.  We can only hope that our young people will take their turn in the future.

 In 1998 Ben Alvarado was one of several passengers flying into Germany on a commercial flight from the United States.  As the plane drew closer to his destination, Ben looked out the window high over the Atlantic Ocean.  At the age of 83 he has a very pleasant personality and gracious style about him - a quality which says that everyday is special to him. 

But as he felt the aircraft lowering its altitude as it neared Germany, Ben tried to control his emotions as memories begin flooding back.  He and the remaining members of the 80^th Infantry Division with who he served in WWII were to meet in Germany to renew acquaintances, to honor their fallen comrades and in many cases to bring closure to the battles fought many years ago.

As the huge jet drew closer to the airport, neat little villages started coming into view.  This was the same Germany which Ben left as a young man in November, 1945; at that time it was left in ruins. 

Ben Alvarado attended the Clara Barton School in Kansas City, Kansas through the age of six.  The school was where the Mexican Americans in the city attended classes.  At that time his mother was very sick with tuberculosis.  Shortly thereafter the very difficult decision was made to send his mother to live in Mexico because of the warmer climate. 

At that time there were no cures for tuberculosis.  Soon, less than a year later his mother passed away in Mexico, Ben was there at the time.  An uncle stopped in Mexico for Ben, his sister Teresa, who was 2 years older and his younger brother Mike who was 2 years younger. 

Ben and Mike would live in Osawatomie, Kansas with their uncle for the next several years until Ben was 16 years old.  Osawatomie was a typical small town in the Midwest. 

It was located about 40 miles southwest of Kansas City where many of the Mexicans lived in one part of town and most worked the many miles of railroad tracks.  In those years Ben and Mike would not be served in a restaurant because of segregation.

There were many job opportunities for young men under 18 years of age during WWII.  The many Americans who were sent to fight in Europe, left many companies at home looking for workers to fill those vacancies. 

Ben was 18 years of age and had been doing cemetery work in Leavenworth, Kansas when he received his notice to report for active duty at the induction center in Kansas City.  The heavy physical labor which Ben was accustomed to at the time would come in handy later, during his weeks in boot camp. 

While most people who have been through boot camp recall it as a time of drudgery, Ben remembers it as “more fun - than it was work.”  Possibly because he now was part of a big family, or he was now considered more of an American or maybe he appreciated the new challenges; he enjoyed his new career in the U.S. Army.

It was during these years that his brother Mike, as many teenagers in the U.S. loved the swing music of the day.  This confident young man would leave the singing and dancing behind as he lied about his age and enlisted in the Army.  He left word that he hoped to join up with Ben in Europe.

Today, it is still not easy for Ben to speak of his first combat experience.  After several attempts, he prepares himself.  Some questions can bring back memories which he prefers to stay hidden.  “Did the military prepare me for my first moments of combat?”  He repeats the question.  “There is no way they could have prepared me for that!”  He answers.

Ben was one of the many U.S. troops to attack a Nazi-held beach in northern France on June 6, 1944.  Although there were several beaches which would be part of the ferocious fighting by U.S. troops that day, Omaha Beach was one of the many military attacks carried out as part of what was called the D-Day Operation.  6,603 Americans were estimated to have been killed on D-Day with 15,500 wounded.  The Omaha Beach landing showed the most casualties.  Today there is a Normandy American Cemetery on Omaha Beach where 10,000 military veterans are buried. 

On D-Day, Ben Alvarado was aboard an army landing craft.  That historic day was a day of explosions, chaos and a sky darkened by the many aircraft flying above.  He recalls the landing craft surging ahead while riding the heavy waves until suddenly the craft came to an abrupt halt - the ramp dropped - opening up a world of sheer terror to him and his fellow infantrymen.

After D-Day, Ben discovered that his brother Mike had joined the Army without his knowledge.  Mike actually had his first combat experience at the Utah Beach landing at the same time that Ben was part of the Omaha Beach landing.  But the horrors of war would rapidly bring physical and mental fatigue to Mike. 

The once young and vigorous teenage brother he knew was now silent most of the time.  According to Ben, he most likely felt the end of his life in Cherbourg or Bastogne, France.  Mike was sent back to Kansas City in 1945, where he would spend the next 20 years in mental hospitals.  After living with Ben for the last 24 years, Mike passed away on a summer day in 1989 of a heart attack. 

He was never ready mentally to hold a job nor did he ever marry.  On some occasions, when he would meet someone he did not know he would ask, “Were you at Cherbourg?”  Ben was wounded by rifle fire in the left leg on September 27, 1944 - in December 1944, Mike was under intense fire in Bastogne, during the Battle of the Bulge.  Ben was sent to a hospital in England for 3 months.

At his visit to Omaha Beach in 1998, Ben was beginning to feel more at peace.  As the years go by, he says it doesn’t seem that long ago.  Ben acknowledges of his wish to bring closure on what he experienced during WWII and the loss of his brother Mike, who when he returned home would unexpectedly sing in a weakened voice, the songs of his youth.

(To be continued.  Rudy Padilla can be contacted at opkansas@swbell.net).