FROM THE ROOTS UP

iUniverse, Inc.

Contents

CHAPTER 1—Family and Community................................1CHAPTER 2—Treasured Memories..................................20CHAPTER 3—A Different Set of Lenses...........................24CHAPTER 4—The Wonder of Faith.................................30CHAPTER 5—Learning Moments....................................34CHAPTER 6—Inspirational Stories...............................41CHAPTER 7—The Faces of Immigration............................48CHAPTER 8—Political Philosophy/Strategy.......................53CHAPTER 9—Politics in Arizona.................................65CHAPTER 10—Arizona's Education Conflict.......................77CHAPTER 11—Informational Columns..............................85CHAPTER 12—Sports.............................................92CHAPTER 13—Teen Challenges....................................96CHAPTER 14—The Slippery Slope.................................101CHAPTER 15—Offbeat Stories....................................109CHAPTER 16—What's Race Got to Do With It?.....................114

Chapter One

Freedom's promise shines in many ways

"I trust in God, I love my country and will respect its laws. I will play fair, and strive to win; but win or lose, I will always do my best." These are the words to the Little League Pledge we recited in the early '70s after every baseball game.

During the pledge, our hats were placed over our hearts while standing firmly on the foul-line.

Immediately after, we would dash to the concession stand to grab our free snow cone. We thrilled to the sight and sound of clear ice cubes being fed into a grinder that churned out pellets scooped into a paper cone. The ice was so thin it would cave as it retained every drop of the colored flavor that adorned the ice and the taste buds.

My favorite was cherry. Its color matched my uniform. As was customary, the cherry juice would soon alter course running down my hand and forearm, and, like a cat licking its coat, my tongue followed the path of the juice.

Then came the roaring of an onion-hauling truck, faded green in color, as it ground to halt with giant bursts of air blasting through the brakes of its 10 large wheels, signaling to everyone that my ride had arrived. My Brother Ray and I were to stay overnight in a nearby onion field while Leroy and his crew loaded our truck at dawn.

Leroy, a spry African-American man in his early 70s, tossed onion sacks on the back of flatbed trucks with relative ease, singing gospel songs along the way as trucks moved at a sloth's pace. He had a crew of four Black men who were regarded as the best at loading the most sacks—that meant more money—without displacing the weight, which could cause a truck to tip over. This happened one day. There was a truck lying on its side near a canal. It brought to mind the car on the "Flintstones" credits. Loose onions were strewn in every direction. The sacks that remained intact were in a chaotic heap.

After the engines of the lined-up trucks shut down for the night, the only light-source in the truck cab was the rotating beacon of light at Luke Air Force Base. Just a month earlier, while picking onions before the trucking season, I would watch with great pride and fascination as combat aircraft conducted touch-and-goes on the runway. The music playing softly on the radio, in perfect rhythm with the flashing beacon, would lull me to sleep.

It's quite ironic, when one considers, a generally happy little boy in his cherry-stained Little League uniform peacefully lying asleep in an aging truck, without much means but comforted by a beacon of freedom shining proudly in the distance signaling its promise to shine throughout posterity. That's the promise made long ago and its spirit lives in the Little League Pledge.

A tale of three brothers

It's always amazed me how children reared in the same home can wind up with such different characters and personalities. This can be said of my three older brothers; Ruben, the giver, Ray the partier and Ricky, the angry.

Growing up, the four of us shared a small bedroom in a modest home on Pierce Street in the northern part of Tolleson, Arizona. Ruben, the oldest, got the twin bed, Ray and Ricky shared a bunk bed, with Ricky taking the top. Being the youngest, I got stuck with a beige-vinyl couch donated to us by a local elementary school. It came from their teachers' lounge—infested with an ever-present odor of cigarettes. It gave me an eerie feeling, and it didn't help that my brothers constantly joked that it looked like a coffin. At times, on their way to bed, they'd stand at my bedside looking down at me shaking their head with sympathy, as if it were my funeral. They loved giving me a hard time because I had such a bad temper. Sometimes I'd get so angry, I'd throw up.

The corner of the room with the bunk beds where Ricky and Ray slept was a shining example of the different personalities fermenting in our home. Ricky's space was always neat and tidy while Ray's was constantly disheveled. Ricky neatly tacked world maps on his share of the wall while Ray displayed bikini beer models on his.

Of my three brothers, Ruben was the most giving and willing to serve, which is why he joined the United States Army. He also served 25 years in the Army Reserve. In many respects, Ruben was the lion of the brothers. He wasn't tall or muscular but he had a quiet strength about him. There came a time when he landed a salesman job at a Phoenix jewelry store. Ruben did well financially, earning a salary and commission. Having some money empowered Ruben to do the things he'd long desired; like taking me to Phoenix Suns' basketball games when I was a boy. He wanted to expose me to things outside of my limited view of the world. I got to see my favorite players; Dick Van Arsdale and Connie Hawkins take on future legends Jerry West, Wilt Chamberlain and Pistol Pete Maravich.

Ruben also bought me a book by Connie Hawkins called "Foul". I remember one time after a Suns' game; Ruben took me to an area outside of the locker room where players exit on their way to the parking lot. When Connie Hawkins emerged, autograph seekers quickly converged from all directions like a pack of wolves. I stood in the rear of the pack, too small and shy to muscle my way to the front. Suddenly, a giant hand reached across the crowd and snatched the book from my hand returning it quickly with an autograph that read in part, "Peace and Love!" I don't recall if he signed it Connie Hawkins or "The Hawk", but all that mattered was that, for some reason, he noticed me in the crowd of fans. At that moment I felt like I mattered. Ruben's generosity exposed me to experiences that taught me I was not just an observer in this world, I was a part of it. Yet, being a part of this world meant that I had to learn about its people. That's where Ray, the partier, comes in.

Ray was never serious about his education. It took him six years to graduate high school. In fact, Ricky, a couple years younger, caught up to Ray and was already in his second year of college when Ray finally made it out of Tolleson Union High School.

What Ray had going for him though was his charisma. He's a people person. As far back as I can remember, he'd tell me to "always be good to people because you never know when you're...