"José Francisco, but we call him 'Trampita.'"
"Could Trompita take over your job?" he asked, mispronouncing my brother's nickname.
"I hadn't thought of that!" I exclaimed. "I think Trampita can do it. He's been helping me a lot already and Mike Nevel likes him."
"Who's Mike Nevel?"
"My boss, the owner of Santa Maria Window Cleaners. I need to ask him." I then remembered I also had to ask Papá. My excitement slowly faded. Who knew what Papá would say? "I have to discuss the idea with my family and get my father's permission," I said. "It's not going to be easy."
"I'd be happy to talk with your father," he responded. "He doesn't speak English," I said. "Do you speak Spanish?"
"No, I don't. Look, talk to your family about this. Meantime, take those applications, fill them out, and bring them back to me during your study hall class next Monday."
That afternoon I went to work excited and hopeful. I finished cleaning the gas company and went home, happy but anxious. I hope Papá is in a good mood, I thought. As I walked in the door, Mamá greeted me and heated dinner for me. "I need to talk to you and Papá," I said, pushing my plate away. "Is Trampita awake? I have to talk to him too."
"Is something wrong, mijo?" Mamá asked. "No, I have to get your permission on something," I said.
"You're getting married," Mamá said jokingly. We both laughed. Papá came out of his room.
"What's all the noise about?" he grumbled.
"Panchito has something to ask us," she said cheerfully. "I'll go get Trampita. He and Torito just went to bed."
Papá sat at the kitchen table, lit a cigarette, and asked me to bring him a glass of water and two aspirins. I knew his mood was not in my favor. Mamá returned with Trampita. My brother sat at the table next to me, facing Papá and Mamá.
Papá puffed on his cigarette and stared at his right hand with the missing finger. "Okay, what is it?" he snapped, breaking the silence.
I hooked my feet around the legs of the chair, locked my hands together underneath the table, and began telling them the plan Mr. Penney and I discussed. I avoided Papá's eyes while I talked and focused on Mamá's smile. When I finished, Papá grumbled, "Let's think about it." He bit his lower lip and shifted his body to the side, away from me.
"I can do it," Trampita said proudly.
"It's a wonderful opportunity," Mamá said.
"Didn't you hear me?" Papá shouted. "I said let's think about it!"
Blood rushed to my head. My knuckles turned white and ached, just like my jaw. Anger swallowed me and I could not escape it. "Think about what!" I cried out. "It's my only chance!"
"Your chance?" Papá fired back. His eyes pierced right through me. His lower lip bled as he bit into it. "It's your chance to shut up. Eres un malcriado! Don't they teach you respect at school, ah?"
Trampita excused himself and ran back to his room. Mamá signaled for me to stop, but I could not.
"It's my only chance!" I repeated, trying to hold back my tears.
Papá winced as he stood up. His face was as white as a ghost's. "Shut your mouth, Pancho, or I'll shut it for you," he said, shaking.
"Please, viejo," Mamá said, moving closer to him.
"You stay out of it!" he yelled, pushing her away. He lifted his hand, threatening to strike her.
"Don't! Leave her alone!" I shouted instinctively. My anger turned into fear. Papá turned around and slapped me on the side of the face with the back of his right hand. I was stunned. My face felt like it was on fire.
"Stop, for God's sake!" Mamá cried out at Papá.
Papá gave me a pained look, hobbled to his room, and shut the door. I rested my head on the table and wept. Mamá sat next to me and put her arm around my shoulders.
"Are you okay, Panchito?"
I nodded. "Why can't he understand?" I said, wiping my tears and my runny nose on my shirtsleeves.
"He does, mijo, but he doesn't want to lose you too." Tears rolled down her face. "Your Papá wants the family to be together. He doesn't want his children to leave. First, Roberto left when he got married. Now, if you go to college, you'll leave too. It hurts him. It hurts him too that he can't support the family. His dream to earn and save enough money and eventually to return to Mexico with all of us is gone."
"I think I understand, Mamá. But what about my dream?"
"I know what you mean, mijo," she said, stroking the back of my head. "Have faith in God. I'll talk to your father tomorrow when he feels better. Remember, he didn't say no. That's a good sign. Now go outside to get some fresh air and go to bed. You need to rest."
