Honors Long Past Due to Men of Color

 I was moved to read and hear in the news that 24 men of color had belatedly been awarded Medals of Honor, men served in several of this country's wars, who had probably been passed over because of their color or ethnicity, by President Obama. Of the 24 men, 17 of them were Hispanic or Latino.

http://blogs.esanjoaquin.com/tulevato/2014/03/25/getting-the-short-end-of-the-stick/

Update on My Book: "Songs From the Barrio: A Coming of Age in Modesto, Ca." Y Mas

Amigos, it's been a while since I've posted. Been busy writing for "Joaquin" magazine http://joaquinmag.com/ published out of Stockton and doing what I can to peddle my book. In the past year, I've visited many schools, grade levels from 2nd grade to College, and enjoy sharing my story and book especially with students. It's quite amazing how the stories and poems connect with so many people, even with those from other cultural groups, not Chicano or Latino.It seems we have so many shared experiences.

Take a moment to read reviews of my book on Amazon.com and perhaps venture to buy a copy. It is also available in a Kindle edition. I would love to read comments on it, and feel free to post a review yourself on Amazon.
http://www.amazon.com/Songs-From-Barrio-Modesto-Stories/product-reviews/1477618791/ref=cm_cr_dp_see_all_btm?ie=UTF8&showViewpoints=1&sortBy=bySubmissionDateDescending

Also, you can go to my Facebook page "Songs From the Barrio", and read about my experiences at the many schools I've visited in 2013/14 and "Like" the page.
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Songs-From-The-Barrio/218823051582939

Tambien, I have a couple of videos on YouTube of selected readings from my book:
http://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=richard%20rios%20songs&sm=1 

Visit another Blog I am writing for Stockton's newspaper "The Record" at 
http://blogs.esanjoaquin.com/tulevato/

Mexican-Americans: Above and Beyond the Call of Duty

Mexican-Americans: Above and Beyond the Call of Duty

“Dad, What’s a Cherry Tree?”

“Dad, What’s a Cherry Tree?”

Californians, It’s Time for Tinacos

Californians, It’s Time for Tinacos

Escape to Paradise

View of Caribbean from the 8th Floor of our Hotel

The Wife Warily Feeding the Fish

Ah, Pura Vida

In late October of this year my wife and I decided on taking a two week vacation to Cozumel, Mexico. We had been here before on a couple of occasions and quickly fell in love with the place. It is a small island of the southern tip of Yucatan in the heart of the Caribbean, or Paradise. Luckily, it was off-season and the hotel half-empty of tourists, at least for the first week.

I purchased the trip, all-inclusive, online and it included the round-trip flight, two weeks at the hotel, all meals and drinks (alcoholic or otherwise). The hotel staff and waiters were warm and friendly and ready to spoil its visitors. Somehow, cheapskate that I am, I never minded tipping them. They brought us drinks and snacks, right out to the beach, even to the water if you happened to be in the ocean!

It was good to be in Mexico again and be in the company of Mexicanos, who continually seemed amazed that I, being American could speak Spanish so well. The hotel had two restaurants, a buffet open all day for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and a formal restaurant offering menu items, but one you had to make reservations for, and wear formal clothes to. The food was not what we expected, but you could eat all you wanted.

At our age, we wanted a vacation where we could sit at the beach, kick back, drink and eat and that's what we got! We were not in to the numerous excursions available (expensive too), diving, para sailing etc. or the tours to the mainland to Tulum, Chichen-Itza or Xel Ha, though we did book one to Xcaret, a jungle theme park for an entire day. But just snorkeling in the ocean in front of the hotel was enough for us. Dozens of fish surrounded us. Curious fellows who were used to being fed bread crumbs by the guests. The waiters, if asked would give us zip-lock bags filled with stale bread and once you began to feed them the word was out, and dozens came in from the deeper water and the frenzy was on! On occasion you would get a nibble on you back or leg even!

The water is crystal clear, and Luke-warm, a special treat. The beach had a gentle slope and soft waves that allowed non-swimmers like my wife to walk out 50-75 feet and still be only chest deep in water. The island is developed only on one side, the north-facing side with its only town, San Miguel, and dozens of hotels stretching for miles. The harbor hosts a half-dozen cruise ships daily that spend the day in San Miguel. The southern side of the island, the windward side is scantily developed with mostly restaurants here and there. The temperature was in the mid to low 80s but still quite balmy, especially after the rains; it's their rainy season. During the second week, the water muddied a little from the rain's runoffs.

