JOURNEY’S END
A SHORT STORY BY RICHARD SWAIN
Did the Catholic Church schedule my birth? I can fill you in on the particulars, April 10,1957, Oscar Alvaro Molina, San Salvador. You may care to know my father is a fruit seller, and my dear mother raised us six children and takes in wash. Oh, by the way, I was the first in our family to seek a new life in America.
No complaining about El Salvador, but when two percent of the population owns sixty percent of everything, you start to consider other options. My other point would be, that while the Catholic Church is everywhere in the world, it is really there in my country. Perhaps this is what got it all started. Truth be told, as I grew older, the puzzle pieces of my life were not fitting so well.
Crossing the border into California at age eighteen, and trying to look legal, I landed at the main bus terminal in Los Angeles. “Habla ingles” said the man standing near a food counter? “Yes, I attended a good Catholic school” was my answer. He said he was looking for a maintenance helper at his apartment building nearby. Not sure what judgement an illegal somewhat immature young man has, but I took him at his word and we walked out into the sunlight.
The Silver Lake area was not so nearby, and for that I was grateful. The ten story building near the reservoir had forty units and I would live in a basement room next to the maintenance man. I was soon introduced to Hector Gonzales and started cleaning hallways within the hour.
No need to say much about my room other than I could sleep and prepare modest meals. The best news for me and my family was Saint Theresa of Avila Church two blocks away. Soon I was mailing off my first money order.
Hector was twenty two and grew up just ten miles from our building. He was pleased to know of my interest with Saint Theresa and anxious for me to meet Father Rojas. Hector was taking night classes at the community college and hoped one day to be a lawyer. “Our people are too neglected” he said with an intensity in his voice. “Oscar, you are in America now, what are your dreams, where do you want to go with your life?”.
What are my dreams? Someone was asking me a question I had always been afraid to seriously consider. I knew it was well beyond hallways and cleaning solvents. Again my mind went back to puzzle pieces, and this time I saw a jumbled pile wanting to form a picture. Father Rojas was the young priest at the parish. He led group discussions and activities for the young adults. I quickly identified with this Catholic brother in a way impossible at home. Soon Hector and I became fixtures around the church.
Echo Park was a neighborhood nearby that also had a middle class Latino community much like Silver Lake. The fathers often held manufacturing jobs that were starting to slip away to areas like Taiwan. Father Rojas felt more was needed to be done for the youth in our area who were finding a greater struggle within their homes and on the streets.
While I found San Salvador a large sprawling city in my younger years, I was now finding this neighborhood of approximately four square miles an oasis to my soul.
As the months unfolded, I found I could get by with my modest wages, and therefore received a liberty to pursue what felt like a calling to younger people with mixed puzzle pieces like myself.
It was during the mid 1970’s that latino gangs made a greater appearance in Los Angeles and other parts of California. First it was the 18th Street Latino gang and then the Surenos (Southerners) and the Nortenos (Northerners). Father Rojas was a leading voice to organize a community center within our neighborhood as a safe haven for the young people. Casa de la Amistad or Friendship House came to an abandoned theater on Silver Lake Boulevard. A leadership council was established and both Hector and I quickly became involved.
The Catholic Church has always been at the center of my family's life and therefore my life. I accepted the dogma handed down as absolute and was conditioned not to question but simply accept. With this new independence and different voices surrounding me, I started a second journey. One journey was outside Oscar, the man finding his place in society, and the other was inside Oscar, seeking to understand the fiber that wove my personal faith and spirit. I heard a saying that resonated within me, a square peg trying to fit in a round hole.
It will not surprise you that both my journeys were often tied together pulling and then pushing me along. I did start taking community college classes to further my education, and at the same time working with Hector and Father Rojas with the youth of our neighborhoods. It was very late one night when I heard a loud commotion coming from Hector’s room in our basement. Going into the hallway, I could see his door was open but the room dark. I called out his name but received no answer. His groans were both of pain and a brokenness of spirit, I turned on the bedroom light. My heart stopped beating as I saw Hector lying curled up on the bed and bleeding from wounds on his face and arms. At first I was paralyzed to act, but moved closer to his side. As I tried to touch his arm, he cried out telling me to leave the room. I said I was going to get help, and he shrieked at me to tell no one. “Let me call your family” I said. His answer cut to my heart, “they do not care.”