I went outside and looked up at the stars. I felt a pain in my chest. That night I did not sleep and neither did Mamá. I heard her murmuring prayers for a long time.
On Friday morning I had a hard time getting out of bed. I felt tired and depressed. I skipped breakfast and went to work in a daze. The clicking noise of telegraph machines at the Western Union seemed distant. I went from class to class, not paying attention to anything that was said or discussed. After school, I went to the public library but could not focus on my homework. I thought about the night before and wished it had never happened. I took a walk around the library gardens, trying to figure out what to do. I thought about Papá and felt guilty. Perhaps I was being selfish. Perhaps I was not being fair to my family, especially Trampita. I walked back to the library, picked up my books, and headed for the gas company. While I dusted and swept the floors, I kept thinking of how tired and bored I was working for Santa Maria Window Cleaners day in and day out. I did not want to do this for the rest of my life.
I went home late that evening, expecting everyone to be asleep. To my surprise, Mamá was sitting on the front steps waiting for me. As soon as I climbed out of the car, she ran up to me and gave me a hug. "Mijo, I have good news!" she said excitedly. "Your father has agreed!"
"Really?" I exclaimed. "Where's Papá?"
"In his room, asleep. He had a very hard day."
"You did it, Mamá! You did it! Thank you!" I said, jumping up and down.
"Gracias a Dios y al maestro Osterveen," she said.
"Mr. Osterveen, the Spanish teacher?" I asked, puzzled.
"He came this afternoon and talked to your Papá and me. He said your counselor..." Mamá hesitated, trying to remember his name.
"Mr. Penney," I said.
"Yes, Mr. Penney. What a strange name ... Why would they name him Centavo? Anyway, he asked Mr. Osterveen to talk to us ... Es buena gente. We couldn't believe that an important person like him would visit us. He and Papá talked about Mexico. His wife is from Oaxaca, you know, and he lived there for many years. He went on and on talking about college and you. Habló como perico. Papá and I didn't understand a lot of what he said about college, but we felt really proud about all the nice things he said about you."
We quietly went into the house. "I think I heard your Papá cough. He might be awake now," Mamá said. I slowly opened the door to his room and peeked in. He was lying on his back, still asleep, with both arms on top of the covers and crossed over his chest. I tiptoed in, kneeled on his bedside, and watched him. He looked haggard. I gently kissed his hands and thanked him under my breath.
That weekend, I filled out the scholarship applications and took them to Mr. Penney on Monday morning during my study hall period. After I thanked him for what he did to convince my father, he gave me some bad news: it was too late to apply to most colleges for the fall. "I suggest you apply to the University of Santa Clara," he said.
I had never heard of the University of Santa Clara. Mr. Penney must have noticed my lack of enthusiasm because he quickly added, "You'll like it. It's a lot like Loyola, my alma mater."
"Your alma mater?" I asked, not knowing what he meant.
"The school I went to in L.A.," he responded. "Santa Clara is small like Loyola. It has a good academic reputation."
"Smaller than Cal Poly?" I asked.
"Much smaller. You won't get lost there. I
t's a small Jesuit Catholic school."
The fact that it was Catholic attracted me. I knew Mamá would like it too. "Where is it?" I asked.
"Up north, near San Jose. It's only about 250 miles, so you'll get a chance to come home on holidays," he said. I was definitely interested. I did not want to be too far from my family in case they needed me.
"Can I get a job there?" I asked, thinking I could help my family.
"I know where you're heading with this," he said, smiling. "Sure, but you'll need to concentrate on your studies. You won't have time to work and get involved in extracurricular activities like you have here." Mr. Penney picked up his pipe, filled it with tobacco from a small pouch, and lit it. The smell of sweet cherry filled the air. "Are you interested in applying?" he asked, handing me the application.
"Yes!" I said enthusiastically.
"Good! I figured you would be." His eyes twinkled.
I glanced at the application. My heart sank to my stomach when I saw the deadline had past.