In all, it was another memorable trip to Paradise, one that I especially wanted for my wife who has undergone so much pain and hardships with her ailing back. And she loved it. For parts of the days, she was pain-free or on a pain scale of 1-10, a 3 for several days! Normally she scores herself on the scale at home 7 or above.

A Farewell to Don Jose Montoya: Artist, Poet, Teacher, Musician

The Chicano community has lost one of its icons, a pioneer who forged the way for new generations of artists, teachers, writers and students. He died quietly, at 81, in his Sacramento home on Wednesday, September 25, after a long illness. The last few times I saw Jose, he had grown “drawn and thin”, perhaps like Louie, the character in his infamous poem “El Louie.” Jose was a humble and amiable man with a quick wit (always stroking his goatee), and a way with words that put everyone at ease,  a seasoned “veterano” from the barrio, un “vato de atolle”, a first-class dude.

I met Jose back in the late 50’s when we were students at the California College of Arts and Crafts, in Oakland. We were among a handful of Chicanos, five or six of us, including Esteban Villa, his compadre, in a population of 600 plus. It was natural that we gravitated to one another.. He was always astonished at my artistic ability but Jose had talents of his own, ones yet to be born. We ran together on campus, drinking coffee in the snack bar, and cheap wine at a bevy of bohemian parties, and played our guitars, he, his compadre and I, singing old Mexican corridos and rancheras late into the nights. We were from the barrio, the real stuff, a big hit with many of our white, middle-classed, peers.

I remember the day he pulled out a stacl of his poems and read some to me; I was impressed, even shocked. Was it OK to write about the barrio, Mexicans? About Vatos? Pachucos (Zoot-Suiters)? Farmworkers? Was it acceptable to mix Spanish and English together – what he devilishly termed Pochismo (Pocho was a disparaging term used by Mexicans to mock their counterparts in the US who had forgotten their language and culture) - in the same sentence?  Was it right to use slang and Caló – the idioms used by the Pachucos in the 1940s? But this would be the hallmark of his writing, despite the criticism he received, especially from his own people that his bastardized Spanish was shameful, that he should make up his mind to either write in Spanish or English, period! Jose just laughed it off. Instead, he forced us to accept the world of “los de abajo” – the lowly from the barrios, the “jodidos”, the“arrastrados” , those dragged along by poverty and lack of education. He forced us to look, to see this, with the language of the barrio, even to see the poetry in it.

In the 60s and 70s, Jose would go on to become a highly respected high school teacher, then professor or art and ethnic studies and CSUS, Sacramento for 27 years. He would become a noted poet laureate, painter, muralist, musician, and co-founder, along with his compadre, Esteban Villa, of the RCAF (Rebel Chicano Artists Front), later donned the Royal Chicano Air Force, a coalition of Chicano artists from the Sacramento region, inspiring a new generation of artists, many of who made names for themselves, taking into the barrio to teach chavalitos (children) and their jefitos (parents). Their vivid murals still grace the streets Sacramento, trumpeting images familiar to La Raza, pyramids, eagles, farmworkers, Aztec warriors. With the Farmworker movement, Jose, Esteban and others put their silk-screen talents to work, printing and designing posters in support of Cesar Chavez, farmworkers and other social issues.

But to me, Jose was foremost Montoya, the poet.  Who can forget his classic poems, “El Louie”, an homage to Louie Rodriguez, a barrio warrior who has it all: looks, courage, talent, but who like too many of today’s barrio youth, loses it all, dying “alone in a Rented room,” a victim to “booze y la vida dura” (a hard life), and “La Jefita”, a tender poem to his “little mother”, who is the first one up in the tent they lived in, “slapping tortillas” before sunrise … y todavia la Pinche noche oscura,”, barking out orders for the young ones, and making the lonches for the family before a grueling day of picking cotton, where she would join the men in the field “pulling her cien libras de algoda” – 100 lb. sack. She was the last one to bed ironing clothes, and cooking the frijoles del oya, for another day of toil.

Farewell, amigo, colega, maestro…. for you ran the good race. 

(Photo taken by Rudy Cuellar, of Montoya reading my book)