Taking a wash cloth and a bowl of warm water, Hector allowed me to gently wash away the drying blood. One eye was blackened and almost swollen shut, a cheekbone was also puffed out and cuts were on both arms. He started shivering and shaking as I had never witnessed before. All I could do was cover him with a blanket and lay beside him with my arms and body bringing added warmth and support. With morning came repeated requests that this was private and not to be shared. I worked feverishly that day to complete all our work assignments.
Father Rojas was thirty four, born in L.A., and much like an older brother to all of us. He was certainly our teacher in faith matters, but also he was a mature and wise voice to our broader questions of life. At the community center, we would have great discussions, sometimes almost arguments on topics like injustice or growing income inequality that was showing a greater strain for our people. His uncle was also a priest and would visit the center from time to time bringing an added richness of life exploration. As I was maturing in both age, and in a self confidence, Father Rojas and I would venture into new and deeper questions that spoke to my inner spirit. He would be firm in one area, and understanding and open in others. At all times he showed a love and compassion that I sought to emulate with the youth I served.
The puzzle pieces are starting to form a picture. At the center is the beautiful blue water of Silver Lake. Nearby to the north is the gold cross of Saint Theresa, and to the near south the theater marque that flashes “Amistad.” If you look closely by the lake itself, you can even see our apartment building, the pink one. A new section is taking form more to the south and toward the west. This is Cal State L.A. where Hector is close to graduation. Support has built within our community for an education fund that will aid his grant for entrance to Loyola Law School.
1984 was a significant turning point in my life. Ronald Reagan said “I believe in the idea of amnesty for those who have put down roots and lived here, even though sometime back they may have entered illegally.” This immigration bill was signed into law in 1986 and 2.9 million of us came forward.
At age twenty nine I went back to visit my family in San Salvador. I was now the Program Director of Amistad. Hector and I share a small apartment on Laguna Avenue near Echo Lake. The puzzle is almost complete. With maturity, I understand we are all unfinished works of art, each of us a masterpiece of our Creator’s design. A few pieces remain on the side of the table to be filled in at a later time. Oh by the way, look closely, there by Echo Lake, see that bench with two people. Hector and I enjoy a Saturday to close our eyes and feel the warmth of the sun and breeze of the wind. We are careful to not sit too close together, perhaps a time will come when it will be OK.
RICHARD SWAIN
A SHORT STORY BY RICHARD SWAIN
Did the Catholic Church schedule my birth? I can fill you in on the particulars, April 10,1957, Oscar Alvaro Molina, San Salvador. You may care to know my father is a fruit seller, and my dear mother raised us six children and takes in wash. Oh, by the way, I was the first in our family to seek a new life in America.
No complaining about El Salvador, but when two percent of the population owns sixty percent of everything, you start to consider other options. My other point would be, that while the Catholic Church is everywhere in the world, it is really there in my country. Perhaps this is what got it all started. Truth be told, as I grew older, the puzzle pieces of my life were not fitting so well.
Crossing the border into California at age eighteen, and trying to look legal, I landed at the main bus terminal in Los Angeles. “Habla ingles” said the man standing near a food counter? “Yes, I attended a good Catholic school” was my answer. He said he was looking for a maintenance helper at his apartment building nearby. Not sure what judgement an illegal somewhat immature young man has, but I took him at his word and we walked out into the sunlight.
The Silver Lake area was not so nearby, and for that I was grateful. The ten story building near the reservoir had forty units and I would live in a basement room next to the maintenance man. I was soon introduced to Hector Gonzales and started cleaning hallways within the hour.
No need to say much about my room other than I could sleep and prepare modest meals. The best news for me and my family was Saint Theresa of Avila Church two blocks away. Soon I was mailing off my first money order.
Hector was twenty two and grew up just ten miles from our building. He was pleased to know of my interest with Saint Theresa and anxious for me to meet Father Rojas. Hector was taking night classes at the community college and hoped one day to be a lawyer. “Our people are too neglected” he said with an intensity in his voice. “Oscar, you are in America now, what are your dreams, where do you want to go with your life?”.
What are my dreams? Someone was asking me a question I had always been afraid to seriously consider. I knew it was well beyond hallways and cleaning solvents. Again my mind went back to puzzle pieces, and this time I saw a jumbled pile wanting to form a picture. Father Rojas was the young priest at the parish. He led group discussions and activities for the young adults. I quickly identified with this Catholic brother in a way impossible at home. Soon Hector and I became fixtures around the church.
