1 – Arrival

Los Angeles

July 18th, 1981. That was the day I arrived in Los Angeles. Mom lived in a duplex with my little brother. She drove a small Mitsubishi Colt she had been able to purchase on credit. The house was officially in the city of Commerce, California, and it all seemed gray no matter where you looked, and no amount of palm trees seemed to make a difference. I remembered many of the palm trees as we drove past Eastern Avenue near the cemetery. Tall palm trees would give me vertigo the more I looked up at them. The heat was at times unbearable. My brother was a constant smile. Happiness packaged in the shape of a small boy.

I had no idea what to do, where to go, the city seemed to sprawl forever in every direction. Every time we got in the car we seemed to drive for miles on end, and it all looked the same to me. Concrete everywhere.

It was a world away from the small town I could traverse easily by foot. Where the river was never far away, and the church bells rang out the time every fifteen minutes.

Driving around one day I noticed a sign for East Los Angeles College. I was unsure what exactly a college was in the U.S. but i had finished ninth grade at Columbus College in my hometown so I thought this might be a good place for me to start.

I asked my mother to stop and I walked into a building marked ‘Admissions’. I came up to a counter and requested an application for the school. Without hesitation, I was handed a piece of paper to fill out.

The person at the counter asked, “Where did you graduate from high school?”

I froze, having no idea what that meant, but then responded “from Mexico”.

“Good, then we will need your secondary school diploma from Mexico.”

“I am in the right place,” I thought to myself upon hearing the word secondary.

Secondary school in Mexico is considered 7th, 8th, and 9th grades, I had just finished 9th grade, I had, therefore, finished secondary school, as was apparently required.

Two days later I returned with my certificate from Mexico certifying that I had indeed finished ‘secondary’ school. The clerk that received the copy of my certificate had no idea what to look for (it was all in Spanish), and I honestly at that point had no idea what they really needed. The clerk checked off something in my paperwork, then proceeded to give me a piece of paper with a date and time and said “Come back on this date to select your classes for the coming semester”.

I was in! And, I could pick my own classes! This was completely new! Catholic schools in Mexico did not allow you to choose your classes, you just sat in the classroom all day as a procession of teachers came and went, dictated, lectured, punished, rewarded, and then the day would end.

At the time I was given my date and time for class registration I was also handed a ‘Catalog’ of classes and other information about the college. I had some reading to do, and decisions to make.

I read in the catalog that I could choose a particular ’emphasis’ or ‘track’. I was immediately drawn to ‘Data Processing’. I remembered being around 11 years old and asking my father what I should study. He immediately responded I should study computers. It struck me as somewhat odd since my father was a mechanic, he knew nothing of computers, but he undoubtedly knew where I should place my energies, even then.

I called to make an appointment with a counselor. My appointment was in the evening, my mother drove me to the school as my brother sat smiling in the back seat. Mom gave me a blessing before leaving the car. I asked them to wait since it would not take very long, i thought.

I arrived in front of the library as requested and found a woman talking to a group of people, laughing. I wasn’t sure if this was the person, but I took courage and approached.

“Are you Victor?” she asked. “Yes, I am”.

“Well then get over here and tell me how I can help you.”

How, help me? I thought to myself, I don’t even know what to ask or where I am, how would I know how you can help me.

I opened the catalog of the page that had the ‘Data Processing’ heading and said “I want to study this”.

Aside from giggling now and then, the ‘counselor’ simply restated what was already apparent from the catalog and recommended I take some general ed classes first, and pointed out the page in the catalog which had the general education section listed.

I decided while listening to her that I was better off picking my own classes, and walked back to the waiting car with my mother and brother inside.

2 – To and From

My classes were now set, and I received confirmation via mail that my class registration was complete, and instructions for going to the bookstore to get my textbooks.

My class schedule consisted of four classes (for reasons that then seemed arbitrary to me i was advised to only register in four classes), two Economics classes twice a week, One business law class once a week in the evening, and a History class to round things off. Nobody told me one Economics class was supposed to be taken before the other, or I simply didn’t really understand what pre-requisite meant.

