Ruben Salazar comments

the following are comments I made on the occasion of the memorial tribute to Ruben Salazar at the unveiling of a plaque, celebrated on August 29, 2014 - the 44th anniversary of his death held at the park which bears his name.

Buenos dias. my name is Sal Valdez. About eight months ago I took the bus to Ruben Salazar Park because I wanted to learn more about his life and legacy. To my great disappointment there was nothing at the park about him except his name. That was wrong. So I got together with a few other East LA activists and we began meeting with the county and parks department. In the end they agreed to fund the construction of an elevated, bronze  plaque about Ruben with a photo of him and a brief narration. Today we unveil that plaque. Now people of all ages can come to the park and learn about his life and lasting legacy from this day forward. His life's work inspires us to exhibit the same courage to do the right thing in the face of seemingly insurmountable hardships as we build a better world for ourselves, our children and our children's children. Thank you.

Maria's Lost Weekend

Maria’s lost weekend

Maria was in my third grade classroom at Belvedere Elementary, a local public school on the eastside of Los Angeles.  She was small for her age, one of the smallest in the class but what she lacked in height she more than made up for it with spun,k  her positive work ethic and maturity beyond her years.  She enjoyed school and was working towards a perfect attendance certificate given at the end of the year.

      So I was surprised one Friday morning when I went out to the yard where the students were waiting in their assigned places and saw that Maria was missing from her place in line.  It wasn’t like her to miss a Friday for that was the day we had art, PE and music, things the kids really enjoyed.

I asked the students, “Where is Maria?.  Why isn’t she here?  One student spoke up.

“Maria and her family were taken by La Migra last night.

What? La Migra was the street  name for ICE  –  Immigration and Custom Enforcement or  as the kids and everyone else in that community called them –La Migra, had been making their presence felt in East Los Angeles for the past few weeks.  Could it really be that Maria and her family were raided and deported?

      That day Maria was on my mind.  I called Maria’s  home twice that day.  The phone rang and rang but there was no answer.  I took the number home with me that weekend to try during the weekend but didn’t get an answer to my phone calls.

On Monday morning I rode my motorcycle to school. It was already fall but the cold days had not yet begun.  When the bell rang to signal the commencement of school I walked out to the yard to where my students were waiting for me.

Lo and behold there was Maria at her place in line.  I motioned for her to approach me out of earshot of the other students.

“Maria, what happened to you last Friday?  Why weren’t you in school, I asked her?

 Sheepishly she put her head down.

“Aw teach”, she said, “Ay maestro, me pesco la Migra / I got nabbed by La Migra”.

“Don’t worry about it, I consoled her, you are safe here.  We glumly walked into the school building to begin our day.

These events took place in 1984 around my 3^rd year as a classroom teacher. I ended up being a iclassroom teacher for 28 years until a debilitating stroke forced me to retire early.  But I never forgot Maria and her lost weekend.