Echo Park was a neighborhood nearby that also had a middle class Latino community much like Silver Lake. The fathers often held manufacturing jobs that were starting to slip away to areas like Taiwan. Father Rojas felt more was needed to be done for the youth in our area who were finding a greater struggle within their homes and on the streets.
While I found San Salvador a large sprawling city in my younger years, I was now finding this neighborhood of approximately four square miles an oasis to my soul.
As the months unfolded, I found I could get by with my modest wages, and therefore received a liberty to pursue what felt like a calling to younger people with mixed puzzle pieces like myself.
It was during the mid 1970’s that latino gangs made a greater appearance in Los Angeles and other parts of California. First it was the 18th Street Latino gang and then the Surenos (Southerners) and the Nortenos (Northerners). Father Rojas was a leading voice to organize a community center within our neighborhood as a safe haven for the young people. Casa de la Amistad or Friendship House came to an abandoned theater on Silver Lake Boulevard. A leadership council was established and both Hector and I quickly became involved.
The Catholic Church has always been at the center of my family's life and therefore my life. I accepted the dogma handed down as absolute and was conditioned not to question but simply accept. With this new independence and different voices surrounding me, I started a second journey. One journey was outside Oscar, the man finding his place in society, and the other was inside Oscar, seeking to understand the fiber that wove my personal faith and spirit. I heard a saying that resonated within me, a square peg trying to fit in a round hole.
It will not surprise you that both my journeys were often tied together pulling and then pushing me along. I did start taking community college classes to further my education, and at the same time working with Hector and Father Rojas with the youth of our neighborhoods. It was very late one night when I heard a loud commotion coming from Hector’s room in our basement. Going into the hallway, I could see his door was open but the room dark. I called out his name but received no answer. His groans were both of pain and a brokenness of spirit, I turned on the bedroom light. My heart stopped beating as I saw Hector lying curled up on the bed and bleeding from wounds on his face and arms. At first I was paralyzed to act, but moved closer to his side. As I tried to touch his arm, he cried out telling me to leave the room. I said I was going to get help, and he shrieked at me to tell no one. “Let me call your family” I said. His answer cut to my heart, “they do not care.”
Taking a wash cloth and a bowl of warm water, Hector allowed me to gently wash away the drying blood. One eye was blackened and almost swollen shut, a cheekbone was also puffed out and cuts were on both arms. He started shivering and shaking as I had never witnessed before. All I could do was cover him with a blanket and lay beside him with my arms and body bringing added warmth and support. With morning came repeated requests that this was private and not to be shared. I worked feverishly that day to complete all our work assignments.
Father Rojas was thirty four, born in L.A., and much like an older brother to all of us. He was certainly our teacher in faith matters, but also he was a mature and wise voice to our broader questions of life. At the community center, we would have great discussions, sometimes almost arguments on topics like injustice or growing income inequality that was showing a greater strain for our people. His uncle was also a priest and would visit the center from time to time bringing an added richness of life exploration. As I was maturing in both age, and in a self confidence, Father Rojas and I would venture into new and deeper questions that spoke to my inner spirit. He would be firm in one area, and understanding and open in others. At all times he showed a love and compassion that I sought to emulate with the youth I served.
The puzzle pieces are starting to form a picture. At the center is the beautiful blue water of Silver Lake. Nearby to the north is the gold cross of Saint Theresa, and to the near south the theater marque that flashes “Amistad.” If you look closely by the lake itself, you can even see our apartment building, the pink one. A new section is taking form more to the south and toward the west. This is Cal State L.A. where Hector is close to graduation. Support has built within our community for an education fund that will aid his grant for entrance to Loyola Law School.
1984 was a significant turning point in my life. Ronald Reagan said “I believe in the idea of amnesty for those who have put down roots and lived here, even though sometime back they may have entered illegally.” This immigration bill was signed into law in 1986 and 2.9 million of us came forward.
At age twenty nine I went back to visit my family in San Salvador. I was now the Program Director of Amistad. Hector and I share a small apartment on Laguna Avenue near Echo Lake. The puzzle is almost complete. With maturity, I understand we are all unfinished works of art, each of us a masterpiece of our Creator’s design. A few pieces remain on the side of the table to be filled in at a later time. Oh by the way, look closely, there by Echo Lake, see that bench with two people. Hector and I enjoy a Saturday to close our eyes and feel the warmth of the sun and breeze of the wind. We are careful to not sit too close together, perhaps a time will come when it will be OK.
RICHARD SWAIN