All was set, except for one small detail. The only way I had ever been to this school was by way of a ride from my mother in the evenings or weekends. I had only been there three times and wasn’t entirely sure how to get there again, alone, with no car. In Mexico, I was used to walking everywhere, but of course, the town was very small compared to the City of Commerce, East Los Angeles, and Monterrey Park, the three cities that surrounded me. So i took a walk to the gas station nearby on Olympic Boulevard. This street I knew, at least i knew the name. and proceeded to try and find the location of East Los Angeles College on the map, followed by the seemingly endless search for where I lived, on the same map. Once I located the two i found an ‘easy’ way to get there. I would walk from my house up Hereford Drive and turn left on Olympic Boulevard, follow it until Atlantic Boulevard. Turn right on Atlantic and keep going until I reached East Los Angeles College, which is actually in the city of Monterrey Park. Straight lines, which on the map appeared to be 3 miles. It turned out to be about a 20-minute walk, with lots to see along the way.

I had ten days before classes began, so I decided i was going to walk to the library and get my textbooks.

This is where I need to point out that in my school in Mexico we did not have textbooks. All classes were lectures where we took notes, or in some odd cases, outright dictation sessions where the teacher would simply dictate the subject to us and we would sit there and write it out. This is to say that I had no idea what my textbooks would look like, or how much they would weigh, and certainly no idea how much they would cost.

3

My first walk to my new school was as enjoyable as anything had been in my life until then. I had no concept of where i really was. I had no idea how long it would take or what i would find along the way, no idea of personal safety, nothing at all to lose along the way.

The first part of my journey took me through Olympic Boulevard and what looked like an office complex. I could see no windows on the buildings, but the sidewalks were clean and it seemed so quiet. A few people getting out of some very fancy cars and looking very well dressed. I remember saying to myself that I wanted to be like that; well-dressed, well-groomed, driving a nice car, and arriving at what would be my office, but I would soon be walking again towards my goal.

The first time anyone sets out on a journey time seems to be transformed. It seems to take forever as everything you pass is a new experience and you struggle to take it all in and still keep moving forward. Grocery stores, liquor stores, tattoo shops, used car dealerships, churches with names i could barely pronounce, parks, gas stations, auto shops, restaurants, and cars. Cars seemed everywhere, and after being a driver in Mexico before arriving in the US, for the first time i felt a bit of nostalgia for my previous life. I was without a car. I missed it, but did not need it. I kept walking.

Soon I was able to see the group of shops i knew was close to the school. Woolworth, House of Pancakes, Safeway, Walgreens, Van de Kamp’s. Turn one block to the left at Van de Kamp’s and there it was East Los Angeles College. Time to explore.

I thought the school would be empty but i was mistaken. It appears everyone had the same idea and was in the bookstore looking for their textbooks.

Having never experienced a school bookstore i was overwhelmed. So many paper supplies, binders, pens, pencils, pencil holders, pen refills, paper, notebooks! Yet i had no idea where to even find my books. I could see them in the distance, but what am i looking for? i knew my classes and that was my key.

I decided the quickest way was to ask someone who worked there. I approached what looked like a bookstore employee and with a look of complete helplessness on my face i showed a list of my classes and asked: “Where can i find the books for my classes?”

The person smiled, pointed toward the back of the store and said:  “Just look for the subject and then find the class you are taking on the shelves. It will have the books you need.”

…Thank you…i said and headed to the back of the store which contained the largest and most fearsome amount of books i had ever seen in my life. Mountains of books some stacked neatly together and other teetering waiting to crush any poor student who would dare disturb the delicate balance that was Physics and a Literature Anthology. Where was economics? was there any sense to this arrangement? Where were Economics, and Business Law? Where was History in all this?

This is where i realized just what textbooks looked like in this school, how large they were, and how much they weighed! Then i looked at the prices!

It was a long walk back home with no books.