"Don't worry about the deadline," he said, noticing the shock on my face. "I called Santa Clara this morning and asked my friend at admissions to give you an extension." I sighed in relief. Mr. Penney chuckled and puffed on his pipe. I floated out of his office thinking my counselor was like the Santo Niño de Atocha, the Holy Child of a thousand wonders.
I took the SAT test at Cal Poly on Saturday morning, March eighth. I had a hard time sleeping the night before because I was worried about the test. When I finally dozed off, I dreamed I was waxing the floors at the gas company. I kept glancing at the clock on the wall because I did not want to be late for the test. When it was time to leave, I could not move. My feet were glued to the floor. I dropped the mop and tried to reach out to grab a desk, but I could not lift my arms. They felt like lead. I looked out the window and saw Papá and Roberto picking strawberries. I cried out to them for help, but they could not hear me. I woke up in a sweat. My heart was racing. I could not go back to sleep, so I got up and headed for the Western Union. After I finished cleaning it, I rushed to Cal Poly to take the exam.
The test consisted of three parts: two on English and one on math. I would have preferred one on English and two on math, but luck was not on my side. When I found out my combined scores were slightly below nine hundred, with math being higher than English, I was disappointed, but I was relieved when Mr. Penney told me I had done better than he had expected.
Graduation Day
The day I received the letter from the University of Santa Clara notifying me that I had been accepted, I was as excited as the day my parents returned from Mexico after we had been deported. I read the letter over and over to myself and to my family.
My excitement, however, turned to concern when I saw the cost for the first year was two thousand dollars. I did not tell my parents because I did not want them to worry too. I took the letter to Mr. Penney and thanked him for helping me get into college.
"Don't thank me; you did it on your own," he said.
"Yes, but..."
"No buts," he said, interrupting me. "You worked hard. You don't owe me anything."
I disagreed with him, but I did not insist. I knew Mr. Penney felt uncomfortable whenever I thanked him. I then mentioned the high cost.
"No reason to be concerned. You'll get scholarships," he said confidently.
"Two thousand dollars?" I said worriedly.
Mr. Penney took a puff on his pipe and placed it on the ashtray. He stared out the window and said: "Unfortunately, you applied too late to the University of Santa Clara to qualify for financial aid but, hopefully, the scholarships you receive from local organizations will cover your first year."
"What if they don't?" I said, feeling anxious.
"You can borrow the rest from the federal government," he said, handing me a National Defense Student Loan application. "Their loans carry very low interest rates, and if you go into teaching they'll forgive ten percent of the loan for every year you teach, up to fifty percent."
"I do want to be a teacher," I said, "but my parents won't like the idea of borrowing money."
"The loan will be yours, not theirs, and you won't have to begin paying it until you have a job teaching."
It sounded good, but I still felt uneasy. Papá said that borrowing money was like being enslaved. He told us about an hacendado, a large landowner, who used his company store to keep his father and other peasants in a state of endless debt. However, I trusted Mr. Penney and agreed to apply for the loan.
"How much should I apply for?" I asked.
Mr. Penney picked up his pipe, tapped it lightly against the ashtray, and rolled his eyes to the back of his head, looking for the right figure. "Why don't you apply for one thousand?" he said, bringing his pipe to a standstill and glancing at me.
I gulped and glanced at Mr. Penney, who was waiting for my response. I lowered my eyes and noticed a stain on the carpet. I would have to clean floors for a thousand hours to earn a thousand dollars, I thought. I looked up at Mr. Penney and said, "It's a lot of money, but worth it."
"That's the spirit."
I took the application home and began filling it out at the kitchen table. When I got to the line that asked for the place of birth, I suddenly felt the same suffocating fear I had felt for many years of being caught by la migra. I heard Papá's voice in my head: "You can't tell a soul you were born in Mexico. You can't trust anyone, not even your best friends. If they know, they'll turn you in." But I am here legally, I thought. I have my green card. I left that line blank and continued filling out the application. When I finished, I checked it over for mistakes, folded it, placed it in the envelope, and went to bed. I had a hard time falling asleep. I kept hearing Papá's voice and reliving the frightening immigration raids in Tent City and Corcoran. The next morning, at work, I completed the application. Next to place of birth, I wrote in Colton, California.