I had found the location of each of my textbooks. i had made my way through the mountains of geology, geography, and chemistry texts and found that history and economics had about just as many words to offer and that Business Law sounded a lot smaller than the textbook which was to cost $45

The walk back felt long, but i knew it was the same twenty minutes i had walked before, just a little lonelier

4 – New Reality

My first day of classes was here, and my mother had decided to drop me off close to the school before going to work. It was early in the morning when we left home and dropped off my smiling brother at daycare. It was a quick ride down Olympic Boulevard and up Atlantic Boulevard to the shopping center close to the college. The morning was quiet. The parking lot practically empty as she dropped me off with a kiss on the cheek.

It was then that i finally felt alone in an empty shopping center. My backpack heavy with textbooks. It was then that i missed my previous college in Mexico and the walk across town that would bring me to the school gates. I would always arrive early; preferably before anyone arrived so i could enjoy the fog as it rolled across the school grounds on a crisp fall morning. I missed my friends, i even missed teachers i did not like that very moment.

I walked to the edge of the mall and found a ledge to sit on in what was then Woolworth. I sat on the ledge looking out the growing traffic on Atlantic Boulevard. I saw the sun slowly burn off the fog which gathered along the hills behind the college.

I was alone, but really i had always been alone, what i realized then was that this day was mine. Mine to make the best of it. There was nobody to help me with my classes, nobody to show me where the buildings and rooms where i had to attend my classes. Nobody to show me the library and nobody to tell me when i was wrong, or right. I was free to succeed or fail. Free.

So i gathered myself, stood up from the ledge in the shopping mall by the door of the Woolworth, and decided to go explore my new school, library and whatever else i would find. I had already explored part of the bookstore. Now it was time to find out what else i could discover, and i had nobody demanding an explanation for my wanderings. Only me.

5 – SA

First Semester – East Los Angeles, 1981

One of my first classes in this new school was Business Law. It was listed as a requirement for the degree program I had chosen. I had decided it sounded interesting so I signed up for the available once a week evening class.

The professor was a working attorney who spent the first two class sessions speaking on how he had come to practice law, his previous life as a reporter and all the great attributes we should take into account he was about to share with us during this semester. I tried to take notes, but I was obviously unprepared for the onslaught of adjectives he used to describe himself.

Along the way he addressed class work in a few sentences. One part that caught my interest was the note that exams would all be take home essays to be delivered using the “standard” blue book used for essays. Essays, I wrote in my notes as “S.A.”. I then stared at my notes trying to decipher what an S.A. could possibly be. What acronym had been thrown at me now. I tried looking at the notes the people next to me were taking to see if maybe there was a clue I could gleen regarding these mysterious two letters in my notes. Nothing. I could no more figure out what an SA was then I could decipher this man’s strange penchant for constantly talking about himself. 

And what is a blue book anyway? I had some homework to do…not to mention a few chapters of reading for the next class.

At this time I had no friends, knew absolutely nobody in the college who could give me even a hint as to what an SA was. In perusing the bookstore, I found these small notebooks prominently labeled “Blue Book””. I was making progress, finally.

This so called blue book, however, made no mention of what an SA was, or even that it was used for such things, it was simply a collection of ruled blank pages. My mother had no idea what an SA was either, but she did give me the best advice yet, “ask your professor”. She was right.

Approaching the professor in my next session was going to be a challenge however. As class ended he was surrounded by students asking questions regarding the reading, about different law schools, wondering about the SA topic. It became embarrassing for me to even think of approaching to ask something as simple as “excuse me, professor, what is an SA?”. I left class. I did not come back. I dropped the class the next day. Ashamed, wondering what other things I would find that I simply did not know, and still wondering what an SA could possibly be.

6 – Kassandra and the Wolf

Business Law was going to be a class I would postpone for a while, at least until I could find out what an SA was, without embarrassing myself in front of my classmates.

The bookstore was willing to take back my Business Law book. It was a large, dense volume, and i need to say this, no pictures. I was able to use that money to purchase my new History textbook. I had added that class in place of Business Law. So my schedule now consisted of the following:

Economics 1 on Tuesday and Thursday

Economics 2 on Monday, Wednesday and Friday

History 1 on Monday, Wednesday and Friday

History 2 on Tuesday and Thursday

History 1 was a pre-requisite for History 2, but nobody seemed to be checking.

No more evening class and frankly i felt guilty for having so much free time.

My mother would drop me off early in the morning the first weeks and I would on occasion still sit for a few moments on that ledge near the entrance to Woolworth, or I would wander the aisles in the 24 hour Walgreens that seemed to have everything anyone could ever wish to have. I would never buy anything however, I only had enough money to have a small lunch at one of the fast food restaurants in the area, and little more.

After a moment n the ledge feeling the cold air of the morning i walked to the college library. My first time there it seemed I had entered a different world. The library of my school in Mexico would really be considered more of a multi-purpose room with a small room full of books cut off from the rest of the space by an opening in the wall. You needed to know exactly what you wanted in order to get a book from this library. Most of the time the room served as an auditorium, large lecture hall, or just a place for people to gather and do team projects and occasionally even read. I never read any book from the library, but was happy to bring my own and enjoy some time alone. The Library of East Los Angeles College however, was incredible. There were places where one could sit in a large area with other students, there were small cubicles where you could have more privacy and as I  would find later, rooms where students could gather to study or do project work. My favorite spot was a series of soft chairs in front of a large floor-to-ceiling window that looked out at the courtyard in the middle of the college.

I was always one of the first students to enter the library when it opened, and i would spend a moment looking out that large window as the sun slowly covered the city. I loved the library. It gave me the opportunity to explore. There were books, records, newspapers, magazines, videos, and that wonderful chair by the window.

One morning as I explored the shelves near the window i saw a small green colored book sitting almost purposely alone on one end of the shelf. The title was “Kassandra and The Wolf”, by Margarita Karapanou. One of my classmates in Mexico was named Margarita, and I always considered her such an artistic and athletic individual. I always felt so small around her. Here I was however, with this small book and large window and proceeded to read.

Kassandra, as I would find, was no ordinary little girl. The story was extraordinarily dark at spots, but it resonated with me. It reminded me of my childhood and the realities i created in order to deal with the failings of the adults around me. It made me smile.

I would come back to that spot in the library throughout my time at East Los Angeles College, and that small green book was always there on the end of the shelf by the beautiful window into the outside world.

7 – Dean’s List

My first semester offered many new experiences and many new things to learn. Although I considered myself an English speaker when arriving in the US, my vocabulary was minimal. My pronunciation was not very polished, so I would silently take notes every time I learned a new word or heard others pronounce common phrases. A small English-Spanish dictionary was always close by, and I would use it many times for almost everything I encountered. I would listen carefully to the people’s accents and try to emulate the sounds they made as they spoke.

I learned why a class was considered a pre-requisite and learned to use the bus to make my way to school. I still walked to school now and then. It provided me time to reflect on all that was happening.

I made a new friend called Paul, who had just graduated from high school and was also in his first semester. I learned from Paul that ‘Secundaria’ was not the same as High School, and I had skipped three grades. I was not about to let anyone else know, and it didn’t seem to affect my academic performance.

Skipping three grades seemed to be justice for what happened when I attended elementary school in Los Angles. I had started school very young, and the summer before I started third grade, my parents decided it was best I attend school in Mexico. They neglected to let me know, and that Fall, I started school in Mexico from first grade. Suddenly I was in another place and first grade again. I was gaining my time back. I was sixteen.

The semester ended, and my grades were two A’s and two B’s, and I had chosen my classes for the next semester. Biology 1 AND 2, Health Education 1, and English 1. Although I had looked up in the library, and my dictionary, what an SA, or essay, was, some practice in writing them would be helpful.

I did not know that in a few months, I would be moving to San Francisco, and once again, a new place and a new school. I would first go on to get A’s and B’s in my second-semester courses and a perfect score in my Chemistry 1 class for the summer session. Before I prepared to move to San Francisco, I received a letter in the mail. I did not understand what it meant. My congressperson congratulated me for being on the Dean’s List at East Los Angeles College. After asking my friend what the Dean’s List was, I felt confident as I had not felt before and was looking forward to my new school in San Francisco.

I would once again sign up for Business Law in a different college and another city. The textbook would be the same, only oddly much more expensive; only this time I had practice, I had a blue book, and I knew what an ‘SA’ was.