After I had turned in the scholarship and NDSL loan applications, I rushed home after work and anxiously checked the mail every day. As soon as I walked in the door, I would ask Mamá, "Did I get any mail?" "No, mijo, not today," she would say. As days went by, she would meet me at the door and before I had a chance to ask, she would imitate me, saying, "Did I get any mail?" She would smile when the answer was no and then try to cheer me up. "You need to be more patient, Panchito," she would say. "It'll come; I've been praying." Her words helped, but I could not stop worrying. I remembered Mr. Penney saying, "With your school record, you won't have any problem getting scholarships." I calculated my grade point average, 3.77, and prayed and hoped that my counselor was right.
On June 1, 1962, I got the news. I arrived home from work that evening and found Mamá waiting for me on the front steps, waving a white envelope. I was so anxious to get the mail that I accidentally tripped over one of the stray dogs that followed me as I got out of the car. "You got mail, mijo," Mamá said, smiling from ear to ear. I snatched the envelope from her and ripped it open. The letter was from Mr. Paul Rosendahl, director of guidance and chairman of scholarships at Santa Maria High School. "What's it say?" Mamá asked excitedly. I quickly scanned the letter and started jumping up and down.
"I got the Alegría Scholarship for three hundred and fifty dollars; the Kiwanis Club for two hundred and fifty; the Lions Club for two hundred; and the Madrinas Club for two hundred!" I exclaimed.
"Gracias a Dios!" Mamá said, folding her hands and looking up at the heavens. She gave me a big hug and lightly pushed me inside the house. Our excitement had woken up Papá. He came out of his room and slowly sat down at the kitchen table.
"Qué escándalo es éste?" he asked. Trampita, Torito, Rorra, and Rubén all came out running to see what was going on.
"Panchito got money for school!" Mamá shouted, a bit out of breath. "Tell them, mijo, tell them."
"I got one thousand dollars for school," I said excitedly.
"It pays to work hard, mijo," Papá said, lighting up a Camel cigarette.
"Let me se
e the money," Rorra said, pulling on my left arm.
"They'll send it to me when I am in college," I told her, chuckling.
"Yes, when he goes away to college," Papá uttered wearily. His eyes watered.
"Okay, everyone back to bed. It's late," Mamá said. "Papá needs to rest, so be quiet." She followed behind my brothers and sister, making sure they went back to bed. Papá winced as he got up from the chair and shuffled back to his room. He had a sad look on his face.
The following day, I got another bit of good news in the mail. Frank Schneider, director of financial aid at the University of Santa Clara, notified me that my National Defense Student Loan application for one thousand dollars had been approved. I now had enough money for my first year of college.
The school year was coming to an end and, for the first time, I did not feel sad about it. I looked forward to graduation.
The ceremony was on Thursday evening, June seventh, at eight o'clock at Wilson Gym. At five o'clock that day, Roberto, Trampita, Torito, and I worked as a team and began cleaning the gas company as soon as it closed. At six-thirty I rushed home to get ready and pick up my parents. My brothers stayed behind to finish. They were to leave after work, pick up Darlene, Rorra, and Rubén, and go directly to the gym. I was excited and nervous. I was to lead the flag salute and give the welcome at the graduation ceremonies. I felt proud and hoped my parents could attend, but I was not sure they would.
I remembered that neither of them had gone to Roberto's high school graduation. That day Papá complained about a terrible headache and his back, and insisted Mamá stay home to take care of him and the children. My brother felt hurt, but he said he understood. For graduation, Papá gave him an old ring that belonged to my grandfather. Roberto wore his ring proudly. I think his ring meant as much to him as my Saint Christopher medal meant to me.
I did not want to give my parents the choice of saying no, so as soon as I entered the house, I said, "Are you ready? We have to be there by seven-thirty." Papá and Mamá were sitting at the kitchen table talking. Before they had a chance to say anything, I quickly went into the shed, took a quick, cold bath in the aluminum tub, and got dressed. When I came out, Mamá was getting ready, but not Papá. "Get me a couple of aspirins, mijo. My head is killing me," he said, covering his head with both hands.
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